When younger people ask me for advice on how to get into comedy or writing, it annoys me, but I’m not gatekeeping. The whole concept of giving advice makes me deeply uncomfortable because it assumes there was a process: that I learned information in a linear fashion, and now I can teach it to you, backwards and in heels. When really, I just did a series of naive and useless things back when there were still payphones on every street corner, and eventually shit worked out against all odds. The odds against me were: I am odd, and it works against me.
I don’t want anyone to make the same mistakes that I did. I’m not someone you should ask for a blueprint. I’m not going to say there is no blueprint to success. There is! Sociopaths have the blueprint. They’ll even sell it to you cheap. The problem is? You can buy a blueprint from a sociopath, but it will only work out for you if you’re also a sociopath.
I’m not implying that only sociopaths succeed. Some of my best friends are successful, non-sociopaths. I guess I’m one myself, which is why I can’t give you a blueprint. I made mine up as I went along, and I wouldn’t wish the ridiculousness that I made up and went-on-along-with on anyone else.
My only advice is, and this is great advice actually, don’t be anything like me in 1998 when I first moved to NYC as an aspiring actor, comedian, dancer, writer, whatever job you’ll give me in show business. So, naturally my big idea was to spend my first day in The City at a taping of the Sally Jessy Raphael talk show. I wasn’t looking to make any show business connections at the Sally Jessy Raphael taping. I wasn’t that stupid. I just wanted to see how television worked.
