I took this photo on the uptown A train this morning — there’s really not a lot else that can be said:
Her t-shirt reads (for Google purposes): “I am having an out of money experience.”
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Last weekend’s New York Times ran a story about The Moth, bringing apeloads of free publicity and NYC cred. The author name-checked a number of my friends from the Moth scene. I told a story on the night the writer was there, saw the same performances he did. It’s nothing but good for my friends, and the Moth staff, who I also consider a collective group of supportive friends. I’m really happy for them all.
It only took a day or two for the little voice in me to stop whimpering “but, but what about MEEEEeee?” Which, to be honest, is a lot less time than it usually takes. The Moth has helped me grow in many, many ways.
Here’s an excerpt from the story, “Going Solo Gets Crowded.“
Since they began in 1997, storytelling nights hosted by the Moth, a nonprofit, have helped aspiring writers try out new material in a nurturing environment. But lately, storytelling has exploded into a thriving genre all its own, a new avenue to prominence for writers and, increasingly, for actors and comedians. In a sense, storytelling has become the new stand-up — a way to be noticed by the literary agents, actors and directors who increasingly populate the audiences.
The Moth — the dominant name in the live storytelling scene — has expanded its number of shows to 85 this year in New York and Los Angeles, from 26 in 2006. The group now holds four open-mike slams in different New York venues each month, compared with once a month in 2006, and has expanded to Los Angeles, where it holds two slams a month. Attendance is surging, to a projected 15,000 this year from 4,000 in 2006, organizers said. Events continue to sell out, even at larger venues. In the next two years, the Moth plans to expand to at least 10 cities.
If you read the entire story, you could be forgiven for thinking that performing at The Moth is a shortcut to fame, riches, and creative fulfillment. I’m here to tell you that it ain’t exactly Lana Turner at the soda fountain, people.
It’s possible to show up at a Moth Slam, get on stage and win straight away and go home feeling like you’ve hit a home run with one hand while saving a baby from a fire with the other. However, nobody’s going to recognize you on the subway the next day.
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It’s been said that you should never meet your heroes — but whoever said it never knew my friend Juliet. Juliet was one of my first friends in the NYC storytelling scene, and she’s an absolute titan: strange, hilarious and heartwarming all at once. She wrote this piece about David Lynch in Philadelphia, but brother, believe you me — this pony can turn a LOT of tricks.
She’s been busting her hump all summer to pull together a 40 minute extravaganza, a colossal odyssey through 5 twisted years that she’ll be performing on Sunday, August 23rd at 6 pm at the Cornelia Street Cafe. I’ve heard snippets of these stories while we were drunk on a friend’s porch, on stage at the Moth and over the phone in the middle of the night while I was having a painkiller-induced nervous breakdown and I’m here to tell you: this is going to be spectacular. Plus my friend Jim, one of the other best storytellers I know directed the thing. So there you have it.
This is not just the friendship talking. I’ve seen her wreck a packed house in New York and drunkenly insult the city of Philadelphia to its collective face. And it’s magnificent.
This is a taste of Sunday’s show, a story she told in Philadelphia last year that is a small part of Sunday’s bigger whole. Check it out for yourselves, and I hope to see you there …
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I told this story at my friends Brad and Cyndi’s “Stories at the Creek” a couple weeks ago. It’s a work in progress for me. I’m trying to turn this year’s cancer battles (well documented on this blog) into a story I tell on stage, and this is the first crack.
Like I say in the video, I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk about this or not, but I’m ready to be ready to talk about this, and that’s as good a start as any. I think that telling stories based on our memories helps us get control of them and bend them to our purposes — something I’m really eager to do with this particular experience.
I wouldn’t have told this or posted it if I weren’t ready to see this as material, something to be honed and edited with the help of sharp-eyed, caring friends.
This thing’s a whammy, too — two ten-minute videos about cancer and depression. Not exactly the light and fluffy feel-good romantic comedies I’m known for performing, so brace yourselves. Maybe this is like watching “Requiem for a Dream” (not to flatter myself): good once, but a total fricking BUMMER.
Long story short, I’m used to telling funnier stories with big laugh payoffs, and this sure isn’t one of those.
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I snapped this on my iPhone last night on Christopher Street while I was waiting for a friend. It’s sweet, sad, and totally bad-ass all at once.
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