…on May 21st. The same day the world was supposed to end. I’m not jumping to conclusions.
The previous Wednesday, I was part of the killer lineup at Ben Lillie’s Story Collider, where he brings science to the masses with true tales of everyday life. It’s sort of a genius idea, but I bet you don’t get to become a high-energy particle physicist by being a moron. But of course, I wouldn’t know. Just like I don’t know how to get myself out of a damn zoo after closing hours. (The original theme of the night was “Zoology,” leading Ben to invite me to tell “that ridiculous zoo story.” Then the theme changed to “Bodies,” but I was kept on the bill to tell “that ridiculous story featuring….caged…bodies?” It was a stretch, but I went with it.)
A photographer was there, snapping away, but I didn’t think anything of it. There’s usually somebody taking pictures at storytelling events, and they only surface if there’s one of me looking like I’m chewing on an invisible log. Candid photos are not my friends. But manservant Mike asked the photographer where he was from, and spent the next few days checking the WSJ website, til he hit gold, and shared this:
So for the first time in ages, I went out and bought an actual physical newspaper. Okay, ten actual physical newspapers.
It was great to make it into print, but I couldn’t help but notice one glaring oversight: David Dickerson told far and away the best story of the night, about his adventure skinny-dipping in Red Tide. It was funny, exhilarating and – like the best stories – really, genuinely moving. I can only guess that the reporter was in the loo at the time.
Go here to find out when the next Story Collider is, and to hear podcasts from past shows: http://storycollider.org/
Brad Lawrence puts on an amazing show. I’ve said that before, but this time, there’s proof! Download the The Standard Issues episode from 2/23 to hear our inaugural attempt at relay storytelling. A Domino Effect, if you will.
Right now, I should be working on the story I’m telling at tomorrow night’s How I Learned. But, I’m a bit of a procrastinator. So instead, I’ll write about how swell the How I Learned series is.
It’s pretty darn swell.
Our host, the lovely Blaise Allysen Kearsley, has a knack for lining up the perfect blend of writers: the hilarious, the sincere, and my favorite, the hilariously sincere. She also knows how to pack the joint, so get there early.
On October 10th, the kids’ network I’d been working on for months made its worldwide debut. The following night, I performed in the LA Moth GrandSLAM. So, not a whole lot of prep time on this one. The theme was “Without a Net,” which I ended up taking literally. And I knew that I couldn’t tell a story onstage in Los Angeles without including David Pincus: a beloved friend and natural storyteller.
And a story that won the Los Angeles Slam in August, probably because the judges were all like, “yeah, the same thing once happened to me.” It’s all about being relatable.
It was my first week back in LA, so I thought, what the hey? Let’s check out the storytelling scene here. Like the rest of the East Coast wordies, I’d written off the Los Angeles Moth as a bastion of Professional Handsome Men, telling tales of their professional handsomeness while keeping their best side downstage, toward the crowd full of agents.
What I found when I walked into Busby’s on Wilshire (once I found Wilshire. Who moved all the roads while I was gone?) was a warm welcoming crowd filled with nerds and weirdos – some of them professionally handsome, sure – and a welcoming air that, frankly, I haven’t felt that strongly in awhile. And certainly didn’t expect to find in LA, a city I fled in misery six years ago.
So I got me a beverage and settled in to listen to stories about Narrow Escapes. The weekend before, I started reworking the Zoo story to fit this theme, before getting distracted by a shiny thing (this town is nothing if not shiny) and deciding to simply be a spectator.
Then the final call came to put names in the hat, which coincided with Stella Artois’ arrival in my empty stomach, and then there goes my name, into the hat, which is actually a festive logo tote. My name joined about 20 others, so the odds weren’t great that I would get called. I’ve never winged it before at a Moth. The very thought makes my chest hurt. But nobody knew me in this room, so what better place to crash and burn?
When my name was called, my mouth went dry and Stella made an attempt to escape. Oh. Good. Lord. What have I gotten myself into?
A winning story, and a shot at Monday’s GrandSLAM title, that’s what!!
Much like Cher’s Farewell Tour turned out to be simply a farewell to 2001, my last appearance on a Speakeasy stage was the very last…before this one. Which will indeed be my last, as our lovely host Sherry is hanging it up to spend more time with her family, the one that drives her nuts and inspires 98% of her stories.
Oh, she’ll be back.
But until then, come out to Cornelia Street Café on Tuesday, March 2nd, at 8:30pm to say goodbye. Goodbye to March 2nd, and perhaps even goodbye to Speakeasy Stories.
If my first job of the 10s is any indication, it’s going to be a neat decade. Holly Carter is the founder of BYkids, an organization that puts cameras in the hands of kids around the world, letting them tell their personal stories under the guidance of professional filmmakers. BYkids combines my 2 favorite pastimes – travel and storytelling – with the kind of raw, genuine filmmaking you only find in a demographic that hasn’t yet developed an ego.
In January, Holly asked me to take their latest work and edit it down for consideration in short film festivals. The film, My Country is Tibet, is by Namgyal Wangchuk Trichen Lhagyari, the 17-year-old king of this embattled nation. It’s the story of his life in exile in India, and the footsteps he must fill in a land he doesn’t belong to. I had to take Trichen’s film and cut it nearly in half, rearranging nearly every scene in order to preserve his voice and his story. It’s not every day I get to edit a king.
Last month, I was invited to read at Blaise Kearsley’s show, “How I Learned,” a monthly series staged at a former Chinatown massage parlor called Happy Ending. Typically, I avoid readings. They can be twee and pretentious and self-serving, and the pages form a weird barrier between the storyteller and audience. Plus, a lot of good writers can’t read.
But the theme for this night was “How I Learned I Might Be Obsessed,” and I happen to have a really twee, self-serving story about this very topic. And having it on paper meant I wouldn’t have to commit it to memory, and I’d have something to hold between myself and the audience. And besides, it was the night of the Moth Grand Slam, the grandaddy of storytelling events. There was no pressure. I mean, who the hell is going to schlep all the way over to Chinatown on a Grand Slam night?
Answer: everybody. The place was packed. Cheek-to-jowl, standing room only, and I didn’t recognize a single face. Blaise does an amazing job of spreading the word, helped along by glowing recommendations in Time Out and New York Magazine. She does an even better job hosting, giving hilarious glimpses into her own obsession (Oprah) with a mixture of humility and generosity rarely seen in somebody whose name is that close to the title.
My fellow readers slayed me. The stories were captivating, the audience responsive, the air positively tingling. I hadn’t had this much fun in – or at – a story event in ages. Here’s our hostess’s take on the evening:
This month is “How I Learned to Lie, Cheat or Steal,” featuring Ophira Eisenberg and Andy Christie, the host of The Liar Show – my other favorite event of all time. It’s an incestuous night on the Lower East Side, and you don’t want to miss it. On Wednesday the 24th, get yourself to Happy Ending.
An old nugget from The Moth Story Slam at the Nuyorican. The theme of the night was “persuasion.” You can talk me into doing a lot of things, but don’t try talking me into another blind date. Enjoy the top of my head as it tells you why. (Note to self: next time, lower the mike.)
