Sitting in my tiny Chelsea hotel room, listening to the young German hipsters in the hallway. They jump from English to native tongue, slouching against the worn cracked walls, recounting immediate sensations and little more. They're like many of the younger people I've encountered this week -- lots of attitude and posturing, texting while chatting, seemingly busy yet static and vague.
Yes I sound old and out of it, as doubtless I am. Inescapable. But if there's a youthful cutting edge to the city, I've yet to see it. These kids seem like standard consumers, playing their demographic roles that are flashed all over town, images so boring and obvious that one wonders what's the point.
As another geezer, Trent Reznor, once said, the pigs have won.
I have mixed feelings about coming back to NYC. There are times when I feel like a specter haunting old spots, nostalgia clouding my perception. The city's energy is a welcome relief from dull Midwestern life, where locals go through the same paces daily and nothing much happens. I feel dead there, but out of place here. Maybe the latter will change when I settle in for a longer stay. I can't say I'm confident.
I've performed on two stages so far, and look to hit one or two more before I leave. NYC's comedy scene is an angry, cliquish one, at least downtown. I've yet to venture above 26th Street. I feel out of place here as well, but in a creative way. My material is so different from the sets I've seen, which hasn't endeared me to most of the comics I've met. But I believe in my stuff, some of the best work I've produced in some time.
I'll write about this in greater depth when I return to Michigan. Right now, I want to watch some basketball, read the Sunday Times, have a beer, and later see old friends. Love to all.