I haven’t posted in days – longer than I typically go. So, I woke up committed to getting this done.
Though, I’ve spent the better part of the last 90-minutes deleting half-posts.
What I actually want to write about is Sunday night’s episode of I’m Dying Up Here. It follows a group of young comics trying to make a living being who they are and doing what they do out in L.A. in the 1970s.
One of the characters, Eddie (played by Michael Angarano) is this kid from Boston who brings his buddy out west with the best laid plans–to move in with another comic friend from Beantown–only to find that, that place (and that friend) is no longer an option.
Eddie immediately goes to work on Plan B – secures a closet for him and his buddy to crash and gets a gig at a deli, where he convinces the owner to let him do 10-minutes during his shift for an audience that really just wants a decent sandwich.
Eddie is killing himself. Doing whatever it takes to actually pay his bills, fill his belly and squeeze in his standup. His art.
Eddie’s buddy on the other hand – far more go with the flow – leaves the worrying and planning and even the un-fucking to Eddie.
Eddie’s buddy lands a sitcom. Eddie winds up writing jokes for a morning show radio host who initially ripped off some of his material after catching his bit at the deli.
I can’t STOP thinking about this episode because, I’m Eddie.
I want to be his buddy. I want so much to be more go with the flow and to not just believe but to know that it’ll work out. (And I also wouldn’t mind a role on a sitcom.)
But, I’m Eddie.
I’m the one finding ways to work my art into my day jobs. Spending nights and weekends telling stories in dingy nightclubs, and big theaters, and small coffee shops and church basements. I’m waking up early (after getting in far too late) to write a post…to…I don’t know…write a post.
Eddie and I are both kind of dying up here – but for anxious, scattered, crazy, creative (workaholic) characters like us – that kind of dying feels a whole hell of a lot like living.