-I’ve done something I never thought I’d do.  The unthinkable.  The unconscionable.  The unfathomable.  Something that I fought against with every fiber of my being.  I’ve entered uncharted territory, summoned by fate and destiny, and been brought to a world unlike anything I’ve ever known.  I’ve joined the Dark Side.  It all happened so fast.  But it happened.  I moved…… to Los Angeles.  Holy fucking shit.  Welcome to the City of Angles.

-I was born and raised on Long Island.  I went to college in Philadelphia.  And I spent the last four years carousing in the streets of Manhattan.  I’m pale-skinned, neurotic, obnoxious, and a die-hard Yankees fan.  In other words, I’m pretty much as East Coast as you can get.  But here I am, writing this from my one-bedroom in West Hollywood.  My first week here, I walked outside to get something to eat.  There was nothing – no bodegas, no delis, just blocks and blocks of stores selling lighting fixtures.  Wonderful.  I move 3,000 miles across the country to a new city and somehow end up in the lamp district.

-So what’s my first impression of the people of Los Angeles?  Whorish?  Vacuous?  Fake?  No.  Nice.  That’s right, nice.  I can’t believe how many people have introduced themselves to me in my building.  If someone even asked me my name in my building in New York, I’d be tempted to punch them in the neck and run the other way lest they dare even think about looking in my direction again.  Cordiality – what a concept!

-You ask, what the fuck am I doing here in the first place?  Well, quite simply, I’m continuing to pursue my sitcom and stand-up dreams.  Only problem is, so is everyone else here.  What kind of sucks is that if I’m in a bar in New York and mention I’m an author/comedian, I get an excited response, and maybe even a hand job in the bathroom.  In LA, when I mention I’m an author/comedian, I get an uninterested response.  Then I get asked if I have an agent or a deal.  I say yes and then I get the hand job.  It’s that extra step that’s killing me.