Attention Economy: REID #216
Here I go again
SHORT:
Starting a new rumor that I was born with 3 butt cheeks ... 3 cheek Reid1.
I think this will help my career.
MEDIUM:
It’s 11pm and Jess is watching a harrowing documentary about Vietnam while I mull over whether or not to include the phrase “ripping farts at Bank Of America’s Bryant Park Holiday Market” in this newsletter.
Now that Late Stage Live is on hiatus, I’ve been trying to focus on my own writing projects, but I’ve really just been tweeting things like, “The Wizard and I2 is, of course, about brunch with David Duke” and then worrying about what people think of me.
Yesterday, I opened my notebook and jotted down, “I need to lean into my star power.” Immediately after, I wrote, “Delete that.”
LONG:
I went to see Conclave on Saturday. The film itself was fine, but I couldn’t help imagining the Jewish version. A group of mothers locked in a room, waging psychological warfare over who gets to host break-the-fast. I considered writing an outline for that film, but then got worked up thinking about gentile actresses playing the roles of my mother, my mother’s friend Ruth-Anne, my mother’s friend Sandy, et al.
I also attended a screening of Eyes On The Prize III, the docu-series Jess worked on. It was incredibly moving and made me question what the hell I’m doing with my time on earth. It will stream in 2025, and if you don’t watch it, I’ll know!
I haven’t done stand-up in weeks, and I’m starting to miss it. Comedy venues are always wet in a way that makes no sense. The walls drip. But the floors? Bone dry. Maybe it’s the residue of comics who’ve exploded from humiliation mid-set — their juices mopped up soon after by the Eastern European house manager with pink hair and a mob-boss voice (if she pulled out a Glock and fired three warning shots into the ceiling instead of giving you the light, no one would blink).
I miss the balletic waitress gliding between tables with cold burgers, dodging attention while effortlessly de-escalating the manic 30-something in the front row who came alone and brought his own bottle of wine. And I miss watching comics skip-hop onto the stage, like they’re yanking confidence up from their guts and slapping it onto their faces.
I’ve been thinking about comedy’s messy role in the attention economy — how comics lately seem one punchline away from tears, their sets designed to cork up whatever might spill out. I want to navigate comedy and writing in a way that makes me feel thrilled-and-fulfilled, not microscopic-and-desperate3. I want a career that’s more than just staying relevant or holding it together.
I wish the stakes didn’t feel so high for everyone. It is, after all, a lovely we’re doing — trying to make people laugh. But ppl seem so preoccupied with who on the lineup is doing better or worse than them (onstage, online, and elsewhere). Instead of enjoying the absurd magic of sharing joy with strangers, we’re all silently tallying scores that don’t matter.
Anyway…
Guys Of The Week: two massive men on the train— one in a MAGA hat, one in a bedazzled cap that said PARIS who sort of just stared each other down as we cruised into Barclays Center. Two men, two Americas. Well, one America and one… France, I guess.
Guy Of The Week Runner Up/Special Mention: A tiny cis-het presenting grandpa dressed in a deeply boring collared shirt and slacks who turned around to reveal a ZEBRA-print Jansport backpack. Took my breath away.
Snack Of The Week: Cheesecake from Kiki’s nyc
C U Next Tuesday
Thank you for subscribing to this newsletter. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s not [it’s a lot like when people slip on ice].If this is your first time reading, pls check out the archives.
Sincerely,
Reid Pope
Bonus Jonas:
Does this joke do anything for anyone?
Cannot wait for the Wicked movie
I whine about this every six months and will continue to whine about it until I figure out a solution.