About

I’m an only child, the product of two teen parents: a formerly estranged dad and an overbearing mom. Boilerplate ’80s couple.

I spent the majority of my life in the trenches of my psyche, scheming up insane ways to get people to like me. An approach to friendship that is embarrassing in ways unfathomable to nuclear-household children.

Tell me, when was the last time you told a room full of peers and clergy members how badly you wanted to get to third base? Please, no follow-up questions at this time.

But there is a magnificent byproduct of being locked in a prison of my own imagination. It’s an insatiable appetite for creativity that exploded as soon as I landed in New York.

I got myself mixed up in everything entertainment. Stand-up led to improv led to acting led to screenwriting led to directing led to there’s nothing else I could possibly have done, so I stopped there. For now.

I became obsessed with making beautiful and hilarious and heartbreaking things. Still am. But my approach has evolved since I became a father.

Being a dad has changed the tenor and substance of my writing. Everything carries more warmth, more weight, more vulnerability. My humor is rooted in exhaustion and love rather than pure irreverence.

My art feels more meaningful. More honest. But who knows? I could still be completely full of shit. We might as well make some together, and you can tell me.

Make some art, by the way. Not shit. Unless that’s your thing. Then my day rate goes up.