I once saw Jerry Seinfeld perform at the Comic Strip Live in New York City, a comedy club on the Upper East Side that has remained stuck in the 80s despite the world moving on many times over. He was filming his 2017 Netflix special Jerry Before Seinfeld. I had jumped on an email-list opportunity to see one of comedy's pre-eminent legends for free.

At the time, I was gradually progressing along the early rungs of the NYC comedy ladder myself. Starting to do shows with actual warm bodies in the seats, mostly at B-team Greenwich Village comedy clubs like the Village Lantern and Grisly Pear. These gigs often consisted of only a handful of audience members, many of whom were angry at the fact that they had been misleadingly barked into the show; told that they were about to see the next Chris Rock, or that the show was actually funny.

As “up-and-coming” comedians, we’d always try to put an optimistic spin on our reality. Sure, these shows were absolutely miserable. But we were “getting our reps”, and these bang-your-head-against-the-wall experiences would make us unflappable as comics and people. Which I do think is all true. But in reality, many of these shows were really just one of two things: blackout drunk babysitting, or formalized conversations with 4-6 people.  

I remember one time after a particularly brutal show, another comic telling me. Don’t worry, even Seinfeld probably would have bombed in there. 

At the time, Seinfeld’s style of comedy–observational set up and punch–was not the anointed style of standup. This was the mid 2010s, where the confessional style of the flawed genius reigned supreme. Think Louis CK, Amy Schumer, Dave Chapelle, Bill Burr. Talk about yourself, your issues, how you see the world. Translate your pain into art. Seinfeldian riffs on airline food felt decidedly out. 

Trying to develop my own style, I always battled with these two dichotomies. I grew up in Suffolk County, Long Island in a town with good public schools and my only real struggle was that I was the middle child with parents who were doing their best. I didn’t have obvious pain. Seinfeld, with his perceptive streak and cultural Judaism, seemed more in line with my lived experience. But something about this style also felt couched. Like there was something deeper that needed to be excavated, and that maybe modern audiences would be able to see through me. That I wasn’t being real and raw. 

So when Seinfeld took the stage that Saturday night at the Comic Strip, I sat back with an arrogant curiosity. The genius of his classic sitcom notwithstanding, was Seinfeld’s standup success really just a product of his time? Would a more comedically fluent 2010s crowd be able to see through him? Would he in fact bomb at the same downtown shows I was struggling at?

Within 2 seconds of him taking the stage, I became fully embarrassed how much of a mid 20s idiot I was. 

Comedy is very much about faces and sounds, rhythm and timing. Great comics are more like virtuoso conductors. They have an uncanny ability to manipulate silence and energy with an effortlessness that only comes with thousands of hours of experience. Seinfeld was doing this better than anyone I had ever seen. 

Which is why the actual material of his jokes, heavily reliant on wordplay tricks and maybe even unfunny if anyone else tried them, are so perfectly expressed through him. 

One of the first jokes of the special is an extended riff on an observation that I, and pretty much anyone who has spent time on Long Island, has noticed. You don’t live in Long Island in the way you live in Cincinnati, Florida, or even New York City. You live on Long Island. 

Most comics doing that bit would probably leave it at that one observation, or maybe parlay it into a story of Ralph's Italian Ices. Seinfeld, though, diligently follows this line of thinking through the metropolitan obsession that is transportation all the way to the verbiage we use for modern technology and our inability to fully comprehend how fast the world is moving. 

It is not “real” and “raw” per se. But it gets to a universal truth that everyone in the room palpably feels. 

It made me realize Seinfeld’s genius isn’t the just specificity of his observations, or even his trademark delivery. It’s that he’s perfected that unique thing he has–voice, style, taste, whatever you want to call it– to the point of a master craftsman. His observations, combined with his delivery, timing, word choice, and all the rest, are operating together at the highest level possible. That is what makes him great, and what makes him able to successfully execute the specific style of comedy that he does. 

***

As a parent, I think about this concept a lot. Sure, there are basic criteria required to be a good parent. You need to keep your child safe, clothed, and not give them cookies every time they ask. 

But as I’m learning, so much about being a good parent has nothing to do with what books, well-meaning relatives, or some influencer on instagram tells you to do. Rather, it’s cultivating the best version of yourself so you can deliver your child the magic that they deserve. Figuring out how your talents and skills interplay with that of your children, while working extremely hard to stay disciplined. To not be constantly distracted, to keep your temper in check.  

Being the best parent possible is doing the thing that only you can do, and honing it to the point where you’re operating at the highest level possible. 

***

Right now, my older daughter (2.5 years old) is obsessed with a game we play called “Where’s Elmo.” This game consists of her Cookie Monster stuffy “looking” for Elmo, who my she hides somewhere in her room. I typically hold Cookie Monster and embody the Cookie ethos, doing his voice while furiously searching the room. Often while doing this I also have my 9 month old in the baby carrier, who giggles away, enamored with everything Cookie Monster. 

The game has gotten more elaborate as time goes on. Sometimes, Grover and Abby Cadabby get involved and bring their own elements into the mix. Grover plays the role of an eager but clueless sidekick. Abby has no patience for Grover’s cloud nine reality, because they have an urgent job to do. Ultimately, the game is a collabroation between my older daughter’s curiosity and developing imaginative play, my younger daughter being entertained, and me following that lead to the best of my ability. 

Every now and then I get both of the girls to really crack up, and it’s infinitely more rewarding than getting an audience of random people to laugh. In those moments, I know I’m being way more real than I ever could be on stage. 

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