I think comics do need permission to fail. I think comics do need permission to go up and try stuff.

I think I'm a very notoriously positive comic.

To a crowd that loves improv, Robin Williams is like Chuck Berry.

I think there's too many gay jokes in comedy and not enough honest explorations of sexuality.

Thank you to anyone who's ever watched or supported 'TCGS.' Even if you checked it out once, hated it, and never checked it out again - thank you for giving us a chance.

I am a stereotypical northeasterner. I'm always in a rush. I've attracted stares from out-of-towners when I've shoved past someone blocking the subway door.

Sometimes I get gigs in weird, artsy places because weird, artsy people embraced my public-access show, which I could only have done in the way I did in New York.

I know there are many things California can offer - personally, professionally, meteorologically - that New York can't. It sounds awesome.

I've taught people in improv classes, then watched them move to Los Angeles to become Emmy winners and movie stars. That experience, for anyone wondering, is both super exciting and also makes you put a microscope on your own life choices. It causes you to question why you still perform stand-up in so many Brooklyn basements.

Getting help for my issues was one of the hardest things I've ever done, because when I get dangerously sad or manic, those feelings seek to perpetuate themselves.

Part of North Jersey life is that everyone is obsessed with being tough all the time.

West Orange, where I grew up, is the hometown of Ian Ziering from 'Beverly Hills, 90210,' Scott Wolf from 'Party of Five,' David Cassidy from the 'Partridge Family,' and Mike Pitt of 'Boardwalk Empire' and 'Dawson's Creek.'

I get to do comedy for a living.

I've exceeded the expectations people had for me as an unconfident runt who grew up in North Jersey as well as the expectations I had for myself.

I'm very happy with my decision to go sober. It's helped my life. It's helped my mental stability.

I quit drinking in 2002, mere months before my college graduation.

Having money didn't make me less of a socially incapable loser; it just made me a socially incapable loser who wasn't in debt.

No aspect of my brief and mild fame actually made me happier.

When my TV show was in production, dozens of women asked me out on Facebook. Some were shy about it; some were blatant. Some I knew, some were total strangers. But they went for it.

In 2010, I was the star of a sitcom. It came and went pretty fast. But in the months from when I was cast in the sitcom through when it was done airing, my life did change remarkably.

The bad you see in N.Y.C. is troubling to know when it rears its ugly head.

Any notable moments spent on a subway usually do nothing more than expose human awfulness at its most pronounced.

Bedbugs have never been cool, and bedbugs will never be cool.

In late 2004, I left my much-maligned home state of New Jersey for the supposedly greener pastures of Astoria, Queens. I'd finally be in the mix, living off the subway line, able to go from audition to audition during the day and from late night show to late night show in the wee hours of the morning.