I got an alcohol-induced call from my frat brother Peter the other night, and I must love him because I paused “The Night Of” to answer my phone.
No, I definitely love him because Peter is a big fan of mine, and doled out some tough love about my career. (Things haven’t changed. In college I drove a piece of shit Volvo, and in our fraternity’s year-end magazine, in which Peter roasted all 120 brothers, he said “Matt Shevin, just remember – it’s not the car. It’s the man behind the wheel.”)
Peter wanted to know why, when he gets together with other guys from our frat, he talks me up but has little to show them. (One of them did message me recently that he saw me in a movie during a flight, which is cool, but Peter is right.) I shot three comedy sketches last summer, and got so focused on writing new material, I still haven’t edited them yet. Now I’m going to.
So thank you, Peter. Fire lit. In the meantime, I drive a nice SUV now, and have your shame to credit for that.
