As most of you know, Ben Epstein has bro-hugged his last bouncer; he’s negotiated his fraught relationship with Lake Bell for the final time; and he will never again be able to introduce himself. Media outlets were ablaze following confirmation of the unthinkable: as 2011 draws to a close, How To Make It In America has been cancelled, and iconic television character Ben Epstein has faded into the past tense.
Say what?
As I said last week, people have reached out, and (I assume jokingly) have offered their condolences for the passing of this show. Now, given that I had absolutely zero actual involvement with this program, you would think I wouldn’t be too broken up about it. After all, I began this blog about two years almost as a preemptive strike against the inevitable comparisons I’d receive to HBO Ben Epstein. In that first post, I said this:
“Hello. I’m Ben Epstein. You may know me as a fictional character on HBO’s television dramedy How To Make It In America, starring a stubbly, hipsterish, late 20s, Jewish, reddish-tinted brown-haired guy living in New York City principally defined by his numerous personal and professional failures. In fact, I am a stubbly, hipsterish, late 20s, Jewish, reddish-tinted brown-haired guy recently moved from New York City principally defined by having the same name as a character on a television series.”
So yes, I began vaguely annoyed with the existence of this show. Keep in mind, of course, that when this show began, the name Ben Epstein was pretty synonymous with failure. Now he’s become synonymous with other things: 70s-inspired jeans, T-shirts, sauntering, squinting, bouncers, Lake Bell’s boobs, using the expression “ill,” fucking Gina Gershon, etc. So the associations were not so bad, it turned out.
Most students of narrative would agree that the true test of any kind of drama is whether we, the audience, feels something — anything — while being swept up in the story. Do we identify with the characters? Do we see ourselves in them? How To Make It In America’s star and I shared a name, yes, but as I forced myself, week after week, to comment on his predicaments, well, I started seeing more of me, too.
(That, or I allowed a totally indulgent and narcissistic private joke I had with myself run on far too long and in a public forum, a possibility I’d be foolish to discard. But anyway.)
I’ll miss this show. I’ll miss this blog. Randomly sharing a name and many of the superficial traits as a TV character is an odd and singular experience. Thank you all for reading. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take the train to Brooklyn. These jeans aren’t going to inspire themselves. And before you start hating, don’t knock the hustle, yo.
Sigh.
Keep Making It.
- Ben Epstein
My Fellow Americans,
It is with a heavy heart that I report How To Make It In America has been cancelled. For those who havn’t seen the story:
I am on vacation now where Internet reception is spotty, so I will hold on posting my proper eulogy for the greatest television show in the history of the medium. Or, at least, the greatest television show in the history starring a character with the same name as me.
Also, it’s pretty funny how many condolences I’ve received concerning the cancellation of this show. For those of you who care: next time I wear 70s-inspired jeans, I’ll do it for you.
Keep making it.
- Ben Epstein
How To Make It In America’s sophomore season finale, “What’s In a Name?” has a fitting title. This entire blog belly-flopped its way into existence because of bizarre coincidence involving the name of the show’s title character and my own, and, of course, the odd superficial similarities between us worth exploring on a weekly basis. (Well, a “weekly” basis for 8 out of 52 weeks, but you get my point. Were a character on Passions named Ben Epstein, this blog might face considerably more obstacles.) So, one must wonder, just how much do the two Ben Epsteins have in common? Beyond the easy and familiar jokes — our common age, our shared propensities towards failure, his success with models/doormen and my failure with the previously mentioned demographic — what do the two of us share? Would I relate to this character if he had been named something else? What, in fact, is in a name?
Now granted, Ian Edelman did not have this blog in mind when he titled his finale; I assume it had to do with Ben Epstein and Victor Vargas wrestling with the overly aggressive Israeli Yosi over the name “Crisp” and whether it could instead be called “Crunch,” Lake Bell switching jobs, Luis Guzman outing Dr. Benton, some rapper rapping, and, you know, more tom-foolery, ballyhoo and shenanigans. But to answer this week’s initial question, it turns out that there may be more to Ben Epstein and I beside our obvious commonalities. Perhaps, as the show reaches its possible conclusion, I have come to regard my fictional counterpart as a buddy, a comrade in arms, a dude trying his best while squinting his way along. And while he’s tried to be like me — making an ass of himself on bad pot, pursuing women over a decade his senior — well, maybe I’m trying to be more like him, too. Maybe I can also saunter and introduce myself all the way to the top.
After all, Ben Epstein eventually tells Yosi and Gina Gershon to fuck themselves, walks away from their dirty cash with his integrity intact, and returns to Victor Vargas to rechristen Crisp in all its 70s-inspired jeans glory. I, too, have walked away from a massive paycheck in the name of artistic principles. (That is, if you replace the words “massive” with “paltry” and “artistic principles” with “inability to figure out how to write a Nickelodeon movie about how two corporately-manufactured girl pop groups come together to fight crime or sing songs or something so unreasonably terrible that the Ben Epstein on the show just got less cool by virtue of sharing a name with someone who contemplated that job.”)
Yeah, this is how Ben Epstein feels about that last sentence:
Best not to speak of it again.
Also, it should be noted, in this episode, Ben Epstein spends a lot of time bumming cigarettes, which leads me to believe he’s not a regular smoker, but drags at the cancer sticks only in times of anxiety. I actually have a pack of Parliaments I keep in my apartment for the very same types of occasion — nicotine to combat stress. I smoke Parliaments not because of any knowledge of what constitutes fine tobacco, but because that’s what the cool kids smoked in high school theater. Yes, I base my occasional smoking habits off of what a bunch of sixteen-year-olds smoked in 1998. That seems more retarded written out than in my head. Perhaps, one wonders, that’s how Ben Epstein makes his cigarette-based decisions as well?
Anyway, anonymous tumblr followers who’s account names I mostly do not recognize, I suppose this may be the final entry of“How To Make It As Ben Epstein” while How To Make It In America remains an active participant in HBO’s lineup. I hear that the premium cable network is scrutinizing their comedies heavier than usual, and the fate of Sunday night’s block may hang in the balance. Rest assured, if there is relevant info on How To Make It In America surfaces, you know where to find it reported. A good eight days after everyone else has already reported it. Hey, I never said this blog was punctual. I never said this blog was particularly good, either. But no matter what, this isn’t the “Martini” post. It’s the “Abbey Singer.” (And if you don’t know what those terms mean, I guess you don’t work on film sets or go to film school.)
Strange — at first I resented Ben Epstein, but now I hope I haven’t seen the last of the old failure. If anything, he makes me more interesting at dinner parties, and who wants to listen to the 30-year-old man talk about how he used to share a name with a character on an HBO show? No, people want to hear a 30-year-old man talk about how he currently shares a name with a character on an HBO show.
That, after all, is what defines cool. Just ask Ben Epstein. He’ll tell you.
Keep making it.
- Ben Epstein
Apologies again, loyal followers. As the season finale of How To Make It In America races towards us, I realize I am entire week behind. I know, it’s been excruciating for all of you. The excuse is that Ben Epstein — both of us — have been working hard on fixing Greece’s economy and smoothing over Italy’s transfer of power. How do we do this? By writing about teenage girls and designing T-shirts, of course! We’re all contributing in our own way. Why did Katrina go down the way it did? Well, How To Make It In America wasn’t on the air yet. Obviously.
Last week’s episode featured a lot of disparate plot threads coming together to set the stage for tonight’s finale. Honestly, if you are simply a reader of this blog and not a watcher of the show, any summary might prove confusing. I’ll try anyway: Lake Bell high, Ben Epstein, Victor Vargas, Guy Who Will Probably Fuck Stifler’s Mom Yet Again in American Reunion goes to jail, Rasta Monsta.
Okay, I’ll make a deal with you: I will write a shitty post today but follow it up with absolute balls-to-the-wall dynamite tomorrow for the finale. I got nothing here.
Oh, one thing: in this episode, Ben Epstein’s neurotic Jewish buddy Kapo is about to be thrown in prison for insider trading. Ben Epstein is awesome and cool in his support. Eight years ago on the set of my student film at the South Street Seaport, my neurotic Jewish producer saw that the water police approaching. “We have permits!” he shouted, but feared he MIGHT go to jail anyway. “I can’t go to jail,” he said. “I’ll never make it on the inside! They will rape me!” Like Ben Epstein, I calmed him with my unflappable cool. See? Just TRY to rattle that stubbly failure:
Impossible!
Actually, I’m not sure I was unflappably cool. I was probably worried rain would kill my shoot. He didn’t get arrested though. See? All good. But it later turned out all that footage was out of focus anyway. Reshoots were awesome. Ah well. Art.
Keep making it.
- Ben Epstein
Anonymous asked: What shoes was Ben wearing on the park bench in episode 15?
I think it’s amazing you think I might know the answer to that question.
Despite “I’m Sorry, Who’s Yosi?” beginning and ending with How To Make It In America’s hero making sweet yet aggressive love to Gina Gershon (Gina Gershon!), last night’s episode continues the intriguing trend of Ben Epstein’s life aligning with my own.
Okay, so I’ve never had sex with Gina Gershon on a boat while celebrating her Israeli husband’s birthday after I’ve just gotten into potentially lucrative business with him, but let’s not focus on that particular nuance just now. No, “I’m Sorry, Who’s Yosi?” appeals to me because it puts Ben Epstein as Jew and a New Yorker front and center. Also, because the episode’s eponymous Yosi does utter the phrase in his Jew-tastic Israeli accent “Which one of you bastards is Ben Epstein?” which I still find trippy and weird.
At one point, Victor Vargas says regarding Yosi “He’s Jewish, right? Isn’t he like from your homeland?” and Ben says “I’m a reconstructionist Jew. My homeland is the Upper West Side.” I’ve been in Los Angeles for almost three years at this point, but for the nearly ten I lived in New York City, I spent most of my obligatory Jewish holidays at the SAJ, a reconstructionist synagogue on the Upper West Side. (http://www.facebook.com/SAJHebrewSchool). I draw attention to this particular institution because there aren’t that many reconstructionist temples around, and its mention on the show is noteworthy. I wonder if, on one grumpy Yom Kippur day, Ben Epstein and I spied each from across the temple rows. Most likely not, because then time and space would stop and the universe would most likely collapse in on itself.
Leaving aside Ben Epstein’s fledgling Judaism, there’s another moment in last night’s episode that rang true with me. While on Yosi’s boat, Ben Epstein looks out at his city and says to Gina Gershon “I used to feel like it was mocking me, like it represented everything I wanted but couldn’t have. Tonight, I feel like I got a shot.” In the years I lived in New York, I often felt that way; sometimes the city was a magical bastion of possibility and dreams in the making, while other times it became a crushing, soul-sucking reminder of all the things I’d yet to — and as it seemed most likely wouldn’t — accomplish. And while LA has since become my home, last night’s episode made me miss New York. Still, I suspect the sentiment of a city’s dual evocations is transferrable to any city that represents ambition and its accompanying struggles. Many episodes of Entourage featured the gang gazing onto the sparkling lights and sprawling vistas of LA from the Hollywood Hills and remarking about how it was theirs for the taking. Having still not really “made it” in America just yet, Ben Epstein finds Manhattan’s parallel view imposing. I get it. But still, Ben’s comment comes at a time when he’s just on the cusp of something else, and that too makes sense.
… Of course, when I voice these types of observations, people usually say “Cool, yeah, totally. Um, where’s the bathroom?” or “What? I’m sorry. You have something on your face.” But when Ben Epstein says these things, Gina Gershon fucks him in the bathroom. Ah well.
Keep making it.
- Ben Epstein
In tonight’s episode, Lake Bell goes on a bike ride with a bunch of Brooklyn hipsters, Luis Guzman pauses his Rasta Monsta hawking to help his estranged girlfriend’s teenage daughter come out of the closet, and Ben Eptein and Victor Vargas hustle the good hustle, wooing some St. Louis sales reps by getting them into some awesome club. Then Ben Epstein has sex with Gina Gershon.
Oh, where to start?! How about here:
I don’t like clubs. I never really have. I think it’s because I’m essentially kind of an uncoordinated dancer, with my best (and only) “moves” consisting of a twirl, a dip, and then variations on twirls and dips. Of course, this dancing is not really the kind one does at clubs — unless, of course, they are swing clubs or 60s throwback clubs, but again, unlike my TV counterpart, I don’t really go to clubs, so I’m not the authority. I’ve been told recently to just snap while the girl dances around me — this was by the girl dancing around me. Thanks, Lake Bell. I’m not self-conscious at all.
Now, one could say that my aversion to clubs stems from a) me being a reasonable person, and b) the first time I went to a club. I had just arrived in Manhattan to start my freshman year at NYU, and on my last day of being seventeen a few days before classes began, my sophomore mentor and her friend took me to Twilo, which, according to Wikipedia, closed down in 2001. Being hopelessly out of place, both in New York and at a club in general, I wore my “best” outfit, which was a XL tan Banana Republic sweater (I actually wear a medium) and brown baggy pants. The girls I was with were wearing huge raver jeans, carried glow sticks, and were sucking on pacifiers.
“Why are you sucking on pacifiers?” I said.
“We’re on E!” they said happily.
“What’s E?” I asked.
So, you get the picture. And while my club experiences have improved, I can’t say they’ve really improved dramatically. Despite my earlier claim of being a reasonable person, I consider this club aversion to be mostly my own fault. I think if I were more confident in my ability to sit at a table, have superficial conversations with strangers, be able to actually HEAR said superficial conversations with strangers, I might feel more young/hip/exciting/awesome.
Ben Epstein, of course, is in his element in clubs, bro-hugging bouncers left and right (a motif, really, throughout the series and this blog), and compensates for his lack of professional success with a generous supply of irrepressible cool. Again, he beats me in that category. Now, that being said, he’s the one on a TV show, and he’s the one who’s able to have audible conversations in places such as this. So maybe it’s not my fault. Although, really, who is that close to bouncers? I don’t mean to be a dick, and I am as nice as possible to every bouncer I meet, but when did Ben Epstein find the time to get to know these bouncers? I’d get it if he were a hot girl, but he’s a stubbly Jewish dude. Why do bouncers want to know him? Why do they want to help him out? Does Ben Epstein share his hopes and dreams of making it in hoodies and T-Shirts, and then the bouncers are like “Yeah, man, I came here to sing on Broadway.” I guess everyone’s got dreams.
Also, I’d be remiss for not mentioning Ben Epstein’s older woman hookup, although I’ll reference it briefly and hopefully as un-douchey as possible. As Victor Vargas says to a sales rep in this episode, “I’m not trying to be that guy.” There was a period in New York, several years ago, where I seemed to surprise all my friends (not to mention myself) when I dated a few women who were over a decade older than me. However, none of them trying to sell my hoodies, and none of them were Gina Gershon. One did snap that she’d “fucking outlive me” when I cited our age difference as being a factor in why our relationship wasn’t growing more serious. That was a weird night.
Now Ben Epstein is just trying to be more like me! I get it, man, I’m awesome. Don’t be weird about it. See you at the club.
Keep making it,
- Ben Epstein
Recently, it was pointed out to me by someone that my blog tends to focus on comparing my past romantic relationships to the trials and tribulations of Ben Epstein on How To Make It In America (yeah, you know who you are, Lake Bell). I think, dear readers, that we may be bumping up on the possible limitations of what this weekly exercise in self-indulgence can safely offer. So, in keeping up with my startling lack of imagination, we will once again plow the same harvested ground.
In tonight’s episode, Luis Guzman receives a blowjob, Ben and Lake Bell go to an old friend’s wedding, Victor Vargas shoots photographs of Joe Pantoliano and then showers with his daughter (!), and Ben learns that his friend who I think is a DJ when not appearing in How To Make It In America has been hooking up with Lake Bell.
I have never had a close friend attempt to date one of my exes, but I do find the ethical dilemma pretty compelling. As people get older and log more time in the dating trenches, overlap inevitably surfaces. Sometimes I talk about these concerns to my parents, to which my dad says in his thick Brooklyn accent, “Benjamin, I don’t understand your generation! If you aren’t going with [yes, “going with”] someone anymore, why should you care if they’re going with a friend of yours?” I’ve attempted to explain the proprietary nature of exes, but my dad, God bless him, thinks everyone is “just being too sensitive.”
Now my father’s advice to someone being in a bad mood is usually “stop being in a bad mood,” so I understand where his lack of indulgence comes from. Also, he’s of a generation where men weren’t encouraged to be in touch with their feelings. Anyway, I think I arrived somewhere reasonable with this theoretical issue. If it’s a serious ex, then you shouldn’t cross the line. If it’s someone you casually dated, then go with God. But DJ friend, Lake Bell was Ben Epstein’s girl. That’s hallowed ground. Shame on the both of you.
I knew a guy once who dated a close friend’s ex right after they broke up. I asked him how he thought his friend would react. “I knowingly sacrificed the friendship,” he said. I thought it was a dick move.
Ben Epstein, you deserve better.
Keep making it.
- Ben Epstein
Sorry for the late post, Epsteiners. (Is that a phrase I should use? A phrase anyone should use? Do I want you to use it?) I’ve been busy being too lazy to think of a good blog post for last week’s episode about everyone’s favorite television character. But now with Sunday looming and a fresh outing on the horizon, well, my pen cannot be silenced.
So, first’s things first: you see Lake Bell’s boobs in this episode. I consider my blog too classy to show pictures of said boobs on it, but this is how I would imagine Lake Bell’s expression would be reacting to this piece of information:
Cool. How does this relate to my life? Well, um, on the show, see, because they used to date and stuff, Ben Epstein has seen Lake Bell’s boobs at some point. And, uh, now I have, too. See? Totally relevant!
Now that we’ve covered that essential piece of business, onto the meat of the show. So, Ben and Victor Vargas get hired by Gina Gershon’s kids to design a logo for their middle school graduation, Ben tells Lake Bell that thinking about their relationship “makes him feel sick” (but in a nice way) which causes Lake Bell and Ben’s pot-dealing friend hook up allowing her boobs make their fateful appearance. Also, Luis Guzman says “Rasta Monsta” some more while people skateboard.
I really liked that in this episode, Ben Epstein was an idiot. It probably comes as no surprise to my loyal and psychologically attuned readers that I don’t feel as cool as my TV counterpart — I don’t hang out with as many models, I don’t say “ill” without irony, I don’t have ins with all the underground party people New York has to offer. Plus, he looks like Bryan Greenberg. So I like when Ben says stupid shit to his ex-girlfriend, because, well, I’ve said a lot of stupid shit to ex-girlfriends. But, you know, with the best of intentions.
One example comes to mind. About five years ago, my long-term girlfriend broke up with me. Relatively soon after, I learned she’d already gotten a new boyfriend. At first my pride was hurt, but it wasn’t long before I came around. We were having one of those friendly ex coffees — not unlike the scenario with Ben and Lake Bell in this episode — and I told her, in a totally innocuous way, that “we didn’t really have enough in common as a couple. Like, it was hard for me to care about the things she cared about.” So… Was this jab really necessary? Did this poor girl need to hear this from me? On that note, did Lake Bell really need to hear Ben Epstein tell her that thinking about their relationship was not unlike the aftermath of a bad chili dinner?
Yes, she fucking did. Here’s why: Because before we broke up, that girl asked me to put up half the money for her new mattress, which I did. The mattress was not cheap. Soon after, she broke up with me, but did not reimburse me for the mattress. Some other guy spent time on the mattress I had purchased. Before our friendly ex-coffee, soon after I’d learned of her new relationship, I’d asked for my mattress money back, and she said she couldn’t afford it. The classy thing to do here was to let it go. So after much grumbling and making my friends listen to me gripe, I let it go. But, my point is, sometimes guys named Ben Epstein kinda have to say insensitive things to their ex-girlfriends if these ex-girlfriends made you pay for mattresses that other dudes wind up sleeping on. So maybe Lake Bell should pay Ben Epstein back for his share of her mattress? I mean, really.
Also not classy: drudging up shit nobody cares about and putting in on one’s blog. But it’s precisely because no one cares that I can write about it. See? I should note that this particular lady is a wonderful person, is now happily married, and a reader of this blog. So, yeah, sorry about that comment five years ago. But that mattress shit was harsh, yo. In fact, it was ill. Or maybe ill means “good.” Sigh.
Ben Epstein and I: so similar, and yet, so different.
Keep making it,
- Ben Epstein
Anonymous asked: Was pot brownie incident with Bobby and his gal?
My policy is not to name any other people on the blog. Except Lake Bell, because she knows what happened between us and I don’t need to sugarcoat it.
