The U.S. Comedy Arts Festival presented by HBO is always my favorite time of year, and not just because of the yuks. I really love the Comedy Fest because it’s like a homecoming from me.

Let me explain. I’m a New Yorker, that rare species that was actually born, bred, and buttered in Manhattan. You may not know it from the sound of my voice, but let there be no doubt a Bronx cheer is always near to my heart. When people around here ask if I want to go on a hike, I tell them politely that I am from New York City, and there’s no such thing as a hike in Gotham. Then they go away.

[Insert Bronx Cheer here.]

That’s by way of saying that what I really love about Comedy Fest is that everyone is from New York. Sure, there are people from other places–like Los Angeles–but even the people from La La Land are usually from New York.

All you have to do is look at them trying to keep warm in the mountains–now that’s a joke. Pea coats and sweat shirts and bad scarfs are the best they can do. What I really love about Comedy Fest is watching the people from New York freeze their asses off. It doesn’t get any better than that. And the whole urban commando thing is about as uncool as it gets. Let’s face it: if you want to be cool in the mountains you have to dress warm. If you have the wrong coat or a vest that doesn’t zipper or a hat that makes no sense you look like the village idiot.

But for me, the transplanted New Yorker, what I love most about all this apparel shock is the feeling I get that I am close to home. They may dress like complete shit, but these are my peeps, as familiar to me as a cabbie sitting on his horn or a cop with his paper cup of coffee. Sure, I feel superior in my stylish Cloudveil, but pull down the zipper and the only difference between them and me is that they are actually funny.