joziu

Maxim 2012

2012-01-09T18:15:00.001-05:00

Back to Basics.

I'm starting over -- a new chapter of life. This is something I've done before, so I need to look back to how I've done this in the past and use it as a guide for now.

SO: back to basics I go, the basics of pulling my shit together.

Three - Five

2012-01-09T18:11:00.000-05:00

Three to five plays a week: that's my reading goal. I've taken a job as literary manager of a small Chicago theater company, and to effectively execute my duties I'm attempting to keep myself on a schedule. Item A is 3-5 plays, per week, from a variety of sources.

It is a daunting task, one that I fail easily at -- though not (surprisingly) too terribly often. Perhaps I only get through 3 plays -- that's still nothing to sniff at. Especially when you consider that the majority are new plays. Plays written by actors who think they can write plays, or people who dabble in playwriting. After 3-5 plays a week -- even if they're masterpieces -- you kinda' want to open a vein.

But that's life.

Life. 2012 is a chance for me to embrace life. 2011 ended whimperingly, with nothing but rejections, death, and my head in a terrible, terrible funk. 2011 rots in hell, 2012 is full of promise. That's all I can hang my hopes on right now: a positive outlook.

It's very easy to get negative right out of grad school. You spend hour upon hour reading theory, philosophy, history, plays, artists biographies -- all with the hopes that this will land you a job of some sort once you finish. Then you finish. Smarter, broker, expectant I re-entered the world anticipating a job. Why not? I have a fancy-pants degree and am in a great metropolis. Of course people want to at least interview me, right?

Wrong. Dead wrong. That death hit me harder than any other, probably because it was the death of my hope. Hope that I and my education and my dedication and my pedigree would be appreciated. Hope that was covered by years of better sense and cynicism, because the world is not about education, dedication, pedigree or appreciation. The world is about friends, connections, blah blah blah, negativity.

I can wallow in the negative, or I can accept it and move on -- perhaps worse for wear, but still going.

Today I signed with a legal temp. agency, so I can make a decent wage while I try to find opportunities for my MFA. It is might be circular, putting me in the exact situation I was in when I first moved to NYC in 2005 before I went to Haaaaavahd, but it gives me a life. Right now, I don't have one. I need to fix that, and I am. Slowly, surely, I am.

Hello 2012. Back to Basics it is, so that from there I can flourish.

It Is What It Is

2011-09-25T23:01:00.000-04:00

Noon: roll out of bed

1pm: Begin to analyze new play

3pm: Turn on Bears Game

6:00pm: Finish play analysis, continue to watch Bears lose

7:00: THE SIMPSONS -- a show I haven't watched in far too long, and I show that I do love very much.
7:30: The Cleveland Show
8:00 FAMILY GUY (while eating an entire Frozen pizza)
8:30 watch end of Desperate Housewives

9:00 put away clean laundry, organize room, make some final notes on play analysis, e-mail.

Today, so far, has been an ideal Sunday. I, leisurely, did professional theater work while drinking coffee and sitting around in my comfy sweat pants and Bears t-shirt and hoodie; I watched the Bears; I had a quiet evening at home. Today was nearly perfect -- if I was in my own home.

I need a job. I got another three rejections this week, none were terrible shocks; but, one of them hurt. One of them pushed me way over the edge into desperate actions. After a day of recovery, I still am a bit foggy. I feel like I let far too many people down.  This is mainly due to my position in life being worse-off than before I attended graduate school.

Yes: I know good theater. I can sit and analyze plays, and theorize about what makes a drag queen different from a man playing a woman's role onstage, and understand that all tastes are valuable and "art" is not a solidly defined thing; but, what does that get me? So far: no money, no security, little respect. Right now, I'm a mile behind where I was in 2009, a temping actor in New York who had security: work, friends, and fulfillment. Currently I have only one of those three things here in Chicago.  I guess I'm transitioning.

Cubs fans call shitty seasons after a substantial change in the team's composition a "transition period"; Sox fans call shitty seasons after a substantial change in the team's composition a "shitty season."
I'm a Sox fan; I call it like I see it.

Caught in a fence

2011-09-15T18:39:00.004-04:00

When I got home after graduation, one of the first things I did around my parents' house was clean the backyard. It was a disaster: remnants of my father's various home improvement projects cluttering the patio; the garden completely overgrown by weeds and trees; unkept and barren flowerbeds. I wanted to make it pretty - I didn't know I was creating my own little refuge.

Since clearing the debris my father left and mother ignored, removing errant trees, and planting tulip bulbs and moving raspberry bushes, I've forged for myself a little place of reflection -- a far-too-little appreciated patio on the southwest side of our house. When it's warm and sunny I go out there to work; when days are rough, I go out there to drink and mourn. Surrounded by flower beds, pots filled with impatiens, and rose bushes, it is a lovely little haven for me. Today I needed it.

One of the many jobs I've had first interviews for has failed to give me a second. Their loss, or mine; or: did they dodge a bullet, or did I? The self-doubt and defeat took me outside to my little patio, complemented with the last half of a bottle of vodka. While I know giving-up is not an option, moments of momentary defeat are allowed.

Sitting in my hoodie -- pulled up over my head to shut-out the cold air -- I took in the setting sun. As I watched shadows envelop the yard, I sipped on my very large screwdriver. "Icky" is the best word to describe my mood. To try and lift my spirits, I looked up.

In the center of the flowerbed that lines the back fence is a little statue of St. Francis of Assisi. Before my backyard blitz, St. Francis was kinda' tossed in the back bed, a little off-balanced and leaning heavily to the right, next to a large unkempt bush. As Catholics, it was rather disrespectful. So I fixed it: I dug up the weeds, repositioned plants, and put St. Francis in a more central spot. Flowers surround him now, and two bird feeders hang above his head (my mother loves birds, so she put the feeders out there a couple of years ago to lure the creatures to our yard).

I heard some chirping as I raised my head this evening, and when I looked up I saw a sparrow flailing. From a distance, I wasn't sure what was wrong at first; but then it became clear. The little guy was caught, his leg wedged between two fence boards. While I've never been one to tangle with wild animals, I figured this little guy could use a helping hand.

I walked over -- my hooded figure casting a long shadow upon the bird as I approached. The sparrow began to flap and jerk at his leg even more violently. "Shhh..." I hushed, thinking that would calm him. Surprisingly, he didn't peck at my hand or otherwise strike at me as I cupped his tiny body in my palm. He used my index finger as a perch to stand on as I tried to pry the fence boards apart. But that didn't work.

As I a leaned back on the board, creating a little more space between in the slat, I noticed that he wouldn't be able to pull his claw through. I'd have to slide his leg up and over. A little blood trickling onto its tip, I put my finger under the bird's leg and as I raised my hand, lifting the bird, my finger lifted its foot up over the top of the fence. As soon as it possibly could, the little sparrow zipped out of my hand - its wings taking it far, far away.

I turned around to see where he had flown to, but he was gone. I stood in the yard alone, again. The feelings of doing something good did little to comfort me. I feel too much like the sparrow I just helped: stuck in a fence, hoping for a hand to help me.

It's not a major life choice!

2011-09-13T16:16:00.000-04:00

"Buy the fucking thing, don't buy the fucking thing -- I don't give a good goddamn!"

Huh. Things I want to say, but don't, build-up in my chest; directly above my heart a pocket of air seems to fill, stressing every extremity of my body. The cause of this tension? Milk.

"Should I buy milk from Sam's? It's only one gallon; I don't know if it's worth a drive all the way out there for one gallon ..." begins my father's public self-examination. I'm upstairs, bedroom door open, applying for YET ANOTHER teaching gig, and he's passively pestering me with stupid quandaries about whether or not he should save a buck-and-a-quarter on bovine juice. That's when the pressure started.

I sat here, looking at my computer screen and noticed everything starting to turn red. Dismayed at my life's situation, I sat forcibly eaves-dropping on my father's kinda' soliciting of my opinion. It's milk: you buy it. Either do or don't; I don't really care. End result: I did not yell anything at my father.

Instead of yelling, I retreat to my usual methods. I huff. I get up from my chair. I noticeably close my bedroom door. It is rude and it sends the appropriate message: SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT YOUR SILLY QUESTIONS. This lies at the heart of my stresses of living at home.

My mother seems more grounded in life; or, at least, quiet. She doesn't audibly consider whether to drive to the corner store or 3 miles out of the way (in order to save a dollar) for a gallon of milk. She decides; she goes. End of story. My father, however, bemoans EVERYTHING. Milk; opossums in the back yard; traffic; the less-than-impressive yield of this year's vegetable garden; etc. If I hear one more open, yet-self speculating, conversation about the price of gasoline I might stab him. Because of all of this I am certain that families should not live together after the children reach a certain age.

It's frustrating; he's my father. He fails to notice his penchant for melodramatics, but yet criticizes it in everyone else. You try to bring it up to him, and BLAMMO! A fight.

Hence I close my door, audibly. I've given up fighting with him over character traits. The sad result of us living together (again) is my cold and caustic passive aggressive response to his petty ponderings while I sit in my room desperately trying to find a job to get me out of here.

Mind you, it takes two to tango. He knows when he pushes my buttons, and does so of his own accord.

Lord help me, I hope a job comes soon. Of course: the minor error in my cover letter (which I was revising when the musings on milk began) will not help this. His error or mine? Doesn't really matter at this point, since a cover letter signed simply "Joe" will not help resuce me from my split-level suburban dementia.

August 18, 2011

2011-08-18T19:58:00.000-04:00

Woke up: around 11am (sleeping pills before bed last night)

Noon: some Camino Real work/organization (getting my notes in one place)

1pm: Bank run, and to Jewel-Osco.

2pm: continue organization

4:45pm: begin dinner

5:20: eat

5:45pm finish dinner, watch Nightly News while drinking coffee

6:30pm: walk dog in prairie.

7:00pm: Gym.

Not a Friend in the World

2011-08-17T22:58:00.002-04:00

It's not true - I do have a friend in the world. Finding him/her/them perplexes me, though. I'm used to calling Benny, or Dan, or Tim, or Shirley, or Sus, or any number of my friends in New York or Chicago and say: "drinks?" "Sure!" they'd respond, and off we'd go to some bar at some ungodly hour on some weekday night for a night-cap and solidarity. It was easy then; it isn't easy now.

The past few (almost three) months have been a major adjustment. Difficult, very difficult times. Living at home, in the suburbs, makes going out near to impossible. I have to drive somewhere (the bus stops running at 6pm, and doesn't run on weekends), and most of my friends live somewhere in Chicago or Evanston or somewhere where getting to them - or they to me - is a challenge. Casual drinks at the bar are a memory at present.

But: what about trips? Planned events? Things that can be prepped for - nada. Hey everyone, want to go see a play with me -- a play at the most-recent Tony award winning company in Chicago? Nope. What about meeting for drinks after the play? Silence. Anyone want to hang out this weekend? Maybe. This inability to coordinate schedules -- the inability to bet people together -- is awful. It makes me doubt myself.

I don't think I've done anything wrong. Yes: when I got here I drank, a lot, as I dealt with my new-found post-graduate poverty and humiliation. Yes: I've gained weight in that same period of time. No: I am not any less of a person. People still had fun with me -- we laughed, and we've hung out since then, in a time when my shit is more together. They've invited me to events; but few show interest in what I want to do.

A childhood friend of mine, Franco, is my theater-buddy. That gives me some comfort; but, he too is working his way into a new, very high-stress, job. So his time is not as free as he'd like. Plus: he lives in Chicago's Gold Coast. So, beyond theater going, grabbing a night-cap requires significant planning.

Ashley is much the same: we've planned to meet for drinks. She, another friend I've had since kindergarten, knows the position I'm in (she was in a similar bind once she earned her master's in environmental policy). But she, too, is more than a phone call away. It stinks.

What stinks more than having friends who can't be at my beck and call (which is what I'm really complaining about) is that I'm single but can't "be single." Finances and sheer geography are seeing to that. My efforts to try and fix this situation (temping) aren't going too grand either: my two-week assignment is over, leaving me with nothing right now except an empty bank account (bills and a weekend out ate-up the small amount of money I earned). It's a bleak existence.

But I exist, still. Directionless and feeling alone; though I know neither is an appropriate feeling. This is just a rough period that I have to tough through.

This is what I do

2011-07-01T01:08:00.002-04:00

I am a good dramaturg, and I must remind myself of this. People respect my opinions; I possess sound judgement; I am capable of expressing myself clearly; but, I need to remind myself of this. I need to remind myself of my strengths and engage them. I need to be confident and do what I do well.

Today I felt that need for confidence, though it took a shaming to make me feel anything. This afternoon, leaving the literary office of the prestigious regional theater in Chicago, I felt like an unprepared idiot. I shocked myself. Last week, leaving the same literary office, I felt energized to be a part of a theater again. Why the difference? Dissipation. That energy I felt last Thursday dissipated as I sat down to do my work. "What am I doing, exactly? Research only? Should I have opinions? I always have opinions -- should I write them down?" My energy - as well as my intellect and ego - evaporated. All the candor and humor I had last week were gone, leaving me in today's meeting with limp thoughts and unremarkable insights. I humiliated myself, and this shouldn't happen.

I am a damn good dramaturg. I work well with people, primarily because I know the value of both sympathy and tough love. You can take or leave my opinions; but, you will receive them (and they're good opinions: I have a masters in this shite). Today nobody received anything from me, except embarrassingly basic facts, and this was bad. Very bad.

In today's meeting at the prestigious regional theater, I fumbled through papers and tried to bypass giving my opinion by instead spouting anecdotal notions and dumb questions. Why? Because I filtered myself. From the get-go I didn't let myself do my job; instead I limited myself to being a go-fer. This naive mistake will not happen again. Especially since, after today's meeting (as I tried to correct my missteps), it felt good to sit down and plot-bead diagram and annotate my script. It felt go to do the damn job I'm trained to do -- and that I like doing.

Part of my problem comes from being rusty: it's been almost six months since I've really dramaturged anything. So today, as I began the post-mortem of my embarrassing materials, determined to fix my mistakes, that little light bulb flicked on above my head. "Oh! DUH, JOSEPH!!" echoed in my head as I rediscovered my working methods. I'm slowly emerging from the fog of post-thesis, post-school, job-hunting craziness. And it's a whole bunch of crazy.

After two years of study, "What am I? What am I doing?" reverberate in my mind. Added to this refrain: "You come off too strong" was something I was told a lot in grad school. How do I combat this? Right now I come off as a flunky, bumbling and unprepared because I'm scared I'll be "too big for my britches" (as Sr. Geralyn would say to me). Since I don't have any official position, these questions intimidate me as six scripts lay before me, taunting me. I need to show them who's boss.

I need to get my head back in the game, get my sense of self back together, get ME up and running again.

This challenge of pulling my head out of my ass will not be easily overcome. I must let go of my neurosis about my surroundings; I must let go of the fact that for the first time, in about 8 years, I am totally dependant upon others. I must be confident in myself and my opinions. And, I must present these valuable commodities in a diplomatic way (which I can do, contrary to what some of my professors may claim -- I just had the mistaken idea that grad school was a safe, judgement-free environment where I could be "off-the-cuff" in class. Ha!). Still: there is a light at the end of this tunnel; but, the journey to it will be winding.

So, What Are You Up To Now?

2011-06-23T17:35:00.002-04:00

This: blogging. Sitting in my parents' house, applying for numerous jobs, my mind is numbing and I need a non-theater outlet. So, in addition to (now complete) yard work, cleaning of rooms, and eating, I've decided to get back to blogging. This distraction **should** expand something other than my waistline.

But, we'll see.

Life hasn't been good lately (though, if you were to ask me to my face, I'd smile and say the exact opposite). No one wants to be unemployed; no one wants to be unemployed after earning a masters and spending almost 1/10 of a million dollars on two years of study - and no one wants to hear about it; but: I am unemployed. I try to dupe my doubt by viewing this as a transition period, a period where I debrief after two years of people telling me what I am and what I am not. I am a dramaturg, I am not an actor; I am a good reviser, I am not a good writer; I am a theater person; I am not normal. Still, the doubts as to whether I've wasted my time, effort, and money persist.

If I have learned anything since March, it is this: I am not a writer. I stink at writing. I am no good. This blog helps remedy this dilemma (a dramaturg who cannot write effectively cannot serve his theater effectively) by giving me a place to practice. Joziu lets me write without criticism -- except my own. I need to be more critical of what I create. It must be perfect.

I've never been very good at revising my own words. I know what I want to say, and trying to make it clear to others confounds me. I often get caught-up in an idea, scrutinizing something small. Usually it only adds time to my process; but, sometimes, it distracts me from a gaping flaw. (Well, perhaps it's not gaping, but it's a flaw nonetheless, and things must be perfect at this point in the game - I'm competing with others for the piddly few jobs on the market). Flaws like: spelling "theatre" when it should be "theater," or neglecting to remove a lingering "the" when revising. It's the small stuff; but, now is the time to sweat it.

Sweating over it, though, clouds my mind. I obsess over the syntax and mechanics that I an self-conscious of (because I am grammatically challenged), and neglect "big-picture" stuff. Like is what I am writing enjoyable; or, am I paying close-enough attention to all of the details. I think the corrective to this problem comes in stopping. I must stop the writing for a minute - at least the theater writing. So, I'm taking on some diversions, some projects that break-up my routine so that I can be a little more sharp when I sit down in front of my laptop.

Today I begin some extra work for a big theater in town, helping out with some research that should keep my mind active. I'm also going to reaffirm my commitment to the gym, and to having a social life. I don't have a life, and I need one. Lives are important, both professional and personal.

For the past two years, under the ultra-high stress and pressure of "The Institute," I've repeatedly neglected myself. I suffered personally from this neglect - becoming depressed, doing unhealthy things, being a spiteful sad-sack. Its time for a purgative, something to cleanse me of all the critical professor voices that have wandered into parts of my mind where they don't belong. I need to put things in perspective.

SO, as I continue to apply for job upon job upon job, I'm going to make myself better. Better revisions, better exerce the mind, body, and soul through work, workouts, and workin' it with friends, better perspective. I need to: life is more than a career; but, you cannot have a life without a career. Right now I'm mostly work, all stress, and much doubt. I need balance.

Potential Band Names I've Discovered in Grad School

2011-03-09T18:19:00.000-05:00

Shakespearean:
1.) Dead Henry and the Bleeding Wounds
2.) Dead Man's Johnson

Maxim 2011

2011-02-24T09:13:00.001-05:00

I like to have little mottos for my years of life; but, I tend to forget which motto goes with which year. So I'm going to start blogging them.

2011: You don't know if you don't try.

Melting

2011-02-23T23:18:00.005-05:00

"Do not let your heart calcify." Those words rank amongst the greatest my ears have ever received. They come from a homily given by a Jesuit at my old parish - St. Francis Xavier, in Chelsea - and were about love. Don't reject love because of pain; it is through the pain of lost love that we are reminded that we - and others - have tender and living hearts. If we shut ourselves off from love for fear of pain, our hearts will calcify and we will become cold as stone without love's touch. We will withdraw from others and forget our humanity.

Or something like that.

Reading today's headlines (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2011/02/23/AR2011022303428.html?hpid=topnews) I felt my cynical heart tingle a bit. I've never voted for a winning president until Obama, and to see decisions that impact me -- in a way I want to be impacted -- is odd. Government, for me and for now, is working. I feel heard and represented.

I know many people hate me, and many think I'm "less than." Friends from high school, my parents, people I've worked for have all let small commments slip here and there that remind me that I am a second class citizen. "Don't call it marriage, because it's not. Two men can never be married like your father and I are." I smile, and shrug, and let the wound sink silently to pile on top of all the others that everyone else has given me over the years. Most people think that all my smiles and shrugs belie a dim mind; instead, they camouflage a wounded animal who, some days, can barely see his own humanity in the mirror.

But tonight I feel a bit less cynical, my heart a little thawed. Because of today's headlines, I feel like I am heard and am represented in government. It gives me hope.

It Must Be Perfect

2011-01-28T09:04:00.000-05:00

I'm writing a cover letter for a literary management position. It must be perfect. Why? Because writing and editing are huge parts of any literary associate position, so if my cover letter isn't perfect - why bother hiring me?

I have my Chicago Manual out; I have a proof reader; I have poured over the page of text I've created. I think it might be perfect - maybe. It is honest and sells me well. It uses specific examples from my resume to highlight my strengths. But if focuses a lot on my recent history: is this a good thing?

My past is something that is long and winding. I was/am/will be (maybe?) an actor. I have stage managed, designed, directed. I have a varied background, even in the past two years. In the past two years I have done far more than is usually asked of someone in my program. I've written, produced, and found additional work above and beyond my core curriculum. Which is good.

But is it enough? Does it present me well?

We shall see ...

Exhausted and Cranky and Stressed

2011-01-24T01:01:00.002-05:00

There is no excuse for my behavior in the past few days. I've been short-tempered, judgemental, and generally unpleasant. It has to do with a variety of factors, all of which relate to this unnatural existence.

Grad School.

Yes, it is unnatural. It is not a job, it is a way of life. I dunno'. I should not be burnt out three weeks after Christmas Break ended; but, I am.

Probably because Christmas Break was more stress than pleasure. I'm still debating not going home for Easter. Just to give myself some breathing room. I need breathing room ... or something. I need time to myself; but, now is not the time for myself. Now is the time for me to work on the thesis and plan out my post-school life.

This scares me. This stresses me. This makes me a bad person - truly. Trite, shallow, and dismissive, I would not have drinks with me.

I need to fix this.

Supreme Displeasure

2010-12-15T19:37:00.004-05:00

Christ on a cracker I hate this shit. I don't think I've ever enjoyed public speaking. I've enjoyed rehearsing plays, developing characters, creating scenes with partners and then performing those rehearsed gems for a public - but having to stand up in front of a crowd, stammering through my thoughts with the hope of landing some morsel of intellgence ... fuggetaboutit.

That's what I'm thinking right now, after finishing a rather painful pre-show for The Blue Flower, where:

House Management blared music as I began.
The hot dog vendor rattled pots
The cranky son of a bitch sitting RIGHT IN FRONT WHERE I WAS PRESENTING decided to be a cranky bitch to House Management.

Delightful. If I ever become old and crotchety, SHOOT ME. Shoot me dead.

It was not good, and it is also partly my fault. I am out of practice. I am not out of practice with the speech; no, I'm out of practice speaking in front of a group. I have run through my speech several times - alone. Standing up and facing an audience while trying to sound eloquent, witty and generally well-informed ... son of a bitch! Doing that in front of cranky geezers (well, a geezer)?

AGH!

In general, the crowd was polite - and I got a couple of laughs out of them. But they, like me, probably wanted to get the whole thing over with ASAP. But, oh no - that wasn't going to happen. I would jabber on, wondering "where is my water?" "Can I turn and get my water? Can I ... d'oh! I said doesn't instead of don't ... now I have to correct myself ... STOP OVER THINKING THIS!"

BUT, tonight was necessary. It taught me that I need to perfect a style. My writing style has changed since I've gotten to school. I've developed one. My speaking style, though, has not. I realized this the other night as I was practicing: my writing style is not good for speaking, and what I had written was more geared for publication than performance. I uitlize alliteration and vague words; I try to be textually witty and this wittiness does not translate into the spoken word.

I lack a speaking style.

Now I have to fix this -- but how? I remember in high school - working from an outline. Writing out my Introduction and my conclusion, and then speaking from bullet points; however, I've abandonded that method (I tended to ramble or take up too much time - and scripts can be timed). Though, I should maybe toy with outlined speeches again? Perhaps I should ... oh God ... ask for more speaking assignments?

Hmmmm.....

At any rate, tonight was an awful - yet valuable - endeavor in my learning that I have no style. Fabulous.

Revisiting Moscow

2010-12-10T00:02:00.004-05:00

Today I started the final revisions to my Moscow articles. I got them back Tuesday, they're due tomorrow. A tight turnaround, but a turnaround nonetheless -- and one that was filled with a show opening that I was working on, and a lecture/presentation that I have to give with regard to the show. At any rate, the articles take me back to experiences months ago. They take me back to some of the rarest and most precious experiences I have: growing ones.

http://tolyamademedoit.blogspot.com/2010/06/retreat-from-moscow.html

Growing experiences, for me, are ones that aren't necessarily pleasant. They're things you learn about yourself in stressing situations, or alien situations. How you handle being alone and broke in Spain? How do you function in your career, and how do you want to function? What ambitions to I need to take on in order to achieve my goals? These are questions whose answers have become a little more clear for me.

Memories being what they are, I think they have informed the past few weeks for me. Trying to loosen up and be myself a little more, not take things too seriously ... enjoy life. Those have been priorities lately. Perhaps my schoolwork has suffered a bit, but I haven't suffered -- which is a big change compared to where I was last year at this time.

Last winter, I was a weepy mess. Depressed, over worked and tightly wound. I didn't think to take time to balance out my school work with personal work. I've been more attentive to that this year, and need to guard against sacrificing time with friends or at the gym or doing things that I want for things I feel I **should** be doing. Not that I should be negligent in my studies or devotions; but, I need to take time and opportunities for myself and allow my own opinions to be developed and heard - in a way that isn't related to a classroom lecture.

I Don't Understand

2010-10-17T12:23:00.002-04:00

It's been very frustrating lately. Written words that seem to so clearly represent what goes on in my head are completely confusing to my professor/editor -- who is several decades my senior. Normally I welcome his criticism because it is concise, direct, and often humorous in a sort of cranky old-man sorta' way. It often frustrates, but not in a way that is frustrating.

This most recent article and most recent go around has been frustrating - very frustrating. Not because of its usual reasons, but because there appears to be a generational gap that is masking an aesthetic flaw in the play: it's a bad play. The subject matter about the play I'm analyzing is not profound; in fact, it's maudlin. It's about parents who can't engage their kids, and kids who would rather play video games than play ball games. It's about the cliches of life - but wrapped in a very fun video-game package. The only reason to see this play is because of its stage craft, not because of the play itself.

The play itself is dull. It is the video game that makes the play interesting, so analyzing the play is difficult - because my analysis has to also be an advertisement. I can't say: "Hey! It's a shitty play, but a great show!"

No.

I have to be creative. Creatively inspiring about a deficient piece of work. Grand. I'm on my fourth draft and my last nerve. Beyond the perils of the spin I have to create, there's also the gross lack of communication in the department. I was charged with introducing the audience to the world of MMORPGs - massively multiplayer online role-playing games - and that introduction is now nowhere to be found in the article. In fact, I think it confused my professor when he saw me reference it.

So ... now I begin. Notes came in just after midnight this morning - and twelve hours later I'm digging in.

Grand.

Trying Not to Fall Behind

2010-09-18T12:37:00.000-04:00

It's hard to keep thigns on track. I said I would try and do this blog daily -- that didn't happen. I said I would re-start going to the gym -- that, too, didn't happen.

The only thing that has happened has been that I have been attentive and on-top of my school work, trying not to fall behind in what really matters while I am in grad school. Not an easy thing in terms of the actual work, and the effects of the prioritizing of other elements of my life. This "knife in the back" is rusting, and my waist is ... wasted.

Ugh.

I tell myself that my bruised esteem will heal once I graduate -- when I will have more time for my own things. But, will I? As I consider the future ahead of me, it's hard to see it as anything but difficult: a single gay man working in the not-for-profits/arts community. I joke about going right back to the corporate world -- but would that be a more steadfast choice? I could afford the time and the membership to get to the gym that would help me meet the man that would help me secure a home that would keep me safe and secure.

I've done that before. I was relatively happy -- but it is all relative.

The insecurity of the theatre gypsy's life is rough, but fulfills in its own way. This is still something I have to consider again. It reminds me of when I was moving from Chicago to New York. It is a similar leap, but I landed well in New York. And while, this summer, I found home and security in Chicago - is it right for me?

Too many things to consider.

For now, the Brown/Trinity kids are on their way down to see our Alice vs. Wonderland at the Institute. I'm looking forward to seeing them, and working with them on their readings in a few weeks of the nonsense plays. Last weekend at the Steel Yard was fun, and put a lot of things in perspective for me. So ... it will be nice to reconnect with them.

After that, though ... who knows. Thesis, school, shows ... the list is growing.

Thesis Proposal

2010-09-09T22:41:00.000-04:00

Well, I have a thesis proposal to turn in. At just over five pages, it should be a clean, clear, and bold proposition of what I want to accomplish this year.

Hopefully I won't be laughed out of the program.

The requirement is a single page, single spaced proposal of what you want to do - which, I don't quite understand. I mean, I get it - just present an idea. But is that enough for presenting a project??

My fear, right now, is that I'm taking this too seriously. Perhaps I am ... perhaps not. I'll find out for sure after I turn it in, I suppose. For now, I **think** I have a good idea, and a daunting task ahead ...

I just hope I can carry it out.

First Day of School

2010-09-07T07:59:00.001-04:00

6:53am - Woke-up, made coffee, read news, did some school reading ...
after I looked through this blog.

In 2006, I did one of those "meme" things that were so popular and posted it here. In it, one of the questions was:

Where do you want to be in five years?

My answer:

New York.

Interesting. That's been the topic of conversation a lot lately, and has been weighing on my mind. I love New York, I could work in New York ... but I don't know.

I have a feeling that my return to New York will be precipitated by events, not a decision. I decided to move to New York when it seemed like the right thing to do - in 2005, the stars aligned and it made sense for me to go (I had an apartment and job lined up there, nothing in Chicago - where I was languishing). It was one of the best decisions I made in my life, because it was a natural choice.

Unnatural choices, forced decisions ... I dunno' about those. We'll see what those first days of June bring -- hopefully, when I graduate, my future will continue to be a natural progression.

Wasted Day? I think not...

2010-09-04T01:43:00.000-04:00

All summer I've felt like I've been running around. Work, commute home, weekends jobs. Run run run.

Today I vegged. All Day Long. Computer games, followed by Countdown with Keith Olberman, then Ghost Adventures, then The Soup, and then ...

THE BLUES BROTHERS. One of my all-time favorite movies.

It was a rainy day, and I spent it indoors, vegging. So nice, and so rare -- I do it from time to time, but not often.

Ahhhh ....

Submissive

2010-09-02T16:35:00.000-04:00

The weather in Cambridge is unhospitable. Humid, not too hot, uncomfortable. If it was dry, maybe things wouldn't be so bad; but, its not drier. And my apartment does not have air-conditioning (except for one room, which is the only room we are allowed to have a window unit, which we have to rent from our landlady. grrrrrrrr...).

Not having a choice. Don't like that option, but it is the one I have and will be facing again on a regular basis: today classes began. One three hour class. Not too bad, but it will be an adjustment. The professor is more than capable, but prone to embillishments of a historical nature to add drama in his lectures. But it's not a history class, it is a theory course.

The adjustments are small, but I'm making them. Slowly. Getting my life in Cambridge back into order. Like my room, which is the epitome of disorder, but, over the next couple of days, will be regimented into an abode worthy of my fastidious fabuloscity.

My room. It will soon be one of the only things I have direct control over.

The Return

2010-09-01T23:13:00.002-04:00

So, it's been a while; but, I'm back.

While studying in Russia, my professor, Anatoly, encouraged my fellow classmates and me to keep blogs. They would be good practice for our writing skills and allow us to develop our critical minds.

"They're like a knife in the back." Sudden, severe. Damaging. The caveat being that instead of removing upsetting old posts, you reflect upon them in future posts - salve the wound after the intial injury.

So, we'll see how this goes. For me, "Joziu" is now a labor of discipline, like running in the morning or push-ups or taking your vitamins. Something you do not have to do, but should if you want to be better.

I want to be a better writer, and so Joziu **should** be becoming a part of my routine.

OH -- and, should you want to read them, my Moscow musings are posted at http://tolyamademedoit.blogspot.com

An Then the Pause Ended

2009-05-07T15:32:00.003-04:00

No one reads this blog (I hope) anymore. It was initially a way to vent, talk to friends, be a part of a trend.

Now that's over with, and we're all now Twittering. Yay.

I glanced at this blog today, forgetting that I had it, and saw that my last post was about the pause after my interivew for school in 2008. Well, for those who haven't heard, I didn't get into the school ... back then.

2008 was the year of regrouping. Rejection from school after school (again), quitting my day job and being an unemployed actor, with only a few gigs and my retirement to sustain me, and then a temp.

Now I will be a grad student. Yep, the e-mail came on March 16, and the letter on the 19th (the traditional fest of St. Joseph): I will be a student again.

I will probably not post on this again; but, who knows. I'm doing it today, I might do it tomorrow, or in a month...

The Devil finds work ...

2008-02-05T23:21:00.000-05:00

for Idle Hands.

It's been a few months. Have been focused on living life rather than writing about it, but now there is a great pause.

A

Great

Big

Pause.

I was up at Cambridge on Sunday, trying to be my gracious self trying to get into grad school. 9 people for 4 slots. The entire pool narrowed to 9 people for 4 spots. I did what I could, and now I wait until March.

And there is nothing else to do but wait. I've turned down obligations and commitments to focus on the meeting, and now it's come and gone and I have only turned down obligations, or as the case is: no obligations.

So I surf. My nightly porn search ... reading dirty stories and taking my mind off of the bloated time. Tonight I found a delicious little blog about some kinky guy in Chicago chronicling his conquests. Of course it's fake, you know? Eritoca ...

though not always. Scrolling down, reading, my heart begins to sink. The stories sound plausible, and a fear pang: he's going to be on here. One of my good friends, a man I still have some dificulty sorting out old feelings for, is going to be on this blog. And, sure enough, as I bottom out the computer screen I come across his story.

The details are details I know. The details are private details he's shared with me. The details are the Chekovian oddities that describe this friend in perfect detail. The details are also horrifying, because I now have a frame of reference for the chronicler's life. I virtually know his other conquests. I see my friend's picture, edited to be sans head, glaring out from the screen. I recognize it. I also recognize the fatalism in the story, the same stubborn fatalism you hear in his voice when you talk to him on the phone or at coffee.

The story is old. The friendly acquaintance is in a relationship, and no longer buggering about ... or so I think. Now the question -- do I keep reading? It's an anonymous blog, chronicling conquests. My friend doesn't know it exists ... should I still keep tabs?

Given the proclivity, it was bound to happen eventually

I've been tagged ...

2007-06-08T13:38:00.000-04:00

Bloggers must post these rules and provide eight random facts about themselves. In the post, the tagged blogger tags eight other bloggers and notify them that they have been tagged.

1.) I broke my nose as a child catching a ground ball while trying out for the "AA" baseball league. While I like group activities, sports have not always been one of them.

2.) I almost drowned in the shallow end of the high school swimming pool during a 400 medley relay. It was my first swim meet. My father made me join the team. Again ... sports have not always been among my strong suits.

3.) This sounds serious, but it isn't: I once, in a melodramatic teen-aged angst-filled fit of sorrow, tried to kill myself by overdosing on 1/2 bottle of Bayer aspirin and vitamin A tablets. I don't think that even qualifies as a cry for help, more just an embarrassing foray into stupid. FYI - we had no serious medications or painkillers to OD in my house back then ... so I used what I had available.

4.) I have hammer toes.

5.) I have a green thumb

6.) I have suitcases full of drag that I no longer use.

7.) I have pretty good control of my temper, but it is a bad temper.

8.) I am allergic to cats.

"Dude, this is New York ...

2007-04-21T14:59:00.000-04:00

... we don't watch Oprah."

BOY was the Midwesterner taken aback at LaGuardia when she heard this come out of the TSA agent. The upstanding MidWestern lady in front of me at the security point at LGA was insistent there was nothing she couldn't take on the plane in her carryon, and then TSA agent pulled out a prepackaged hot chocolate kit-thing.

"Oh! That's from [blah blah blah], you know, Oprah's company!"

This prompted the TSA agent's response, dead-pan, gorgeous:

"Dude, this is New York, we don't watch Oprah."

The MidWesterner was speechless ... and holding up the line (which made me hate her a little bit).

I love New York.

It happened ...

2007-04-10T14:15:00.000-04:00

Easter Sunday was surreal.

The day began with Mass, and then ...

my sister, my little sister, got engaged. My to-be brother-in-law, who I have not always gotten along with, did it perfectly. My sister, being a Cubs fan: Chris proposed via a memorial stone in the little plaza at Wrigley Field next to the Harry Carey statue on Addison & Sheffield. The whole thing was a surprise to my sister, and to the rest of the family (though he asked my father for her hand on Mardi Gras). Great way to begin the day!!!

I really am a MidWestern Blonde

2007-03-20T00:18:00.000-04:00

We got out of THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND at about 10:45. Jay and I saw it at the Pavillion, over on Prospect Park West.

We turn the corner, and Jay ducks into the doorway of a closed restaurant to light his cigarette, and I put mine in my mouth, waiting -- Jay had only two matches, so I turn to him to watch him as he was going to light his first, and then mine.

"Can I have a cigarette?"

I turn around, and a lady is standing next to me, holding out her hand with a small black lighter clutched under her thumb -- seeing that most probably I could better afford to buy Jay another pack than this woman could buy one for herself, I give her the cigarette from between my lips, "Sure ... have mine."

"I'm pregnant, thanks a lot," and then she turns and starts walking.

I wish I could have seen the look on my face. I'm sure it was priceless.

I turn to Jay, who is staring at the tiny flame. I fumble for his Parliaments to pull out the last one. "Did you hear what she said?"

"Who? The crazy lady?"

"She asked for a cigarette, I gave one to her, and then she said she was pregnant."

"She looked crazy."

While Jay and I are talking and walking we look up and see that the lady is standing at the corner waiting for us. Both of us start looking for a way to avoid her: we're walking around a rather busy traffic circle and crossing into the circle was not an option ... and reverseing direction was, well, not an option either as we wanted to go to the bar that lay around the circle.

"This street scares me ... I don't want to go around the corner," says the lady. "Will you take me?"

NOW, this lady is probably (hopefully) in her mid thirties. She was slouched over, wearing clean jeans and warm downy-looking black jacket, and carrying a little bag. She didn't look particularly threatening, but she did sound crazy. The whole pregnant/cigarette thing. Plus, she said, "This dark street scares me. I don't want to walk alone."

Again, I can sympathize, but we were in part of the historic section of Prospect Park, on a rather busy traffic circle that had brownstone lined streets feeding into it ... streets that had a lamp post at about every 30 feet. So it wasn't dark, it was just nighttime.

"Sorry, but we're headed this way," says Jay, pointing towards the vague general direction of the bar. I start to pull away from Jay a bit, to go help the lady, and Jay starts walking, taking me with him.

"I feel kinda' sorry for her," I say.

Jay looks at me: "Dude. She was eating the cigarette."

My response: "Ohhh ... do you think that if a pregnant woman ate a cigarette it would still harm the baby?"

Responsibiliwhaa?

2007-03-16T23:05:00.000-04:00

A blog that I read with some regularity eferenced my "Cloying" entry ... so now I feel I should be a more dutiful blogger as LEGIONS of gay men will now be avid readers (I mean, why wouldn't they?)

So to my fellow gays: HELLO!

Also, this was a way to keep in touch with friends in DC and Chicago.
So to my friends who thought I wasn't blogging anymore: SURPRISE!

Quick update:

1.) Got a roommate. Allon. He's straight and Canadian. Studies art, has a girlfriend. All is well within Kensington Palace.

2.) Due to Allon's job needs, I now have cable, and internet phone and high-speed internet. I am now a member modern society.

3.) Great string of free theater attendance this week (fantastic seats to all, I might add!): COMPANY last night (great!); EDWARD SCISSORHANDS tonight (FUCKING great!) and MEN OF STEEL tomorrow (the jury is out).

Otherwise, things here are OK.

I've never had to do this before ...

2006-12-27T12:09:00.000-05:00

Look for a roommate. Dave vacates this week, and I have a bedroom to fill come January 1.

So far, I've had a San Franciscan ESL teacher with whom I had poor internet communications ... a computer technician who worked all night, slept all day, and then blew off our scheduled showing of the apartment ...

a lovely cute young architect (to whome I offered the place) who now has a girlfriend that wants to move in with him ... who I have not met, and the prospect of living with a couple, gay or straight, gives me pause. So, we're going to try and meet this week.

That being said, I've renewed my search efforts. Today I got a reponse from someone who is a lactose intolerant vegan activist/artist/humanitarian ... who didn't leave their name in the e-mail. Should I be concerned? I think so. Plus he/she/it (I have a creeping suspician this is Surreal, in some wierd cosmic karmic joke) can only stay through May ... which may not be a bad thing ... but time will tell.

Ai yai yai. Have always had to move INTO places, never have had to have others move into mine ...

except for one time in college ... this Chinese girl, I can't remember her name, but she had a Chinese boyfriend, who was older, and I think there were relationship issues. It was a wierd summer.

I don't want a wierd Spring.

On the upside -- Santa was great to me, and I love my new headshots (already getting calls -- off of the un-re-touched .jpgs!)

Because my attorney is being cloying ...

2006-10-12T15:44:00.000-04:00

I'm pissy at work. So here we go ...

1. LA or New York:
New York

2. Red or White wine:
Red

3. What's something a member of the opposite gender can wear to turn you on:
A penis and army boots.

4. What's something a member of the opposite gender can wear to turn you off:
Uggs.

5. Who was the last person you kissed:
Intimate kiss? Bob ... maybe? Friendly: Roger.

6. Favorite cuss word:
Bullshit

7. Favorite non-alcoholic drink:
V-8

8. Blondes or Brunettes:
Blondes

9. What's something you always have on you:
Flashlight.

10. Do you stay awake in bed thinking or do you fall asleep fast:
Depends on the day I've had.

11. What celebrity would you like to fight most:
I know 'em when I see 'em

12. What's the last thing that made you cry or get teary eyed:
I'm tired and I'm weak when I'm tired -- I teared up during a clip from THE QUEEN that they played on the TODAY show this morning.

13. What's your favorite holiday:
Thanksgiving

14. What are you listening to right now:
Lawyers talk.

15. Are your parents still together:
Yes

16. If you inherited $20 million, what are the first 5 things you'd do with the money:
a. quit my day job
b. settle debts
c. buy my apartment
d. create a trust for my family
e. charity

17. What was the best year of your life:
The odd number ones tend to be better

18. Why:
Fucked if I know.

19. Have you ever flown first class:
Yes.

20. Who was your first real kiss:
don't remember.

21. What are you SUPPOSED to be doing right now:
making copies.

22. Pro life or Pro choice:
Pro-Life.

23. Favorite physical feature on the opposite sex:
Boobs.

24. How old are you today:
27

25. Who do you have a crush on that doesn't know it yet:
You.

26. Best movie you've seen this year:

27. Ever been in love:
Yes.

28. Who makes you laugh the most:
People.

29. Where do you want to be living in 20 years:
Chicago

30. What was the last CD you bought:
It may have been Joan Baez.

31. South Park or The Simpson's:
Toss up ... South Park is more direct, Simpson's is more fun.

32. Breakfast, lunch or dinner:
Brunch.

33. When was the last time you talked to your mom:
Monday?

34. Have you ever written a song:
Probably.

35. Can two people be "just friends":
Absolutely not. All people must fuck.

36. American, Cheddar or Swiss cheese:
Swiss

(37?)

38. Are you sleepy:
No ... tired.

39. When was the last time you were drunk:
Sunday night.

40. What do you want on your tombstone:
Pepperoni and extra cheese ... maybe some mushrooms.

41. Your name spelled backwards:
ikslednip hpesoj

(42?)

43. What was the last thing downloaded on your computer:
Trip's pics ... and then my computer promptly died.

44. Your favorite restaurant:

(45?)

46. Are you in love:
No.

47. What type of music do you dislike most:
Protest rock.

48. Are you registered to vote:
Yes.

49. Do you have a car:
No.

50. One thing you want right now:
To be 30 pounds lighter.

51. Ever prank call anyone:
yes.

52. If you could be a famous person for a day who would you be:
Alexander the Great.

53. Would you go bungee jumping or skydiving:
Skydiving.

54. Where do you want to be in 5 years:
New York.

He can keep his stinkin' money ...

2006-10-03T15:05:00.000-04:00

I had no idea Ben Stein, of WIN BEN STEIN'S MONEY, was such a bigoted asshole. The sweeping generalizations he makes ... and I'm sorry, but making a comparison to the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal is flawed. She was legal and consenting, this is predatory of underage boys.

Also, oggling movies is different from actually engaging boys in inappropriate conversation ... especially when you are their boss.

Its shallow Republicanism grasping at whatever straws it can.

This is the argument someone makes to me and I punch them in the face because it is so biased, uninformed, and representative of a minority who have a problem within an already maligned social minority that there is no rational rebuttal. It is offensive. Period.

WTF?!?

2006-10-03T10:38:00.000-04:00

This story, linked above, is some fucked up shit. Reminds me of DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY ... a great book.

PBS?

2006-09-20T17:02:00.000-04:00

So yeah, clearing out the debt is great -- thank you for all the positive comments!

Its wierd - PBS wants to interview me about my time with GreenPath. They're talking to members of the "middle class" about debt. Not sure if I want to do it ... but maybe. Who knows.

PBS. Who knew. I was already interviewed by al Jazeera ... about the role of faith in America ... as I exited the 10am Latin Mass at St. Matthew's Cathedral ... while hung over. But I looked fabulous.

A day to remember ...

2006-09-13T15:41:00.000-04:00

9/11/2006: After 5 years and $15,000 of accumulated debt, a terrible vicious spiral of spending begun with the very un-ceremonious break-up with my ex, I am almost completely debt free.

American Express, CitiBank, and Discover have ALL been paid off due to the help of GreenPath Debt Solutions and my father. My dad literally gave me thousands of dollars to pay this debt off, but with the interest rates I had (lowest = 24%, highest = 30%) I could never get ahead. GreenPath, being a government backed entity, got my rates down to below 10% for each card. The final payment was processed on 9/11. All 3 accounts are closed.

I took a hit on my credit (though my score is still in the "excellent" range) and have lost all 3 cards.

BUT they're gone. Those monkeys are off my back. Each week $90 was taken from my checking account (usually with a $30 service charge due to the low balance, so $120 weekly was lost) to pay down these cards ... the spending resulting from my break-up ... having to find a place immediately (which was more than I could afford, causing me to begin charging food), and then taking on my ex's $4,000 cell phone bill ...

it is finished. I should have an extra $360 a month ... SHOULD mind you, but still ...

Now I can put money towards paying off storage fees (ahh, NYC!) and actually, maybe, having a savings account!

Night Terror

2006-09-08T11:15:00.000-04:00

Also ... I had a night terror over the weekend. While in DC to do a reading of a friend's new musical, I was staying at some friends' gorgeous Victorian brownstone on 17th street in the DuPont Circle area. Timothy & David, who own the house, were at their beach house with their son. So, staying in the house with me that weekend was my friend Armando who's staying in the upstairs suite for a few weeks.

It was Saturday night, and I was there alone, tired, and battling a cold. After going over lines and drinking some tea, I headed to bed. I was sleeping in the master bedroom, which is a large room with a fireplace, bay window and tall ceiling. I left the door to the room open a crack, and the hall light on so when Armando got home at about 3am, he could easily walk up to his room.

My eyes closed, I woke up with this intense pressure on my throat -- like a hand pressing down on it. Opening my eyes, which were very heavy, I saw the outline of a face nose to nose with me. I couldn't really breathe. The shadow ... a demon ... was pressing on my throat and choking me ... all the while smiling at me. I tried to force it off me, but I couldn't lift my arms ... they were too heavy. I heard Armando come in downstairs, but I couldn't scream ... I tried ... but I couldn't force any air out of me. I was paralyzed. I heard Armando start to climb the stairs and I tried to do anything: push the demon off, scream, kick, knock something over ... but all I could do was lay there helpless. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Armando's shadow as he walked past the my door, through the hall, and to the stairs. The entire time, this presence was strangling me.

The next thing I recall is that Armando did come home. He came upstairs, the hall light went out as he went up to his room, and, pulling myself through layers of consciousness, I awoke. There was nothing in the room. I was in bed, alone. The whole ordeal was a terror ... not a dream, but a hallucination.

So yeah ... that was my Saturday night.

I'm going overboard ...

2006-09-08T11:06:00.000-04:00

It's a fucking department store, but it's a part of my childhood.

Anyway ... this sounds promising ... maybe I'll shop the Red Star ... but only on State Street ... the rest of the chain is still dead to me.

http://www.suntimes.com/output/news/cst-fin-macy08.html

Found this on Gawker today ...

2006-09-07T12:04:00.000-04:00

Really ... this has to be a joke.

http://www.gawker.com/news/politics/on-911-the-south-remembers-why-they-get-a-bad-rap-199085.php

From what I can gather, a "Dove Shoot" is a Southern tradition where they hunt pigeons, who are in the same family as doves. But perhaps they actually hunt doves ... who knows.

WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT?!

2006-08-25T13:29:00.000-04:00

They're closing the State Street Store????

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/chi-060825carsonpirie,1,1061237.story?coll=chi-business-hed

For many a Christmas Season, my family would drive its bloated post-Thanksgiving dinner asses down to State Street to BEGIN the day shopping ... first at Marshall Field's (which is now ... ugh ... MACY's (the red star of Macy's has now defaced State Street and I will NEVER set foot in Macy's again)) and then working our way to Carson Pirie Scott & Co.

Well, at least they can't tear down the building. It's an amazing structure. As a 5 year old I was always interested in the detail of the front doors ... intricate bronze filigree that brought you into the smallish wooden vestibule, and then into the perfumed main room of Carson's (you can find Louis Sullivan's initials "LHS" in the metalwork) -- though the store was badly organized. I haven't been in since they've renovated, but the pics made it look like an actual flagship again. Still, before I disliked shopping there because the building IS old and strangely arranged, and the displays were kinda' sloppy -- Field's was always impeccable.

It's just a shame ... BUT, at least the name isn't changing. The institution of CPS&Co is there ... and maybe they'll even still do Christmas windows ... and the beautiful building will be there ... which will probably make gorgeous office space.

Bored Bored Bored BOred BORED

2006-08-21T22:19:00.000-04:00

That's me right now. I'm working overtime in an attempt to patch the gargantuan hole in my checking account as I spent way too much at my 10 year high school reunion. It was lunacy. This overtime is lunacy, but I'm being paid roughly $50 an hour, so I'll make do as best I can for now.

Well, this is reassuring:

You Are 20% Abnormal

You are at low risk for being a psychopath. It is unlikely that you have no soul.

You are at medium risk for having a borderline personality. It is somewhat likely that you are a chaotic mess.

You are at low risk for having a narcissistic personality. It is unlikely that you are in love with your own reflection.

You are at low risk for having a social phobia. It is unlikely that you feel most comfortable in your mom's basement.

You are at low risk for obsessive compulsive disorder. It is unlikely that you are addicted to hand sanitizer.

How Abnormal Are You?

Thank you Blogthings. I can now cancel my electro-shock treatments for the next month.

I managed to almost completely avoid my family this past weekend home to Chicago. It was not intentional. The only family person I spent any extended time with alone was my mother -- we visited my grandmother, she told us how Spanish men tried to rob her, we sympathized, we went shopping. Rather par for the course for my family.

You Are 16% Paranoid Schizophrenic

You're so far from paranoid schizophrenic...
you probably found this quiz to be quite amusing.

Are You A Paranoid Schizophrenic?

Ahhh ... no more lithium for me. Yay.

What else to do while not being bored while not working ... hmmm........

I finally sent letters to agents and managers I've had meeting with over the past 2 weeks. Those are always fun. Actually, the shopping part is ... spending $10 on 2 cards from Papyrus. Both cards are very cool, and I think will be appreciated, but the problem I faced was not choosing stationery that screammed "faggot" the minute you opened the envelope. Something appropriate for the woman for whom the card is intended, but still retaining a level of masculinity.

yep.

Said the same thing with Mom when we were buying me a shirt for the reunion so I wouldn't be 1/2 naked or wearing something embarrassing - I went to school with rich people. Most of them are still rich and find my career choice quaint.

You Are 68% Bipolar

You're more than moody - you're a bit unstable.
If your mood swings are effecting your life, you may need to seek help.

Are You Bipolar?

well, we all have problems. Thank God I've been diagnosed by a website.

I hate work today.

2006-08-21T17:28:00.000-04:00

You Are 35% Left Brained, 65% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning.Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others.If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic.Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet.
The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility.Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way.If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art.Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Are You Right or Left Brained?

My Death.

2006-08-21T10:34:00.000-04:00

'What" will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

10 Things Not to Do at Your 10 Year High School Reunion

2006-08-21T10:14:00.000-04:00

Thou shalt not confess your crushes on people while staggeringly drunk (do it when only mildly drunk).
Thou shalt not skip dinner.
Thou shalt not do shots of Jaeger.
Thou shalt not smoke pot in the parking lot before the bar crawl (do it after).
Thou shalt not go the wrong way on the interstate (Indiana is not where you want to be).
Thou shalt not let offers of group sex go over your head (especially when the people offering are gorgeous) because you're, again, too drunk to realize what is going on.
Thou shalt not take too much privilege at the open bar.
Thou shalt not leave thy friends (it's bad for both you and them).
Thou shalt not leave thine babies' car seats in thine mini-van.
Photos.

Could potentially get me fired ...

2006-08-15T17:02:00.000-04:00

Reading http://www.omgblog.com while at work could potentially get me fired ... the "OMG he's naked" e-mails, and random gossipy bullshit that they post are, however, great.

So I don't care. I work for people who think they're dying. I need a smile every now and then.

RE: The Queens Power Outage ...

2006-07-24T16:27:00.000-04:00

... I never thought of this (that each "customer" could equal more than one person:

From the NYTimes:

"He said that power had been restored to 22,400 of 25,000 “customers,” a term that includes single households as well as apartment and office buildings. The 2,600 customers still without power probably cover about 7,800 to 10,400 people, according to the city’s rough estimate of 3 to 4 people per customer."

Full article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/24/nyregion/24cnd-power.html?adxnnl=1&adxnnlx=1153772693-qKzFXd//KmlEMe4E9ioRAQ

CONGRATULATIONS LISA!!!!

2006-07-17T10:56:00.000-04:00

Lisa is a friend of mine from high school, who I don't see very often at all, but who I think of quite often, as she was one of the sweetest and most fantastic people I was friends with in high school:

[excerpted from her blog - www.romanticcircussongs.blogspot.com - which is linked with my other friends' blogs]:

We Nod Our Dark Heads - published 2008!!
My last day at the hospital, I received an email from Parallel Press saying they are going to publish my poetry chapbook, We Nod Our Dark Heads: Poems From the Alzheimer's Home in 2008. I'm over-the-moon with excitement as this will be my first book published. I've had numerous single poems published in national and international journals, but never a book. And for those who don't know what a chapbook is, a full manuscript is between 50-100 pages; a chapbook is between 20-30, usually. I'm in love with this manuscript and I'm so happy someone picked it up.

Meez

2006-07-14T11:10:00.000-04:00

My friend Lisa did one of these ... its a great waste of time at work!

Munich

2006-07-02T21:13:00.000-04:00

Munich is dirty, but has a great "zentrum."
St. Michael's Church has a gorgeous Mass, and is a gorgeous building.
Frauenkirche can kiss my kirche.
Andecher's am Dom is a fantastic place to eat, drink and be merry!
Tip the waitress at the Hofbrauhaus -- you and your parents will get hugs and kisses, and you will get a free shot of grain alcohol!

When boarding a 9hour flight to the United States, it is best to go directly to your seat and deal with others directly (not passive aggressively), otherwise my imperious-self will put you in your place because take-offs and landings make me nervey. Don't mess with me with I'm nervy.
Germans are nice people.
Lufthansa is the best way to fly between Germany and the US.
I really do love me some Moliere and Shaw.
8 BELOW is a great movie because of the dogs ... the horrible dialogue of the humans put the silent and evocative motion of the dogs in an interesting perspective.
3 liters of beer consumed in 4 hours does not make for a bad hangover ... just a drunken state.

Last Day in Austria

2006-06-30T15:59:00.000-04:00

Salt mines are fun.
Brine tastes good.
Salt slides with your parents are fun.
Bertesgaden is not fun in the clouds.
I have spent enough time with my parents. I love them, and now I must leave them. I think I may go about on my own in Munich ... we'll see.

Oh ... Austrian boys.

Das cimputer ist kaput...

2006-06-29T16:32:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to check my e-mail, but this computer stinks.

I was going to write a moment by moment recounting of everything so far, but that might be boring ... and this blog is fun fun fun. Always.

Some notes:

Austrians will give you dirty looks if you do not give in the collection plate at Mass (thanks, Dad!)
Salzburg gets very hot.
Salzburg has more spectacular churches than inhabitants.
St. Peter's Pub, the oldest restaurant in Europe (according to them - Charlemagne ate there in 803AD) is elegant, serves great food, and is wonderfully affordable!

Vienna is known as Wien in Austria.
Wien is dirty ... kinda' reminds me of Baltimore.
The Staatsöper is beautiful and the tour is worth the money.
Mozart musicians will accost you on the street and be bitchy to you if you don't want to hear their concert.
St. Stephan's Cathedral is beautiful.
Freud's house is next to a cute little pub, Freud's Cafe, that we didn't get to eat at, but the lady who ran it was the sweetest woman and pointed us in the direction of a fun little hostel-esque place with great food.
I love schnitzel and brauten.
Wear good walking shoes.

Driving through a cloud on top of a mountain can be scary - entering it is like driving into a deep puddle, as you have just run into a WALL of rain and hail. If you want to experience this yourself, soak a gray towel and hang it on your face and have someone throw jellybeans at you. The visibility and physical sensation are EXACTLY THE SAME.
Castel Neufonstein (the fairy-tale castle of Mad Ludvig II) is pretty amazing, though very difficult to find (for my family).
Do not cross the Mary Bridge at the Fairy Tale Castle of King Ludvig II, for you will find signs that read "Caution: Danger of Death" and those are scary because you have walked the wrong way ... up a mountain.
Andechs Monastery is supposed to serve great beer and food ... if you ever find it.
Beer really is cheaper than pop/soda.

The Ice Caves in Werfen are a cool tour (ha ha!) ... though the walk is brutal: about 3,000 meters up (about 2 miles ... UP an Alp) and then you enter the 1,400 stair labrynth that is the cave (after you brave the 100km/hr winds at the cave's entrance). It is cold: wear gloves as the handrails are made of iron.
Tchockball is all the rage ... somewhere in the world. I think I am now the American ambassador for the sport ... I'm not quite sure, but I have someone's business card about it.
Austrian boys make me swoon.
"Rechnung Bitte" means "Check, please" ... not "Rectum bitte."

The Principality of Lichtenstein has inaccurate maps as the City of Vaduz (the Capitol City) is not as big as the map makes it appear.
The Principality does not give out passpost stamps ... but stupid tourists (like me and my family) can purchase them for €1.50.
My father has a problem with duty-free shops and shopping limits for tax-back/duty free incentives: we spent the equivalent of 400 Swiss Francs so we could get the duty free status. We now posses many steins and ashtrays.
Wine from Lichtenstein isn't all that great ... nor is its chocolate.
The Prince and his family do not let tourists into the castle, which is on top of a mountain.

To date, I have eaten more pork and veal than I ever have before, and have loved every minute of it. Veal is incredibly cheap here as I think eveyone owns 1 cow. Beer is good. I'm sure even the crap beer is good, but I wouldn't know which beer is the crap beer, but I drink it anyway with glee.

Tomorrow my mother father and I are going to climb a gorge, "do" a saltmine, see a castle, and visit Salzburg (which is my favorite city, thus far).

St. Johann is beautiful ... postcard beautiful. Seriously ... I want to come back next winter (2007) and ski ... or learn ... in the Alps. Anyone interested?

Alpine Excursion

2006-06-24T14:25:00.000-04:00

This crazy German computer keeps booting me out of websites ... except sex related ones and Blogger ... so this is short.

Flew into Munich this morning -- always fly Lufthansa to Germany. My parents took United and it was no where near as good (NO FREE BOOZE ON UNITED! WTF!).

Germany is warm.

Timeshare is GORGEOUS. Basically, a one bedroom condo, with a balcony & view of the Alps, that sleeps 5. My parents may not use it next year. The cost per day to use it is $5 per person per day. I may see if friends want to do a ski strip to the alps next winter ...

ps, I guess this is a 5 star resort ... though I have yet to check it all out. Full gym, pool ... gorgeous.

St. Johann im Pangau is lovely. Small. Tiny ... so cute.

There is a sex shop in the Munich airport. That rocks.

There is also Cartier, Bulgari, and Farragamo. I was erect the entire time I walked through it.

The car attendant at the Thrifty rent-a-car was VERY cute. Like, wow cute.

Dachau is beautiful in its misery.

There is a city fair going on ... I may try and check it out tonight ...
or I may sleep.

Lots of American cars here -- we have a Ford rental.

My bed (there are 3 in my room, though 2 are pushed together to make a queen) and terricloth robes in my room are great.

I'm tired ... I'll try and write more later.

New York Moment

2006-06-22T10:06:00.000-04:00

Last night, after seeing SWEENEY TOOD (which was great, btw), Bob and I went to Joe A____ (Anthony's? ... I can't remember) and we were talking, drinking ... when a a group of ladies are seated at the table next to us. After a few moments, I look over and notice the black gentleman with them ...

it is RuPaul, out of drag, sitting at a table full of lesbians ... one of whom was Cherry Jones. Right next to us.

I've seen stars on the street ... met them at parties ... but have never been "giddy" seeing them. I was giddy, first because I really like both RuPaul and Cherry Jones, and second because they were together, an unlikely pairing in a little hideaway restaurant on 46th street b/w 8th & 9th.

Of course, absent-mindedly, Bob comments a little too loudly that he preferred Elieen Atkins in DOUBT to Cherry Jones ... I nearly tore off his bicep when he said that, but I don't think her table heard (though she was sitting less that an arms length away from Bob -- Cherry, that is ... RuPaul was at the other end of the table). Of course Bob loves Cherry Jones as well, but liked Eileen Atkins better ... but it was too late.

Ahhh ... today is my annual review. I am all ready to quit. I am all prepared for a crap pay increase, signing off on it so I can say my salary was more than what it is, and them picking up my box and leaving. I am ready.

SWEENEY TODD was great. Judy Kaye is now Mrs. Lovett (sp?) and I ADORED her. She was subtle and FANTASTIC!! And the kid playing Tobias was lovely, too ... a dense production, but great ... surprisingly, I found myself moved a bit ... not sobbing, but the and intellectual emotional heaviness.

So yeah ... review somepoint today -- I was told it was first thing in the morning, but given no definite time. Then when I asked for a time, I was treated like an idiot. I hate it here. They can suck it. Bastards.

Though, I leave for Europe tomorrow. I can't wait!

Olympic

2006-06-16T10:06:00.000-04:00

I think its fantastic that Chicago is vying for the Olympics ... but I think this is even better:

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-0606160151jun16,1,1129941.story?page=1&coll=chi-news-hed

Soul

2006-06-07T10:43:00.000-04:00

You Are a Hunter Soul

You are driven and ambitious - totally self motiviated to succeedActively working to acheive what you want, you are skillful in many areas.You are a natural predator with strong instincts ... and more than a little demanding.You are creative, energetic, and an extremely powerful force.
An outdoors person, you like animals and relate to them better than people.You tend to have an explosive personality, but also a good sense of humor.People sometimes see you as arrogant or a know it all.You tend to be a bit of a loner, though you hate to be alone.
Souls you are most compatible with: Seeker Soul and Peacemaker Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

Acting!

2006-06-06T13:23:00.000-04:00

Here's a unique conversation I've had:

My E-mail: "I've submitted for the role of Paul, as I don't think I have the physicality of the "statue of David come to life" required for the role of David. Do you still want me to audition with David's sides?"

Sexual Healing

2006-05-24T13:33:00.000-04:00

I went to Confession today. The priest suggested I go to one of these meetings:

http://www.couragerc.net/

I'm debating it.

The Kentucky Derby

2006-05-10T10:30:00.000-04:00

Receiving these pics was a fantastic relief this morning:

I had the most amazing time down in Washington.

I had forgotten how important to my life my friends are, and how much of my life will forever be tied to DC. Seeing Mark & The Empress and Shirley and Phillip & Michael and Kevin and Jeff and Jay & John and Timothy & Manuel ... it was ridiculous fun.

It also made me realize how happy I am in New York. It's hard as hell, but I feel good about the work I'm doing here. Work that isn't on a stage, but day-to-day. It's hard, but I feel like my possibility has grown. So, when I was in DC, I was carefree as a bird.

It was fantastic!!

God’ Plan

2006-05-09T23:32:00.000-04:00

It’s 11:05pm. I have just come back to my computer from the basement apartment where my housemates live. Our dishwasher is running. I just spent 27 minutes talking to my father. The 6 police officers have left my bedroom, taking their 3 cruisers away.

I had called the police because one of the 2 little girls living in an apartment building next to my house was being beating with a stick by a man larger than me. A woman was trying to stop him – the man would toss her aside and she would force her left palm up his chin, her right hand outstretched to the little girl, putting herself in harm’s way as he would raise a coat hanger, a broomhandle, a rolled up piece of paper, and try to bring it down on the little girl.

I was going to stay late at work today. I decided not to.
I was going to the gym after rehearsal – I decided to go before.
I was going to rehearse late, but decided I would leave at 8:30.
I was going to enjoy the cool night air on my fire escape as I had been planning all winter

I opened my window and sat on the balcony of the fire escape outside. My knee hurts. I sit on the steps leading to the balcony. I have my lit cigarette, and breathe deep as the screaming begins. A child’s temper tantrum.

“No.”

I had a sickening chill run through my stomach as I saw the scene unfold. The woman wore pink pajama pants. The fat man was shirtless. The girl was in her underwear, no shirt. There are dolls on her windowsill that have fluffy hair.

For God only knows how long, I watched as the woman would push the man out of the bedroom door, his arm hanging through the crack as he forced himself back into the room. Again, he’d be pushed back and this time he’d go … returning with a different item in his hands. Sometimes the woman would get struck. Sometimes she'd get tossed out view and the man would climb onto the girl, beating her.

My great grandfather was an All-American football player who was arrested for beating up a bus driver who made a comment about the Irish. He bust down a neighbor’s door thinking she was being raped when it was actually an episode of “The Shadow” playing on the radio. I grabbed a rock and was going to hurl through the girl’s window, trying to get the man to leave her alone.

Call the police instead, I thought.

My balcony is in plan view of the girl’s window. There is no other way to see in it.
The cops asked my roommate if I was a peeping tom.
The cruisers were gone before we knew it.
2 men stood outside the apartment building of the dispute and watched me meet the officers and bring them to my house.
There is no lock on my window.
The Bible is on top of the dresser to left side of my bed, my sex toys hidden in a drawer in the nightstand to the right. I’m no saint, but tonight I feel I was part of God’s plan.

pH balance

2006-05-05T17:06:00.000-04:00

I was entering client information for my attorney into her contact list on Outlook, and was puzzled, "what the hell "PH-G" mean?" This is now the second time I've seen it, ever, in my life and it dawned on me:

PH ... PentHouse.

I work for rich people.

69

2006-05-04T10:07:00.000-04:00

From my Li'l Bro's Blog (I've used his responses where they're the same as mine):

Questioning
69 Odd Questions. BE TRUTHFUL!!

1) Are your parents married or divorced?
married

2) Vegetarian?
nope

3) Heaven?
possible

4) Come close to dying?
Yeah ...

5) What jewelry do you wear 24/7?
None - some I wear often, but none 24/7

6) Are you eating?
Had a banana this morning (because they have no bones)

7) Do you eat the stems of broccoli?
yep

8) Makeup?
Occasionally some cover-up for zits.

10) Would you ever have plastic surgery?
meh (*I like the fact my brother uses "meh" ... its so high schooL!) i dont think so unless i like NEEDed it

11) What do you wear to bed?
usually pajama bottoms

12) Have you ever done anything illegal?
Yes

13) Can you roll your tongue?
yep - I learned to in the 8th grade.

14) Tweeze your eyebrows?
Yep - ever since I was about 8 and an episode of "NIGHT COURT" made fun on uni-brows.

15) What kind of sneakers?
I believe my gym shoes are addidas, or reebok ...

16) Abortion?
No for me, but its an individual choice.

17) Hair color?
Back to my natural lt. brown

18) Future child's name?
Potentially: Julia, Xavier

19) Do you snore?
Sometimes ... I'm more of a heavy breather, but snore when I've been drinking

20) If you could go anywhere in the world where would it be?
newhere but here

21) Do you sleep with stuffed animals?
A stuffed Scooby-Doo that my mom gave me (he was my favorite cartoon character when I was a kid ... him, and He-Man)

22) If you won the lottery, what would you do first?
Payback my dad for all the "loans" he's given me.

23) Gold or silver?
silver is better than gold by far

24) Hamburger or hot dog?
Chicago-Style Vienna Beef hot dogs are badass

25) If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Japanese

26.) City, beach or country?
Beach

27) What was the last thing you touched?
the keys?

28) Where do you eat dinner?
Depends ... usually not at home

29) When's the last time you cried?
Last Saturday night.

30) Do you read blogs?
some ppls

31) Would you ever go out dressed like the opposite sex?
Already have ... several times.

32) Ever been involved with the police?
Yes.

33) What's your favorite shampoo/conditioner soap?
Mint Biolage ... it tingles.

34) Do you talk in your sleep?
Sometimes ...

36) What's your favorite song at the moment?
Some re-mixy thing that my roommate gave me for my birthday. It's #15 on the CD.

37) what's your favorite color?
Blue.

38) Window seat or aisle?
window

39) Ever met anyone famous?
yep

40) Do you feel that you've had a truly successful life?
Yes.

41) Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it?
twirl it, baby

42) Ricki Lake or Oprah Winfrey?
Rikki Lake.

43) Basketball or Football?
Football.

44) How long do your showers last?
~ 10 minutes.

45) Do you drive stickshift?
nope

46) Cake or ice cream?
Depends on the kind.

47) Self-conscious?
Definitely.

49) Have you ever given money to a bum?
yea

50) Who was your first crush?
Britt McClelland in the 1st grade -- she and I would hold hands at recess.

51) Where do you wish you were?
Working in theatre instead of behind a desk.

53) Have you ever rode in an ambulance?
A few times.

54) Can you tango?
I have ... its been a while.

55) Last gift you received?
Actual gift - the gift bag from the American Place Theater gala.

56) last sport you played?
Soccer, I guess ...

57). Things you spend a lot of money on?
Liquor, the studio, food

58) Where do you live?
Brooklyn.

59) Whos your best friend?

60) Last wedding attended?
Weekend before this past one -- my rooommate's.

61) Favorite fast food restaurant?
Citarella

63) Most hated food(s)?
Tripe, Kishka (Polish blood sausage)

65) Can you sing?
Yes

66) Last IM?
An exchange with Sharon (my second crush, in the 2nd grade)

67) what's your least fav. chores?
Mopping

68) Favorite drink?
To relax: Grandpa's Medicine (Crown Royal on the rocks)

69) Current Crush?
None at the moment, really ...

... and Tripe

2006-04-28T14:03:00.000-04:00

Desmond's 36th birthday was Wednesday and a group of us went to a French restaurant on Park Avenue called l'Express -- Desmond's boyfriend Christopher arranged it.

I loved my escargots. I love escargots, period.

The tripe ... though. Blech. Having never had tripe, and curoius about it, I ordered the French titled "Tripe in a zesty tomato sauce." The French may be killer with eggs, but tomato sauce is definitely an Italian thing.

The sauce was a can of Hunts that was warmed up to be piping hot -- or a can of Chef Boyardee that had the Spaghetti-O's picked out. In fact, the whole thing looked like spaghetti-o's.

Trip has the texture of Chinese "Home-Style Bean Curd" and, when diced, looks like diced white honeycombs. It has a PUNGENT smell, and tastes almost as good as it smells (a smell that had table mates slowly leaning away from me as they ate as the smell of my stomach mingled with the smell of their steaks). It actually reminded me of an herb, the way the tripe smelled, but I can't think of the herb right now.

Pulling the tops off of the salt and pepper shakers and dumping large portions of their contents on the tripe didn't help. The taste remained, but it was saltier and more "peppered". After about a 1/4 of my, oh ... 1/2 gallon bowl, I told the waiter the I was, "... more full than I had thought!" and loaded up on sourdough bread and butter and red wine.

Yum.

The world is too small

2006-04-28T13:58:00.000-04:00

The partner that I support, who is a very nice, but very busy woman: a woman who I consider self-centered and a work-a-holic, but considerate and has a good temper (stays cool, jokes around) ...

her Internist is married to one of the women in my acting class. I found her appointment reminder postcard in her calendar today as I was setting up a lunch meeting ...

The world is too small.

Now I'm trying to think if ever I said anything awful about my attorney to my scene partner. I've always prefaced my comments with "She's a nice woman, but ..." so who knows.

The world is too small. It is very wise to say nothing if you have nothing nice to say.

Every gay bar in a 30 mile radius ...

2006-04-26T14:06:00.000-04:00

That's what I did this past weekend ...

oh yeah, and my roommate's wedding.

Lancaster, PA was the setting for the "I Do's" ... which were lovely. Actually, what was really moving was my roommie's pledge to his son. Dave's wife, Becky, has a 6 year old. We all expected the vows - nothing written on their own, but the simple verses for which every congregant can emotionally prepare themself - but we didn't expect the pledge (even though it was listed in the ceremony's order of events).

Salvatore was called up, and his blonde headed self shuffled from pew to foot of the sanctuary; Dave knelt down to look Salvatore in the eyes ... this is where almost everyone's eyes widened. The "little man" kneel where Dave grabbed his son by the shoulders and vowed to be the best father he knew, and would learn, to be. The girls wept, the men were biting their cheeks. It was better than "STEEL BEACHES OF ENDEARMENT", the cathartic synergy of BEACHES, STEEL MAGNOLIAS, and TERMS OF ENDEARMENT (though this was not about the pretty girl dying). This was about a family's day -- not just Dave and Becky's, but Dave, Becky, and Salvatore.

Even the first dance of the Bride & Groom included Salvatore.

Again, I went mushy inside.

Too much mush. I need men.

Well, I didn't find any ... really.

The wedding being on Saturday, the housemates and I arrived on Friday night. I was told by some of Dave's buddies, during Dave's bachelor weekend extravaganza in NYC, where the gay bars were. Dave's friends are very good men. Strong, quiet and straight, but open-minded.

So they pointed me to TALLY HO and THE BELVEDERE.

GRAB YOUR ANKLES and TALLY HO! was my battle cry, which I came up with during the car ride with my straight housemates and their girlfriends, as, again, I was to be the only gay at the wedding who 1.) was under 40 B.) was single.

So I did -- though there was no ankle grabbing. IN fact, I believe I was ridiculed. I was wearing an argyle sweater vest with a powder blue shirt under it (the cute spring ensemble I wore to work) with some torn Mavi jeans. I looked cute and preppy, with my gold rimmed specs and mussed up hair. So, looking like this I entered the Ho.

I entered the dimly lit beige bar and showed my Illinois driver's license to the bear guarding the door. As I slide my wallet out, a shrill cackle echoed throughout the bar. I look up in time to see a table full of college boys turn their heads away from me.

The dye had been cast -- this native Chicagolander, who now lives in New York, is being sassed by children from Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

Thank God the drinks are cheap.

I park my tush at the bar and order a $7 Grey Goose on the rocks (about a $9 drink in Manhattan). I survey the room, about the size of a large basement: the dance floor, which lies opposite the entrance to the club, takes up the furthest third of the room. One of the dance floor's walls has a mirror. In the middle of the mirror are the words TALLY HO, spelled in echoing blue and red neon lights, and then DISCO in echoing green and yellow lights.

You enter the dance floor from the bar/seating area. I was at the bar, which ran the length of the remaining bit of the room. Over it hung a hot water pipe, wrapped in white Italian lights that were covered in larger white stars. The linoleum seating area had bar tables and stools, and a dart board.

I sat at the middle of the bar, trying to look unassuming and non-threatening (I've been told I can come across this way). I knew my chances of getting laid were slim at best, but I thought I'd give it that "old college try," especially since I was dressed like an English lit. grad student.

So I sat. I sat a long time, drinking my drinks watching the cliques slowly enter the bar: the bears, the leather crowd, the hawk and his chickens occupied the table the trumpeted my arrival with their "gaiety", the blue collar workers, the Banana Republic wearing "businessmen" ... and then entered Mark.

The only person in Lancaster, PA who would talk to me was from Champagne-Urbana, Illinois. He too was in town for an event (a banker's convention) and he too was looked at as if he bore the Mark of Cain. He sauntered up next to me, and while I knew I was not attracted to Mark, I knew that he was the only person who was going to talk to me. Even the lesbian barmaid and the gay bartender avoided eye contact with us.

So we chatted and joked and got along very well, each of us commenting at one point on how at any given moment we could look at any corner of the room and find someone watching us. Not because we were cute, but because we were new. Then, every now and again, one of the chickens would come to roost between us, disrupting our conversation, and order a drink -- mind you, there was plenty of room elsewhere at the bar.

Oi.

So, after an hour and a half, I knew I needed to call it a night. I had a wedding to look fabulous for in the morning, and that meant sleep. Mark was very nice, but not worth having mussed hair the next day. So I said good night.

I left and decided to go to THE BELVEDERE INN, which is 3 blocks from my hotel. It was only 1:30, and I was curoius ... and still, um, horny. So I go ... maybe there was a reason to "sleep in" waiting there?

Of course, by the time I got there, the 3 Grey Geese on the rocks and the Yeungling had sunk into my system. But I ventured over to a vacant chair in the GORGEOUS bar. The Belvedere Inn is a Victorian inn. The bar is a mahogany pannelled, mauve painted, velvet draped cigar bar. The visitors to town, the smart-set, the metrosexuals, the gay party boys -- they were all there. It was a trendy mixed bar where both women and men stood a chan ... well, ok, the women were pretty much out of luck, but the MEN! Oh, the men.

Oh the booze! I finished my 4th Goose, and looking at the very nice and flirtatious bartender, I left a very nice and flitatious tip as I had no better sense about me -- except that it was time for me to tuck myself into my lonely king-sized bed. No ankle grabbing tonight ... just some "tired ho" ... s.

I wake the next morning, feeling a little blurry, but a greasy breakfast put the problem to rest. Then I got a haircut -- buzzed to the scalp with a little play on top, I (inadvertantly) got the exact same haircut as the groom, which actually ended being a fun tribute/joke throughout the wedding reception.

The wedding reception was in The PressRoom, which is the nicest room in Lancaster to rent and is a nice room regardless of where you are situated in the country. The courtyard, with its fountains, and the promenades were a little soggy from the rain, so everything was moved into the dining room; but, it was still lovely.

As are Becky's gay brothers. Melvin didn't really talk to me, but he and his partner seemed lovely. Roger, Becky's other gay brother, and his partner Dan took a shining to me, and I to them. Being the only gay there under 40, and the only gay not related to the Bride, heads turned whenever I walked into the room -- NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING. These weren't Tally Ho turns, but fun turns. I was the cute young one that people were trying to strike up conversations with throughout dinner.

Abba saved the day, as my roommate jokingly said he'd even thrown in some Abba for the gay crowd (all 5 of us) and I responded, "Ah, our national anthem". It was then Dan practically lept out his chair and started talking. Before I knew it, I was committed to driving 1 hour outside of Lancaster to go to the bar in Gettysburg.

Vowing to not cause any family scandals on Dave's wedding night, me and Dan and Roger head to what I can only describe as a dining hall from camp. Driving through an hour of pouring rain, we arrive at a gravel road that ran into a dark patch of woods. On that road was a train of very nice sedans, Jeeps, and other cars. "The Gays" I comment, fearing I would either have a good time, or get pistol whipped and left for dead.

So we drove into the dark woods of Central Pennsylvania on a gravel road, and came to "The [NAME I CAN'T REMEMBER THAT ISN'T ECONO] Lodge" where I paid my $3 cover charge (IN Pennsylvania!) and entered the cultural crucible that was there -- the pretty boys had one corner, the dirty old men hung out by the bath rooms, the teenagers sat on the stage, the lesbians were at the pool tables in the corner, and I sat with the Metropolitan Community Church group at the picnic tables just to the left of the dance floor. Someone's 60 year old mother worked the back bar ... it was nuts. Abba, Reba McIntyre, Usher, Madonna, C&C Music Factory, Johnny Cash all were played over the PA system ... it was surreal...

and so were the $3.75 Stoli cocktails, of which I had about 5 ... maybe more.

I dance, talk, mostly people watch as the time passes. The MCC posse decides its time to go, so as I get one last drink, Roger & Dan tell me that they'd be outside - no rush, but its about that time. So as I finish my drink, and obviously more than tipsy, THE HAWK approaches me.

STAN -- the hawk whose chickens cackled at my arrival at Tally Ho. Stan, the 54(ish) bald thin man who would have been attractive, had he not behaved like such the queen bee the night before with his viperish chickens who would come over to order drinks at my and Mark's expense. The queens I would smile and make eye contact with as they swished by me, coldly.

Stan: What's your name?
Joe (drunk): Don't start now, you had all last night to talk to me.
Stan: What?
Joe (still drunk): You were at Tally Ho. I was in the argyle sweater and I had hair.
Stan: That was you?
Joe (you guess it): Yep. You and your boys were having quite the time, so I felt all weird about imposing.
Stan: I was going to come over, but everyone was intimidated by you.
Joe (do I need to continue?): ME! C'mon! I'm a pussy *hic* cat. Who's this?

I am introduced to Paul, the BEAUTIFUL 28 year old who designs education programs for deaf children. As you can guess, he is thrilled to meet me.

Tactful.

Next is Greg, who is also very attractive, and who is inching ever so slowly away from me.

Joe (realizing his situation): Time to go!

Ahh yes, my superior urban breeding truly captured the night for me, as I went 0-3 in every gay bar in a 30 mile radius.

Tax Refund!

2006-04-21T10:31:00.000-04:00

Yay yay yay yay yay yay.

Not only am I paying debts, but I've also bought ... BOOKSHELVES! I've ordered the ones I want from HomeDecorators.com. It's easy and they're freakin' bookshelves for my room -- I don't need Ethan Allen.

Yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yaaaaaaaaaaaay!

Seriously, I'm not a Pig

2006-04-20T12:38:00.000-04:00

I eat at my desk most days.

Whenever I do, I always manage to get caught with too big a bite in my mouth, or trying to tip the crumbs out of the potato chip bag into my mouth and having them fall all over me like confetti.

I consider it a "Murphian" Talent.

Stress

2006-04-19T13:21:00.001-04:00

and lots of it.

I had a great trip home to Chicago. Beautiful, actually. I love my family. I'm very close with my family.

I am not very close to anything or anyone in New York. Actually, I take that back -- there is my friend Johanna who I have known since we were 16. We have a sympathy. We don't get to see each other that much, though.

I'm stressing because I am supposed to be in a theatrical "happening". I helped in the germination of the idea and was then reluctantly enlisted in its cast. I've since quit, and have now re-joined.

I'm stressed because I don't want to share personal dreams and stories. Not now, at least. I don't have the time to dig, write, rehearse and "happen" in a week. I'm stressed over money, over work, over my roommates wedding and trying to not be a burden to anyone. I'm stressed becasue I know I need to do something like the happening, as there is a personal threshold I need to breach in my acting, but I'm stressed because now isn't the best time and I'm stressed that I might just be making an excuse for not "happening".

I'm stressed.

I want a nap.

I want a long nap, on my Mom & Dad's couch, with their dog Moose laying next to me and me scratching his neck, like this weekend. I want dinners with my grandma and my sister and brother, and being obnoxious with them to get a laugh and I want to hang out with my little brother more because I moved out of the house when he was 9 years old, and he's turning 19 this year. I want more nights like the one I had with Chris.

Today is the day where I question why I've made the decisions I've made.

I have a friendly face

2006-04-14T10:53:00.000-04:00

People have always taken a liking to me. I'm benign, I smile, I'm polite. Usually once or twice a week I'll be stopped on the street and asked for directions ... no matter where I am in a town (whether vacationer or native).

But this has to stop. Not so much the random strangers, but people's need to unload their crap on me.

I ... don't ... care ... and behind my smile is a cartoon bubble with all sorts of lovely commentaries.

Like today. Today is Good Friday. Today we Catholics fast and abstain. Today is not a day to whine. The Gospel reading only a couple of weeks ago mentioned how we should not make a big deal out of our fastings and religious duties, because that's vanity. It calls attention to our religoscity, but isn't a true demonstration of it.

So please, don't bitch to me about how hungry you are, or how much of a pain it is to get to Mass. Please. I am trying to construct a non-offensive way of telling people to get over themselves ... but I can't. I get angry listening to their griping, so I smile and nod.

Bear in mind, this isn't true for all gripings. My friends, when their problems are serious (not just immature annoyances), I'll converse with them. You can usually tell when someone is interested with your issues, and when I'm interested, I let you know.

So ... yeah. Friendly isn't always kind, so don't judge a person by their face.

Spy Wednesday

2006-04-12T14:17:00.001-04:00

You learn something new every day.

Today in Ireland, Mexico, and some other Catholic countries is Spy Wednesday: the day that Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus to High Priests.

A Google search revealed and reminded me that there is no "feast of St. Judas". In fact, there is no St. Judas -- though he has a Gospel, which I am curious to read as I guess the Gnostic beliefs are pretty basic questions that I've had since I was little -- if God knows everything, and we are all a part of God's plan, and Jesus was sent here to die ... wouldn't Judas have been a true betrayer if he hadn't sold-out Jesus? I was little, in the 2nd Grade, when I had this epiphany and rather than questions Sr. Barbara's Felician authority http://www.feliciansisters.org/, I just accepted what she had to say.

Is that good luck?

2006-03-28T16:13:00.000-05:00

Everyday when there's a lunch, the left overs from the lunch are placed in the 11th floor kitchen for the staff to pick over. It's usually good food from some moderate to upscale delis and restaurants.

So I wander upstairs to the 11th floor kitchen. Now, all I wanted was another cup of coffee and a cup of water and there is no water cooler in the kitchen on 11 (I meant to go to the 9th floor kitchen where both coffee and water can be gotten with ease), so I guess my subconscious was taking me to the leftovers from the gourmet lunch that was cancelled.

I realize my mistake over the kitchen selection steps from my entry to the kitchen, but figured, "Oh well, I'm here ... I may as well look." I did more than look: there was one chocolate covered stawberry left on the desert platter. I had already had 2 (I know! BAD!) earlier, as no one ever eats the chocolate covered strawberries, so I figured I might as well go for the trifecta.

I pick-up the berry, bite down and mmmmmmmmm....oh?

It tastes kinda', hmmm, I dunno', pesticide-y. Maybe I bit a leaf?

I look down at the strawberry and see ladybugS.

Ladybugs. Ladybugs on my 1/2 eaten berry.

I FREEZE. Don't panic, don't scream. This is foul, but there is no need to make a scene. I mean, who wouldn't expect to find ladybugs on their food in the spring ...

... on the 11th floor of an office building in the middle of the concrete jungle that is mid-town Manhattan.

I go to the garbage and spit ... melted chocolate, mashed berry and bug all pour out of my mouth. I can see people out of the corner of my eye ... OH GOD! Don't let them see me, Please! St. Jude! Help me! Make me invisible so that the lawyers don't see the secretary spewing shit-brown liquid out of his mouth into the trash.

I then go to my friend Jen, in reception, and tell her ... "DUDE! What are you standing there for," she says, "GO RINSE OUT YOUR MOUTH!"

I run down to the 9th floor kitchen and started rinsing, while my k-cup brewed, and I lamented the situation.

Will I ever eat strawberries again?

Ladybugs are supposed to be good-luck -- what happens when you gnash them in two with your teeth? Is it like breaking a mirror? Am I now plagued? Will I be attacked by swarms of vengeful insects while I sleep?

What horrors await?

Not off my Antibiotics

2006-03-21T10:09:00.000-05:00

Last night was a nice *thwack* of reality for me in class. At the foot of the master, I have been doing well -- he is breaking me of bad habits -- playing my nuanced 1950's Freudian American Realism.

And then ... *thwack!* Shaw.

Again, SHAW. My first actual duet in class was from Shaw's MISALLIANCE, at the end of which Wynn declared "THAT is how Shaw is meant to be done!" It took me about 3 rehearsals to get there, but the praise was good and the reinforcement positive.

SO ... last night. Kimberley was finding a monogue from Shaw's ANAJANSKA and she asked me to read opposite her in the scene from which she was compiling the 'logue. I was excited. I never get asked to read cold with people ... and once again, I am reminded why.

"Kimberley, I'm going to have to stop you -- this is damaging to Joe. Joe, you are not off your "antibiotics" yet and are falling into the habits I am trying to break you of, I'm sorry."

It was shaming, but good. The more and more I process the incident, the more I see what he was saying. I wasn't thinking when I picked up the scene -- just responding as I thought was appropriate. I wasn't being a character; I wasn't doing much else other than just having fun, and in the process was doing disservice to the scene, my partner, and was also falling into bad "forcing" habits. It hurt the ego, though, to be called out in front of the class -- but it was good.

To be honest, I've been getting nothing but benign praise lately and it was good to screw up and be called out in front of the few remnants of the class (it ran late and people had to leave, so only a few hearty souls remained). The praise has been lots of, "you've really found the character" and "that was well done, and appropriate for the role". Now I'm a little bruised, but its good. Sr. Geralyn told me, when I was in the 7th Grade, that I shouldn't get too "big for my britches" ... which is something I have a tendency to do from time to time. So, it was nice.

Well, not nice ... it sucked ... but its good for me. Like antibiotics.

Go Fug Yourself makes me laugh, and this is why ...

2006-03-15T15:51:00.000-05:00

July 06, 2004

Hoboeroticism: In; Good Taste: Out

From the runways of Paris's fashion week comes this little gem from John Galliano:

I think I'm speechless. This is what Abe Lincoln would look like if he swallowed Daniel Boone and then went on a three-week opium bender.

Has John Galliano lost his mind? I think he has lost his mind. Down a manhole.

I hate Confrontation

2006-03-10T12:29:00.000-05:00

My boss took the bait and initiated a conversation about my "happiness" here at work.

As any of my friends may attest: when I ain't happy, it shows! Hence the grammar school nickname of "Pouty Pants".

So, today we get summaries of your used / accrued vacation/sick time. I take this opportunity to meet with my boss, knowing full well that she will want to discuss my behavior with me.

So, we do.

My behavior has been "less cheerful", though my work hasn't suffered. I seem hurt. My response: I'm paid $15,000 less than a temp - of course I'm hurt. Though, if I leave, its not my problem.

So, I have a meeting with the director of secretaries in New York next week. We'll see how this goes. For now, I'm still job hunting and love CareerBuilder.com.

One good thing: the attorney I sit for, this is how she greeted me this morning after I returned from 2 days of being home sick: "Thank God you're back, this place really does fall apart when you're not here." It's nice to know I'm valued ...

and that I have leverage.

OMG - Someone's going down!

2006-03-07T10:19:00.000-05:00

So yeah ... I'm on CareerBuilder.com, posting my resume and drafting cover letters.

I currently make $43,500 at my position, which to me seemed like a lot .. before December 7. Then I made a $10,000 raise request, which I thought was too much ...

THEN I WENT TO CAREERBUILDER AND SAW THAT ENTRY LEVEL SECRETARIES IN MY POSITION START AT 50-60K.

Normally, I like raw shafts up my ass ... but somehow, this doesn't feel so good ...

But I've learned something that I will pass on:

When interviewing for a job, look and see what similar positions at other firms in the same geographic region make, and then do your salary request.

I've decided I'm not dumb, I'm just naive. I dimwittedly think that people will be nice to me if I'm nice to them.

What a crock.

OMG, I'm totally crunchin on him!

2006-03-01T16:30:00.001-05:00

J2 might be comin' to NYC in the autumn to visit me.

We exchanged E-mails today.

Oh, my beating heart.

J2 is a Mancunian who I met through OKPlus1 (Ms. Jen) during the Thanksgiving holiday in 2000.

Oi.

J2 and I shared a bed that night ... very innocently. He was dating someone (who he was meeting up with in Australia, his next stop after the US) and I was still with Steve. So, J2 (and I, "J3") didn't so much as touch that night, and went barhopping the following night, which was only slightly more risquee in that some of the dive bars played porn. Agian, no kissey-kissey or anything ...

... we've been E-mailing ever since.

And we're both single.

I'm probably making too much out of this, but its fun to have crushes . Especially on cute Brits who have just earned their PhD's and are now helping families in Liverpool to get their lives together.

(PS, I have a wedding song picked out, Duncan Sheik's "Days Go By". I will convert to The Church of England, there will be a formal ceremony and reception in Manchester, and another reception in Chicago at either The Drake or the Garfield Park Conservatory. There will be engraved invitations.)

He's a do-gooder, with hazel eyes, brown hair and the most gentle Mancunian accent.

Mancunian. Such fun to say ... say it, "Man-cu-ni-an". Oh.

So yeah ... he signs his E-mails to me "much love". I get a tingle.

I am a 12 year old girl at times.

Drinking with Classmates is good for your Health

2006-02-24T15:45:00.000-05:00

I adore my acting class. We meet in Carnegie Hall; We learn from Sanford Meisner's protege; We try, we fall, we try again, we drink.

The drinking is not a usual occurrence for me, but when I go, I have a blast. I realize how lucky I am to be in this city. I may bitch and moan and rage about my day job, but I'm surrounded by good people here. I may be a dime a dozen actor, but I'm in class with good, decent human beings and actors.

Last night reminded me of this. Leaving the studio, we started asking each other if we wanted a drink. I had money in my pocket, so decided to go with the group to Old Castle where we watched the Olympics, ate wings and drank beers.

The HOT actresses in my class (all the women are gorgeous, and none of them are bitchy or diet obsessed ... they're all as down-to-earth as actors and actresses can be and still be actors and actresses) were scarfing pizza, chicken wings and Guiness and Pilsner and Wiese. The guys were at the bar, doin' the same. I sat with the girls and we talked about the Olympics, boyfriends, clothes, jobs. Normal stuff. A little business ... agents ... how everyone got theirs, how I can go about getting one ... and types.

"What type am I?", meaning: which Hollywood personality would I be competing with for roles. I had heard this, but have now had it verified ... this is a common question an agent will ask you, and it is a vital one to get right. "Who are you like?" You say someone too ethnic, and woops! You're only being sent out on latin tv commercials. You say someone too bland, and you're never thought of again. So we agonized over this ... who are we like?

Raquel - Rosario Dawson crossed with Julia Roberts (and its true, she has the same look (think Julia is MYSTIC PIZZA or STEEL MAGNOLIAS) and the same presence -- feminine brooding).

Angelique - Selma Hayek. Spot on. Great actress, beautiful, smart and ballsy.

Me ... Nathan Lane. Which was nice, but I wasn't keen on it. Then Mark, the Irishman who has been leading the most amazing journeyman actor life ever, came up with Jack Lemmon.

I love Jack Lemmon. I think its both a compliment and actually pretty accurate.

It was a fun game to play ... a mental teaser over beer and snack food mixed with talking about the hot boys in class (before Mark joined us, because I am the only FOD in the class) and how one of them, Will, gets almost nekked (down to boxers) and how none of us are paying attention to the scene anymore ... we're all either in lust, or trying not to be in lust and trying to focus on the scene, but we're so focused on focusing that it's impossible to focus.

I got home at 3:15am and was SO happy. I haven't been that happy in a while. The scene I'm working on, a subtle Freudian play from the 50's, went well and so did the drinks after.

Again, I am very lucky.

My job, Defined:

2006-02-23T11:29:00.000-05:00

I put square pegs in round holes for attorneys at one of the Eastern Seaboard's largest lawfirms, and I get paid shit money to do it.

Things I would like to say/would like to have said to my current and former superiors at work:

2006-02-21T13:28:00.000-05:00

"Go ahead, make fun of my over-stuffed inbox. It's almost as much fun as making fun of a quadrapalegic."

"Ummm, when I asked for a raise I wasn't talking about your penis."

"Yeah, that is funny how [insert inane piece of bullshit here] is like that. Huh."

"Happy Monday, Mas'er!"

"You think leaving 72 (LITERALLY) 'to do' items on my desk, anonomously, will mean I won't know who you are?"

"No, this doesn't lessen the blow."

"FUCK - YOU!"

"Do you think that if you don't respond to my E-mail I'll just forget I sent it?"

"The only person here more incompetent than me, is YOU."

"What? A new snotty billionaire heiress for a client? More work for me? YAY!"

"Maybe next time you should give me the correct instructions?"

"Maybe next time, your pencilled-in chicken stratch should actually MAKE SENSE?"

"Wow. You really went to an 'Ivy League' school."

"Mmmmm, yeah, I am an actor; But, I'm not working on anything right now because I have to do YOUR shit work, thanks."

"A 3% pay raise for a 7% increase in output after a -5% increase in labor! Jeez, you shouldn't have. REALLY."

"I thought indentured servitude was illegal."

"Drop dead."

This one will be deleted ...

2006-02-21T11:09:00.000-05:00

No diatribe ... just venting...

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

Today really sucks big juicy stool.

Ornery Bitch

2006-02-10T10:25:00.000-05:00

I ate too many jalapenos last night .... don't mess with me.

I've already hung up on some schmuck in the Finance department, sent 3 angry e-mails and left a vicious voicemail.

I may be fired by noon. But I hope to go out with a bang.

But then you find out ...

2006-02-09T13:24:00.000-05:00

that finance didn't get the .pdf of my overtime sheet, so the 8.5 hours of overtime that I worked last week wasn't credited to my check. So now it will be credited to next week's, along with the 9.5 hours of overtime (so far) worked this week.

And you start to breathe again, knowing that you will be able to pay your rent ....

I'm not paid enough to care.

2006-02-09T11:49:00.000-05:00

That's my revelation today.

I've been working a lot of overtime for the past 2.5 months. I usually work through lunch and then stay late. I miss auditions, rehearsals, gym time ... opportunities to better myself and do what I want.

And then I get my paycheck. I am not paid enough to care anymore.

If this were a job that were fulfilling, then I would care. But, its not and I don't.

A Designing Woman

2006-02-01T15:26:00.000-05:00

From today's Backstage.com:

"Having seen the business change over the years, Smart offers the following to other actors: 'I wish I had learned this sooner: Stop trying to figure out what 'they' want and [trying to] fit into that. Find what it is about yourself that is unique and interesting and powerful that you feel is your strength. Don't necessarily get your nose fixed and your teeth fixed and your breasts done or whatever else you think you should do because you think they're looking for that. Because if you really look at the people who are successful, most of them just have a quality where they're being true to themselves, and we find that interesting and want to watch them. Whatever the quality is that makes you uniquely you, that's what you should foster and groom and take care of and protect. Don't try to mess it up, because you're just going to dilute everything.'"

Full Article:
http://www.backstage.com/bso/news_reviews/features/feature_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1001919952

Why I keep a blog

2006-01-31T16:00:00.000-05:00

I was awake in bed, again, last night and thought.

2006 hasn't been a bowl of cherries so far as I can tell. I'm not dying. I'm not terminally ill, but the things I dream about, the things I live for are becoming more difficult to attain, it seems.

A friend, a very close friend, attempted suicide near Christmastime. I was, and still am, 600 miles away. I was, and still am, powerless to help. Though I understand why one would attempt something so definite.

It's a lonely feeling to feel helpless. Nature, time, job ... all pressuring down on you and you can't rise to the challenge and you can't admit that there are these pressures because part of making it in the world is being able to tackle these difficulties. Difficulties everyone has a boatload of to deal with, and don't care to hear about yours.

Put up or shut up.

Though friends help. Friends manage to push their boatloads aside for a night or 3 and listen and relate. Right now, still being new to NYC, its that relating that I'm missing. Lots of people here to go out with, lots of people here to listen and try to understand, but being new: I still have yet to find the friends who can listen and relate. Comiserate.

In this faux private medium, I get to solicit enough attention to make me feel special. A genius of prose, co-miseration from friends miles away. I push "publish" and the screen goes blank and I've purged. There's no great intellectualism here ... I don't like idealogues. There's no overt analysis or horn-tooting ... just more of a selfish release.

Or so I think.

I want snow. I hate this grey, warm winter. Its not winter. A season is being taken away and I hate it. My sinuses know it and they are badgering me about it. A season of snow and bright nights and catching flakes on your tongue and watching silence in the city is being stolen away. I feel like, right now, a whole portion of me is being stolen away and I can't figure out how to get it back.

SEVEN SONGS

2006-01-28T12:42:00.000-05:00

j'adore Ma ... and I totally love the Joan of Arc reference ... My mom was a tomboy, so it TOTALLY fits ... :-)

SEVEN SONGS:

List seven songs you are into right now; no matter the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're any good. They must be songs you're really enjoying this week. When you're done, tag seven people to see what they're listening to.

1. DIRTY LITTLE SECRET (All America Rejects - "Move Along")
2. SHE'S MY PUSHER (Crystal Method - "Vegas")
3. ALPINE SYMPHONY (Richard Strauss, Welser-Most cond'ting the Mahler Youth Orchestra)
4. SI PUER CUM PUELLULA (Orff's CARMINA BURANA, Ormandy conducting the PO)
5. OH MIO BABBINO CARO (Renee Fleming singing from Puccini's GIANNI SCHICCHI)

lame-o as it is, the last 2 are from the Vanity Fair compilation CD:

6. WE ARE NOWHERE AND ITS NOW (Bright Eyes)
7. CHANGED THE LOCKS (Lucinda Williams)

So, I tag the peeps on my bloglist ... Jen, Christie, Beth, Lili, Lisa, Red-haired One ... and whoever else wants to ....

EAT MORE FAT

2006-01-28T12:13:00.000-05:00

That’s my diet from my doctor, believe it or not.

It was an odd visit.

I went to my new doctor about a month ago, after having had a horrible experience with my last MD. I needed to update my HIV tests and wanted to find an internist to look after me, so I went to The Pink Pages and found the only MD listed in there that Manhattan had to offer.

So I go.

Lectures on safe sex (yawn … I know this) and then the exam. Cough, cough, tap, tap …

“You have a heart murmur.”

“I do? Are you sure?” … because in my 27 years of existence, Doctors have noticed my maladied lungs, liver, brain and other features that have been infected, clogged and banged around to the point of aneurysm. Now you, who I've just met, tap on my chest and make this diagnosis?

“Yes … come back January 27 for a sonogram.”

SO … last night I went. Editors note: I find it interesting that the sonogram operators I’ve encountered are Polish. I was in the hospital about 3 years ago with a horrible liver problem, and at the sound of my last name a flurry of “psht cht a dob cht zabie” came fluttering at me. No … “no popolskieu … resumje Americaneskieu” … or however you spell it.

Anyway, the lovely blonde lady listened to my heart last night.

“Do I have a murmur?” I ask.

“A cardiologist has to look this over, but from what I can tell it’s very minor, no need to worry … many people have them.”

Goddamn it, he was right!

So I went out of the exam room, through the waiting room, and into the Dr. 's office. He wanted to talk to me. So, a little crest-fallen, I went.

Prior to this visit, the last time I talked to the doctor was to review my bloodwork. At that point, everything was fine, or so I thought.

“Your cholesterol is too low. If we don’t get it up you’ll be at risk for a stroke.”

Now, my cholesterol has always been low. At 3, I was part of a control group of a study on children with low cholesterol. Absurdly low cholesterol. No one ever said this could be a problem, so I took steps to keep it low. Cholesterol free shit, exercise. Every now and again I’d splurge … putting salt and butter on ANYTHING because I wanted to and because I knew I could.

So I ask, “how do I fix my cholesterol?”
“You need to eat more cheese and oils and milk,” new doctor responds.
“But I do … I drink milk all the time …”
“What kind” he asks.
“Skim or 1%” I respond.
“Nope … it has to be whole”.

“But doctor” … I’m a gay man and must have a 32” waist again. I’ve ballooned. I’m back at 180 pounds, back to where I was last year … “I’d like to get my weight back down to between 150 and 155 pounds”.

“How do you diet?” he asks … concerned.

NOW, I realize I have just walked into a trap. I know I should to discuss dieting with a doctor. But, who actually does that? I take metabolism pills from GNC and all sorts of crap to crash diet; Knowing crash dieting is bad, I also moderate my meals ... though sometimes I replace dinner altogether with a MetRx bar …

“I eat smaller portions and more frequently.” I tell him, which is true. AND ... I do view dieting as a lifestyle change.

“Do you low carb or low fat?”

“A little of both … mainly moderation and low fat,” I respond.

“Well, Joseph … you shouldn’t, due to your cholesterol. You need more healthy fats in your diet. Also, you have a thyroid problem.”

At this point every muscle in my body clenched.

“Come again?” I mean, you can't just throw the words "thyroid" and "problem" around without eliciting some reaction.

Then he started talking medical speak … “Most people’s thyroids have between 2-3 blah blah blah’s in the yadda-do. You’re at a 4.2. I’m not overly concerned, but we have to monitor this.”

What I hear: “You’re at a 4.2 and the rest of the healthy happy world is at a 2. You have DOUBLE the crap in your Thyroid.”

“So …” I am now trying to make sense of this …

“My metabolism is too high?” (Pretty much all I remember from AP Bio and “A for Anatomy”, at this point, is an absurd amount of information about the kidney and that the thyroid controls metabolism and some hormones, but it’s the Hypothalamus that is the “master” gland, displacing the “former master” Pituitary gland.

“No, Joe … it’s too low.”

JESUS CHRIST! MY THYROID IS MAKING ME FAT!

MY FAT REALLY IS GLANDULAR!

I’m going to be Gilbert Grape’s mother! They’re going to have to burn the house down to get me out when I die! I’m going to become “Joe-ba the Hut!” OH GOD! MY VANITY! MY FRAGILE VANITY!

“Well, I’m only now getting back to the gym …” I’m starting to panic a bit.

“Exercise won’t help. This is something that we just have to watch.”

OH … GOD.

“But you shouldn’t be on a low fat diet with your cholesterol level the way it is …”

So, basically, I have to put more fat into a body that produces fat like a fire produces heat. Great.

… would you like to hear about my diet?”

Now, I didn’t say anything, because the Good Dr. has his own sizeable tummy, but I thought I should be nice…

“Ummm, OK …”

“I’m writing a book. It’s like South Beach or Atkins …”

Oh God … here we go.

I then got a lecture on how the FDA is in cohoots with the margarine industry and the idea of a low-fat diet is bunk because of this guy in the 1950’s, and if you look at countries that thrive on fats and high amounts of vegetables have very low heart attack rates and there was this Harvard study and doo dah doo dah doo …

In the cartoon bubble over my head: JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN "NEW" FOOD PYRAMID; TELL ME THE NAME OF THE BOOK AND I’LL BUY IT.

So about 15 minutes of talking passes by … he’s really smart, really into his topic, and his foundation for his information seems sound … I want to research it before I buy into it more.

But, more importantly, I want to go home. It is now close to 7:30 at night. It's Friday. I just want to go home … and eat an extra cheese pizza, since I need more cheese in my diet (which is I did, and I do).

Afterall: Doctor’s orders.

He wrote that?

2006-01-25T15:57:00.000-05:00

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/sns-ap-pope-encyclical-sex,1,5229555.story?coll=chi-news-hed

I'm just a little surprised ... like many others ... and actually kinda' agree with him.

2006-01-24T14:36:00.000-05:00

Stolen from http://okplusthree.blogspot.com

Four Jobs You've Had In Your Life:

1. Actor
2. Receptionist
3. Copyright Analyst
4. Secretary (in a law firm ... see previous posts)

Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over Again:

1. "9 to 5" (it has added significance now that I'm a secretary)
2. "The Women"
3. "The Goonies"
4. "The Secret of N.I.M.H." (a childhood fav ...)

Four Places You've Lived:
1. Oak Park, IL
2. Park Ridge, IL
3. Washington, DC
4. Brooklyn, New York

Four TV Shows You Love To Watch:
1. "Arrested Development"
2. "The Daily Show"
3. "Drawn Together" (HUSH!)
4. "Law & Order"

Four Places You've Been On Vacation:
1. Los Angeles, CA
2. Port St. Joseph, FL
3. The Boundary Waters, Canada
4. Rehoboth Beach, DE

Four Websites You Visit Daily
1. citymice.blogspot.com
2. okpluthree.blogspot.com
3. friendster.com
4. chicagolisa.blogspot.com

Four Of Your Favorite Foods:
1. homemade kielbasa
2. stuffed pizza
3. roast duck
4. booze

Four Albums You Can't Live Without:
I can live without 'em

Four Vehicles You've Owned:
1. my bike
2. my rollerskates
3. a scooter
4. a radio flyer wagon

Jeanne d'arc

2006-01-24T14:07:00.000-05:00

I am getting some free time nowadays ... helping me put my brain back together after duping and revising Wills and Trust Agreements, Powers of Attorney, scheduling meetings ... blah blah blah and did a little online fumbling ...

A friend of mine since college was a producer on the first season of PROJECT RUNWAY, and I haven't been able to watch much of it this season. BUT, they put the winning designs in the Banana Republic (grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....) display window in the concourse of Rockefeller Center. The skating outfit is on display.

Worn by Sasha Cohen. I went to her website http://www.sashacohen.com and there's a "getting to know you" sorta' meme on her "About Me" section ...

"What historical figure do you most identify with? Joan of Arc".

Really?

I dunno'. I chuckled. Joan of Arc is my mom's favorite saint, because Joan was a feminist in that she didn't let her gender keep her from pursuing what was her calling and her duty: liberating the French. She sacrificed her life for her nation and beliefs (though I'm not sure if she did anything substantial for women's lib, other than supplying an example of feminine strength).

Somehow equating figure skating with such lofty ideals doesn't seem right. Although, I guess each of our passions are lofty ideals. One woman's nation is another woman's career ...

or maybe she's just a witch.

Accomplishment Log

2006-01-23T10:39:00.000-05:00

I really fucking hate my job. It makes me sick. I’m asking for $50,000.00 in my review. If I don’t get it, I’m walking. Case closed.

Right now I barely pay my bills on time … not due to finances, but due to the fact that I have no time to pay them. My acting class is getting better – we hearsed on the ONE day off we could (my partner has a family, so she keeps the weekends for them … something I totally respect). I actually was able to work like I normally could. I'm single again and devote more time to myself as I try to get some fucking headway in this town (I like Bob a lot ... but I can't date right now).

What I don’t respect is my boss giving me assignments at 5:35 when my day ends at 5:30.

This happens regularly.

What I used to let slip, I now bill for even though its minimal. People are getting on my back, so I get on theirs.

I am not nice. I am getting bitter. And if I don’t fucking get a raise, I’m walking, which they don’t want because I am the only one, right now, who knows the protocol for my position.

Bastards.

It’s not my boss … she didn’t know. It’s the fucking firm. The fucking 150 year old, we’re one of the biggest and most powerful in the US bullshit that I have to deal with. My attorneys are great. The New York office is fan-tas-tic.

Boston can lick my nuts. Boston can rim me from my nut sac, over my taint, and finish off on my juicy hole.

Rat pig fucks.

I hate them.

FIN

Miss Thang nearly fell over ...

2006-01-19T14:00:00.000-05:00

... because I was loud. I've always been loud. Not terribly loud this time, mind you, but loud enough that when I said the words "drag queen" in conversation at the reception desk, one of my "superiors", who's a little too swishy to warrant the wedding band on his left hand (though he is from Massachusetts) turned around mid-step as he was walking down the hall and nearly fell on his face.

I chuckled.

So did everyone else at reception.

Normally I wouldn't gloat in such cases, but he's been on my ass (so to speak) about my job.

So there. Nyah.

Somewhere ...

2006-01-17T17:29:00.000-05:00

... up my ass is my head;

Somday, I'll find it.

Here Kitty Kitty ...

2006-01-11T16:27:00.000-05:00

... the short, but true, life of Cyclops the Noseless Cat ...

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/sns-ap-one-eyed-cat,1,2257338.story?coll=chi-news-hed

Ahhhh ... my home town ...

2006-01-10T11:31:00.000-05:00

In some ways, it's nice to know that this is the biggest problem facing the place where I grew up.

In other ways, it's a little terrifying that this is the biggest problem facing the place where I grew up.

http://www.suntimes.com/output/news/cst-nws-stop10.html

... and I do love some good Hollywood gossip ...

http://www.365gay.com/fun/puzzle/122705puzzle.htm

... and more about it ...

http://www.tinmanic.com/archives/2004/11/18/brandon-routh-rumor/

An unfortunate name ...

2006-01-05T19:24:00.000-05:00

HYMAN ... for a man.

Though I suppose it would be even worse for a girl.

Maybe I wasn't meant to have bookshelves ...

2005-12-29T17:19:00.000-05:00

I ordered Ikea Bookshelves back in November ... they still haven't arrived.

I called Ikea today and the order was cancelled because the shelves are out of stock ... they may have sent me an E-mail letting me know, but I don't remember getting one ...

thought I don't remember much of the past few weeks due to work and constant head colds.

Ah well ... back to the online catalogs ...

I went clothes shopping with a cart ...

2005-12-24T17:27:00.000-05:00

... out of necessity. The transport strike had me stranded in Midtown, so when I had to fly out of Newark on Wednesday (mercifully -- had I been out of LaGuardia or Kennedy I'd never have made it home to Chicago) I had only the clothes on my back.

It's been a rough 3 weeks. My life changed 12/02/2005 as my job at work changed and now I literally don't eat or poop regularly. The first week since the shift I would come home with a tummy ache. Then, while sitting on the toilet one evening late in the week, I realized why. It's crazy, and causing me to cancel auditions and just re-situate myself. I can't prep for my acting studio as I would like (my teacher is seriously becoming angry with me) and I'm just constantly spent. It's worse than in college when I was worn out -- classes weren't from 9:30am - 7:30pm without pause, like my day job has become.

I can't say life makes me happy as of late, but I am lucky. Good friends, Family and health. All in all, though I dislike much of what Christmas has become, it is a Good Christmas, nonetheless.

Merry Christmas friends, and a Blessed New Year!!!

Saw BACH AT LEIPZIG last night ...

2005-12-01T10:43:00.000-05:00

... and I'd like to see it again at a different theatre with different actors and a different director.

I woke up to Bill O'Riley

2005-11-30T14:18:00.000-05:00

... or however you spell his name.

Yeesh.

What a sight ... to roll over, shaken from slumber as Bill O'Reilley screams on the TODAY show about how the Capitol Holiday Tree should be the Capitol Christmas Tree.

Is there a Capitol Menorah? By that, I mean a CAPITOL Menorah, just as there is a Capitol Holiday Tree, and a National Christmas Tree on the Elipse. I know there's a National Menorah, but a Capitol one?

And I bought bookshelves

2005-11-28T16:25:00.000-05:00

Rather, a bookcase.

It cost $30. When I find something prettier to replace it, that I can afford, I'll get it.

For now, $30 shelves are better than an old Dell box.