Project: Rant - RANT 098: Velcro Shoes

Did this shoot for "Project Rant" a couple of months ago and it made its debut yesterday.  I'm so glad I got the opportunity to be a part of this, and it was a really great experience.  Cliff and Luis were a lot of fun, made it a really laid back time, and as much as I hate seeing myself on camera, I'm pretty proud of the work.

For those not familiar with "Project Rant", they take real complaints from people on a variety of topics, and then bring them to life for your viewing pleasure.  Hope you enjoy!

Dreaming of Patti

So...that Patti LuPone review.  I wrote it at 3 AM because I was having trouble sleeping, and felt, after finishing, that it was kind of a bitchy review and I regretted that, but on the other hand I had to be true to what I thought, and...there it was.  Of course I fell into a fitful sleep and Patti LuPone crept in to haunt my dreams.

I dreamt that she'd been cast in an Equity show being put up in Austin and the producers had rented out a big, beautiful house for her.  Before she arrived to join the rest of the cast already in rehearsals, I read and reviewed her memoir.  Then she flew in, we had some rehearsals with her and she was delightful.  As far as I knew, we were all one big happy family. 

But then one Sunday I stop by her house to borrow a cup of sugar and when I get there, I discover a crowd of cars filling her driveway and spilling out into the street and down the block.  I knock on the door and Patti opens it, seeming just a touch surprised to see me, but not at all displeased.  "Oh, hi!" she says.  "I'm just having a little get together.  You need to borrow some sugar???  Sure!  Come on in."  I step inside and look around at all the familiar faces surrounding me. It seems as if everyone from the show has been invited to this party:  the cast, the crew, the producers, their families...there's not a soul missing, and they all get silent as I walk in.  One or two of them darts me a pitying look.  "I'm just here to borrow some sugar," I say to break the silence.  "I wasn't invited to this."  I say the last part in a kind of joking way, to dispel the tension, but like most attempts of this nature it just added another layer of "awkward".   As I leave the party I can't help but wonder if Patti read the review, or if she just hates me as a person.  Or both.  And which would be worse?

There's a lot I don't remember in between, but I'm sure I did a lot of ass kissing to Patti LuPone from that day until opening night and when it finally arrived and it came time for our big scene together, I was nervous as hell.  Patti played a glamorous sorceress in the time of the Salem witch trials.  She was clad in rags and peasant clothes, but somehow managed them to look regal.  During our big scene she stood on a rocky plateau, elevated from the rest of the stage and spoke a dramatic monologue as I wandered around below her.  She was supposed to call birds to her at one point, so they'd supplied her with big bags of seed to get them to come to her (we were performing at an outdoor theater).  And any time I was directed to move in the scene, or speak, or what have you, Patti would beam down on me and toss a SHITLOAD of bird scene down in the place I was supposed to walk, just before I arrived there, so I would be mauled by flocks of angry crows fighting their way to the food.  This happened at least three times, and each time I was powerless to alter my blocking in anyway, and resolved myself to getting attacked by the birds.

I learned one lesson from the dream.  Don't mess with Patti Lu Pone, even in the mildest way, or she'll find a way to get you.

Little She: A Review of Patti's New Memoir

Patrick Dennis' Little Me is a brilliant mockery of that beloved literary tradition, the celebrity memoir.  It's loaded with the faux humility, grandeur, maudlin sentimentality and self delusion that make some memoirs so intriguing, addictive, and unintentionally hilarious.  And it's heroine is the dubiously talented star of stage and screen, Belle Poitrine, who clawed, back stabbed, seduced, and married her way to fame and fortune.  Of course, Belle never writes any of this down in plain speak, but it's there to read between the lines.  And once you've read it, Little Me keeps ahold you.  Now, every time I open a memoir I ask myself, "is this a book written with self awareness, humility, and candor? Or am I about to read a Belle Poitrine special?" Because if I am, I put on my "bullshit detectors" and read away.  I'm very happy to say I had my B.S.Ds close at hand when I was ready to dig in to Patti LuPone: A Memoir.

But first, a disclaimer:  I adore Patti LuPone's work as an actress and singer.  The soundtrack to Evita is amazing, largely because of her incredible vocal performance.  Her appearance in Driving Miss Daisy was a highlight in an already overwhelmingly wonderful film, and her appearances in Anything Goes, Les Miserables, and most recently, Gypsy, are legendary, and she was THE reason to watch Life Goes On.  But her controversial behavior is also legendary, and while I sympathize with a lot of the struggles she's gone through, as a narrator of her life, she is anything but reliable.

I read the first seventy pages of her life story wishing I had a more trustworthy source to reference, because it seems just a little to rosy and sunwashed in tone to be completely accurate.  But according to Patti she was just one of many hard working actors destined for the stage, who succeeded because of the guidance of her mentors, sheer determination, and a belief in herself.  And she suffered...a lot.  It seems like every instructor at Julliard was gunning for young Patti, and I'd love to hear the story behind that story, or to learn what really went down in her relationship and subsequent break-up with Kevin Kline.  But it wasn't to be found here.  Intriguing.

The juice begins on Chapter 5 "The Baker's Wife, or Hitler's Road Show" and flows through to the end.  So if you make it through to page 73, take heart, because the rest of it is worth the wait.  The Baker's Wife is a notorious Broadway flop who's song "Meadowlark" (the only thing worth remembering in an otherwise unrememarkable show) was cut by the producer for a time, as it was considered too long and was believed to slow the show, and Patti will tell you all about it.  She'll also tell you how horrible it was to work with Topol, and later, Paul Sorvino.  She'll even discuss the vocal issues she struggled with after The Baker's Wife closed and she took on the role of Evita, and the less than enthusiastic reviews she initially received for her performance before going on to win the Tony.  She'll discuss the joys of working with David Mamet, and the horrors of working with Andrew Lloyd Webber.  (Side note-  I believe almost everything she says in these chapters and frankly think she was robbed of a great role and a great opportunity.  Glenn Close was a caricature in comparison to what Patti was attempting with the part).  Of course, some of her grievances are petty and small in relation to the majority of career struggles, but it's still riveting to read them.  Her description of her experience at the 1988 Tony's is priceless..." 'And the 1988 Tony Award goes to...Joanna Gleason for Into The Woods!' I sat there and watched Joanna pick up her award.  During her acceptance speech, I felt like I was having a flashback on an acid trip.  She looked like the tin man from The Wizard of Oz.  What happened?  I was supposed to win!  It was a bad night for me."  Missing from this memoir???  Any mention of the notorious night during Gypsy when she stopped the show to berate an audience member who was taking pictures.

Over all, it's a satisfying memoir with plenty of backstage dirt that answers a lot of long pondered questions and those who love Patti will be very, very, happy.  It's also delusional enough, and vengeful enough, and high toned enough to get it an 8 out of 10 on the Belle Poitrine Scale of Greatness.

Top Divas, #6... and why gays REALLY love our divas

6.  Miss Piggy

She's fierce, determined, extremely confident, a fighter, she is all the grande dames of the theatre bundled up in to one compact little package.  And like any great star, she started out as a minor character and rose to the ranks of cult icon.  She pays tribute to all the great female archetypes at the same time lampooning them.  She proclaims herself to be the greatest star all the while, she grimly acknowledges her physical inadequacies.  She leaps into every great female role ever created, be it Scarlett in "Gone With the Wind", Cleopatra, or Joan of Arc.  She begs, demands, struts, coyly flirts and climbs to the top, over countless bodies, if she must.  But she's not all toughness.  She has a very tender and a surprisingly vulnerable side.  She is the cliche of the soul who's great bravado masks her deep insecurities, which one can only expect from the underdog that she is.  I mean, who would expect a pig from her humble beginnings to win the love of her life, great fame, and personal contentment?  She wills it so, with brutality, humor, and panache.

I was one of many young boys who saw her and instantly fell in awe.  People wonder why we love those great women like Judy, Bette, Barbra, Liza.  I think it's because we appreciate their immense talent and admire the way they reached those heights without the benefits of great physical beauty.  What they had went deeper, but just was just as worthy, more worthy, than the obvious beauty.  Not that these women weren't physically beautiful, but it sometimes took a closer look to see.  And once seen, complemented by those inner gifts, everyone who sees it realizes this is the real thing, more deserving of appreciation than the cookie cutter mold.

As a soft, more artistic, "sensitive" boys growing up in the world we, most of us, realize we will never be the kind of man our fathers want us to be.  We don't fit the accepted mold. We have talents, but not the kind that is considered fit for men.  We have flair, creativity, sensitivity, open emotions.  But what can we do with those gifts that are often seen as liabilities by those who's approval we want to win?  And then we see these women in similar circumstances.  Women who didn't fit the mold that men expected them to.  They had obstacles to overcome, but overcame them because they had something more than that beauty.  A gift that a lot of  men would love to deny because they couldn't mash it down or denigrate it as a commodity for their personal use like they could with physical beauty.  They were feminists all, the great divas.  They make it well known that they are as good as any man, by proclaiming, not that their gifts are the same as the patriarch, but uniquely theirs and equal to any man's.  And as a kid growing up who related to their gifts more than those of the straight man, I took faith in their fight to be heard.  They seemed to be saying to me that their successes and rewards could be mine if I only had faith in my own unique strengths.  Strengths that I might be the only one to see for the time being. 

We don't relate to Garland because her life was rough and our lives are rough.  That story is just another way to keep us down.  The idea that we related to her weaknesses and love to exalt in them, to wallow in them.  No.  We relate to her because she is overcame great odds to rise to great heights.  There was something deep inside her that she didn't always believe in, but that was apparent to everyone who met her.  It dragged you toward her.  And I'm not talking about her voice, but her strength of spirit, her absolute willingness to expose her open veins and emote authentically about her full experience of life.  She sang about things people don't always want to hear about.  It's that power of self expression as well as the immense instrument that allowed it that make us love her.  Her fall from grace only reminds us that such self expression and naked sincerity can come with great cost and if you truly want to follow the diva's path you may have to pay a heavy price.  However, that price may very well be one you are willing to pay for the reward of artistic and personal fulfillment.

And isn't it ironic that such an icon as Miss Piggy stemmed from the minds of men.  Starting out as kind of a joke on women, she evolved into a fully realized, three dimensional character in spite of what they saw her as initially, she had her own ideas.  The art that was the character proclaimed to her makers that she was something more, as much as the character itself proclaimed this to her fellow muppets.   And soon the artists were under the control of their art as much as she was under theirs.   Now that's a diva.

Top Ten Divas, # 7

7.  Lily Tomlin



She's created the iconic characters Edith Ann, Trudy the bag lady, Judith Beasely and Ernestine Tomlin and  performs them in a completely committed style that is uniquely her own.  Her work is always poignant, and challenging, usually cutting through the bullshit and getting right to the truth. She's equally at home with the broadly painted characters as she is with the protagonists she's played that need a lighter touch.  Her partnership with Jane Wagner is one of the most successful marriages of two artists to date, and even now it's hard to know which work was Lily's and which was Jane's.

I always loved her on Sesame Street when she would appear as Edith Ann in that over sized chair and even then, knew Edith Ann was someone on the edge, thumbing her nose at society at a time when I was simply trying to follow the rules. As I got older I listened to her comedy albums and they activated my imagination, much in the way the old radio dramas I loved did. Of course I loved her in "9 to 5", and "Big Business", and "A Prairie Home Companion".

But it was her show "The Search For Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe" that won my complete devotion. I splurged on tickets in the sixth row and wasn't quite sure what to expect.  I mean she was in her sixties and had been performing the show since the eighties.  Could it, and she,  still be fresh and relevant?  As the first act was coming to a close and she was embodying  the character of a lost thirteen year old girl performing in a coffee house,  it felt as if she'd looked right inside me and was using my personal soul content to voice all my fear and uncertainty and powerlessness.I not only had the "goose bump experience" that the show mentions, but I had tears freely flowing down my face.  It was so cathartic and healing, and the show wasn't even near it's resolution yet.  I vowed never to see it again, nor would I watch the filmed version, because I knew that what I'd just seen was as good as I would get.

The Day Off

I took the day off today, which was much needed.  It started around 9 AM with breakfast tacos at Torchy's on William Cannon, outside under an umbrella.  I opened Moss Hart's "Act One" and devoured one of the chapters as I ate.  The people at the table next to me were from New York, early arrivals for ACL which begins this weekend.  I'd kind of forgotten that ACL's arrival meant sharing the town for a week with everyone who also think Austin is a delightful place to be this time of year.  It's the latest ACL has been in awhile, so I'm hoping the weather will be nice for them, as much as I hope the lawn at Zilker Park won't get mangled and muddied.  Somehow, though, no matter what city officials say, the lawn still gets destroyed.  I've never been to ACL, as I'm not into most of the music there, but I have a feeling if I actually jumped in and went I'd have an amazing time.  Maybe...

After breakfast I drove to that area just off the corner of 360 and the entrance to South Mopac.  I always pass it by and wonder what's there.  I know it's an entrance to the green belt, another place I've never been, and have always thought "someday", but today was the day.  And it was so peaceful. 

It's lovely to get away to a place that feels like it's miles away from everything even though it's nestled right in town.  I wandered down to the creek, sat for awhile, walked some more, and now I'm sitting in a Starbucks.  I'm devoting today to writing, to reading, to meditation (or meditative activities) and cleaning.  These are days that I think I'll love when I allow myself them, but when I actually have them it's tempting to misspend them and mope around, wondering why I'm doing this alone. 

But today!  Today is for me!  I'm going to do what I want.  I'm going to treat myself.  I'm going to make a list and complete it and I'm going to finish it off with friends watching Project Runway.  Out of the house, out with people, all good things in one blessed day.  It's gonna happen.  So here's my day as planned. 

1.  Twelve to twelve thirty, work on my current play.
2.  South Congress for lunch at the mighty cone and then a wander through Uncommon Objects.
3.  Pick up a kitty litter scoop at Petco (aren't you glad to know that?)
4.  Do laundry and clean for one hour.
5.  Vacuum.
6.  Shred old papers and mail.
7.  Work out at the gym.
8.  Head to Susan's for PR.
9.  Choose and iron clothes for work tomorrow.

I resolve to complete this list of things and proclaim this day-off a complete success!

Top Ten Divas, #8

8. Liza Minnelli

Like many people, I discovered Liza through the movie "Cabaret".  I think I was thirteen, and my exposure to homosexuality was slight.  I knew it was bohemian and slightly sinful, but it was a foreign land to me still, one I didn't want to visit.  And then I saw Liza in this movie, watched the scenes with Sally and Brian and Maximilian rambling the streets and laughing, and even I knew something was going on between them that wasn't being said outright.  And when they get to that scene in the car when Brian, tired of the complexities of this triumvirate says "Screw Maximilian", Sally responds "I do" and he finishes the conversation with "so do I"...an alarm went off.  Just a faint ping, but it was there.

But mostly, I remember Liza.  Her recklessness, her languid sexuality,  her cockeyed optimism...  It's that abandon, that need to give full out and make all of it (even the sad parts) sparkle with the light of a thousand sequins in your eyes, that encapsulates Liza Minnelli for me.  There's no shame in her.  She'll shimmy, kick, flail, open that mouth wide and let it all out in the name of giving a good show.  It doesn't have to be pretty, it just has to be full out committed, and it always is  The clip above captures perfectly her gift for building a scene through song and her for taking the audience on a journey so we'll believe everything she does even when it strays into the territory of "over the top".  She's the poster child for dreaming big, and I always listen to her when I want to perk up my spirits or hear that voice in my ear saying "Yes, you can."

Top Ten Divas, # 9

9.  Gracie Allen

Her comedic timing is impeccable, her delivery is understated and sincere, and her innocence is bewitching.  The legend is that when she and George Burns joined forces in the 20's she was the "straight man" until he realized her set-ups were getting more laughs than his punch lines.  She was the Queen of the publicity stunt long before Lady Gaga, and ran for President representing the "Surprise Party", showing up unannounced on radio programs looking for her supposedly missing brother, and performing the "Concerto for Index Finger" at Carnegie Hall and The Hollywood Bowl, as well as in the film "Two Girls and A Sailor" (seen above).  She also co-starred with George in a television sitcom in the fifties, which is how I was first introduced to her.  I would watch it late at night in re-runs, soothed by the thought that the world that was sometimes so mixed up and confused could make someone like her. Later I collected episodes of the radio show from which the sitcom originated and I would listen to them as I fell asleep at night, comforted by here presence, her humor, and her skill.

My Top Ten Divas, #10

When I was a kid growing up, looking for heroes, I didn't find them where people expected me to.  Or, I should say, the heroes I found were not the ones most adults hoped I would find.  When I was five I loved watching Batman re-runs on t.v, but not because of Batman, or even Robin.  I loved them because of Catwoman.  She was wicked, she was in control (though it was the kind of control I didn't understand yet) and she was incredibly graceful.  I wanted to be her.  But I knew there was something dishonorable about it.  I knew I shouldn't tell people that.  So when I was running around the playground at pre-school and I threw open the chain link gate and it flew back in my face and busted my lip, I told the teacher that I was pretending to be Batman and not Julie Newmar.

As I got older I continued to love and admire women more than the men.  And as I got older I became less and less apologetic about it.  I was thirteen when I started admitting I cared more about Judy Garland than I did "The Dead Kennedy's", and it was pretty freeing.   And so now, I unapologetically, and loudly proclaim my top-ten divas.  The ones I love most, who may not always fit the term in the expected sense of the word (they're not all singers, not all particularly well-known anymore, nor are they all even human) but they are iconic representations of the many sides of what it means to be fierce, emotional, open, honest, and talented.  If you have thoughts, comments, or disagree, please post them, because I'd love to hear what you have to say...

                                  10.  Wonder Woman

Specifically, Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman.  When I was a kid I would watch her on television in awe.  And every time it was time for Diana Prince to become Wonder Woman I would spin around with her, living vicariously through her.  I never doubted that she would do the right thing, never questioned whether or not she would succeed.  I had an unwavering faith in her, and simply watched the show to see how stylishly she would achieve her goal.  It never seemed odd to me that she was always the one rescuing Steve Trevor, rather than the other way around.  Too often in movies and television today, if the protagonist is a woman, she will need rescuing in one way or another, from a man.  But not Wonder Woman.  And I think, because she embodied so many characteristics we think of as mannish and masculine, people accepted it.  She had all the assertiveness, strength and determination that were considered steretyplically male, but with the nurturing and intuitive, balanced heart we think of as feminine.  And that juxtaposition of the masculine and the feminine, plus her untouchable goodness, that oddly robotic demeanor touched with maternal warmth and her overstated curves packed into that proudly patriotic costume make her my number ten. 

The Gentleman Caller (Part Two)

My gentleman caller contacted me Saturday to let me know he was coming to the show that night and bringing a friend with him.   Fortunately, it was our biggest house so far, the energy in the cast was at a peak.  Everyone waiting in the lobby seemed to really enjoy the show and a lot of the theatre community had showed up, so it was great to have so many friends to hug and receive kudos from before I greeted the guy who could conceivably have been completely turned off by having just seen me in that outfit, doing my thing. 

When I finally was able to get to him, he didn't seem bothered by it at all.  He was his usual, quiet self, but he said he liked the show and was a little overwhelmed as he always is when he sees good theatre.  Not wanting the evening to end so quickly with him I mentioned that I needed to get to a friend's birthday party later,  but we could grab a drink if they were up for it.  We hung out at Vivo's for awhile and eventually my GC said- "Well, I really want you to make it to your friend's party tonight, so why don't we all head over to my place and take it from there."  His logic was VERY questionable , of course, but I wanted to be alone with him for a little bit, so I said yes and we drove down.  Upon arrival at the house, his friend made a quick exit, and then we were alone.

And then, as we were settling down on the couch and nestling into each other, he threw a wrench into my fun.  Something about getting out of a long term relationship very recently and not wanting me to be a rebound, so I should keep my emotions in check.  Now I ask you, why do men do this?  Over think a situation, start to worry about where things might go, and try to alleviate themselves of any guilt they might feel if they turn out not to want much more than a night or two of this?  Not only did it suck a lot of the fun out of the situation, but it put me on edge and I quickly erected the great wall of China around my heart (which, once it's up is incredibly hard to break down). 

The rest of the evening was fine, but I will say there's something slightly intimidating about making out with someone as fit and muscular as he was.  There's no place to find a soft spot at all, and I'm kind of fond of those fleshy parts which make us all feel human.  Plus, his physical near perfection made me more conscious of my own imperfections.

He called the next day and it was just a touch awkward because of a certain conversational interaction I won't share here that caused me to realize our senses of humor might not be a match.  That might sound like a small thing, but sense of humor, the ability to laugh at the same things is crucial to me in any relationship.  Plus, that seed of doubt got planted is disconcerting...but we'll see.  It's too early too worry about it now, so I'm just going to enjoy the attention.

The Gentleman Caller (Part one)

We had our best show so far on Friday and I largely credit the email we received from our director which said amongst many kudos and thanks for our performances, to keep playing and not to be attached to old bits or ways we've performed certain lines in the past.  It made a lot of sense to me, and I think it's one of the reasons Saturday and Sundays shows felt kind of shitty.  I was relying on the past and giving a good presentational performance, but the life and vibrance...I'll admit I hadn't really been in it those two shows.  And one of the reasons I think I was holding back is because I have a fear of and a tendency to overplay things and I worry about overwhelming the audience (not in a good way). 

Aside from the performance, there were other nice surprises last night...

I'd been at a mixer downtown on Thursday and met a very sweet, soft spoken guy.  He was a little shorter than me, but at 6 foot 3, who isn't shorter than me.  He was slender, an easy smiler, and cute as a button.  When I saw my friend Tyler chatting with him in a circle of people I took the chance to slip in.  We chatted for awhile and I learned a few things.  He's spiritual, comfortable in his sexuality, opinionated, but kind, earnest, and he felt...safe.  I couldn't tell if he was into me or not, as he didn't exactly follow me around the room.  But when my friends were heading across the street I mentioned to him that we'd be at "Rain" and he could join if he wanted to later. 

He showed up about fifteen minutes later.  And while he didn't stay long, we exchanged numbers, and texted that night.  I'll freely admit I was the one who texted him.  I took the fact that he'd followed us to Rain and asked for my number as a good sign, and I didn't want to let a possible connection fizzle out.

He called twice the next day, and when I called him back and mentioned that I was on my way to a performance, he seemed a little more interested in it than I'd planned.  "Where is it" he asked.  "At the Vortex".  He knew the theatre and lives not too far from it.  "Do they serve alcohol at the theatre?" he asked.  "Yes," I said, trying to hide the anxiety from my tone.  "I could maybe use a drink.  I think I'll come."  Good God, I thought.  Not yet.  Let me have a little time to give you a real impression of me before you see me in chicken drag.

Let's clarify some things.  I'm not a drag queen.  I don't play out, do shows, parades, lipsynch, etc.  but I have played a handful of females and get a real kick out of it.  It allows me to live for awhile in the souls of the movie heroines I've adored since childhood.  It's something I do well, and it let's me be free and let loose.  I don't have to worry about being too feminine for the role, because that IS the role.  And these women are SUPPOSED to be larger than life so my tendency to overplay doesn't usually pose a problem.  That said, I hope that I make them more than just camp figures, because I try to really get inside them and express their full range of emotions.  They're not just clowns, but also vessels for the audiences sorrow.   Because when these women are sorrowful they are REALLY sorrowful. 

I explained to him the part I was playing, a chicken complete with glitter and big fake eyelashes and a headdress.  I might have downplayed the bustle, and the skirt and the heels...and he said he wasn't at all bothered by it as long as I wouldn't be uncomfortable.  With that said, I admitted that "no".  It wouldn't make me uncomfortable.  I guess I figured that if he wasn't going to accept me for this, then it was good to know it now, when I have very little investment in his acceptance.  It was a relief actually, because the issue was going to be addressed without my really having to do it.  He had a business meeting at 7, but hoped to make it by 8.  He wanted to make his business meeting short, so it shouldn't be a problem...

He showed up at 8:35, knocking on the box office door.  My friend Amelia came back and told me he was out there.  Now, our show is only and hour and fifteen minutes at most, and I didn't want him to get such a small piece of the show so Amelia went and told him not to worry about it, but he felt bad for being late, and needed to get something to eat, so he waited at the restaurant across the street until the show was over and I texted him that we could still get a drink after the show, so I texted him when we got out and we went to get pizza.  To his credit, he had no problems coming out with the cast later, and theatre people can be a bit overwhelming to someone who isn't one of them.  But he did great and was very sweet.  He made me a little nervous, but in the way I'm used to.  All men I find attractive make me a little nervous and unfortunately I've never been very good at hiding that fact.

Later at his car, we held each other, kissed a little, and it was nice.  There's something about a man's stubble against my cheek that never fails to thrill.  It's funny though, because even at night, when there's no one around, I'm always on guard a little bit-worried that someone might see us kissing and "take issue" with it.  But no one did, of course, and I ended the night driving home in a happy haze.

The reviews keep coming...

"Milkmilklemonade" is in it's second weekend and it's been a really rewarding process so far.  I feel like I'm still growing in the role and having a blast doing it.  The reviews have been really flattering, and here are a few more. 

The first two are from the local papers and the third is a link to reviews by members of the Greater Austin Creative Alliance.   And one of the reviews calls me sexy, so you KNOW it must be true...

http://www.austin360.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/austin/seeingthings/entries/2010/09/15/review_milkmilklemonade.html?cxntfid=blogs_austin_arts_seeing_things

http://www.austinchronicle.com/gyrobase/Issue/review?oid=oid%3A1083947

http://www.nowplayingaustin.com/event/detail/440859531/MilkMilk_Lemonade

Request to the Universe

I've heard it said that to get what you want, you have to ask for it.  And in that spirit, I'm placing an order with the universe.  Something I've never really done before.  I mean, I'm looking for Mr. Right, so it's time to really put the request out there.  To give it out to the world and let it go, trusting that the order is already "being filled", as it were.  I mean if you don't ask, you can't get, right?
Dear God/Universe:

       The following is my request, made with an open and seeking heart, trusting that you hear me and that you who blesses me every day in so many ways, expected and unexpected, seen and unseen, have already sent the answer my way.  Please send me a mate who...

1.  When he walks into a room he brings joy in with him.

2.  He is positive, upbeat and caring.

3.  He loves children and animals and wants both.

4.  He appreciates the arts and admires those that create.

5.  He still looks at the world with wonder and sees the possibility.

6.  He has a car.

7.  He is outgoing and socially active.

8.  He reads.  A lot. 

9.  He has a pure heart.

10.  He believes in God and his faith is important to him.

11.  He is not a republican.

12.  He is out of the closet.

13.  He accepts my love of showtunes, Judy Garland, and mid-century pop music, and appreciates this music, too.

14.  He has a gentle manner.

15.  He smells wonderful.

16.  He is expressive of his emotions.

17.  He is unguarded and unjaded by the world with a sense of innocence about him.

18.  He loves roadtrips and unexpected adventures.

19.  He likes to get out and do things, not just movies, but street festivals, museums, antique stores, candle factories.

20.  He has soft lips.

21.  We light up when we see each other.

22.  He can tolerate cold weather.

23.  He loves people.

24.  He is creative.

25.  He is balanced in his feminine and masculine sides.

26.  He's politically active.

27.  He believes that everyone has a right to participate in the world and for their voice to be heard.

28.  He sometimes cries at movies.

29.  He has a good sense of direction.

30.  He's good with technology.

31.  He fights for what is right.

32.  He's loyal. 

33.  He's not ashamed to be naked.

34.  He's goal oriented.

35.  He gets along with my parents, but understands if I don't always.

36.  He's passionate.

37.  He's full of zeal.

38.  He loves and appreciates me just as I am, fluctuating weight and neuroses about it, and all.

39.  He supports all my artistic endeavors.

40.  He has a social life that does not need to include me.

41.  He's not allergic to, and loves my cat.

42.  He's good at sharing.

43.  He's relatively fit.

44.  He loves to travel.

45.  He's great at talking me down when I start to imagine the worst.

46.  He's honest.

47.  He laughs at my jokes.

48.  He holds my hand in public.

49.  He's a seeker.

50.  He has beautiful eyes.

51.  He's good with money.

52.  He's a great cook.

53.  He loves to do little thoughtful things for me, and loves it when I reciprocate.

54.  He's full of light, and hope.

55.  He's socially adept.

56.  He's perceptive.

57.  He appreciates the beauty of nature.

58.  He loves to go camping and hiking.

59.  He's a non-smoker.

60.  He has a strong sense of whimsy and doesn't care what people say about him.

61.  He loves Disneyland.

62.  He has a strong spiritual side.

63.  He is open.

64.  He is completely and undeniably, physically and emotionally attracted to me and unafraid to communicate that.

65.  He will sit with me and watch old movies or repeats of "I Love Lucy".

66.  He is monogamous.

Most of those physical preferences that change with the wind, I leave them up to you.    I will try to be patient.  I trust that this prayer is already answered.  And I will work hard for this relationship as I know that every successful relationship takes trust and open, honest communication, and work.

Another Date Completed

Another on-line date completed.  And it's funny, because when I was about to meet him, as I was cleaning up my place just in case things went extremely well, the fears and worries running through my head were "what if he doesn't want me", or "what if he's out of my league".  It never truly occurred to me that he might not be what I was looking for.  And yet that's what's happened the last four of these kinds of dates I've been on.  And it's rarely about looks.  I can find myself physically attracted to many different types.  It's emotional.  Are they positive?  Are they seekers?  Do they still think of the world as a place of possibilities?  Are they interested in art and culture?  And by this I do not mean John Grisham novels or books about the girl who disturbed hornets.  Do they ask me questions?  Draw me in? 

He was sweet, and good looking, intellectual.  And a couple of times I looked at his lips as he was talking, and yes I could imagine myself kissing them.  But there was an air of negativity about him.  He's travelled so much in the world and the things we talked about were not positive.  I thought he would talk about the mountain vistas in Santa Fe, or the amazing shows in Vegas or his exciting experiences in Thailand.  Not so much.  And as I listened to him talk I could picture how our relationship would be.  I would be the optimist to his pessimist.  We would go on a trip, wander the beautiful beaches of Hawaii and he would bitch about the heat, or the other tourists.  And I just couldn't do it. 

So, yes we talked for a couple of hours, and yes it was pleasant.  But no.  There was no "spark of recognition".  We shook hands at the end of it and he said we should do it again, that he would call me.  Which could be fun.  It would be nice to hang out again, but only as friends.    Am I expecting too much from a first date?  Perhaps.  I guess I'm looking for magic.  And I'm willing to wait until I find it.

The First Couple of Reviews Are In...

Here they are... The first is a mixed review, focusing mostly on perceived flaws in the script (which I happen to disagree with as I love this playwright and it was the script that drew me to the project in the first place) and the second is a flat out rave.  Enjoy!

http://austinist.com/2010/09/13/review_milk_milk_lemonade_at_the_vo.php


http://www.austinonstage.com/milkmilklemonadereview

Scattered Thoughts

So the guy that I'd been writing to, the one that I'd set a date with and then not heard from, wrote back today and apologized.  I don't completely buy his excuses, but am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and meet him for coffee tomorrow.  I'll update you later.

In other on-line dating news, I got a note from a very cute (far too young for me) guy right after I finished the last post.  He seems sweet and has no problems admitting his love of showtunes and Kristin Chenoweth in his profile, which was endearing, so we'll see.

The show tonight...second shitty show in a row.  I've just felt a little off and am not sure how to get back on track.  Maybe the rest will help me.

After the show I went to a birthday party at The Highball tonight where they had a Karaoke room.  I arrived way late and everyone else was drunk, singing badly and having a blast.  I tried to jump in and sang "Total Eclipse of the Heart" with the birthday girl, and when I finished the drunken guy who'd been monopolizing the mike screamed "Let's hear it for Meatloaf!"  While I can convince myself that I was growling in the style of Meatloaf and in the key of Meatloaf, I'm forever going to think he was calling me fat and I could have kicked him in the ballsack.  Twice.

Am really missing cable right about now and am wishing my roommate would return the broken cable box already.  She's the only one who can do it since the accounts in her name and I've now missed three weeks of "Mad Men" and the season finale of "True Blood".  Hell.

Stalled

I'm shoulder deep in Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love".  Nearing the end and engrossed in the journey because she has a way of sitting you right next to her.  As she lies on the bathroom floor in New York calling out to God, you sit next to her silently commiserating.  When she sits across from a studious and attentive young Italian man and fantasizes about him kissing her, you are sitting with her fantasizing that as he kisses her, his lips will brush on over to yours.  And while she sits in the dimness of the Indian Ashram letting the waves of blue light rock through her, you sit there, too, feeling the glow, but with none of the aches and pains of having held that position for hours upon hours.  And when she lies on the beach in Bali, with an older man brushing the sand off her nose and casually pushing a hair out of her face, you are there too, watching it happen.  But when they go into the bedroom together...

Maybe this is me.  Maybe I'm just in a mildly frustrated place where love is concerned.  Because part of me is saying "Go Liz!  You get that shit!  Make it happen, let loose and be free!"  And the other part of me is frankly pissed.  And it is all to do with me, and nothing to do with her.  Lately I've not had much luck in love.  Well, say for the past few years, love has been eluding me.  And single is fine, single is nice.  Single helps you to become strong, independent, to grow spiritually, to learn how to be by yourself.  But couple hood...that's nice, too.  And if I found the right person I would dive back in.  And there's the rub.

It's said so many times by so many people that I cringe as I type it, but "how does one meet that right person?  And recognize him when he strolls in the door of your life?"  I've tried clubs, I've had the occasional backstage romance (which has dangers akin to "shitting where you eat") and tried on-line dating.  All have worked to a degree.  But the ratio of failure to success is daunting and even the successes have not lasted more than a month or two. 

On-line dating is feeling particularly frustrating of late.  I met someone who seemed sweet, thoughtful, intelligent, spiritual, had an open faced smile...we wrote each other and he was very articulate, smart, a good debater, flirty...we made a date for coffee and then, nothing.  This is the third time something similar to this has happened to me and it leaves me wondering why.  What did I do wrong, or what about me was unacceptable enough for them to reconsider?  It also makes me question the thought of ever getting my hopes up again because the comedown is so...unpleasant.

And then there's grindr.  If you're unfamiliar with it, this is an Iphone app that shows pictures of gay men in your area.  It let's you know exactly how close they are and allows you to text them for hook-ups or chatting.  Mostly hook-ups.  And not only am I one of those who does not do random hook-ups, but it's awfully hard to get interested enough in a picture to make the effort to say "hi".  Or to keep up a conversation with someone once it's been initiated with me.  Plus, after about five minutes on the site I feel like I need to take a metaphysical shower. 

What I want is to meet someone as friends.  To hang out with them, laugh with them, have casual lunches, movies, mini-golf, and then when I'm comfortable, if it's right, make that transition with someone that I have a bond with, someone who makes me feel safe and that makes me want to wrap them in my arms.  But that kind of connection takes time and an unexpectant heart.  It can happen, so I'm keeping the faith, and practicing the cultivation of happiness.  But in the meantime, at this moment, I am sitting in the living room of Felipe the Brazilian, nervously looking for a magazine as my good friend Liz closes the bedroom door and lies down with Felipe, getting tangled in all that mosquito net.  Get it Liz.

Austin Chronicle Interview for "MilkMilkLemonade"

Was in on an interview a week ago about "MilkMilkLemonade" and what it was like putting the show together.  Also in the interview are the producer Shannon Grounds, the director Jason Hays, and Xaq Webb who plays Emory.  Check it out here...

http://www.austinchronicle.com/gyrobase/Issue/story?oid=oid%3A1079738

It's the day of the show, y'all!

Well it's here.  Opening night.  And as always seems to happen, everything has come together in the last few days, and I declare with zeal, "I'm Ready!".  It's definitely been a lot to get used to what with the addition of the set, final props being added, the full costume (which has evolved quite a bit from the jerry rigged costume in earlier photos posted) which is very lovely and completes the picture of Linda as the glammed out chicken/best friend of Emory's dreams.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/creative13/sets/72157624917078732/

Let's take a moment to discuss.  I've done drag a few times before, and this is probably the most complex of the costumes I've worn.  First I put on the tights and fishnets, then take off my shirt and put on the feather covered corset.  Next  comes a pair of yellow harem pants.  Next I step into the yards of tulle that makeup the train/bustle.  Over that goes a marabou trimmed skirt.  Add gold gloves trimmed in yellow feathers, heels and headdress.  Finally I sit down and the amazing Amelia works on me for about an hour, painting feathers on my face and neck, adding the lashes and dusting my chest, arms and back with gold glitter.  It's a real fun look, but there is a lot of it, which leaves me feeling a bit like a float in the gay pride parade.  And navigating the stairs, ladder, climbing on "hay bales"...it takes some getting used to.

But last night's performance just felt wonderful.  Were there a couple technical glitches, yes, but I felt connected to the other actors, to the character, confident in my blocking and scenic bits, good with the choreography, and was able to take my time, make some new choices and add the layers which will help Big Ole Linda breathe.

We haven't had any previews, so this is one of the first shows I've done in a while where the first night with an audience actually happens on Opening night, and I have to say I am very excited!

Opening Night in One Week

I found my blog on google search today which felt a bit like a minor miracle.  We are now finable on the internet.  Hallelujah.  Those people who write about blogs say if you want to be successful you have to be both prolific and patient.  This I will work on.  In the meantime, Yay for one step closer to success!

Rehearsal again tonight for "MilkMilkLemonade" by Joshua Conkel.  Pretty much every night now until we open on the 9th.  Equal parts worry and excitement here, which is the norm for me around this time.  This last seven days will be about adjusting to the set, the new make-up and costume pieces (which can really help in finding the character) and cementing some bits and intentions.  If I can be ready in a week, have the show in my muscle memory so much so that it's second nature, then I'll be free enough to do some good work.  Unfortunately, no matter how hard you work to get ready, there's nothing like a few nights of the pressures and adrenaline that an audience brings to get the show lodged in there.  That's why the actors always encourage people to wait until the second weekend for it to solidify.  Because it really does matter. 

We're supposed to have a feature piece in the Austin Chronicle next week and I did a grief interview for it, so hopefully they'll use a quote or two of mine.  I tried to be honest and give it a little import, but not sound too pretensious and take myself too seriously.  I mean, I'm playing a talking chicken who aspires to being a stand-up comedian, but first has to avoid the chicken processing machine.  It's outrageous, and wholly absurd.  But it does cover some important topics, like the struggle to remain true to yourself, the tension between bullies and those they oppress, gender non-conformity.  It's all done in a campy, brutal, honest and thoughtful tone.

When I read the script I just fell in love with its uniqueness and the fact that it was getting this voice out there.  Sure there are plenty of shows with gay themes out there, but so many of them seem to take themselves so seriously when they deal with "issues", and this one doesn't.  Much.  At the time I read it I wasn't too familiar with The Shrewds work (that's the company producing the show) but I knew I wanted to be a part of it.  I didn't know what part I had a shot at either, but there were a couple I related to, and I knew that the playwright encouraged gender "flexibility" when it came to casting, so I thought I might have a shot. 

When I got there the first night they did not read me for Linda.  No, they read me for the cancerous grandmother.  I think I read her well, but it just wasn't a fit.  I was either too sweet and loving or too "fabulous" and intense, like a Mommie Dearest.  Nana is a Home Depot shopping, rough talking woman and I just couldn't get my head around her.  No problem, though, as at the callback they gave me a shot at Linda the Chicken which is essentially the part of a woman in peril, and that's something I can get my teeth into.  That I can do.  After my reading the director told me he liked what I was doing and while he hadn't thought of casting Linda as a man, he thought it worked. 

photo by Kimberley Mead http://www.flickr.com/photos/creative13

Since getting cast I've been working on getting the moves down, making the part the perfect combo of real chicken and children's theatre type presentation that the show calls for.  I think I've almost got it, but it ain't always easy to know.  At first I thought I should be a lot more literal with her.  Make her as much like a chicken as possible, but at some point I made the conscious choice not worry so much about reality as much.  To trust myself and my instincts.  As a result the part is a little more like Betty White in the episode of "The Golden Girls" in which they perform Henney Penny for the grade schoolers than it is like a flesh and blood chicken,  but I think it works.  Time will tell.

Don't Fight Life

Don't fight life.  Easy to say, difficult to do.  I mean when you're riding high, money in the bank, you've just had lunch with a dear friend, window shopped on South Congress, worked out, basked in the sun, the words "Don't fight life" trip off the tongue easily and the belief that you can do this is full in your heart.  But when you've spent your last dime on something ridiculous and now don't have any cash until Tuesday and the only thing you want to do is get out of the house and toss away a buck or seventy, when you feel like you lost out on the possibility of a good friend that you have a lot in common with because you did something  like tell him you've developed feelings for him and things have seemed a little awkward ever since, when you don't feel inspired by your work nor do you feel motivated by the rehearsal process of the play you are currently working on, it's difficult.  Don't fight life.  I mean, I know I've got it good.  Relative to a lot of folks my life is amazing.  It's important to remind myself of that.

It's also important to remind myself that all this is temporary.  As in everyone's life, everything in my life is temporary, especially my feelings.  Ask me how I feel about the play tomorrow and you'll probably get a completely different response, because overall I am really enjoying it: Enjoying the challenge, enjoying the people, enjoying the script.  Same with work.  Same with money.  As far as the friend, all it would take is one good connection or two and my opinions on that would change, too. 

I know what I need to do to get out of this slump.  I've done it before and it works wonders.  Make a list.  Schedule my day into increments.  Do those things, make tiny changes in my life to prepare for tomorrow and make the best out of today.  So...that's enough rumination for now.  On to doing something about it.

Being Alive!

It's Saturday night.  Saturday has a lot of expectations on it, and I'm not really living up to those expectations. I'll admit it's making me feel a little blue.  I had opportunities for socialization and chose solitude, so it's kind of like when I purposefully don't make plans for the weekend so I'll have time to organize, clean and lay back.  Then the weekend comes and there I am "laying back", but feeling like a loser because I'm not doing anything, completely forgetting that I took my own ass out of the game.

Before I decided to head home I was singing at a benefit for Zilker Hillside Theater.  They do a free summer musical every year.  It's free, family oriented fare, and the production values are usually pretty stellar.  People ( a lot of whom won't see any other theatre throughout the year) sit out on the hill on warm summer nights, picnic, and watch a really nice show.  I've been in five of the shows over the past years, and it's a cause close to my heart.  I was also really excited by the opportunity to sing Sondheim's "Being Alive" which is one of my those songs my heart has really connected to from the first listen.  It perfectly captures that desire to have someone to love you, adore you, boost you up when you're down, to look over your shoulder when you're reading, to get in your way, to drive you crazy with their filthy habits, to make you feel like you are really participating in life.  

Of course, I worked on the song quite a bit by myself, got it ready, felt pretty secure...and then standing up on that stage with your voice faintly echoing in your ear, the people in front of you (some of them not paying ANY attention) the uncertainty of whether or not your voice is carrying causing you to push your  voice- it's like someone pulled the rug out from under you in front of an audience.    It's like you're at home singing joyfully in the shower and then someone comes in unbeknownst to you and yanks the shower curtain open to expose your tender bits to strangers and friends alike.  And it comes out of nowhere.  Two seconds before you go on you have plenty of power and then it's go time and your struggling to keep your head above water and not let anyone in the audience know you are not completely comfortable.  Uggh.  Anyway, people were perfectly complimentary, some of them very effusive.  So I'm going to trust them a little bit, and next time make sure I get to hear myself in the monitor during rehearsal so I can trust that what is there, is there.

Some of us hung out afterwards, drinking and eating, and I stayed for awhile, but then the urge to come home and write overcame me, and hear I am.  I guess after awhile I began to feel like I was alone in a crowd, and being social and participating in the conversation was a battle.  Of course it wasn't because of the company, but it is something I deal with from time to time.  I think I'm sixty percent social, forty percent loner.  But the part that's social is really vocal and when he needs social interaction he makes it happen.I guess it's all about knowing yourself, trusting it.

A very wise and funny friend of mine gave me some good advice over lunch recently.  Of course she wasn't really dispensing advice, just discussing how she faced a recent situation, but I took it to heart, because it seemed like a really good approach.  The approach is simple.  Don't fight life.  When things come your way unexpectedly and fate throws obstacles in your path, you can become fearful and rattle the bars of your cage, or you can go with them.  Choose the latter choice.  Just accept them as reality and work with your circumstances.  Don't judge them.  The judgement and nervousness usually creates a problem where there might not have been one.  Certainly, look for resolutions to the conflict, but don't over excite yourself with worry and don't burn bridges, because things will be ok if you let them be.   I'm going to work with this philosophy for awhile, see how I fare.  Because in the past I've been a worrier, filling in the gaps of my knowledge with the worst possible answers, all fueled by my negativity and fear.  And it never does me any good.

I'll report back on this experiment as evidence comes in.

Wedding Bells

I ate my feelings today.  Let's just be honest.  We all know when we're doing it, and I did it in spades.  And didn't spend a cent.  The office was loaded up with treats today flowing in from all directions.  It was also loaded with the stress of ringing phones and employees needing assistance, asking for special requests, etc. 

To explain, I am the operations/communications admin for a corporate office of about 170 employees.  I work at the front desk, greet visitors, answer the phone, handle incoming deliveries, make announcements, order supplies, process employee paperwork, handle office equipment, the security system, blah-blah-blah.  Most of the time enjoy it because I get to use my personality, cheer people up throughout the day, provide a zany but professional spirit and give good customer service.  But on the occasional day like today???  There were several times I wanted to grab my rhinestone handled letter opener (which makes me feel like Joan Crawford every time I use it) and gouge my eyes out like Oedipus.  Instead, I ate.  The ironic thing is that I've been worried about gaining weight lately, and those concerns coupled with seeing myself in a couple of unflattering photos and being unhappy with my mid-section only made it more difficult to refrain from eating.  I piled my plate high and somewhere in the back of my head I thought "who knows when this will come again?  Grab it while you may!!!!"

Of course, it's not the end of the world.  I skipped dinner tonight and will just go back to eating like normal again tomorrow, waiting until I'm hungry.  I can do it.  I can.  And the few pounds I've gained in the past week will melt off. No worries.  In fact they could just be the daily fluctuation of 3 lbs that they say occurs.  I can't pay any attention to the feeling that my thighs have grown two inches, it will only compel me to give in and say "Awww, what the fuck.  If I'm gonna have tree trunks for legs, let's live it the shit up!"  No.  Instead, remember how you lost the 30 pounds you've lost, how hard it was to get here, enjoy the results and keep up the good work. 

One of the events that helped to pack on a pound or two was a wedding I went to on Saturday at the Saint Mary's cathedral.  It's unarguably the most impressive church in town, nestled in the heart of downtown Austin.  Stepping in it immediately made me feel like a kid again, being with my Irish Catholic Grandmother, standing by her side as she lit a candle in remembrance.  There's something about the majesty and grandeur about Catholicism that makes the whole world seem just a little more sacred.  And when you step out into the world again, you take just a piece of that majesty with you.  So in spite of not being a practicing Catholic anymore, having found a church most folks would call New Age, I still love feeling like a Catholic again and will never pass up the opportunity to go to Midnight Mass.

Anyway, the service, and the bride were lovely.  She looked like a Princess out of a Disney film. 

Really.  I'm not just saying that, because she's not likely to see this.  And anyone who's first dance starts with "You're the One That I want" from Grease?  Come on.  I have to say, everything about this wedding was pretty extravagant.  The reception was held at the Driskoll, a very chi-chi hotel in Austin, it was stunningly decorated, everything was impeccable.  Her little girl dream come true.  And of course, being at a wedding, you can't help thinking about your own, even a little...even if it's not legal in most states...

                                                         

Me, I'd want something pretty informal, with a reception at a Barbecue Joint, seventy-five close friends and family, and a swing band.  I know barbecue and swing don't necessarily go together, but we'd make em fit.  Oh yeah, and the grooms cake...would have to be an armadillo cake, grey frosting on the outside and red velvet on the inside.  Tacky, maybe, but to my mind, delightful.  Of course, you've gotta get a man first...

Goldfinger?

I've never been one of those people who tans.  I think this comes from having been a very fat child starting around age twelve and feeling that my body was something to suffer through, not something to show off in even the most casual of manners.  In fact, when I started doing shows and discovered that most dressing rooms were big communal areas where men dressed and undressed in front of each other, quickly and efficiently, I was terrified.

I've never really minded being pale, though.  It's part of who I am and it's assertive in it's hold on me, meaning that I do not tan easily, being from Irish and Welsh stock.  Plus, avoiding the sun mixed with moisturization has kept me looking relatively young, which is one of the benefits.  And whenever I felt a little pasty I could always tell myself, "After all, Marilyn never tanned, would openly shun the sun,  and she was one of the most beautiful women in the world!" It was as if, by not tanning, I was one step closer to acheiving immortality.  At least that's what I old myself. 

The one thing I do regret, is that my skintone is not as even as everyone elses, my neck, face and arms are relatively tan, and that cuts off right around chest level, fading to pale.  I did a publicity photos for a show I'm working on currently, in which I play a chicken terrorized by the possibility of the processing machine, and it required showing a lot of leg.  Upon reviewing the picture, someone said "He has great legs.  Is he wearing white tights???"  Ummmm, no.

Solutions to this problem?  Well, there's always prolonged exposure to the sun, but I've always been a burner, and witnessing the searing sunburn my cousin experienced when we were around twelve, I knew I would never want to go through that.  Tanning bed?  Hells, no.  I've heard enough about them to keep me away.  Plus, I recently had a body scan and some abnormal cells were found under a mole.  They were removed and everything's fine, but I want to avoid the procedure again in the future.  I did try the lotions you by from the drugstore, but application is difficult, and they streak and leave you looking "drippy".  Mystic Tan?  Well, I'd tried it before and it seemed to work and was worth another try.  Besides, I had a free one left over from a two session pass I had purchased a few months ago.  Mystic Tan it would be!

I went in yesterday after work to the place across the street from my office.  I had exfoliated that morning which I'd been told would help keep the solution on for a little longer than a week.  The guy behind the counter should be the poster child for sunless tanning.  Lean, mid twenties, thick-black and tossled hair, almond shaped blue eyes, an over all tan, and a bewildered expression.  The expression was largely do to the line of four people that had formed in front of him as a small and "voluptuous" woman with bleach blonde hair talked assertively in his general direction and chatted with a man who seemed to be the manager.  She seemed friendly enough, but she was exactly what you do not want to be:  the seasoned, over blonde, over tanned, "coconut and lime" scented.  When she turned around I could see that sunless tanning was not the only thing she liked to do to enhance her physical appearance. 

After she made up her mind about all the "Power boosts", primers, scents and accelerators she wanted added to her potion, the line went pretty quickly and I stood before the poster child.  He was friendly enough, and I knew that if I wasn't careful I could easily lay down extra money on all the upgrades he was reccommending, so I steeled myself and kept the extras down to one lotion that was supposed to make the color look a little more natural.  I selected "Level 1", the lightest level and went into Room 11.  I had chosen to do the Versa Spa rather than the Mystic Tan, which is again supposed to make you look a little less orange.  I love Barry Manilow, but I do not want my skin to be his shade of citrus. 

I realize as I'm standing in the room by myself, naked as a shelled clam, that I don't really remember what I'm supposed to do from this point.  Lotion the fingers, nails, palms of your feet and palms of your hands.  Done.  Put on this blue cloth cap.  This part was a little more difficult.  The cap was oval shaped, a little tight, and I couldn't tell why it had a mate next to it until I turned and saw the much larger, white shower cap.  I was apparently wearing a blue booty on my head.  Whoops.  I peeled the booty off and put it on my foot, it's mate joined it momentarily.  Next I put on the lotion I'd bought, getting it everywhere except for the small of my back, which I couldn't reach no matter how I contorted myself.  Then I stood in the machine and pressed the green button.  The moment of truth.

A mechanical female voice said "Get into position 1".  Position 1???????  What was that?  I craned my head to view the chart on the wall, but couldn't find position 1 in time.  I leapt into what I hoped I remembered correctly from 4 months ago being position 1.  Then Position 2, 3, and 4, moving into positions that resembled "walk like an Egyptian", and before I knew it, I was sprayed, finished, and left feeling a little like those women in "Gold Finger" who are all painted up and dead from lack of skin ventilation.  When I stepped out and checked the mirror, I couldn't see anything yet because I'd chosen the "clear" option as opposed to the Extra Bronzer, but I could smell it all right.  So home I went. 

My roommates and I hung out and snacked and watched television, and about four hours later, I could see the results.  Mild, but definitely there.  The toning is even, not at all orange, and while no one would mistake me for George Hamilton, I'm not pasty.  Which makes the procedure a success in my mind.  Will I make it a weekly habit?  Time will tell. 

In the meantime, I have a busy weekend ahead including a wedding and a party/benefit called the Rubber Duck Party which benefits Aids Services of Austin, followed by a rehearsal for a Cabaret to benefit the Zilker Summer Musical, and a birthday party for my little cousin.   Will report back later.

Day 1- "I resolve"!

I'm in my grandmother's cozy, pale pink house, nestled in small town Iowa.  I'm maybe three years old and  and I need to use the bathroom.  I'm still of the age that I can't do it by myself and so my Uncle takes my hand and leads me across the faded wooden floor past the piano in the darkened living room into the restroom and as we go we are having a conversation, which is kind of new for me.  My uncle has never really stopped to ask me questions.  Men usually don't.  Women do.  Women talk to me, wipe my face with a Kleenex, bend down and put their soft faces next to mine to talk, play pretend if I ask them.  Men always seem too busy.  But today my uncle asks what could be a harmless question.  The kind of question you ask a kid that you don't really have anything to say to.  "What's your favorite color?".  "Purple", I answered with certainty.  Purple was plush, welcoming, dusky.  My favorite.  "Oh you don't want that for a favorite color", he laughs as he helps me off with my pants, "Purple is an old woman's color". 

And here I'm thinking "I like old women.  Old women are nice."  I think of Grandma Duck in the Disney comics.  She wears purple, and glasses and bakes piles of chocolate chip cookies.  And still, I guess I wouldn't want to be her.  So, as directed, I pick a new color to make him happy, and not feel his scorn.  I pick blue, I think.  (Blue was still my acknowledged favorite color up until a couple of years ago, when I decided, after seven years of being admittedly gay, that it was safe to reclaim purple) I finish peeing, zip up my pants and head out the door having had my first experience of shame for who I am.  At least the first one that I can remember. 

There would be others, I mean we all have them.  Adults are constantly shaming kids for one reason or another.  Shouting at them for picking their nose, farting in public, or in my case for wearing a red table cloth around my waist, kicking up my heels and pretending I was Mary Poppins in front of the television as my stepfather walks in.  And each of us, I hope, slowly realizes that a time comes to tell the world of scorners which has come to include ourselves, to fuck off. 

I read a quote recently by E.E. Cummings that really resonated with me.  It says "To be nobody but yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”


I fight it all the time.  I fight it as a writer ignoring that ever present critic within long enough to sit in front of the computer.  I fight it as a singer trying to find my own voice and not just parrot the great voices that have been crooning in my ear since I was a kid collecting old swing records and listening to them in my room.  I struggle with it as a dater, pushing down the urge to tone down any flamboyant quality until I can suss out exactly the kind of guy my date will be attracted to...that's the fight.  It's also the fight when I find myself riding that swinging pendulum to the other side and exaggerating those selfsame gestures and bitchy phrases in rebellion against a world that has told me that kind of shit is unattractive.  I also fight that fight when I meet who I think at the moment is the man of my dreams, and I find myself waist deep in their thoughts, passions and philosophies, leaving my own behind to dive into their world.  I fight it as part of a crowd, when that crowd is metaphorically pissing on someone I know doesn't deserve it and it would be so easy to just piss along with them, go with the proverbial flow, in order to be accepted. 
 
It's a good fight, an inevitable fight, and one I sometimes win, and sometimes, not so much win.  It's a great big part of being happy and at peace in this world, and jotting down my thoughts and foibles, successes and the surprises I encounter along the way, that's the loose aim of this blog.  And I hope, in writing it to be fair and compassionate to everyone I write about, but to be truthful as well.  People are funny, me included, and safe writing is deadly and unfulfilling, and would be another way to lose the game of being one's self.  So I'm vowing right here and now, not to do it.  Hopefully it will bring you some amount of pleasure, and make you feel cozy and comforted as you fight your own good fight.
 
Joe