New York At Christmas Time

It's true what they say about New York at the holiday season.  It really is a joyous time and place to be.  Especially if you are in the heart of the city and wandering through Rockefeller Center, or eyeing the famous holiday window displays.

A great new friend of mine from the Transit Museum suggested we go do this very New York activity and I'm so glad we followed through on our plans.  I couldn't have asked for a better traveling companion.

The Peninsula

The historic French Building

The theme at Saks 5th Avenue was "A Winter Palace"

The entire wall of Saks displayed an incredible light show

This was by far my favorite window, from Bergdorf's

As we wandered about, taking in the sights, I couldn't help but think how much my mom would love this, and how great it would be to be able to show the windows to her next year.

In between shops, Polly and I stepped into St Patrick's Cathedral and lit a candle. It was awe inspiring, the grandeur and sheer size of it. It's impossible to convey it through photos.

Rockefeller Center was a fitting final stop.

All I Got Out of This Audition Was A Lousy Peppermint Candle And A Small Sense Of Accomplishment

I had a major breakthrough this week, and while I'm not exactly blushing with pride, I do feel a good bit of accomplishment.  Drum roll please... (knowing that after the drumroll you will be thoroughly underwhelmed) Thursday I auditioned for my first musical in New York!

I had two that I was interested in, both of them for possible replacement spots on currently running Broadway (Chicago) and Off-Broadway (Avenue Q) shows.  I had plenty of notice to prepare, and yet... postponed that preparation.  My mind said I needed to get ahold of a pianist and go over my 16-32 bar audition pieces.  My wallet told me I didn't have enough funds, and my chorus of ever present demons chimed in that I didn't really know an available pianist (forget about the fact that I have friends who audition and know pianists and that if I put in some effort I could get ahold of one).  

 A few of their favorite ditties were (are):

• The "What if it comes out in cracks and croaks, you've had a sore throat lately" Blues
• The "Are you prepared enough" Samba
• The "You're Too Fat" Polka.  
• The "Where the Fuck Are You Going To Practice, You Have Roommates and Thin Walls" Rag

I had a bit of a crisis the night before the first audition, as buried in sheet music, I tried to pull myself together.  I called a couple friends for support, floundered in pages of music, and ultimately let my demons win that particular battle.  At the end of the night I resolved to skip the first audition and focus all my efforts on the second.

Of course, two nights later I was again covered in sheet music.  I wanted to be as prepared as I possibly could be at that short of a time frame, so I pulled out a book entitled The Enraged Accompanist's Guide To The Perfect Audition.  This was not helpful reading material at that particular moment.  It did help me to see that:

1. My "book" (the book of sheet music one carries to every audition in case they are asked to sing another selection) wasn't big enough
2. I didn't have an index of songs- fuck, I didn't really even have a book!  I had four songs, many of which have been over sung and over heard
3. I didn't have tabs to clearly separate the songs.
4. I didn't have separate copies of each song in 16 and 32 bar versions.

What was the fucking point?  If you can't do it right...?

I nearly dumped the whole thought of auditioning, and yet, in spite of my nerves, I plugged on.  In these circumstances it helps that I am relatively self-aware and know that I always get these kinds of crazy nerves right before a show opens or an audition, or a first date, or a job interview, and I knew that these would pass and they didn't mean the end of my personal world.  It also helped that my dear friend and roommate was there to coax me through.

As a result of my perseverance, I was up the next morning, book in hand, and out the door bright and early.  I was about thirtieth in the line to audition, which ain't bad, and I remained pretty positive and up-beat for quite a while.  Admittedly, this became a little more difficult as time went on.    Why?  Because an audition room, overflowing with distressed "musical theatre people" and all the over the top antics that term implies, is essentially a theatrical war zone.

The first of us there line up around the perimeter of the room and sit in the seats.  Everyone else has to line up behind us in a kind of snaky indecipherable line.  God help you if you unknowingly enter the room and sit in what you think is a crowd of haphazardly arranged people.  You will undoubtedly be told in no uncertain terms, by a girl with false eyelashes, ankle boots and a panda bear hat, that you are "fucking up the line".  A nasal voiced gay man will then tell you where to go.  He tells you this not because he has any skin in the game, but because he has been jumping into the middle of everyone's conversation and giving "advice" on how to behave.  Amongst the other catty and awful things I hear him say, he freely admits that he is "that guy" at the audition.  I don't disagree.

Of course, there were plenty of sweet people, open faced and slightly hesitant, and had I not been in survival mode myself, I would have taken comfort in them.  Perhaps I would have remembered that everyone was feeling a little insecure and deep down we were all afraid that we did not belong in that room.  But I couldn't think about that because I was too concerned about the red head who came in squealing and knew EVERYONE in the room.  Watching her make the rounds was a bit like watching a playlet entitled I Know All The People In This Audition Room and I Deserve To Be Here by Bitsy Rothschild.  It didn't help that the play she was performing for us all was a musical.  No joke.  She literally sang everything she said.  "I'm so happy to come to auditions so I can see all my frieeeeeeeeeeeends!"  

Eventually it came time to sign up and I signed up for a spot early enough so that I wouldn't have to leave and come back later in the afternoon.  Before I headed out the door for a while, the monitor reminded us all that we had to be back at least ten minutes before our call time or our spot would be given away.  I'd been to other auditions and seen people go home in tears because they came into the room three minutes after their name had been called.  These Equity Monitors mean business.

I headed out to the city, wondered around, had breakfast, and wondered into A Whole Foods Store.  It was my first time in one in six months, as they don't litter the streets in NYC like they do in Austin.  Being there felt like coming into contact with a very welcome piece of home, and I found the perfect holiday candle, on sale, in a mason jar with a silver top and a red bow.   Peppermint Vanilla.  I hadn't been able to decorate my apartment for Christmas and it had left me a little blue.  I had decorated for Christmas every year since I moved out of my folks house.  This year there wasn't a stick of Christmas in our apartment, and I at least wanted it to smell like Christmas in the apartment, even if it wouldn't look like Christmas.  I went away with a little paper bag full of peppermint dreams and headed back up to the audition.  

At this moment my issues with space and directions nearly undid me.   I couldn't remember where the holding room was for the audition, and by now the hallway was abuzz with other auditions.  I finally found what seemed like my room, and yet it turns out that one big wood floored room with a bunch of folding chairs lining the mirrored wall looks a lot like another. As a result I spent ten minutes waiting in the holding room for Shuffle Along before I realized my mistake and raced to the right one just a minute before my spot would have been given away.

After all of that, the audition itself was pretty uneventful.  I wasn't amazing, but I didn't shame myself either.  The pianist and the auditioned were very nice, seemed pleased enough, and before I knew it, it was over.  I was not asked to sing something else, and I don't know if that's a blanket dismissal, and yet, I was proud.  I had broken the seal.  I had tested the waters of musical auditions and not been scalded.  

The realization on the way back to my apartment that I had left my precious Peppermint candle on the 2 Train soured my outlook a little.  But over all, I'm claiming it as a victory against the demons within.  

Can I Get A V?

I!

C!

...You know the rest.

Three Weeks Through and Feeling Blue

Feeling like a failure today.  Did everyone else know that this was going to happen?  That I would make it halfway through Nanowrimo (for the record I still hate that abbreviation) and then I would stall?  I got 25,000 words through and have struggled since that point.

It was the same old thing where you miss a day and the thought of doing twice the amount of work the next day to make up for the day you missed, well it becomes overwhelming, so you miss that day also, and then, well fuck.  Before you know it you have three days of work to complete in one day, and it's daunting enough to get 1600 in one day that are worth anything, let alone 4,000 plus.  

"Don't worry about the quality" the bloggers say.  "Just get it out there".  And to them I say "go fuck yourself.  I'm not going to waste 50 - 60 hours of my life writing garbage.  Even with an outline, after 25,000 words it is easy to lose track of what you have, the seeds you're trying to plant, the characters you've created.  So I went back.  And I started to revise.  And I stalled.  

At first, it seemed justifiable, because I was going through and expanding the old copy at the same time I adjusted and removed sections, so I still got my words done.  But then, it wasn't happening like that, and I spent an hour and half on revising and didn't have my words, and neither did I have the heart to go and write them, especially knowing they would be in the baby phase compared to some of the more sculpted passages I had revised and honed.  So it turned out the bloggers were right.    SCREW YOU BLOGGERS AND YOUR ACCURATE INFORMATION!!!

I am now trying to pick up the pieces. As of today I am 14,666 words behind where I should be.  I could let it go at that and promise myself I will work away at this book, knowing that without the deadline it will be that much harder to finish it.  Add in the amount of failure I am feeling at the moment and you've got a decided lack of motivation to complete the story that will not always feel worthy of the effort it will take to finish it.  

So here's what I can commit to as of today.  I can recommit to getting 1667 words for the next six days.  At which point I should have 35,342 words of the piece.  Hardly a failure, even if it isn't considered "winning" in the eyes of the almighty NANOWRIMO peeps.

Feeling a touch better about the situation.  Not perfect, but am realizing this isn't the end of my journey with this process yet.

A Weekend In Astoria

Tomorrow marks the halfway point of National Novel Writing Month, and I'm pleased to say that I am currently at 22,000 words and on target to complete 50,000 words by the end of the month.  I understand how daunting it can be, because the minute the words come out on that blank page they are so inadequate.  They're the children you hide in the closet because "something ain't right".   And it can be daunting because, while the words are coming out on the page, the question remains... are they quality?  And just how much sense is this all going to make when I reach the end?  Add to that, the fact that most editors expect a novel to be, not 50,000 words, but 60,000.  Which, in truth is refreshing, because at my current point, I am not halfway through the novel.  More like, just under a third.

However, there are some upbeat points to make here.  Around the third or fourth day I got behind, and it was pretty daunting for awhile there because my goal to stay on target at points was 3-3,500 and not the easier daily goal.  Which made it very difficult to go back and fine tune pieces of the novel and turn them into something worth reading.  Now, I know most people say DO NOT GO BACK, I understand.  And I understand the danger, but I myself need to know I have something that is solid- not mind shatteringly gorgeous necessarily, especially with the genre novel I'm currently working, but something that resembles what I might pick up in a bookstore, and with most of the details decided and the decisions made so that everything up to the most current page matches in detail.  Being on track will allow me to do that.

Keeping on track has also kept me from blogging very much, and there's been a lot of fun little things going on.

I got to explore Astoria in Queens for a weekend get-away as a friend of mine was out of town and let me crash at her place to have a change of environment and stir up some creativity.  I would now, at this point to sing the praises of The Astoria Bookshop.  It's a cozy little bookstore so beautifully designed and welcoming.  And I know the big shops can not be beaten when it comes to vast selection, however there is something to say for a shop that has a really wonderful selection in what is there, and allows you to actually notice some of the great things there.  I spent at least an hour there, and while I didn't buy any books as I currently have a stack of books waiting for me, and I couldn't justify spending more money on a book.  I did get a candle.  Especially when I'm writing I like to light a candle specifically saved for that time.  It's not a ritual, per say, but it does feel like I'm saying to myself and the world at large, that it's writing time.

In fact, at some point I would like to live in Astoria.  It's a little closer to Mid-Town than my current location, and it's got so many lovely little shops within quick walking distance, like Gossip Coffee, which has some pretty delicious donuts.  I tried the chocolate stout and the pumpkin spice latte, both of which were delicious.

I also went on another audition, and it was a pretty big win simply to go, because I've been going through the notices as of late and thinking of a reason for each post as to why I might not be perfect for the show, and therefor shouldn't go out for it.  But on Monday I told that side of myself to kindly shit it's pie hole.  I decided I'm going to go through the postings and if it seems even possibly right for me, I would go and give it a shot.  Now, I spoke to a friend of mine about this later who was worried about wasting the auditions time---  let me clarify.  I'm not saying if the part calls for a 25 year old romantic lead of Italian heritage, and that is not your age or your "type" that you should go out for it.  Yes- it's a waste of time.  But there are so many other parts out there that could work, and yet...they may not seem like the part you would immediately go in and rock.  To that voice saying don't go, I respectively again say "shut your pie hole".  You may go and you may not be right for it.  But if you go in there and give an amazing audition, they will take notice for next time.  They will.

In short, I am working hard on saying "yes" to opportunities and ignoring the tiny little "no" that often pipes up to have its say.

NaNoWriMo

It is day two of National Novel Writing Month, an annual event in November that started several years back and which I had often thought of participating in.  For one reason or another, though (not having a significant idea, being extremely busy in the month of November, getting the inspiration in February, being plain chicken) I had not yet done so.  Until Now!!

There are two kinds of participants in "Nanowrimo".

1.  The pantser.  This is the writer who decides to let inspiration hit them day one, write the quota of 1500 words each day that will get them to 50,000 words by the end of the month.  This approach has always seemed a little too "harum scarum" for me, and I've never really been tempted to trod that road.  Maybe after this month I will try this less organized route.

2.  The planner.  This person gives great thought to their plot, characters, and generally maps out what will happen in the novel more or less, so when November comes around it's almost a matter of connecting the dots.

I'm more or less doing the route of the planner, but I'm leaving some room for inspiration to strike.

Beginning in late September I became inspired by an idea I've been kicking around in one form or another for over ten years.  The character ideas, the perspective, the voice, the plot twists and the way to play with and twist common tropes of the genre--- they just started flowing.  So I took that month to spill all of those ideas, those "what ifs" onto the page.  Mostly I said "Suppose..."  and "What if..." and "Maybe...".  Next I went ahead and narrowed down some of those ideas, took some out, made some plot decisions and answered some of those "what ifs".  I made a complete list of characters, jotted some notes about them, when I thought I had too many to focus on I took a couple and combined them, as they essentially served the same purpose.  Then I made an outline of the first five chapters.  From there???  Well, I have a planned ending, and I have a general idea, but everything else is going to take a little trust and faith, and "listening to what the characters want".  Authors always say they can't make their characters do anything.  They have to listen to them.  So...I'm staying open to that.  Truthfully it's always seemed a little too precious for me, but I'm going to take their advice.

P.L. Travers always said the Mary Poppins books wrote themselves, and of course Jack Kerouac legendarily pounded out his masterpiece in three weeks, so it may be a smooth and easy road...somehow I'm leery.

I know I'll struggle and have doubts.  They seem almost to be necessary to the process somehow.  And if not necessary, at least, you can't create anything without those assholes showing up to the party, but I am determined to soldier on, in spite of what they say.  And if they seem to be making a little sense, like maybe this should happen instead of that?  I'll consider listening.  But it's such a slippery slope.  Letting fear motivate you toward excellence, and keeping it from derailing you.  Is it possible?

Yesterday I completed 2000 words, and tonight I have two and a half hours to write today's 1000-1500 in order to stay on track.

For those of you who are thinking about leaping into this, it is NOT TOO LATE!  You can go to the website linked above and register as an official participant, listen to pep talks, get guidance and advice, track your word count... it should be a lot of fun.  Really!! (SFX: manic laughter)

Mister Roger's: Television's Gift

When I was a child, like most kids in America in the late seventies, I watched Mister Rogers' Neighborhood religiously.   Not only was he a calm and gentle presence, unapologetically tender and sentimental, calming and supportive; he also chose to focus on things and people that mattered.  He showed us how the things we used got made, taught us to pay attention to the world and the good people around us, and to appreciate the things about us that we might not always wrap our arms around.  He, alongside the muppets and my daily dosage of mid-century sitcoms, was a major television influences.  He helped shape how I came to see the world and gave me a foundation to cope when things turn to shit in this world.

It feels strange to put all of that on television's metaphorical shoulders, but it's true.  We were kids of the tv generation.  And it's not that I didn't go outside, or that I had absentee parent's.  But teacher's, family members, daycare teachers felt safe putting us in front of the television, often at our pleading.  And so, almost as much as the people around us, television makes us.

And so I'm grateful that Mister Rogers was such a big presence in my life as a young kid.  His message that differences are wonderful, and that everyone is worthy of love and is special still hold true.  Unfortunately, I don't think it's quite as popular a message as it used to be.  Luckily, these shows were here for us then, and Sesame Street is still around continuing that message of acceptance and self worth.

This clip below illustrates how important and influential Mister Rogers was and continues to be, as long as there are those around who take his words to heart.

My First Agent Auditions

Today I signed up for my first audition in the city.  I "bit the bullet" as they say.  And let me tell you, everything they say about getting there an hour and a half before your call time and waiting around in a line of masses of squirmy people?  It's all true.  I mean I'd heard it, and I kind of believed it.  But I couldn't quite get my head around the thought that so many people would turn up at eight in the morning to audition for one to two minutes before two agents.  Stupid, right?  Oh yes.

I arrived at the Equity offices for an 8:30 sign up at 8:10, and had quite a bit of difficulty finding the back of the line as it wound around every wall of the Equity lobby.  Most of these people were quiet and in themselves, but there were enough of them carrying on loud conversations for (what seemed to be) the benefit of everyone else in the room, and one person in particular was performing a very loud performance piece about casting directors and how he never gets cast as Jewish because he doesn't have curly hair and a big nose and how racist that is.

I've always been really sensitive to my environment, so I buried my head in a book in order to keep other people's manic energies away.  I have enough neuroses of my own, thank you very much, and I don't need anyone else's.   Eventually the line started to move, and I worried I wasn't going to get a spot.  There were only fifty audition slots available, and after those were gone there were alternate spots up for grabs, but there's no guarantee that an alternate will get to perform.

I cursed myself for not realizing that the auditions weren't until 7PM, so for the early morning sign up I didn't have to print up and staple my resumes, didn't have to iron my clothes, didn't even have to shower.  I could have leapt out of bed humped it to the 2 Train and been pretty much guaranteed.  But, it's all part of the learning curve, and everybody has to start somewhere.  Right?

By the time I got to the front all the slots were gone.  So I signed up as the fifth alternate.  The monitor explained that it just meant I had to be there at the beginning of the audition and wait for someone to be late, or not show for their appointment, or slip in if the auditioners are running early.  She confided that the first alternates almost always get in as she works very hard to make it so, and so I will be there tonight, with my history of the creation of Wonder Woman, and hopefully I will get this experience under my belt.  On the 23rd I go in for my first musical audition, so I'll be able to check another box, and can be happy that I'm doing what I came out here to do.  Trying my damnedest.  I feel pretty good about my prospects, and though the odds of actually getting representation from this are low, it has caused me to find a new comedic monologue that I'm really pleased with, so the next time I have to go up with a monologue, I'll be that much more secure.

More later...

Celine Dion's Greatest Moment

Celine Dion.  She ain't exactly my fave. She takes herself way too seriously, doesn't seem to legitimately feel the emotions tied to the songs she sings, and she's gaudy in nearly every way possible.  And yet,this?

Celine Dion sprawled out on a lit floor crooning Memory in full cat regalia?  I can't not love it.  She spins, she leaps, she sinks dramatically to the floor, she belts the shit out of this song, and she commits FULL OUT people.  It feels so risky and weird, and there is absolutely no trace of irony in her performance.  None.  Nil.  Not an iota.

Watch it and see if you don't love it as much as I do.

Alice: 150 Years of Wonderland

One of the things that makes New York such an amazing city is the fact that at any moment you can get your eyes on the most amazing artifacts of our cultural history.  It's mind blowing to think of some of the things that are just a subway trip away.  One of those artifacts was on display at The Morgan Library in their exhibit on Alice and her crazy trip through Wonderland.

Kirk and I were able to catch the closing day of the exhibit, Alice: 150 Years Of Wonderland.  It feels like EVERYONE is doing an exhibition.  Back in Austin there was one at the Harry Ransom Center, and there's one that just opened up at the Library for the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center.  This one, however, was likely the best, as the pieces on display were incredible.

The crowds were large when we arrived, and by the time we left the line was out the door.  It was a surprisingly small room, and essentially, to see the exhibit everyone had to line up and tour the perimeter, for everything was placed up against the walls.  Of course you had to deal with some museum assholes who don't care to follow the system and make themselves as large as humanly possible while looking at the exhibit, or stand as close to it as they can so no one else can get in.  This behavior really chaps my hide, but...I was able to contain my annoyance, largely due to the pieces, and the fascinating info about them.

There was a copy of the first edition (of which there are only about twenty in existence because the illustrator objected to the print quality of his illustrations) as well as many original color illustrations, one of Lewis Carroll's diaries, photos he had take of Alice Liddell (more on that later, as it feels impossible to talk about Dodgson/Carroll without discussing his child portraits or other possible improprieties.

As for the illustrations, it was amazing how small they were.  They were 4 inches by 4, at the most, and so incredibly detailed.  It's pretty astounding, even when you consider that penmanship and drawing was a huge obsession with the Victorian English.  There was a sample of a letter written by Alice at age seven, and it is a work of art.  So precise, so careful, and studied.

Now, before I get to this amazing artifact I mentioned earlier, it's important to put it in the context of the creation of Wonderland and how it all came about.  

Charles Dodgson was a don at Christ Church, Oxford, and became friends with the new dean, Henry Liddell, his wife, and his three daughters, one of whom was named Alice.  It became a routine that he and his colleague at the college would take the girls out for little excursions on the river in a rowboat, and Charles would tell them stories.  One day, Charles told a story about Alice tumbling down a rabbit hole to a strange underground land, and Alice, who was around ten at the time, enjoyed the story so much that at the end of the day she asked Mr. Dodgson to write it down for her.  

He went home, made a rough outline, expanded upon the story, illustrated it, and eventually presented it to her.  It was titled Alice's Adventures Underground and would be the prototype for the first edition of the story we know as Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. What he created, complete with his illustrations that would become the model for many of Tenniel's, was on display at the Morgan Library, and I had to read the description several times before I was able to trust that I was in front of Alice's personal copy, the very first version of the story ever, which prior to this exhibit had not left the British Museum in thirty years.

Now, about the little girl portraits... Charles was a photographer, and he used little girls as subjects quite a bit, and would occasionally shoot them in scant dress.  But it was all done with complete knowledge of the little girls parents.  He would write to them and request they arrive in as little clothing possible.  And no one was concerned.  It wasn't considered remotely possible that they would be viewed as sexual objects (in spite of the implications of the Little Red Riding Hood story).  And if this is the case, is it possible that Dodgson/Carroll was just shooting the beauty of children?  I guess.  Is the other possible as well?  Yes.  Will we ever know what was going on in his head?  It's unlikely.  Can we condemn him on the evidence provided?  Again, I'm not sure.

But I do fall into the camp that, as we do not know for sure, we can appreciate and enjoy the art as a separate entity from the artist.  And I can take a small amount of satisfaction in the fact that I'm more of an Oz fan anyway.  

Small Promises

It's been a day of polarities.  It was my first run through of my new program for classes, portraying a historical character for the Transit Museum, and in spite of all my fears and worries (or perhaps because of them, at least in small part... I'm still not over the idea of fear being useful as a motivator, no matter how persuasive Elizabeth Gilbert may be) I did not blank out in the middle of the twenty-five minute presentation.  Everyone seemed to really enjoy it, and the educators and leaders were effusive in their praise of the story telling session.  Was it perfect?  No.  But it was successful, and the first performance down of many.

After it was finished, I was surprised that the need was so strong in me for celebration.  I needed some kind of commemoration of the day, and so I joined some of the other employees at The Shake Shack for burgers.  Mine was a mushroom burger, as I'm still going strong in my plan of not eating pork or beef, even though I'm not quite ready to give up chicken, and it was delicious.

But then... I picked up my reproductions of my head shots, and in spite of being pleased by that step in the right direction (I haven't had an audition since my first), the evening settled into a strange kind of melancholy.

Maybe it's the realization that I can't, and never will be able to make New Yorkers do exactly as I want.

•    There will always be the ocassional nimrod who stops suddenly in the midst of a group of people crossing the street.
•    There will always be the lady who spreads out on the subway when she could easily scoot over and let someone (namely me) take a seat next to her.
•    And there will always be people who snake in front of me in line at the Duane Reade.

Likewise there will always be someone who doesn't follow the rules as I see them.  And if I were smart I would realize that I can follow the rules closely as is my need and yet I don't have to be attached to others doing the same.  I don't need to judge them or let them taint my day because they don't realize that they are heading up the stairs on the wrong side, blindly pushing into on-coming traffic.  Why does that seem so difficult to do?  Why does it feel like the option is follow the rules and secretly seethe over those who don't or... buy into the mayhem of a world where everyone does their own thing, which would entail my dancing in the streets against the pedestrian traffic lights, shoving my way onto the subway before letting passengers step off.  Why must it always be one or the other?

Maybe it's that things aren't moving as quickly as I like, and I still need another job in order to make ends meet and that I haven't been as diligent in the search for work (either day job or auditions) as I should.  And it may also be the fact that for the past couple of days I've shrugged off writing, promising to do it "later".  

Maybe it's that my social life has not developed to it's fullest yet, and you can't fill up your dance card on the back of a few friends.  

Maybe it's all of those.  And of course, a solution is apparent, at least on some levels.  Baby steps.  

1. Call a friend
2. Write on my current project for fifteen minutes
3. Gather the info on those temp agencies I was referred to and plug them into the computer for easy usage later
4. Apply to one job tonight.
5. Go through the audition calls for ten minutes.  

So, that's what I have promised to do.  I wandered the streets of downtown Brooklyn for awhile, looking in at the shops for something to cure my ills, but when it comes down to it, the solution is as easy and as difficult as that.  Do something.  The thing that my mind is wheedling you to do.  Even if I only do it for a small amount of time.

Here's to keeping small promises.

Binge Watching For Halloween: Murder She Wrote

When October rolls around I find myself, like everyone else, wanting to celebrate and soak in all things spooky, mysterious and frightening.  However, while I love being scared-- Silence of The Lambs, Vertigo, Paranormal Activity, Don't Be Afraid of The Dark, and An American Werewolf in London are just a few of my favorites--  "torture porn" like the Saw films, just ain't my thing, so I'm always hunting for the tamer specials and films of the season.  Since Jessica Fletcher is always wandering into a murder in her travails (over, and over, and over...) It makes sense that a few of them would be more on the spooky side. The following list of Murder She Wrote episodes is a perfect prescription for a crisp fall evening.  


(Quick Sidebar)
I watched the show with my mom from the very first episode (the two hour pilot The Murder of Sherlock Holmes) and I loved playing along with each episode trying out wit the writers to discover who the murderer was.  As a kid, I was almost always stumped, but as an adult, many of them are relatively easy to solve. That's fine with me though, as I watch just as much for the celebrity cameos, Jessica's colorful scarves and alternating glam collars, and to see what she will pull from her vast grab bag of quizzical expressions.   

Murder She Wrote, like The Love Boat and Fantasy Island before it, kept those aging actors working when few others would.  So if you want to see Van Johnson, Audrey Meadows, Vivian Blaine, or Anne Blythe, get yourself over to Netflix and binge away.







But back to those special episodes I promised:

Reflections of the Mind (season 2): features the previously mentioned Anne Blythe doing some terrifically watchable scenery chewing as a rich widow slowly being driven mad by the ghost of her dead husband.

Night of The Headless Horseman (season 3): involves a small town school teacher who has convinced his town that Jessica is his visiting mother.  There's a basic bastardized version of the Washington Irving story, and some delightfully bad acting by Barry Williams, aka Greg Brady, and Judy Landers (playing the chippy at the local tavern).

Fire Burn, Cauldron Bubble (season 5): is a riff on the themes covered in Arthur Miller's The Crucible.  No, it's not about the societal repression and scape goating during the McCarthy hearings, it's just got witches doing crazy things in the woods.  And, of course, Roddy McDowell who was certainly around when all that whizz was going down.

The Witch's Curse (season 8): This one I have yet to see yet, but doubtless it will be delightful.

Legacy of the Borby House (season 10): Ditto on this one in regards to viewing it, but it does have a great title.  BORBY!!!!!

Nan's Ghost Part 1 & 2 (season 12): This one I remember as one of my absolute favorites from when I was a wee dumpling of a thing.  And in it Jessica is off to Ireland to battle ghosts and banshies and things that go bump in the night.  

If, however, that's not enough, there are three episodes I want to point you to.  They feature the ladies of "Loretta's Beauty Parlor" and are three of the best.  Kathryn Grayson as Ideal Molloy is worth it alone, but all the girls at the parlor are great comedic actresses.   


Enjoy!  And feel free to let me know what you think of the episodes if you do end up checking them out.  Also, if you can think of any great Halloween specials and/or films to check out, I'd love to hear about them.

The Headless Horseman Needs A Head, Y'all

October has always been one of my favorite months.  The leaves as big as your face, the wind blowing in making everything colder than the "actual" temperature, the crispness, the apple cider and yes... the pumpkin spice.  PS:  When did loving all things pumpkin become the pinnacle of basic bitchiness?  Fuck off whoever said it first, and a miniature fuck off to all the sheep that are listening.  Pumpkins are awesome!!  So...I will drink my pumpkin spice latte from the totes adorbs Starbucks whilst I recline on my divan, munching on apple cider doughnuts (for all you Texans, this is a real big thing on the East Coast) and as I wait for Crimson Peak to hit theaters, I will enjoy this little tidbit of Halloween nostalgia.  It's performed by a man named Thurl Ravenscroft, no less.  (For all of you who gays who love your retro trivia, Thurly (my pet name for him) is not only the performer of this song, but the uncredited vocalist on You're A Mean One Mister Grinch, from How The Grinch Stole Christmas.  So for all of you who thought that you were so smart because you knew it was Boris Karloff, I hope it doesn't hurt too much to realize you were wrong.  I mean, if he could have really sung like this, don't you think he would have done it a teensy bit more often?  Skip to 1:08 if you aren't a fan of the DTV intro...

Speaking of DTV.  Why, oh why didn't I appreciate the Disney Channel when it was at it's most amazing?  Back when it aired programming based on the classic Disney content and not this bubblegum teeny bopper crap they churn out now?  (Kids!!!  Get off my lawn you nincompoops!  Why back in my day...) Seriously though, seeing that intro brought back so many memories of me sitting in the tv room of my house in my undies while watching that show in the wee hours.   Ahh, Childhood.

The Broadway Flea Market!

Woke up this morning at 9:05AM to the soothing sounds of NPR.  Waking up relatively early to meet your friend in mid-town always sounds like a better idea the night before than it does the morning of. And yet, this will be a full day, so it's best to tackle the Broadway Flea Market early.

A few words on the Broadway Flea Market... this is an amazing annual event organized by "Broadway Cares" to raise money to fight Aids.  It takes place in Times Square and all of Broadway unites to raise funds by selling books, programs, historical costume and set renderings, etc.  Most of the major shows will have booths which sell items representing their show, and there's an auction for some of the bigger ticket items.

One thing I am still learning when it comes to getting ANYWHERE in New York- give yourself twenty minutes more time than you think you might need.  I'd made plans to meet my friend Leslie at Juniors in New York, and unwittingly set my app to guide me toward a closed location at Grand Central Station, which of course, made me a good twenty minutes late.  Luckily, she was a little late to, so it all kind of evened out.  

Leslie brought her constant companion Lolly Lardpop, the five year old candy addict.  If you are not familiar with Lolly, or her podcast...

Our first stop was to meet Laura Ware, who was helping her friend, the extremely talented artist Justin "Squigs" Robertson to man his booth.  

Justin's portrait of Holland Taylor as Ann Richards

(Justin, Fill Milano, Laura, Lolly, Me)

Next we roamed the flea market, pawed through books and photos and costume renderings, and had a couple star sightings including Bryan Batt of "Mad Men", the hottest police officer known to man (literally scorching) and Seth Rudetsky.

I will say, as exciting as it was, it got overwhelming very quickly as it was completely packed with eager fans, and therefor, it was often difficult to get to the things at the booths.  Luckily time passed quickly, and before we knew it, it was time to meet Chita Rivera.  That's right, Chita.  Leslie is friends with her, and we were able to meet up with her for a moment after she finished signing autographs.  While we waited we talked with her daughter Rosie ( a gem of a real gem of  a lady) and got to meet Jim Caruso who was hosting this portion of the Flea Market.  Due to high demand, Chita signed well beyond the time she was booked to be there, and when she came down the stairs  she was unbelievably charming, soulful, authentic and warm.  There are some people that simply radiate kindness wherever they go, and she is certainly one of them.  It was a true pleasure to meet her.  

After meeting Chita, fatigue started to set in, and I had another event to go to, so I parted ways with Leslie and Lolly and headed off  to Brooklyn and the "Atlantic Antic".  The Antic is a giant street festival in its 41st year, celebrating Brooklyn.  My new place of employment "The New York Transit Museum" had several antique buses featured.  I didn't have to work the festival, but I definitely wanted to view the buses and support my new work mates.

It was well worth it, as Atlantic Avenue was packed tight with revelers, food and music.  In truth, I wanted to eat everything.  There was fried chicken with waffles, Mexican Corn, doughnuts, kettle corn, jerk chicken... I felt like that rat from "Charlotte's Web" who stalks the fair at night just gorging himself.  I DID limit myself and settled upon something tempting that I'd never had before.  It was called an Arepa (melted mozzarella sandwiched between two sweet corn cakes) and it was the perfect combo of savory and sweet.  I could have eaten seven.  I didn't.  Instead I distracted myself by listening to the Cuban Jazz and the Carribean music.  Eventually I did have something else, a banana cupcake with chocolate hazelnut frosting from Mahalo New York Bakery, and  oh my Jesus, it was so moist and delicious.  

On the way home from the festivities I passed a couple of ladies photographing the moon and was drawn in by it for a bit.  It's funny, because I hadn't realized tonight was the night of the SUPER MOON.  The moon would be closer than ever for one night only, and it would be eclipsed, and around eleven o'clock easter it would appear blood red in the sky.  It was quite a talking point on the way home, and for someone new to the neighborhood it was a welcome excuse to meet and chat with folks on the street, and tok, not about weather or crime or directions, but about this natural but somewhat astounding natural event.  

And now, much later, it's time for me to flop down on my air mattress and recharge.   Til' tomorrow!

New York Moments

I learned a very valuable lesson on Thursday after an interview for a position with the The New York Transit Museum.  My lesson?  When it comes to a choice of two types of shoe:

1. comfortable and a little on the casual side.
2. dressy and new, but pinchy and uncomfortable.

Choose option 1.  For Lord's sake choose 1.

I went for style, and ended up walking five miles in those miniature torture chambers.  By the end of the day I was happily, and gingerly walking behind some of the slower New Yorkers just so I'd have an excuse to give my feet a needed break.

On the upside, the interview went pretty well, and after it was complete I had the opportunity to
wander around a bit.  I definitely recommend doing so if you feel the need of a good escape, as the beautifully preserved subway cars (complete with vintage ads) give the wonderful feeling of tripping through time.  

My walk back to Brooklyn included a really lovely, small pleasure when I was greeted by the haunting sound of a trumpet.  It was such a lovely ambient, distinctly New York sound, kind of lonely and wistful.  When I got close enough to where the sound was coming from I looked up the wall of an apartment building and could make out the glint of a brass trumpet bell being aimed out the second floor window.  So the music was not some random practicing, but a deliberate gift to New York from an unknown musician.  It was a great moment.

Brooklynite!

As you most likely know, I returned from Greene, New York exactly a week ago, and have since settled in at a beautiful apartment in Brooklyn.  I'll be living with my dear friends Kirk German and Heather Huggins in a lovely, brand new building in a neighborhood that is half Hasidic Jews, and half Caribbean.  It's got a lovely and diverse feel to it, and I'm less than a quarter of a mile away from an amazing kosher market which is chock full of all the Kosher foods I've been developing such a strong affinity for lately.  Bagels, lox, knishes, chocolate babka... it's all there and I could not be happier.

The apartment itself has many perks-  a bright orange entry door, big windows letting in lots of light, big bedrooms and spacious common areas, central air conditioning, washer and dryer units in the building, and 2 bathrooms!  There have been some minor adjustments due to the newness of the complex, including  current lack of wi-fi which has me frequenting coffee shops and library even more than usual, but all in all it's been smooth and lovely.  I'm awfully grateful to Kirk and Heather doing reconnesaince while I was upstate, and the apartment is going to be a great home base for creative ventures.

My bedroom, so far, is pretty empty.  I've got a couple of suitcases full of clothes and a few books, but it all feels rather impermanent, and the nester in me is really looking forward to the next week when some of my belongings will be coming.  In the meantime however, I'm very grateful for the air mattress I rest my little head upon.

Leaving Escanaba

I've recently returned to New York City from my brief drop-in to Greene, New York to play Reuben Soady (Jeff Daniel's alter-ego) in his play Escanaba In Da Moonlight. It was really wonderful to see so many people show up (the town itself is so small that you often wonder where the people are coming from), and to get such apparent joy at the tale of the Soady families freaky and flatulent night on the eve before deer hunting season.  

As much as I enjoyed the experience, and I'm very proud of the show, I am grateful to be back.  Six weeks in a theatre in a small town, with one car shared amongst four of us, and lots and lots of free time can leave even the cheeriest person a little on the surly side, and I found myself going more than a little bonkers.  Luckily there were some wonderful friends to pass the time with, but you can't spend every waking second with them, and how many times can one drive to Barnes and Noble?  (Answer:  A lot).  All of this led to me, netflix and more oreos than I care to count, and thank God it was toward the end of the run that I realized it was possible to replace some of the constant snacking with sketching.  I had attempted some writing, and found myself in a dry spell when it came to words, but I was able to churn out a few  "drawrings", as Simon says.

Whatever you do, don't look at her hands.  :)

Girly man, my favorite kind

For those of you who were not able to attend, here are a few photos taken but the director Bill Lelbach, and feature our terrific cast (Including Dan Romero, Dan Mian, Emily Goodell, Scott Isert Huffman and Chris Knickerson, as well as his rustic set.

The absolutely charming Barby Kahl designed our costumes.  She won me on the first day when she called me "dear" and "darling".  I loved every endearment. To be fair, I am not the only one she called this, but I liked to pretend it was just me.  

What you don't see in the photos is how well loved and cared for and herded we were by Liz Howell ( my cohort on so many adventures), or  how much hard work Joey Velas put into making the set look as great as it did.  NOR can you see the lovely and feisty Faith White, who did every task under the sun, aided by Sandra Houde also who hosted a couple great gatherings at her and Bill's home.

Thanks to everyone involved, for shining your light ,and allowing me to call you "puddin'" and "bitch" on alternating days.  

Big Old Heap of Posting

I've been remiss.  This is true.  I had dreams of posting every day about the experience of being in the current production of Escaaba In Da Moonlight currently playing in Greene, New York.  And yet...

Part of it is that, it feels so strange to write about this show as I'm in it, and it's difficult to place it in context of the whole move to NYC, at least in this moment.  It has felt a bit like I dropped out of the sky into this town and plopped into a concrete compound to live with six strangers and make a family, and a piece of theatre.

The first couple of weeks was like a mad scramble to get into the mindset of these people, learn our individual tracks for the show, and breathe life into the lines.  My particular challenge has been that I'm portraying the character that Jeff Daniels, the playwright, created for himself.  He's the plays heart, and as a result it felt like I couldn't make him quite as broad as would normally be my tendency.  He had to be grounded in reality, and still be outsized and match the energy of the other family members onstage.  It's a fine line, and living in those in-between places can be difficult.

Once we reached opening night, everyone took a huge sigh of relief, as usually happens.  You spend those last hours before opening wondering "Can we do this?  Can I do this?"  And so you metaphorically sprint through those fink moments hoping you will make the finish line, and that you won't be thrown she the element of the audience is added.

It's strange, because as much as I'm ready for the days off when they come, once they are here, it can feel like I've been given a burdensome amount of time.  If I had dollars to drop I could rent a car and go on a road trip, or bus it back to New York City, and yet, right now I just can't rationalize that expenditure.  So life has turned into a routine of watching tv, going to the "store" (whether it be the drug store, the grocery store, the library, etc) and then returning to the compound.  It's a balancing act of time management, because part of me just wants to turtle it and hide out in my dark cavern of a room, but after just two hours of that, I begin to go stir crazy out of a need for external stimulation.  By the time the days off are coming to a close and we head back into the show, I am ready ta go.

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In other news, I've stopped eating red meat.  I just can't do it anymore.  The reason?  This video.  For those of you who are worried, no there's no blood or guts here, just a terrified little creature that deserves kindness.

  

Especially since there are so many delicious vegetarian meat alternatives, I've decided it is the thing to do.  I am still eating chicken and fish, and can't imagine myself ever giving up sea food, but this is a start at least.  

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In other other news, I have been working on a permanent place to live in New York, and if all goes well, I'll be making an announcement about it in the next few days.

Escanaba In Da Moonlight Opens Friday!

We start Tech for Escanaba tonight, with three more rehearsals until opening.  It's been a fast rehearsal process, as we've had about two and a half weeks, and there is a lot to think about to make the show work, but I think we are nearly ready.  The set is beautiful, we'll see the lighting and fog effects for the first time tonight... a new layer is added each day.

I have been having a lot of the typical "actor's nightmare" type of dreams the past couple of weeks.  They've all been variations on a theme-  I'm opening a show in thirty minutes and completely forget to prepare, or memorize lines, or show up to a single rehearsal.  I know they're just dreams, and yet, they are a manifestation of my deepest worries, so in one aspect they should be taken seriously.  They are a warning to prepare.  To work on my lines, study my dialect, run through the blocking in my head, make a list of personal props and between act changes, etc.  That's the only way to eliminate the nerves, and even then...

The show itself was written by Jeff Daniels, around the time he was filming Dumb and Dumber, and takes place in a cabin in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, the day before Deer Season starts.  Albert Soady, his son's Reuben and Remnar , and the "legendary" and kooky Jimmer Megamonee have gathered together to drink whiskey, play cards, and go hunting just as they have every year for the past thirty years.  The oldest son Reuben (that's me) is about to become the oldest Soady in family history to have never landed a buck, and the plot revolves around the lengths he and his family go through to keep him from ending up on the wrong end of the family record books.  It's very broad humor, definitely on the lower side, with a touch of the supernatural thrown in for good measure.  I hope it's well received as I've really enjoyed the rehearsal process so far, and am proud of the work that's gone into it.

As far as off-stage life, we've settled into a bit of a routine here:  I've been to the local diner exactly three times for breakfast, and the waitress knows my order, and brings me a Diet Coke without my asking, which is kind of delightful.  It's a cozy feeling you get here after awhile, a feeling of familiarity.  And while I definitely miss the city, and it's easy accessibility to just about anything you could ever need or want, I understand the appeal of a slower pace of life that one can get out here, and the safe and welcoming feeling of being around people who recognize and know you.

My New Home

I arrived in Greene, New York just under a week ago, and you'll have to forgive the absence of new posts.  I'd planned on writing the minute I arrived, but it took a few days to adjust to the new environment and get settled in.  From there, it just became a matter of getting the first one out there, and the more I procrastinated, the harder it was to post (ain't that always the way?)

Regardless, I am happy to report that the bus trip here was uneventful, and I'm currently bunked down in the in-theatre accommodations of The Chenango River Theatre as we prep the production of Escanaba in Da Moonlight opening on August 14th.  Four of the six cast members are from out of town, and so we are living here dorm style along with the stage manager and the theatre intern.  We each have our own rooms, decorated with props from past shows and furniture that includes a bed, a desk, a dresser, and a fan.

My own little corner of my own little room, as decorated with past props

The bookshelf in my room.  I'm determined to read this before the show closes.

 I have to say there was a kind of giddy excitement as I unpacked everything, trying to make the place home, as I'd be here for the next six weeks.  It felt like, and still feels, like theatre camp.  We have a company car, rehearsal once a day for a little under five hours, with one day off a week.  So far there's been plenty of off-time to explore the surrounding area, run errands, make the occasional trip to the Barnes and Noble (a thirty minute drive) and otherwise keep busy.  I plan to do a lot of reading, and hopefully get some writing done, although Netflix and The Witches of East End have proved more tempting than I'd like to admit.  The cast and crew are really friendly, mostly men, with two women, and while I feel a bit isolated as the only gay person within what feels like a twenty mile radius, I've been enjoying the chance to get-away.

Greene is a small farming community, where the grocery store nearest grocery store is a fifteen minute drive, and the downtown consists of about fifteen shops.  They include a few restaurants, a bar, the hardware store and five and dime, which is just about all one would need.  For most other things you would need to drive thirty minutes to the Binghamton mall.  It is gorgeous country out here, and such a change from the crazed energy of the city.  It's strange because on July 1st I moved from Austin to a completely different lifestyle in the city, and one month after that I had taken another detour into a life different from either of those.  By the time Escanaba closes I will have lived here longer than I had in Brooklyn.  

The view from downtown Greene

Of course, it's taken a bit of getting used to, but most of it has been pretty easy.  The one thing I cannot adjust to?  The smell of sulfur in the shower water.  It's like showering in liquid farts.  There's no other way to put it.