Friday, October 17, 2008


Does it read? You know...The "thing". Does it read? Does the bullshit, brilliance, or bravado we're pouring out? Does any of that...well...translate?

Somewhere around the 10th grade or so, I learned to stop caring what others were thinking. That's a bit of a problem when you think you've finally reached a "certain age" and you're capable of figuring out what he may be thinking. Especially if you often refer to yourself as an extremely intuitive judge of character.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am completely aware that most men are shits (oftentimes myself included), crippled by various emotional incapacities and also a certain sense of "entitlement", yet I find it quite compelling to "figure out". I keep playing the game. We all do. We have to.

There is the common adage amongst my friends that if you keep "thinking about the game", then...well..."You've lost the game". And I do believe that. Don't play the game. Don't think about the game. Just accept the fact that we're all caught up in the middle of it and re-act accordingly....

Meaning = React in accordance with what your heart feels and your mind interprets.

Never fight that balance. Always fight to find it and keep it. That struggle is how we measure passion.

Tracy Chapman said in one of her earliest albums....

I won't call it love
But it feels good to have passion in my life.
If there's a battle
I hope my head always defers to my heart
In matters of the heart.

I enjoy the battle. I have to keep fighting. He's too good not to. I have to keep fighting. I know he would fight for me. I'm going to keep measuring passion. And I know sometimes I'm going to mess up, and mis-read, and be misunderstood. I wouldn't want it any other way.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Powder Boo-Ray

I'm lying in a bed (sadly, not my own) in a small New England town. It is somewhere within the first few days of Fall. "Welcome, Autumn!" Someone is mowing the lawn of the cast house I'm staying in. It is loud. My nightstand morning beverage options are actually comprised of anything I may have left there the night before. I have a half full glass of Pinot Noir and a half empty bottle of Poland Springs. Somewhere, I'm sure, there is Sprite lying around.

We had our first performance of "Showboat" last night. I think it went well. I heard so many people in the audience singing along and just genuinely loving the show. A woman leaned out of her seat after we sang "Ol' Man River" and grabbed my arm as I was carrying a barrel of cotton up the aisle and out to my next entrance, and said "Excellent job". That's a weird situation, but hey... Some of it has prompted a bit of a discussion amongst a few of the folks/voices in my head.

Any of you who have taken the time to get to know me completely understand that I detest and abhor any and all usage of the phrase "In 'the' business....", however, I must, at present, use this phrase, or some variation thereof, to get through the plot exposition of my story. Do forgive.

In this business, often times (really, "most" of the time), we get a bit self-centered. We have to be a bit vain and self-"concentrated" to get through an audition, a rehearsal, a script, our agent, our day. Let me explain...In any show, there will be several "tracks" to follow. The jobs of the director, choreographer, and stage manager figuring out those tracks or patterns can be quite challenging and once the puzzle comes together, quite amazing to see. As "Person-In-One-Of-The-Many-Tracks", or a simple "cog" in the machine of the show, all any individual "cog"-on-stage does is focus on getting their track started and hope to make it successfully across the finish line.

That is a bit extensive for where we're headed with this, but.... My large blanket-question is, in part...."Why is our world ruined (if only for one night) by one simple mistake in our tiny 'cog'?" We can take something as simple as not being able to tie our shoe completely during a quick-change (and I hate to use those "technical terms" with those not "In the Business"....but hey), having a missing prop for you to hold in the background of a scene that does not include you, ball-changing, when you should be flapping....We can take those little things so far. Why do we carry them to the bar after the show? Why are we still talking about them after the half-way point of my second Ketel One Martini (straight up, with a twist)? Are we actually still talking about this as we walk down the hallway of our hotel on the way to our rooms?

I don't see holding on to these tiny, destined instances as a necessity. They are going to happen. And they're going to happen often. It's live. It's life. It's human. It's imperfect. And that's perfect. All we can do is get up again tomorrow and do it again. Isn't that amazing?

When I woke up this morning, I thought about Curtis, Frank, and myself. The Three Divas. In three different places in the country. In three different situations across the country. And each loving every possible minute. I am so proud of them. I woke up thinking of all of my friends. I thought of Michael, who is presently "on vacation" (which I love...and I think I taught him), and about to take part in the AIDS Ride for the first time, which is an amazing thing that I'm glad I get the chance to support. It is an amazing feat that I know I could never train for and complete, and I am so very envious and 7,000% proud of him for training and doing. He is truly an amazing individual. I woke up thinking of friends buying houses for the first time, friends planning weddings, friends raising children that I love to spend time with. I woke up knowing that I have a 2 o'clock matinee that is sold out, and I'm excited.

I woke up the day after our very first performance of this gigantic, once-daunting beast. And the sun was shining. And it was somewhere in the first few days of Fall in a small New England town. And someone was mowing the lawn outside. And it was perfect.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

I had to do it all over again...

And isn't that a problem? I mean, I had one of these lovely little bloggie-poos set up and I tired of it. Don't we do that? Just, you know, as "human beings"? Why do we grow tired of each other? Of our things? Of our toys? Ok, I'm sorry for asking so many questions right out of the gate.

Basically, I'm reading this trash. Ok, it's not "trash". It's actually a great book about discovering, awakening, developing, and appropriately-using your creative power. Isn't that some bullshit? (Another question. Damn!) No, I am forcing myself to "write it out". It's something I've been doing for a while. So, why not make it more accessible. Right? (Sorry)

I've charted some things. I've plotted a relatively safe course. "Safe" in the terms of "using a condom with a one night stand who's name you can't recall...but I think he was Australian." You know..."Safe". LYD (Like ya' do!) I have some things to think about over these next few weeks,...months,...years and I do apologize ahead of time for wasting any of your precious time by making this accessible for you and yours to read. I just have some things to Say/Process/Think About/Chew On(SLASH)Work Through, and I do beg your forgiveness should they bother you.

Topics to look forward to discussing:

(1) My/Our Career(s) and Where has it/have they gone?

(2) My/Our Men(s) and Where he is/be? (Please note the use of Ebonics or "Black-Speak")

(3) Your Political Views vs. My Desire To Remove You From My Top Friends On FaceSpace For Your Incessant Announcing of "Where You Stand" Via Bulletins And Status Updates.

(4) Butt Sex (Or any other kind of The sex which you all may be having, as I have none of The sex myself.

(5) This great, crazy, cynical, Lawry's-seasoned world we try, simply, to exist in each day without crying, stepping on anyone's foot, or slapping the simple colored shit out of them.

That's all tonight.
My straw just fell into the bottle of wine I've been working on these last 15 minutes and I need to go rescue that.