11/15/11

            So obviously this has not been every day, but maybe it’ll get to once a week. Last night I went over to my aunt’s house and had an amazing home cooked meal with her family. I have such an amazing time laughing and joking with them. I’m trying to figure out why Andy and I get along so well because our style or humor is so different, yet he’s so crass and funny, that it makes me funnier too. He brings out a great cynical humor out of me, and its fantastic. He’s like the male version of my mom if she was funnier and a lot more opinionated. I’m by no means as harsh as him, but I love when he brings that out of me, especially because everyone else in his family (besides Greg, who is never there) is so calm and even-tempered. Ali is extremely level-headed and sweet, Joanie is a mother bird, and Mark is quiet but just loves to laugh. There are few feelings better in the world than making people laugh. Maybe that’s why I’m truly an actor. I wish I was more a comedic writer or musician, but just because I’ve done something a few times doesn’t make me a professional by any means.

            I think what I need is to surround myself with people who are more creative than Jason or Riley. Living with them has been very lonely, since they are just so blandly nice. There is no spark or edge to them. They don’t push the conversation into something surrounding sarcasm or funny topics or current events. They are messy and rather lazy when they come home. They play the guitar mindlessly, which honestly has made me almost disinterested in playing anymore. I wrote that song for Emery, but when I lived by myself (but close to friends in Pittsburgh) or when I lived with Alex or Dave I constantly wrote and I was pushed by them (inadvertently) to think a little more critically. Or maybe that’s just because I was still in school. I think I might need to start taking some classes here. I would love an improv class or another Russian class or a boyfriend hahaha. I need something to keep my mind sharp. I’m getting that I think I’m pretty socially stupid, which may or may not be my charm. However, such a personality trait doesn’t make me feel smart. It’s fine for making friends and hanging out with people, but for my psyche, I need something a little more stimulating because I have a difficult time mentally stimulating myself.

            I’m really enjoying working on Avenue Q though. I can’t wait until I can do the show for a while too. I understand it will be a waiting game though. It could possibly be another six or eight months until I even go on as Princeton/Rod for an extended amount of time. I might not even go on, as that seemed to be the case with the guy who I’m replacing. He was around doing other shows and things in the city or regionally and never went on as Princeton/Rod here in New York, although he was the role on the non-equity tour I believe. In either case, he knows the show very well, whereas I need to constantly keep it in the forefront of my brain. It’s nice to have Princeton in my apartment with me though. It makes me feel like I’m not so alone. How sad is that? A puppet is more of a roommate than my real ones. Honestly, I’d prefer that. Jesus Fucking Christ I can’t wait to move out. I love my room, I just wish it was in the upper west side or in Astoria or somewhere cooler, hipper, and not so Dominican.

            I think doing Avenue Q has made me more racist.

            I wonder if maybe I bought like a cool littler camera or something that maybe I would start writing and making little videos. I just have to get in the habit of writing and stuff. I need to find other people who want to create with me. I feel like such a bum when I’m not working. I guess that’s the post-college blues. I want to work and create, but I don’t want a 9-5 job unless it had to do with writing or creating something. What could I create besides little skits or writing in a magazine or something? Other types of creative jobs such as journalism or computer design. Unfortunately, those are highly specialized. So what could I do that uses my talents as an actor, a singer, and a writer. How fun would it be to be able to write songs as gifts. Market myself like, let’s say your mom has a birthday and you want to give her something really special. So you pay me and I write a song for her. We have like a little interview, you tell me some great memories you had with her, some inside jokes, and just little things you appreciate about her, and then I go home and record a song for her. Then if you really want to, you could come in and record it yourself if you sing, or it can just be from there. Maybe we could even do a quick music video too with pictures and past videos of her along with you walking in a park or around New York or even lip-synching to my voice. I think that would be so much fun to do. I wonder how to start something like that… I’d probably have to establish myself as a local coffee house artist, take some writing classes, etc. But that would be a ton of fun. I could totally do that. 

Last night confirmed it: Margaret is just one of the classiest, most beautifully interesting and wonderful people I’ve ever met. From the restaurants she picks to the way she takes off her gloves – with limp wrists, she scoots each bit of fabric off the tip of her finger, then grabs from the palm and the glove slides off effortlessly. Her manner of speaking is so ladylike, I feel like an idiot when I speak to her sometimes. When we walk arm in arm, I feel like people are staring at me like “how did he get her and damn she is fine”. Another small thing- she never tells people her age. Not even her boyfriend knows how old she is. I mean, come on people. That is classy.

            I think Miss Robinson is a character from a book. Yes, that’s actually her familial name… believe it. She’s far too stylish not to be. I only wonder through which novella she wanders the pages. It certainly isn’t a romantic one, because her boyfriend is a little idiotic and kind of chubby. He’s much older than her yet so childish. But how cool of a book or story would that be? What if in the story I met Margaret, and some how found out and swore she was a character from a book, but I had to find the book and read it in order to save her life or fall in love with her. I guess that’s kind of the premise of that new TV show “Once Upon A Time” but dammit that’s a poorly written show and I could do something better.

            Anyway, Margaret is classy also by how she deals any problems she faces. She handles them so defiantly yet openly. She is so classy that she goes to a therapist. How many actors in their mid-twenties (I assume) find a professional doctor to help with their mental health? I wish I did. See? She makes therapy cool.

            But nevertheless, I will keep updating about Margaret because I think she is just peachy, and I’ve been learning so much about how to life an adult life by myself here in New York from her. We Aryan-looking Jews have to stick together.

            Well now my feet are cold because I’ve been leaving them out of the warm shelter of two crossed legs. They’re currently thawing out. I think today I’ll probably take a dance class at 4pm, but I’m trying to decide if I want to work out beforehand. I know I have to go over a ton of Avenue Q stuff before Monday. I don’t have the script or the libretto or the sheet music, and the company director hasn’t even contacted me yet so I don’t even know how early rehearsals start, but I assume it will. They’ll probably call me today, but if they don’t I’ll email Scott to see what’s up.

            Yesterday was pretty crazy having to make that last minute choice about Avenue Q and Plaid Tidings. I’m happy I turned down Plaid Tidings. I probably could have done both in the end, but I was relieved when Margaret was disgusted at the play. Sure it was good money, but I don’t need the money right now, and I’d rather be on board just in case Avenue Q wants to put me on during thanksgiving. Margaret said that Plaid Tidings was a pretty terrible show, and so I’m happy I didn’t spread myself too thin.

            So today I’m going to try and sing through the show and just make sure I can be off-book at least for the songs by Monday. I don’t think that’s difficult, and hopefully not many things have changed vocally so it’ll be a breeze. The only difficulty I could encounter is just getting used to holding a puppet up for 2 hours at a time but for an entire day or rehearsals. I feel like my right arm will balloon up to twice the size of my left since it does all the work. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.

            Alright I’ve resorted to just Facebook stalking and I haven’t finished my three pages yet. I need to just write these last words. I don’t really care how mundane they are but I have a feeling if I don’t do it now I’ll forget. Three pages again. I hate how now spell check on my computer is not as thorough and the spell check in texting. I guess I should be happy because half of the words I write I misspell and I need to work on that, but I’m so used to my phone literally changing my crazy gibberish clamor into something resembling a sentence.

            I need to figure out what my Russian life is. Will I ever go back? Can I find a class here in the city to keep up with the language? Will that bitch tutor that I hired off of Craig’s list ever get hit by a bus? I’m hoping all of those things will happen.  What other things do I need to do? Finish my sister’s song. I can’t wait for my niece to be both. God how magical will that be? I really enjoy the song I am writing, but I don’t want to force them to listen to it. I hope the baby loves the song too. I want the song to be played after she gives birth and my sister is in the hospital and she is with the baby and they all listen to the song together. I think that’d be really nice. And then as she grows up that can be her lullaby as she goes to bed. Or like she’s going through high school drama and she is stressed and listens to the song and gets comforted by her uncle’s voice soothing her mind. Or maybe she’ll play it after I’m gone and she’ll miss me. I’d really like that. Maybe that last one is a little too morbid but I still think it. I just want the baby to like the song, though I know it’s completely out of my control if a freaking baby likes something or not. I hope she likes her uncle because her uncle already loves her. 

I am substantially hung over right now. My stomach feels a mess, the mucus in my nose is  like a fucking crowded subway car stuck on the track due to heavy train traffic, and I have to pee or poop I’m not really sure right now. I’m crazy sore from taking dance classes for the last two days because of Book of Mormon. I really would love to get that job. Is it crazy that the second I get cast in Avenue Q I start thinking about the next job? I guess it’s because what I really want is Book of Mormon. Don’t get me wrong, I’m enthralled that I booked Avenue Q and I can’t wait to start and I now I have a job and that is incredible. But I’m human. And humans are forward thinking. And humans are hardly stagnant, so of course I’m already thinking about forwarding my career and onto the next job.

            But I can’t wait to start Avenue Q. I’m nervous about how much arm might fall off. I’m curious about the pay and when I’ll go on etc. But I can’t wait and I feel so lucky that I’ll be doing such an iconic role on Broadway, even though it’s Off-Broadway. What an amazing experience it will be! Learning puppetry is also another crazy part! They’re investing in me past just putting me in the role- they have to teach me the puppets and everything. How crazy! Alright. Right now this has just become a word vomit of professional jargon and I hate that so I’m going to switch back to something much more about life: I’m so hungover.

            WHICH IS FUNNY because I saw this play last night called ACUNSION that was written by Jessie Eisenberg from The Social Network and it had Justin Bartha from THE HANGOVER part 1 and part 2. I loved the play. Sure I was pretty drunk and getting drunker as I was watching it because I kind of snuck a bottle of wine into the play and kind of drank the entire thing as I was watching it, but I was surprisingly lucid when doing so. The play was about a journalist (Eisenberg) whose brother makes him house his Philippine wife-to-be at his apartment with his dead beat roommate slash old TA (Bartha). The play beautifully touches upon a new theme that honestly I haven’t seen at all in recent movies or plays. Of course, nothing is new artistically, but this came pretty fucking close at least with this theme. The theme was, from my point of view, about the inherent racism and entitlement that befalls Americans when we visit or study another country and culture. We interestingly adopt a “I know this society” sort of attitude and figure we can smell out the truth about someone from a mile away. Basically (spoiler alert) Jessie thinks his brother bought a mail order bride and that she used to be a prostitute. This is a completely valid assumption, I think, because the Philippines are known for having such women, and he has every right to think so because his brother keeps him out of the loop, etc. However, how things progress is fantastically written, and you feel for Jessie as well as feel that he is totally doing the new American imperialistic dance. Which goes like “You are so foreign and not American and so interesting but I don’t trust you a 100% so I’m going to manifest that in a way that covers up my discriminatory assumptions with false friendship and interest so I can feel like I ‘know your people too.’”

            The part that hit home for me? All of the above. I feel like I completely do that with Russia. Granted, I’m not so much a spaz as Jessie’s character, but I constantly talk about the language like I know it and yet when I talk to actually Russians I freeze up because, honestly, I don’t know it as well as non-Russians think I know it. This falsehood is important because it makes me seem interesting, but it’s totally the 21^st century version of American racism. We’ve gone so far to the other side of the spectrum. We used to discriminate by segregating, and now we discriminate by adopting their ways. It’s brilliant and hysterical and I loved that this play made me realize all of that. Especially about myself.

            I guess I often try to find the part about a play that is trying to teach me something. I think that’s probably why I wasn’t crazy about WEEKEND because I want art to challenge me or try to teach me something or question me in a different way. This play exercised that artistic right. If I ever write a play, I would really have to be clear about what I want to ask the audience. Theatre especially does this. Less so with musicals, but even then I can see how Legally Blonde tries to ask us something. That was my problem with WEEKEND is that it just stood by itself as a beautifully filmed reality TV show without the drama. I was just watching two gay guys’ lives. And yes, although that was moving and interesting, I was just expecting more from the movie. So talking with Perry and Chris did sort of change my mind about it, I just felt like the film had the opportunity to say something really special and important about gay culture and gay people but it just fell short.

            Okay. Now I have to poop. I think I’ll go to the bathroom, then come back and watch TV on my computer for a bit before getting some food or something. I do need to find a tap class today so hopefully I can do that as well. I’m not sure I’ll hang out with though tonight- I made three plans. Silly me. 

10/31/2011

Alright this is day one of trying to write 3 pages every morning. I’m not sure how far I will get or how long I will continue doing this but I’m just not going to stop today until I have 3 pages. I think I’d like to recount, first of all, the past couple of days. The most startling event that happened was the sprouting and wilting of my relationship with Gladstone. Gladstone is from Brazil, which is hot. He is taller, stronger, and some would argue much more progressed in his life’s work than I am. He is studying to be a plastic surgeon, he loves his international life, and he speaks two languages. Well… That last statement is not so fervid, and thus was the demise of our 72-hour love.

            I first met Gladstone at Industry (mistake number one) where, in an effort to shirk away from an enraptured Sergi and Patrick, I left for a back room I hadn’t seen before (admittedly in search of another guy… ugh). I was crossing to the bar when I literally ran into Gladstone face to face. Seldom do I look someone straight in the eyes, and the boy smiling at me behind strong, dark features took me aback.  Few words were muttered before the ritualistic awkwardness of “when do we start kissing?” set in. I’m hardly one for someone strongly coming on to me, but I really enjoyed it this time. Embarrassed by being watched by his friends, Gladstone asked me to take him somewhere else. As we filtered through the crowd, hand in hand, I remember the exhilaration of feeling wanted. Sure, I know other men want me, as cocky as that sounds, but when it’s someone you want, and they want you back, that just cannot be beat. It’s the flint to love’s fire.

            I took Gladstone to the pool table, where ironically now I was embarrassed for making out in front of my friends. We all exchanged pleasantries, although I believe most of it escaped Gladstone. We soon yearned to leave the bar together, and so I agreed most willingly. I assumed that Gladstone and I would never continue past tonight, but out of wanting to take a risk, or sheer boredom, we left hand in hand.

            That night the sex was, well, fine. Or great. I’m not sure. I hardly ever do what we did, but my reluctance didn’t seem to faze him. I took him back to my other apartment in an attempt to impress, and by the time we woke up the next morning I felt I had done so in more ways than just architecturally. He woke up, honey colored eyes yearning for me to hold him, and I actually let him. I think there were a few warning shots being fired in my synapses, but my heart and my loneliness wouldn’t let them take action. My heart was longing to be longed for, and it wasn’t going to let some of my cerebral inhibitions call the shots this time.

            I didn’t see Gladstone for about three days due to his trip to New Jersey, but I somehow thought of him, his honey colored eyes, and “obregado” often. When he finally came back, we agreed to meet and go work out together in midtown. How gay is that? Intrigued yet reluctant, I made my way in the colder-than-October day down to 51^st and 8^th where he was staying. I thought to myself “just see what it’s like… If you feel nothing and want to forget about him, then leave… don’t force something that is ultimately fleeting.”

            When I first saw Gladstone, I was hesitant. I had come down in pursuit of ending my sort of meaningless unemployment, and the sparks just were not there. I was just about to walk out when he took me in and hugged me with large warm arms. His smell escaped and I was immediately rendered “his” with a single breath taken while nuzzled in his neck. I succumbed to his skin and before I knew it was lying down, stroking his hair, post-sex. I had tasted him twice, and there had to be some merit in my 3 day fidelity, so I permitted myself to dream of eloping to Brazil and lying on a beach, acting in Portuguese, and living in rice and beans.  For that moment, I constructed futures around us. No one could tell me how to feel, what to do, where to go. We were Gladstone and Bluestone, a horrible couple’s name too full of happenstance to do anything but work for us. I was ready to see where we would go.

            The hours flew by and McDonalds turned into taking pictures in Times Square and even running into Skye Scott where due to the nature of our pairings it looked like I was in a committed, loving relationship with some Brazilian floozy, and happy about it. So what! I had that nervous energy stirring in my stomach, but this time it was for something, or someone, really in my life. The feeling was so often spurred on by a job or another fake prospect, but this time I had the enjoyment of feeling excited for the present. And that is a beautiful gift.

            However, as I found myself back in the apartment, after a lovely honeymoon of touristy things… I realized we were really only doing things he was adamant about. Sbarro? Chicago? McDonalds? The gym? Even the sex was how he wanted it, although I tried to kid myself into thinking that I had control once we were in there, I quickly found that was a joke. When Gladstone and I finally had dinner with his friend, Jailson, I understood him completely. Finally I saw him in context where he spoke fluently with a friend, and I saw that although he is older, and bigger, and stronger, he is a little boy. The same little boy that I first saw at the bar, whom I thought I saw a glimpse of in the first nanosecond of our meeting. Gladstone was still just as cute as a boy, just as free loving and fun and excited as a boy, but his immaturity slowly piled on in my mind. Like any pet peeve, we look for it. And boy did it show. By the end of the night, after the clubs and the costumes, I saw the boy’s tantrum. He whined at me while I was getting my coat – a rather arduous process apparently if one looses his ticket – and I snapped at him. The language barrier held fast to any nuances and, lost in translation, I saw how quickly I had offended him.

            Was it me? Was it him? Does fault matter? He was only trying to help me but I didn’t have the patience to deal with both problems at the same time. I wanted to go, but now I had to fix it. Make him feel better. We took a cab back to his place, but it was gone. The feeling, the yearning, and the bits of dreamt futures had fizzled out. I begged for forgiveness almost for sport and I regretted playing after I won. We ended up back at my apartment, half-naked, but I refused to have sex and as punishment I was given a dose of Gladstone pouting.

            So it’s finished and he goes back to Brazil today. But instead of finding love or finding myself, I’m now just more confused than ever as to what my love life is like. I know I learned something, but can I put that knowledge into effect during my next relationship (be it 24 hours or 24 years)? We’ll see. All I know is that I never was one for precautions. 

I had my first BWAY audition today for MAMMA MIA as SKY. I was called back and had a great time! I’m letting it go, but I’m very happy for this milestone. Although all the three or so guys has arms the size of my head, it was a great experience. So happy to be in this business, especially after a really great showcase week. We’ll see what the future brings!