Good things that happened today:
Melissa Manchester wasn't naked.
Bad things that happened today:
I got into my car this morning and discovered--much to my chagrin--that my car has once again been burglarized. That's right, kids: twice in one week, in very different parts of the city. And this time (right in front of my house...) they did steal my stereo. Fuckers. I really hope they got seriously fucked up by all the broken glass. Off, once again, to the glass people to fix yet another window in my goddamned car.
Our production manager, Ben, electrocuted himself on a neon sign from the show while trying to fix it this afternoon. He's spending the night in the hospital for observation, but seriously, he could have died from the amount of voltage that passed through his body. All you techies out there, please remember to be careful... especially when working hundreds of hours in a matter of days to get a show up and running. Be safe.
And I found out after the preview tonight that one of our actresses is going to be pulled out of the show prior to opening because the producers and director don't feel that she's ready. She's one of my favorites, and I am really sad to see her space empty in the dressing room. She may or may not be back in the show after opening, but I think if I was her, I'd tell them all to fuck themselves. But that's just me.
I must continually remind myself that there are worse things out there than we are experiencing. Sometimes it's easier than others. Right now, I feel like there's a giant target on my head, and it's very disquieting. I'm beginning to think this show is cursed.... oy.
Be safe, kiss your family and friends and tell them you love them, and be very glad you're not working on Hats!.... unless you are, in which case, I feel your pain.
That is all.
27.4.07
25.4.07
Keeping it in Perspective
I have had the week + from hell. Let's look at my last 11 days in numbers, shall we?
129 # of hours worked in 11 days which =
nearly 12 hours/day
3 shows on which I worked this week
1 opening for Hamlet
5 previews (thus far) for Hats!
1 strike for Annie Jr.
2 times the star of Hats! has bitched me out
3 times I've heard other members of the Hats! cast bitching about something wardrobe related ("Not all of my costumes were here right at half hour!!!" & "My shoes aren't rubbered!!!" & "I can't believe they cheaped out and don't even have union dressers for us!")
1 # of times I've been told by the Assistant Costume Designer that I should join the union
2 # of me there needs to be to actually dress the show without literally running back and forth from wing to wing
1 # of ex-boyfriends who came out to me this week
1 # of times my car has been broken into
0 # of things they actually stole from me
2 # of trips to the suburbs
1 with no window
80 amount of new window
3 # of drinks imbibed on Friday night after diva bitch out #1
2 # of drinks imbibed on Saturday after break-in
∞ # of tooth marks in my tongue from biting it
But here's the thing that's gotten me through all of this: my cousin is in harm's way. Real legitimate danger. He's not dressing some has-been with an attitude--he's on the front lines. He's seen his comrades fall and die. I worry tremendously about him every day. I cannot even imagine what he must be seeing and feeling... but I know that it is so much more primally frightening than dressing Melissa Manchester. Because she can get all peeved all she wants, but she's not got an IED or a gun.
I'm ok. Annoyed, yes, but alive.
That is all.
129 # of hours worked in 11 days which =
nearly 12 hours/day
3 shows on which I worked this week
1 opening for Hamlet
5 previews (thus far) for Hats!
1 strike for Annie Jr.
2 times the star of Hats! has bitched me out
3 times I've heard other members of the Hats! cast bitching about something wardrobe related ("Not all of my costumes were here right at half hour!!!" & "My shoes aren't rubbered!!!" & "I can't believe they cheaped out and don't even have union dressers for us!")
1 # of times I've been told by the Assistant Costume Designer that I should join the union
2 # of me there needs to be to actually dress the show without literally running back and forth from wing to wing
1 # of ex-boyfriends who came out to me this week
1 # of times my car has been broken into
0 # of things they actually stole from me
2 # of trips to the suburbs
1 with no window
80 amount of new window
3 # of drinks imbibed on Friday night after diva bitch out #1
2 # of drinks imbibed on Saturday after break-in
∞ # of tooth marks in my tongue from biting it
But here's the thing that's gotten me through all of this: my cousin is in harm's way. Real legitimate danger. He's not dressing some has-been with an attitude--he's on the front lines. He's seen his comrades fall and die. I worry tremendously about him every day. I cannot even imagine what he must be seeing and feeling... but I know that it is so much more primally frightening than dressing Melissa Manchester. Because she can get all peeved all she wants, but she's not got an IED or a gun.
I'm ok. Annoyed, yes, but alive.
That is all.
19.4.07
Just got some interesting news-- reconnected with an ex recently... my high school sweetheart... and he's gay.
And at first, this was sort of hilarious to me.... this is not the first time I've been a beard....
And yet.
I know how hard that must have been for him to live with such a deep secret. I'd say I can't imagine, but I have my own secrets and I know how they weigh on me.
And yet.
He was my first real love, my first sex, my first real emotional investment, and ultimately my first real heartbreak.
And it was a lie. Disingenuous...?
Now, please bear in mind that we started dating nearly a decade ago... so why am I feeling so hurt by this? What is my problem?
I loved him so much, so deeply.... and he told me he loved me too.... and now my perception of events is so radically different.
Probably I'll feel better in the morning. I should be sleeping right now, but I can't and this is bouncing around in my empty head.
Of course, I have worked over 40 hours in the last 72. And I might be hormonal.
I really hope Bil's not gay. That'd be really gay.
that is all
And at first, this was sort of hilarious to me.... this is not the first time I've been a beard....
And yet.
I know how hard that must have been for him to live with such a deep secret. I'd say I can't imagine, but I have my own secrets and I know how they weigh on me.
And yet.
He was my first real love, my first sex, my first real emotional investment, and ultimately my first real heartbreak.
And it was a lie. Disingenuous...?
Now, please bear in mind that we started dating nearly a decade ago... so why am I feeling so hurt by this? What is my problem?
I loved him so much, so deeply.... and he told me he loved me too.... and now my perception of events is so radically different.
Probably I'll feel better in the morning. I should be sleeping right now, but I can't and this is bouncing around in my empty head.
Of course, I have worked over 40 hours in the last 72. And I might be hormonal.
I really hope Bil's not gay. That'd be really gay.
that is all
16.4.07
Alas.
An acquaintance's mother succumbed to cancer this morning.
31 or more people are dead in Virginia for apparently no reason.
My cousin is still fighting in Baghdad, alive, shaken, and recovering from his injuries.
Today is a day when I cannot seem to wrap my head around the randomness of life. I'm hurting for everyone everywhere, but specifically a family in Ohio; families, friends and a college in Virginia; the kids who are soldiering on in this senseless war in Iraq.
Today is a day to feel sorrow for these losses. To empathize and sympathize. To remember those people we have lost in the past. To reflect.
Today is a day to stop and think about everything wonderful that we take for granted every day. Stop, sniff those new flowers popping up for spring. Tip the people behind the counter at Starbuck's or where ever you get your coffee. Tell your family and friends how much you love them. Enjoy the birds chirping happily outside the window. Do something nice (even just something small) for a stranger today.
Tomorrow is a new day.
"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense." --Ralph Waldo Emerson
"The sun'll come out tomorrow..." -- Annie
That is all.
31 or more people are dead in Virginia for apparently no reason.
My cousin is still fighting in Baghdad, alive, shaken, and recovering from his injuries.
Today is a day when I cannot seem to wrap my head around the randomness of life. I'm hurting for everyone everywhere, but specifically a family in Ohio; families, friends and a college in Virginia; the kids who are soldiering on in this senseless war in Iraq.
Today is a day to feel sorrow for these losses. To empathize and sympathize. To remember those people we have lost in the past. To reflect.
Today is a day to stop and think about everything wonderful that we take for granted every day. Stop, sniff those new flowers popping up for spring. Tip the people behind the counter at Starbuck's or where ever you get your coffee. Tell your family and friends how much you love them. Enjoy the birds chirping happily outside the window. Do something nice (even just something small) for a stranger today.
Tomorrow is a new day.
"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense." --Ralph Waldo Emerson
"The sun'll come out tomorrow..." -- Annie
That is all.
11.4.07
Shit.
This just makes me feel a whole lot better. I hate this war. I hate that I have friends who have family there. I hate that I have family there. I hate the false reasons that we are there. I hate that we were conned into this war.
Gahhhh!
That is all.
Gahhhh!
That is all.
10.4.07
This just makes me feel sick.
My cousin forwarded this e-mail from my aunt today. I am worried sick.
That is all.
Dear Family and Friends,
Gia and I talked to Anthony this weekend and he is okay. He is back on duty. However, last Friday, in the dark hours, Anthony was patrolling in a Humvee that was hit an IED, an explosive device. The four guys in the vehicle, including Ant, suffered concussions, and the gunner, atop the vehicle was killed. It is a sad time for the platoon, 20 guys who have worked closely together for more than a year. The young man who died has a daughter and another on the way. He is from NY. It is too sad.
Anthony has residual headaches. He is resolute and brave and determined to do his duty for God and country.
Please continue your prayers. We are grateful his life was spared in this horrible incident.
It was very hard to get the call from Casualty Notification. Again, I am asking for prayer. Anthony has repeatedly expressed appreciation for the letters. Please encourage him. If you would like to send a package, it takes ten days to get there. But we have sent him cookies anyway and he is grateful. Snacks and candy and anything but chocolate (melts, sorry) is fine.
But the letters are the best.
That is all.
8.4.07
Poke You, Buddy!
A few weeks ago, I was working as a sub backstage on a show at the Mercury. One of the actors in the show is a guy I worked with in the summer of ’01 in California. I hadn’t seen him since 2001, and we had a nice time catching up and laughing about all the people with whom we had worked and where they are now. A jolly good time... until he said something that got me thinking.
“Aaron says, ‘Hi!’ by the way.”
You see, Aaron and I dated or had a fling or whatever you want to call it. It was not serious--in fact in my serially monogamous life, it stands out because of this fact. We were not supposed to continue seeing each other after the summer ended -- it was a summer romance, nothing more. But in hindsight, I think that perhaps this was not properly explained to Aaron. Because we kept hanging out and going to plays and museums and movies after the summer came to an end. We didn’t live that far apart, and it was a fairly easy commute to Orange Country for me, Riverside for him. And I kept thinking that I should end it because--whether or not I liked him enough to consider the awful possibility that I could love him--I knew that it could never work. I was only 19 at the time, young, willful, highly opinionated, but very lacking in self-esteem. He was a college graduate, in grad school, had lived all over the country, and was 27. At that time in my life, I was still dealing with some weird personal things; my parents’ divorce and subsequent remarriage to each other, a shit ton of betrayal. I was on the rebound as well--a painful breakup earlier that same summer that left me feeling like I’d been ripped in two. It was not a good situation for me. I went on a lot of first dates that summer with a variety of co-workers. Friends who know me well know that I jokingly refer to this particular summer as the “Summer of Slut.” I chronicled these dates in my journal so that I could keep track of details from one date to the next (which might explain a bit about the sickly organized parts of my life and the possibility that I might be mentally ill).
I was all set to break up with Aaron. And then the world changed. I am not a war monger, and I am not into propaganda in the least, but I don’t think that anyone can deny the effects of that one single day, that video looping over and over and over again, unedited and unbleeped, as we all tried to make sense of what had happened to our country. I will not go so far as to say that our innocence was lost on that day (and you know that one of which I write). I believe this county lost its innocence long ago, right here, in places like Manassas, Shiloh, and Gettysburg.
You see, Aaron had spent many of his formative years in New York City. Whereas for me, the experience was distant, a series of horrific images in a box, detached from my own personal reality, Aaron’s was much more personal and traumatic. We stayed together and comforted each other in the aftermath of that day, trying, like so many of our fellow countrymen, to make order of chaos. In that endeavor, I believe that we all failed.
Within a month, we broke up. It was inevitable. And beyond the fact that some of my friends who had met him thought that Aaron was a bit of an ass, not much more time was spent dissecting or discussing that relationship. It was simply another in a string of failed relationships, nothing too extraordinary.
Well, damned if Aaron didn’t pop into my dreams the other night. I cannot profess to remember whether it was a sexy dream or not, I can hardly remember if it was good or not, only that he was there, not even a starring role, but simply a player on a much grander stage. It got me thinking about breakups and what happens after. I’ve never been one for the “just friends” scenario--it doesn’t work. As a favorite radio host of mine elucidates, “You know you’re in trouble when the word ‘just’ appears in front of the word ‘friends.’ I mean it’s almost hard to think of a context where those two words are used together, a sentence constructed--unless you’re using the word ‘just’ in some radically different way, like ‘I think the verdict was just. Friends may disagree.’” So, like Ira, I’ve never been good with the “just friends” thing. After intense breakups, I was too raw, too weak to contemplate being near my former flame, and after milder ones, I was always too indifferent. Thinking about all of this got me thinking about the movie High Fidelity. You know the one where John Cusack details and contacts his five worst breakups of all time? I am suddenly tempted to do just that. But I have not recently been through any such gut-wrenching breakup. I’ve been happily married for nearly a year and a half. I have not broken up with or been dumped by anyone in over 5 years. Still, I started considering my worst breakups of all time:
#5: Surprisingly, in hindsight, Aaron. I think I might have kicked him while he was low. And I look back and feel guilty about this. I thought at the time that because he was 8 years older than me, he would be as thick-skinned as I had become. I think that may not have been the case. I’d been through a rough few years at this point and was callous in the ways that I dealt with other people.
#4: Ron. This just over a year prior to #5, and in this situation, I was the sensitive, naive romantic, and he the callous, experienced cad.
#3: Marty, part one. This one was the breakup that started off the “Summer of Slut.”
#2: Kelly. He was my long-time high school sweetheart. I went to college, he stayed behind in high school. I think really, that Kelly was the first person I ever truly loved. He was warm and safe in a time that was anything but in my life. This breakup cut me to the core.
#1: Marty, part two. Let’s just say that this was certainly the most volatile relationship and explosive breakup I’ve ever heard of, and leave it at that.
I have not talked to any of these fellows in well over a year and a half. And that was a bizarre conversation with Marty at 3 am on a Sunday. (In fairness, it was 3am in Boston, 12am in San Francisco where he was.) I received a mass e-mail from Aaron on my very outdated e-mail address (I check it once a month to make sure nothing has been accidentally sent there) letting everyone know about his new website and myspace blog. I have no idea what happened to Ron, but I suspect that he’s still working at Sizzler.
And then there’s Kelly. I have always wondered what happened to Kelly. I figure he probably went to UCLA because that was what he wanted to do and he was a stellar student. Beyond that, I don’t know.
So in the interest of research for this article, I started doing some digging. After digging through literally hundreds of Kellys (female) on myspace, and cross referencing this with people who went to my high school, I found literally nothing. Damn. So I dug some more. As the new myspace is facebook, with its organized layout, and college-y feel, I figured that perhaps I would find something there... I mean, everyone who’s not on myspace is totally on facebook, even Ira Glass. I dug around a bit, and BINGO! There he was, a graduate of UCLA, and still very blonde.
So, I now have a conundrum on my hands: do I “poke” him and say, “Hey, what’s up? Long time, no see. What ever happened to you? Where has life taken you? Do we really have anything in common at all anymore beyond a shared romantic past and a shared hometown?” Or do I let sleeping dogs lie (and perhaps, even play dead)? In the end, I wonder what I really want out of this. Do I want to prove that I am not the person I once was? Or do I want to prove that I am, and that someone else loves me for it? Because at the root of all of this curiosity, I worry--fear--that there might be some insecurity, some questioning about who I was all those years ago, and perhaps, who I am now as a result.
Someone (I don’t know who) once said that to truly understand oneself, one must love himself before he loves anyone else. I agree, but I’d like to take this ideology one step further: to truly understand myself, I believe that I must not simply love myself in the here and now, but also love my past. Our pasts are what shape us fundamentally into what we are today. Whether we rebel against those forces, or follow the current into the proverbial ocean, we are a reaction to the past; simply put, the past is who we are.
So, at the end of the day, after a couple of drinks, some quiet contemplation, a little online backgammon and a couple more shots of liquid courage, I poked him. I poked him good and hard. And now it’s entirely up to him; he can poke back, we could strike up a conversation, or--and this is probably more likely--he could ignore it. And that’ll be the end of all this. I think I’m secretly hoping that this is what happens, because while I have grown accepting of my past, I am not sure I want to reawaken it.
That is all.
“Aaron says, ‘Hi!’ by the way.”
You see, Aaron and I dated or had a fling or whatever you want to call it. It was not serious--in fact in my serially monogamous life, it stands out because of this fact. We were not supposed to continue seeing each other after the summer ended -- it was a summer romance, nothing more. But in hindsight, I think that perhaps this was not properly explained to Aaron. Because we kept hanging out and going to plays and museums and movies after the summer came to an end. We didn’t live that far apart, and it was a fairly easy commute to Orange Country for me, Riverside for him. And I kept thinking that I should end it because--whether or not I liked him enough to consider the awful possibility that I could love him--I knew that it could never work. I was only 19 at the time, young, willful, highly opinionated, but very lacking in self-esteem. He was a college graduate, in grad school, had lived all over the country, and was 27. At that time in my life, I was still dealing with some weird personal things; my parents’ divorce and subsequent remarriage to each other, a shit ton of betrayal. I was on the rebound as well--a painful breakup earlier that same summer that left me feeling like I’d been ripped in two. It was not a good situation for me. I went on a lot of first dates that summer with a variety of co-workers. Friends who know me well know that I jokingly refer to this particular summer as the “Summer of Slut.” I chronicled these dates in my journal so that I could keep track of details from one date to the next (which might explain a bit about the sickly organized parts of my life and the possibility that I might be mentally ill).
I was all set to break up with Aaron. And then the world changed. I am not a war monger, and I am not into propaganda in the least, but I don’t think that anyone can deny the effects of that one single day, that video looping over and over and over again, unedited and unbleeped, as we all tried to make sense of what had happened to our country. I will not go so far as to say that our innocence was lost on that day (and you know that one of which I write). I believe this county lost its innocence long ago, right here, in places like Manassas, Shiloh, and Gettysburg.
You see, Aaron had spent many of his formative years in New York City. Whereas for me, the experience was distant, a series of horrific images in a box, detached from my own personal reality, Aaron’s was much more personal and traumatic. We stayed together and comforted each other in the aftermath of that day, trying, like so many of our fellow countrymen, to make order of chaos. In that endeavor, I believe that we all failed.
Within a month, we broke up. It was inevitable. And beyond the fact that some of my friends who had met him thought that Aaron was a bit of an ass, not much more time was spent dissecting or discussing that relationship. It was simply another in a string of failed relationships, nothing too extraordinary.
Well, damned if Aaron didn’t pop into my dreams the other night. I cannot profess to remember whether it was a sexy dream or not, I can hardly remember if it was good or not, only that he was there, not even a starring role, but simply a player on a much grander stage. It got me thinking about breakups and what happens after. I’ve never been one for the “just friends” scenario--it doesn’t work. As a favorite radio host of mine elucidates, “You know you’re in trouble when the word ‘just’ appears in front of the word ‘friends.’ I mean it’s almost hard to think of a context where those two words are used together, a sentence constructed--unless you’re using the word ‘just’ in some radically different way, like ‘I think the verdict was just. Friends may disagree.’” So, like Ira, I’ve never been good with the “just friends” thing. After intense breakups, I was too raw, too weak to contemplate being near my former flame, and after milder ones, I was always too indifferent. Thinking about all of this got me thinking about the movie High Fidelity. You know the one where John Cusack details and contacts his five worst breakups of all time? I am suddenly tempted to do just that. But I have not recently been through any such gut-wrenching breakup. I’ve been happily married for nearly a year and a half. I have not broken up with or been dumped by anyone in over 5 years. Still, I started considering my worst breakups of all time:
#5: Surprisingly, in hindsight, Aaron. I think I might have kicked him while he was low. And I look back and feel guilty about this. I thought at the time that because he was 8 years older than me, he would be as thick-skinned as I had become. I think that may not have been the case. I’d been through a rough few years at this point and was callous in the ways that I dealt with other people.
#4: Ron. This just over a year prior to #5, and in this situation, I was the sensitive, naive romantic, and he the callous, experienced cad.
#3: Marty, part one. This one was the breakup that started off the “Summer of Slut.”
#2: Kelly. He was my long-time high school sweetheart. I went to college, he stayed behind in high school. I think really, that Kelly was the first person I ever truly loved. He was warm and safe in a time that was anything but in my life. This breakup cut me to the core.
#1: Marty, part two. Let’s just say that this was certainly the most volatile relationship and explosive breakup I’ve ever heard of, and leave it at that.
I have not talked to any of these fellows in well over a year and a half. And that was a bizarre conversation with Marty at 3 am on a Sunday. (In fairness, it was 3am in Boston, 12am in San Francisco where he was.) I received a mass e-mail from Aaron on my very outdated e-mail address (I check it once a month to make sure nothing has been accidentally sent there) letting everyone know about his new website and myspace blog. I have no idea what happened to Ron, but I suspect that he’s still working at Sizzler.
And then there’s Kelly. I have always wondered what happened to Kelly. I figure he probably went to UCLA because that was what he wanted to do and he was a stellar student. Beyond that, I don’t know.
So in the interest of research for this article, I started doing some digging. After digging through literally hundreds of Kellys (female) on myspace, and cross referencing this with people who went to my high school, I found literally nothing. Damn. So I dug some more. As the new myspace is facebook, with its organized layout, and college-y feel, I figured that perhaps I would find something there... I mean, everyone who’s not on myspace is totally on facebook, even Ira Glass. I dug around a bit, and BINGO! There he was, a graduate of UCLA, and still very blonde.
So, I now have a conundrum on my hands: do I “poke” him and say, “Hey, what’s up? Long time, no see. What ever happened to you? Where has life taken you? Do we really have anything in common at all anymore beyond a shared romantic past and a shared hometown?” Or do I let sleeping dogs lie (and perhaps, even play dead)? In the end, I wonder what I really want out of this. Do I want to prove that I am not the person I once was? Or do I want to prove that I am, and that someone else loves me for it? Because at the root of all of this curiosity, I worry--fear--that there might be some insecurity, some questioning about who I was all those years ago, and perhaps, who I am now as a result.
Someone (I don’t know who) once said that to truly understand oneself, one must love himself before he loves anyone else. I agree, but I’d like to take this ideology one step further: to truly understand myself, I believe that I must not simply love myself in the here and now, but also love my past. Our pasts are what shape us fundamentally into what we are today. Whether we rebel against those forces, or follow the current into the proverbial ocean, we are a reaction to the past; simply put, the past is who we are.
So, at the end of the day, after a couple of drinks, some quiet contemplation, a little online backgammon and a couple more shots of liquid courage, I poked him. I poked him good and hard. And now it’s entirely up to him; he can poke back, we could strike up a conversation, or--and this is probably more likely--he could ignore it. And that’ll be the end of all this. I think I’m secretly hoping that this is what happens, because while I have grown accepting of my past, I am not sure I want to reawaken it.
That is all.
7.4.07
For Trevor!
I am drunk right now. Yes. Drunk. Drunk enough to think it was a good idea to "poke" my ex boyfriend on facebook. Damn you, Konak! Damn you, Oze and your free Tuaca! Damn and blast. And damn you, Bil for encouraging this tragic behavior. I have a whole long post that I wrote while sober about this whole thing.... it will enevtually be posted on tipyourwaiter.org.... but until then, I hope that this will suffice, trevo... damn you!
that is all
that is all
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