December 2003 Archives
Thank God 2004 is finally here. It's not that 2003 was that bad ... it's just that ... well, I'm excited for a year full of even numbers (if you can consider zero an even number).
I've already been busy ringing in the new digits. JVG's 10th Annual Night Before New Years Eve Party at Grace was a smashing success. Besides learning the history of bitch-glasses and hearing a horribly funny joke involving moose cock, I got to hang out with some of my favorite people on the planet and meet some new wonderful folks in the process. Gotta love it when things like that happen.
At random points in my life, the Universe sends me signs. At least, that's what I'd like to think. I'll take meaning (even if it is just coincidence) any day over a twisted POMO world where empty surfaces stack on top of one another to create a perception of depth. Three times in my life, when I've been uber-sad for various reasons, I slipped ... and fell ... and the lights went out. This is not that interesting ... unless you take into account that I slipped and fell on a playing card each time. This is not that interesting ... unless you take into account that I slipped and fell over the same playing card each time - the JOKER. Although it could have been falling on my ass that shocked me back into reality, I'm pretty sure it was the realization that the JOKER brought. "Hey kid," he seemed to say to me, "life's tough, but sometimes you just gotta laugh." Laughing usually makes me feel better ... and somehow makes me recognize the possibilities of life ... and I keep all three JOKERs in a drawer to remind me of this.
Cynics would just say that JOKERs are pretty useless (as far as cards go) and that most people just probably toss them. I am not a cynic. But I play one on TV.
Why I am writing this:
Last night, on the walk home, the lights went out (twice) ... during which I found a sign. A discarded page from an unbound children's book peaked out from beneath my feet on the sidewalk. It read, "What color is your underwear, Tommy Turtle?" ... It made me think. It made me want to know. Just what color is your underwear?
I've already been busy ringing in the new digits. JVG's 10th Annual Night Before New Years Eve Party at Grace was a smashing success. Besides learning the history of bitch-glasses and hearing a horribly funny joke involving moose cock, I got to hang out with some of my favorite people on the planet and meet some new wonderful folks in the process. Gotta love it when things like that happen.
At random points in my life, the Universe sends me signs. At least, that's what I'd like to think. I'll take meaning (even if it is just coincidence) any day over a twisted POMO world where empty surfaces stack on top of one another to create a perception of depth. Three times in my life, when I've been uber-sad for various reasons, I slipped ... and fell ... and the lights went out. This is not that interesting ... unless you take into account that I slipped and fell on a playing card each time. This is not that interesting ... unless you take into account that I slipped and fell over the same playing card each time - the JOKER. Although it could have been falling on my ass that shocked me back into reality, I'm pretty sure it was the realization that the JOKER brought. "Hey kid," he seemed to say to me, "life's tough, but sometimes you just gotta laugh." Laughing usually makes me feel better ... and somehow makes me recognize the possibilities of life ... and I keep all three JOKERs in a drawer to remind me of this.
Cynics would just say that JOKERs are pretty useless (as far as cards go) and that most people just probably toss them. I am not a cynic. But I play one on TV.
Why I am writing this:
Last night, on the walk home, the lights went out (twice) ... during which I found a sign. A discarded page from an unbound children's book peaked out from beneath my feet on the sidewalk. It read, "What color is your underwear, Tommy Turtle?" ... It made me think. It made me want to know. Just what color is your underwear?
Being home for the holidays (where damn near everyone in my family is in the medical field), I got my fill of bloody stories that should under no circumstances have been shared over Christmas dinner. It did, however, bring me back to my first college job working in an operating room as a Medical Surgical Technician. Technically, I got the job because I was pre-med, but honestly, I really didn't know what the hell was going on around that place. Highlights of my job included:
• chipping away at an old lady's hip with a chisel and hammer
• getting to wear scrubs
• having patients think that I was the youngest doctor ever
The nasty parts of the job included (but were in no way limited to):
• getting hit in the face with a piece of someone's heart
• having to check that the patients removed all of their piercings
• having to carry amputated limbs (read: full hip to toes) through the hallways of the hospital to the morgue (they were always still warm and only wrapped a sheet and a plastic bag)
The biggest lesson I learned from that job involved the morgue ... which was not a series of nicely ordered drawers like in the movies - but rather one enormous industrial fridge (think: the freezer in the Shining). The lesson was this: Do not trust people that work in morgues. Although they have all-you-can-eat-peanut-brittle and play rock music, they'll lock you in the fridge the first chance they get and play it off as some horrible, horrible, horrible 'initiation' ritual. Ah. This is our Youth.
• chipping away at an old lady's hip with a chisel and hammer
• getting to wear scrubs
• having patients think that I was the youngest doctor ever
The nasty parts of the job included (but were in no way limited to):
• getting hit in the face with a piece of someone's heart
• having to check that the patients removed all of their piercings
• having to carry amputated limbs (read: full hip to toes) through the hallways of the hospital to the morgue (they were always still warm and only wrapped a sheet and a plastic bag)
The biggest lesson I learned from that job involved the morgue ... which was not a series of nicely ordered drawers like in the movies - but rather one enormous industrial fridge (think: the freezer in the Shining). The lesson was this: Do not trust people that work in morgues. Although they have all-you-can-eat-peanut-brittle and play rock music, they'll lock you in the fridge the first chance they get and play it off as some horrible, horrible, horrible 'initiation' ritual. Ah. This is our Youth.
I managed to successfully get back to NYC while unsuccessfully remembering to bring my Christmas presents with me - sexy underwear included. I guess I'll just have to go without for New Year's Eve.
The big fat man in red brought me the following:
• the Peter Max coffee table book inscribed with '4 [insert my name] love Max' and a design made out of my initials on the first two pages
• 7 pairs of surprisingly sexy underwear
• 1 pair of socks
• 7 jars of assorted spices (including chives, dill, sage, and marjoram)
• color ink for my printer
• large jar of cashews (Santa knows I like nuts!)
• a can opener
• rainbow colored (cause I'm gay) velcro ties for my comptuer wires
Yippie! A pretty successful year for presents if you ask me.
• the Peter Max coffee table book inscribed with '4 [insert my name] love Max' and a design made out of my initials on the first two pages
• 7 pairs of surprisingly sexy underwear
• 1 pair of socks
• 7 jars of assorted spices (including chives, dill, sage, and marjoram)
• color ink for my printer
• large jar of cashews (Santa knows I like nuts!)
• a can opener
• rainbow colored (cause I'm gay) velcro ties for my comptuer wires
Yippie! A pretty successful year for presents if you ask me.
Ok, thanks to our favorite Gay Republican, I finally got around to reading the article in the NYTimes about support for a Ban on Gay Marriage. Although the numbers were a little scary - I was horrified by some of the people that were quoted. However, this story did change my feelings about Gay Republicans. Given Theresa Eaton's comment that she won't let kids in her family go near homosexuals because "it can be acquired and it is not right" (emphasis mine), I think that ALL gays should become Republicans (or at the very least rub up against some) to convert them by giving them it. Soon enough, all Republicans will be gay and we'll just have to worry about the damn Democrats.
This article also means that I will be bitch slapping the next homosexual I meet who tries to convince me that 'we have all the rights we need.'
On a less violent note, I can report that Moby's Teany is quite nice indeed. Tucked neatly a few doors down from Toys in Babeland in this guy's neck of the woods - tea and sandwiches made for an excellent and relaxing afternoon activity. A few grains of sand short of being Zen, the actual space is a bit cramped and loud - making it not very comfy nor very good date material. However, the excellent gunpowder, tasty un-turkey sandwich, and good conversation more than made up for it.
This article also means that I will be bitch slapping the next homosexual I meet who tries to convince me that 'we have all the rights we need.'
On a less violent note, I can report that Moby's Teany is quite nice indeed. Tucked neatly a few doors down from Toys in Babeland in this guy's neck of the woods - tea and sandwiches made for an excellent and relaxing afternoon activity. A few grains of sand short of being Zen, the actual space is a bit cramped and loud - making it not very comfy nor very good date material. However, the excellent gunpowder, tasty un-turkey sandwich, and good conversation more than made up for it.
When I was young, Christmas Eve would consist of eating pizza for dinner, admiring the tree (which managed to look surprisingly similar each year), and attending midnight-mass. One of these things does not happen anymore. Three things I miss by not attending midnight mass are:
1) The mostly glass manger scene.
2) The operatic soprano hired by the church each year.
3) The fishing line.
Let me explain: Two parallel pieces of fishing line were strung 3 inches apart all the way from the balcony at the back of the church down to the empty manger at the front of the alter. At 11:59 - coinciding with an always stunning rendition of 'Oh, Holy Night' - one lucky individual positioned on the balcony would take the 'unborn' baby Jesus, rest his outstretched arms across the pieces of fishing line, and release. The effect was supposed to be that of baby Jesus levitating from heaven to earth. The actual effect was always that of baby Jesus zooming uncontrollably down towards a barn. Fun, just the same, sure.
Nothing, however, will erase the memory of one special year when baby Jesus scored a perfect ten on his landing (which did not always happen - despite him being Jesus and all) just as our lovely soprano hit the very highest note of 'Oh, Holy Night' causing the Virgin Mary's pretty little glass head to first vibrate ... and then downright explode. 'Oh night divine' indeed!
1) The mostly glass manger scene.
2) The operatic soprano hired by the church each year.
3) The fishing line.
Let me explain: Two parallel pieces of fishing line were strung 3 inches apart all the way from the balcony at the back of the church down to the empty manger at the front of the alter. At 11:59 - coinciding with an always stunning rendition of 'Oh, Holy Night' - one lucky individual positioned on the balcony would take the 'unborn' baby Jesus, rest his outstretched arms across the pieces of fishing line, and release. The effect was supposed to be that of baby Jesus levitating from heaven to earth. The actual effect was always that of baby Jesus zooming uncontrollably down towards a barn. Fun, just the same, sure.
Nothing, however, will erase the memory of one special year when baby Jesus scored a perfect ten on his landing (which did not always happen - despite him being Jesus and all) just as our lovely soprano hit the very highest note of 'Oh, Holy Night' causing the Virgin Mary's pretty little glass head to first vibrate ... and then downright explode. 'Oh night divine' indeed!
Well, this weekend has turned into quite the Holiday Bacchanalia (and it's not over yet)!
Taking a wee little break this afternoon to spice up my living room - I wound 50 feet of twinkling Christmas lights around a 10 foot long curtain rod. The dense pole of festive sparkles adds a whole new element to my apartment (and you can see it from the street!). Love love love it. I did, however, almost go crazy when I had to find the one burnt out bulb. Out of 450 ... I think it ended up being #439. And no...I'm not kidding.
Ignoring N's mother's excellent advice to cut my losses, forget about sending out Christmas cards (too late) and just send out New Year's Cards - I spent the wee hours of the morning filling out 8 special cards to individuals that would just be crushed if they didn't hear from me (and 10 cards to family members who, card or not, are contractually obligated to 'love me anyway'). It turns out that, much like drunk-dialing, writing Christmas Cards when you are smashed is never as good an idea as it sounds. Although I'm not really sure what I wrote to people, I think I may have 'come out' to a few family members and accidentally sent at least two cards to the same person. Happy Holidays indeed!
Now that I am in the holiday mood, I can actually start my Christmas shopping. And thanks to Addaboy, I can keep track of how many shopping days I have left.
N's Holiday Fete made me so super happy that I've been in a good mood all weekend long. Everyone was jovial, beautiful, and super sweet. Good thing I missed the first half! And what can I say!? N's tree gives mine a run for the money (especially after copying the bondage top technique used to light the top of the tree!) ... I mean, she has candy canes on hers. [sigh].
Taking a wee little break this afternoon to spice up my living room - I wound 50 feet of twinkling Christmas lights around a 10 foot long curtain rod. The dense pole of festive sparkles adds a whole new element to my apartment (and you can see it from the street!). Love love love it. I did, however, almost go crazy when I had to find the one burnt out bulb. Out of 450 ... I think it ended up being #439. And no...I'm not kidding.
Ignoring N's mother's excellent advice to cut my losses, forget about sending out Christmas cards (too late) and just send out New Year's Cards - I spent the wee hours of the morning filling out 8 special cards to individuals that would just be crushed if they didn't hear from me (and 10 cards to family members who, card or not, are contractually obligated to 'love me anyway'). It turns out that, much like drunk-dialing, writing Christmas Cards when you are smashed is never as good an idea as it sounds. Although I'm not really sure what I wrote to people, I think I may have 'come out' to a few family members and accidentally sent at least two cards to the same person. Happy Holidays indeed!
Now that I am in the holiday mood, I can actually start my Christmas shopping. And thanks to Addaboy, I can keep track of how many shopping days I have left.
N's Holiday Fete made me so super happy that I've been in a good mood all weekend long. Everyone was jovial, beautiful, and super sweet. Good thing I missed the first half! And what can I say!? N's tree gives mine a run for the money (especially after copying the bondage top technique used to light the top of the tree!) ... I mean, she has candy canes on hers. [sigh].
Having a hot fireman wake you up at 4 in the morning is a very nice thing. He was sweaty. His hair was tousled. He had a big stick. It's a very nice thing. A nice thing, that is, unless he is waking your sorry ass up to tell you to put on some clothes because you might have to evacuate your building. Yes, that's right, last night there was apparently some sort of fossil fuel leakage in the basement of my building. After cutting through three different doors with an enormous chain-saw like device (because the 'super' with the keys was no where to be found), they dragged some pickle tubs out into the street that looked like they may, at one time, have contained some sort of toxic waste. Two were full. Two were mysteriously empty. Not soon thereafter, the group of 12 firemen (yes, I counted) jumped back into their trucks and were off. Eventually, the smell of fossil fuel faded away ... and that was the end of that. Or was it ...
Did you ever wake up in the morning and wish that there was someone sleeping next to you that you could cuddle with? I felt like that today ... 'cause I was cold. I tried hugging my pillow - but he didn't do the trick. I figured a nice steamy shower was the next best thing to ... um ... warm me up. But no, the universe was conspiring (once again) against me. Not only did I have no heat this morning ... but I also had no hot water. I didn't even have warm water. So, being the resourceful guy that I am, I filled up all my pots on my stove, turned on the gas, filled some pyrex bowls with the warm water, carried them to my bathtub, got naked, and poured the warm water over my head. I have to admit - I pretended that I was a cowboy and that this was how I bathed every day. It was oddly fun - although I'm not sure how clean it got me.
This afternoon, I was fortunate enough to finally see Misnomer Dance Theater's Intimacy in Transition at P.S.122. A performance not to be missed, Chris Elam is a powerhouse amidst a field of black marley. The company exposes the human condition through sweat, strength, vulnerability, and a fragile network of relationships established through movement.
Making it all look way too easy, there were moments in the show that used the human form in ways that even I had never imagined. Certain sequences appeared unreal - almost magical - and I would have suspected wires, smoke, and mirrors had I not been sitting so close. If you have any time this week - go see this talented group of performers - you won't be sorry.
Tangent: Thanks to a ball-pin hammer, my dumb bells, a soft cloth, and a few capfuls of rubbing alcohol, my kick-ass leather boots are finally broken in. They are a little scuffed up because of the weather, but I believe that they still have boot-shine boys at Bootcamp and/or Pork ... I guess you know where to find me on Wednesday. I mean, I gotta get my boots shined, right??
Tangent: Thanks to a ball-pin hammer, my dumb bells, a soft cloth, and a few capfuls of rubbing alcohol, my kick-ass leather boots are finally broken in. They are a little scuffed up because of the weather, but I believe that they still have boot-shine boys at Bootcamp and/or Pork ... I guess you know where to find me on Wednesday. I mean, I gotta get my boots shined, right??
OK - that word means something totally different when it's in reference to a 2 year old's birthday. But still - a party is a party - and this one was definitely worth the 3 hours of travel time. After throwing together a quick package re-design* for 48 multi-colored blocks whose original box I somehow managed to horribly mangle since purchasing them over a week ago, I proceeded to:
1) Eat way too much sugary cake (yum!)
2) Lie with my head on the ground and watch the wheels of the big yellow plastic bulldozer go right round (like a record baby right round round round).
3) Examine each and every light on my brother's Christmas tree and say the color of the bulb when my nephew pointed to it ... each and every time
4) Revel in the fact that he liked the wooden blocks more than any of the uber-cool electronic toys he received
5) Play catch while enjoying the humor in the fact that my newly 2 year old nephew may well throw better than I do
6) Realize that I really really want kids ... someday.
*In order to optimize present opening fun, the re-design consisted of blocks inside of a handmade drawstring bag (complete with mocked-up label) inside of a flashy box (complete with easy-open pull tab) inside of crinkled up tin-foil wrapping (for both light reflection and cool sound) tied with lots and lots and lots of manly cowboy ribbon (cause who doesn't like cowboys??!!).
1) Eat way too much sugary cake (yum!)
2) Lie with my head on the ground and watch the wheels of the big yellow plastic bulldozer go right round (like a record baby right round round round).
3) Examine each and every light on my brother's Christmas tree and say the color of the bulb when my nephew pointed to it ... each and every time
4) Revel in the fact that he liked the wooden blocks more than any of the uber-cool electronic toys he received
5) Play catch while enjoying the humor in the fact that my newly 2 year old nephew may well throw better than I do
6) Realize that I really really want kids ... someday.
*In order to optimize present opening fun, the re-design consisted of blocks inside of a handmade drawstring bag (complete with mocked-up label) inside of a flashy box (complete with easy-open pull tab) inside of crinkled up tin-foil wrapping (for both light reflection and cool sound) tied with lots and lots and lots of manly cowboy ribbon (cause who doesn't like cowboys??!!).
I am a mathamatical genius. I've discovered a new formula:
One Evergreen + Good Friends + New Friends + Unexpected Friends + Good Whiskey + Pastries from Venieros + Hot Cider = A Beautiful Christmas Tree.
One Evergreen + Good Friends + New Friends + Unexpected Friends + Good Whiskey + Pastries from Venieros + Hot Cider = A Beautiful Christmas Tree.
While watching the democratic debate yesterday, I was trying to simultaneously figure out:
1) how there can be gay republicans
2) why [name removed to protect the innocent] thinks 'bagels' is potentially a good name for gay bloggers
3) why Ted Koppel was avoiding so many key topics
Luckily, he kept getting called on it (especially towards the end) which just ended up being really funny. Special props go to Carol Moseley Braun - who had to stand on a very small box the entire debate to make her appear as tall as the other candidates. When I run for president, I am going to refuse to stand on a little box (not that I would need to), and I will not allow anyone else to stand on a little box. The days of the little boxes are over. OVER I tell you.
The one thing of which I was sure by the end of the debate yesterday was the fact that all of the candidates are indeed crazy. Given the state of the world ... given the state of the US ... who in his/her right mind would want to run this country? And really, given their insanity, who can we trust? I've heard it all before ... 'fix the environment, fix healthcare, fix the economy, fix special interest contributions' ... but when it comes down to it, who really follows through on any of this stuff? It reminds me of a high school campaign speech I heard once that went something like this, "Hi, you've already heard from the other candidates for president of the senior class - but who really gives a damn about what they say they are going to do. No one follows through on any of that stuff anyway. Me? I'm going to eat a live goldfish right here on this stage. I'm a 'DO'er. I'll get things done. [insert him pulling a flapping goldfish from a plastic bag of water, dropping it down his throat, and swallowing] Vote for me." Incidentally, he won by a landslide.
1) how there can be gay republicans
2) why [name removed to protect the innocent] thinks 'bagels' is potentially a good name for gay bloggers
3) why Ted Koppel was avoiding so many key topics
Luckily, he kept getting called on it (especially towards the end) which just ended up being really funny. Special props go to Carol Moseley Braun - who had to stand on a very small box the entire debate to make her appear as tall as the other candidates. When I run for president, I am going to refuse to stand on a little box (not that I would need to), and I will not allow anyone else to stand on a little box. The days of the little boxes are over. OVER I tell you.
The one thing of which I was sure by the end of the debate yesterday was the fact that all of the candidates are indeed crazy. Given the state of the world ... given the state of the US ... who in his/her right mind would want to run this country? And really, given their insanity, who can we trust? I've heard it all before ... 'fix the environment, fix healthcare, fix the economy, fix special interest contributions' ... but when it comes down to it, who really follows through on any of this stuff? It reminds me of a high school campaign speech I heard once that went something like this, "Hi, you've already heard from the other candidates for president of the senior class - but who really gives a damn about what they say they are going to do. No one follows through on any of that stuff anyway. Me? I'm going to eat a live goldfish right here on this stage. I'm a 'DO'er. I'll get things done. [insert him pulling a flapping goldfish from a plastic bag of water, dropping it down his throat, and swallowing] Vote for me." Incidentally, he won by a landslide.
OK, I'm a little odd. Anyone will tell you that. If I'm feeling really happy or really down, streetlamps will turn off when I walk under them ... and then turn on again when I walk away. It's been known to happen down an entire street, in fact, like I'm walking in a shadow. The first time I had sex, the lights flickered on and off the entire time (the light switch was off, mind you) - freaking out my partner just a little bit. I also get really extreme deja vu. The first time it happened, I was in high school on a class trip to Salem, Massachusetts. Standing in a room in Salem High School, I suddenly felt as if I had been hit in the face with a two-by-four. Turning to a friend standing nearby, I managed to mumble, 'This has happened before' ... as I got dizzy and fell over - grabbing the chair-rail along the wall to hold myself up. After a few minutes, I was fine, and when I removed my hand from the chair-rail, I saw that it was covered in pen-knife graffiti. To the left was "T.L. + R.M" inside of a heart. To the right was "Salem Witches Rule". Under my hand was, yes, it's true, my entire name spelled out. Just a little creepy, if you ask me.
Over the years, this has happened on a number of occasions. I've come to take it as the universe telling me that I'm on the right path ... or at least the path that I'm meant to be on. This has happened twice in the last four days. Could it be that something big is about to happen?
Over the years, this has happened on a number of occasions. I've come to take it as the universe telling me that I'm on the right path ... or at least the path that I'm meant to be on. This has happened twice in the last four days. Could it be that something big is about to happen?
It's been a while since I auditioned for anything. Months. No, Years. Today, I realized why (as I had apparently forgotten). After sitting through make-up, I got to go stand in front of a wall and have my polaroid taken. As it developed, I realized there was a problem. There was a light just above my head (out of the frame) that made the top of my head appear to be giving off light. As I looked in horror at my fate slowly developing before me in all the brilliance of polaroid color, I was told, 'Honey, don't ever look at your polaroid. They're never good.' (Note to self: Your polaroid will never be good.) After waiting around for a bit, they were ready for me.
Taking a deep breath (I was nervous), I ventured into the other room where I was wired with a mic, given my mark, and introduced to the talent that would be appearing on camera with me. With the introductions complete, I stood on the little piece of spike tape and clearly spoke my name as the camera tilted up and down my body. At this point, I remember thinking how happy I was that they let me keep my boots on (even tho I was originally supposed to take them off) so that no one was able to see the hole in the toe and the duct tape wrapped around my ankle. Watching the camera, I swear it paused at my crotch for just a brief second before continuing on to my torso. Although I felt like I was in one of the infamous CK commercials, I remained composed - sure of myself ... cocky even. I was going to ace this thing. Inner monologue: "I can say my name. This I've had practice doing. This is easy." ... Unfortunately, the audition didn't end there.
Slightly, um, repositioned, I launched into the whole 9 inches ... I mean, 9 yards with the fellow 'talent' - careful to stay in my light - careful not to move too much - careful not to look into the camera. I was doing fine until I twisted my body slightly away from the other person. When I turned back, he was gone. Just had flat out walked out of the shot and was walking out of the room - leaving me to finish all by myself. I later learned that he really had to go to the bathroom - and thought that I could handle the rest by myself. But could I? That was the real question. Still nervous - and now alone on camera - I fear I rushed things just a bit. Normally I'd go a bit slower ... I'd enjoy it more. But in front of a camera? Sigh. I was out of practice. And nervous. But like the trooper that I am, I finished the job.
When that was over, the real awkwardness began ... I actually had to talk about what I had just done with an 'unseen' interviewer (a la Barbara Walters). I could tell that the producer was happy with my performance - but what of the 6 other people watching me on a monitor in the other room? What were they thinking? Were they impressed too? Sigh. I guess I'll know if they call me for the part. I'll just have to wait and see. I have the feeling, tho, that I can only expect one thing ... yes ... that's right, say it with me ... certain disaster.
Taking a deep breath (I was nervous), I ventured into the other room where I was wired with a mic, given my mark, and introduced to the talent that would be appearing on camera with me. With the introductions complete, I stood on the little piece of spike tape and clearly spoke my name as the camera tilted up and down my body. At this point, I remember thinking how happy I was that they let me keep my boots on (even tho I was originally supposed to take them off) so that no one was able to see the hole in the toe and the duct tape wrapped around my ankle. Watching the camera, I swear it paused at my crotch for just a brief second before continuing on to my torso. Although I felt like I was in one of the infamous CK commercials, I remained composed - sure of myself ... cocky even. I was going to ace this thing. Inner monologue: "I can say my name. This I've had practice doing. This is easy." ... Unfortunately, the audition didn't end there.
Slightly, um, repositioned, I launched into the whole 9 inches ... I mean, 9 yards with the fellow 'talent' - careful to stay in my light - careful not to move too much - careful not to look into the camera. I was doing fine until I twisted my body slightly away from the other person. When I turned back, he was gone. Just had flat out walked out of the shot and was walking out of the room - leaving me to finish all by myself. I later learned that he really had to go to the bathroom - and thought that I could handle the rest by myself. But could I? That was the real question. Still nervous - and now alone on camera - I fear I rushed things just a bit. Normally I'd go a bit slower ... I'd enjoy it more. But in front of a camera? Sigh. I was out of practice. And nervous. But like the trooper that I am, I finished the job.
When that was over, the real awkwardness began ... I actually had to talk about what I had just done with an 'unseen' interviewer (a la Barbara Walters). I could tell that the producer was happy with my performance - but what of the 6 other people watching me on a monitor in the other room? What were they thinking? Were they impressed too? Sigh. I guess I'll know if they call me for the part. I'll just have to wait and see. I have the feeling, tho, that I can only expect one thing ... yes ... that's right, say it with me ... certain disaster.
Why am I up at 4 in the morning - covered in acrylic paint - fingers experiencing permanent nerve damage from hot-glue burns - thumb bleeding from a run-a-way x-acto (not so exact that time) - and planning how I'm going to get to Chelsea to pick up a shirt tomorrow morning? Well - it sounds like I am into crafts, dear friend ... but that's not the case here. You are just going to have to wait until Monday to find out...
Ah. Winter - my old friend. You have finally returned. After toasting to you with Jack last night (who says a Jack on the Rocks doesn't help antibiotics along), I awoke this morning (with a slight headache) to find that you had already begun your mischief. Luckily, those huge snowflakes are damn beautiful as they float to the ground. Here's a view from my window (notice the postman still delivering mail):
In other trash news, there was a new find on 2nd Ave and 5th Street as we were off to a late night Indian food fete. From atop a huge heap of garbage, we rescued a swank little real Scandinavian chair (read: not from IKEA) and sauntered off with it to the delight and amazement of the small crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk to 'oooh' and 'ahhhh' our amazing new find. This city has a lot to offer if you are open to it.
In other trash news, there was a new find on 2nd Ave and 5th Street as we were off to a late night Indian food fete. From atop a huge heap of garbage, we rescued a swank little real Scandinavian chair (read: not from IKEA) and sauntered off with it to the delight and amazement of the small crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk to 'oooh' and 'ahhhh' our amazing new find. This city has a lot to offer if you are open to it.
I bought my nephew's birthday present today. Who knew that wooden building blocks were so damn expensive!?
As if I wasn't already in the holiday spirit, I can now get updates directly from SantaLand via Discontented Elf - reported by an actual 'seasonal employee' of a major New York department store. I've also decided that I will be getting my parents a picture of me sitting on Santa's lap for Christmas this year.
Last night, I did something I had never done before - and I did it on my computer. (And no, it didn't involve meeting someone online, planning to hook up with them, getting to their apartment, and then realizing that their picture was taken 15 years ago). I actually wrote a letter (ok...an e-mail) to someone that I had no intention of sending. It was oddly cathartic - but utterly frustrating. I don't know how people can do this on a normal basis. After I wrote and edited the text - I broke. It was composed. It was clear. It was good. I just couldn't resist. I closed my eyes and pressed 'SEND'. At least the good thing with e-mail is that you don't have to run to the mail box and try to fish your letter out with a coat hanger or camp out until the postman comes and try to bribe him to give you the letter back. Nope. With e-mail, there is instantaneous fuckage. Hooray for technology!
Last night, I did something I had never done before - and I did it on my computer. (And no, it didn't involve meeting someone online, planning to hook up with them, getting to their apartment, and then realizing that their picture was taken 15 years ago). I actually wrote a letter (ok...an e-mail) to someone that I had no intention of sending. It was oddly cathartic - but utterly frustrating. I don't know how people can do this on a normal basis. After I wrote and edited the text - I broke. It was composed. It was clear. It was good. I just couldn't resist. I closed my eyes and pressed 'SEND'. At least the good thing with e-mail is that you don't have to run to the mail box and try to fish your letter out with a coat hanger or camp out until the postman comes and try to bribe him to give you the letter back. Nope. With e-mail, there is instantaneous fuckage. Hooray for technology!
Despite my illogical fear of the impending doom (and by 'doom', I actually mean 'winter'), I was excited to wake up to a brief-but-beautiful snowstorm. For a moment, the world stood still - like watching white dots whirl around the frozen tableaux of a snow globe. But suddenly, time cracked (Rosebud!) and began to spill forth - filling me with giddy excitement. The world was moving again. I'm looking forward to getting my Christmas tree this week - and I'm even more excited to have my friends over to help me decorate it. I haven't quite decided if I will stick to tradition and fill the tree with handmade paper and acetate stars (with silver lining - mind you) ... or if I will start a new tradition and come up with something new. There's just something so magical about tiny white lights illuminating stars of all sizes stuck in branches as if they had snowed down from the heavens to bring the earth and the sky together.
Tonight, I went to hear Michael Wilke talk about the Commercial Closet at ADC (formally the Art Director's Club). Sponsored by IBM, the event did an excellent job taking a comprehensive look at representations and stereotypes without falling into the oh-so-familiar trap of hashing-to-death the concept of 'marketing to the LGBT audience'. I have to admit that it was fascinating to think about each of the commercials in its historical context (given the fact that I was a Sexuality and Society major for two semesters in college) - but it was also pretty disheartening to learn how many of the commercials depicting gays in a positive light ran ... oh ... once (after 9:30 PM mind you) before being 'discontinued' while ads encouraging people to laugh at homosexuals were shown over and over and over again to the giddy delight of straight folks everywhere.
There were two ads that actually shocked me - and it takes a lot to shock me these days. The first was a Saturn ad which used music from Deliverance to scare four men out of camping in the woods by referencing male rape. The second was an ad for TJ Maxx which ends with a flamboyant gay man pounding out three notes on his piano. Sounds harmless enough ... except when you know that the three notes he plays are F-A-G. I wonder sometimes what the fuck people are thinking when they create things like this.
In other news: Choire has proven himself to be an excellent advice-giver.
There were two ads that actually shocked me - and it takes a lot to shock me these days. The first was a Saturn ad which used music from Deliverance to scare four men out of camping in the woods by referencing male rape. The second was an ad for TJ Maxx which ends with a flamboyant gay man pounding out three notes on his piano. Sounds harmless enough ... except when you know that the three notes he plays are F-A-G. I wonder sometimes what the fuck people are thinking when they create things like this.
In other news: Choire has proven himself to be an excellent advice-giver.
