Jere-Rigged

Greetings From California

Hey, Everybody!

I'm still alive and having a great time out here in California. I've been writing blog posts, but just haven't been able to figure out how to hook my laptop (where they are stored) to the internet in order to post them. Soon, I promise.

At the moment, I'm using a friend's computer for the quick update. Can't wait to see and hear from everyone upon my return to New York late Tuesday.

And I'll be back to posting soon.

California, Here I Come

Well, even though I didn't get much sleep last night, owing to my forgetting that while Diet Coke with Splenda doesn't have any calories, it certainly does have caffeine (duh!), I managed to rouse myself at a useful hour and do all the little last minute things that needed to be done before I left.

The apartment is not looking so bad. It's a bit dusty, but it's hard to control that in New York, where dust seems to materialize out of thin air. I cleaned a fine layer off most everything, but I have no doubt that, by the time Jeff and Thom arrive on Friday, it will have been for naught.

Then I finished up my packing and was off. New York is so hot and humid right now that even breathing out of doors proved difficult. By the time I made it across town to the Desk Jockey Day Job, I looked and felt as if I'd been caught in a sudden cloudburst. I don't usually sweat, but it was pouring off me today like you wouldn't believe. My shirt was soaked through. Not fun. Luckily, the air conditioning in the office is working and going at full blast.

Now I just have to get through the day before heading off to JFK to get my flight. Luckily, the office is just around the corner from a stop on the E train, which will take me pretty quickly to the airport.

Then it's up to America West. Whee!

Meet The Sublets

And I totally forgot to mention that the people coming to stay in my apartment while I'm gone are these guys. While I've never met them in person, they seem really great and I know they're not going to trash the place in my absence (very much).

I'm so excited and I can't wait to actually meet them one day. Of course, they'll have the distinct advantage over me, having had several days time to rifle my medicine cabinet, look through my cupboards and fridge, and basically examine the detritus of my life.

Maybe they'll let me rifle their home in DC one day and learn all the secrets to their fascinating life.

A New Addition to the Family

Of course, I mean my happy little family of clutter in the apartment. I bought a new bookshelf, a huge metal monstrosity that I got for the bargin price of $20, to replace the one that, you may recall, collapsed a while back. And you'll never guess where I got it.

Studio 54.

That's right. The fabled nightclub-cum-Broadway theatre was having a "garage" sale. I couldn't believe it myself when I saw flyers posted on various poles and bus stops around the neighbourhood. Of course, I just had to check it out, especially considering my past drooling over furnishings in this very place.

As it turns out, the various items being sold were the accoutrements of the Upstairs at 54 space, a cabaret room on the second floor of Studio 54 that has been, over the last few years, host to a variety of cabaret shows, small musicals, and revues. The company that owns the space (not the Roundabout, which only owns the main auditorium, but a separate firm) is converting it into office space or some such thing. Heresy, I say!

They had a bunch of stuff from furnishings to artwork and everything in between. I bought the bookshelf, a delicious purple pillow that is now accenting the big comfy chair in my bedroom, 2 margarita glasses, 2 martini glasses, and they threw in a serving tray for nothing. Neat!

And I got it all for around $30, which is not really money I should have spent, but my living room is so much nicer without the collapsed bookshelf and piles of books.

So now Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Trixie Belden, Encyclopedia Brown, and my Agatha Christie novels all have a new home. Incidentally, there's still a missing box somewhere because I totally had more Nancy Drew books. Hardy Boys too.

And you should have witnessed the production of getting this damn enormous piece of furniture back to my apartment. Although I live only a couple of blocks away and around the corner from Studio 54, this fucker was HEAVY. Luckily, my friend Randy very kindly came down to help me move the thing. And it was even challenging for two of us. I have a lovely bruise on my left hip from one of my early attempts at lifting it, until we figured out the best way to carry it. We were both pretty wiped out after lugging it up the stairs and into my place. Thanks, Randy, for all your help. Couldn't have done it without you.

So do I own some pieces of history? Relics of a vanished era, the glamourous nightclub life of the New York City of the early 1970's? Probably not. But I'll take comfort in my daydreams of Liza resting her ass on my pillow and Andy Warhol doing coke off my bookshelf with Bianca Jagger.

Whoo Hoo!

One of THOSE Days

I'm heading to L.A. tomorrow. And, at this point, I am desperately hoping to get out of New York alive. It does NOT look promising. Not a damn thing has gone my way today. Here's a brief overview:

-two auditions scheduled for the EXACT SAME TIME this morning in different parts of town.

-at audition #1, no one showed up, which means that I was probably given incorrect information. And since I have no way of contacting the people who called me, they're probably pissed that I didn't show up whenever or wherever I was supposed to arrive.

-audition #2 was running late and I sat for a half hour after my arrival (after wasting time trying to find audition #1). Then I do a great audition only to find out it's for a touring children's theatre company that actually pays less than the similar gig I had several years ago. So I probably don't even want this job.

-I discover that I have accidentally cut up my ATM card. How does one accidentally cut up his ATM card? Well, listen, my children, and attend the tale. My replacement Visa card came in the mail the other day with instructions to cut up my old Visa card. Late last night, I finally got around to doing this. My ATM card ALSO has the Visa logo on it. The cards are the same colour. Yep. I was tired, grabbed the wrong card, cut it into 27 pieces and tossed it. Didn't realize my mistake until I tried to refill my MetroCard today.

-For reasons I'm too frustrated to go into, there's an odd amount on my MetroCard. Today, I tried to just add enough money to it to make it come out so that I can use the card up and not have $.17 or something left on it. But, apparently, you can't charge less than $1 or so on the machines and I didn't have enough actual change on me to do what I needed. Bitch!

-With all my running around town this morning, I was two hours late to the Desk Jockey Day Job. Now, I had warned my superiors that I might be late and said I'd stay late to make up the time, but I had no idea it would be 2 hours (I was envisioning half an hour). Now I'm here late, but have to be sure to get out in time to get to my bank and replace my ATM card. Another errand I had had scheduled is not now going to happen until I return from California because there's just no time.

-The branch of my bank that's actually located on my way home cannot make me a new ATM card because their handy-dandy machine for doing so is down. So I have to go way out of my way to next closest branch. If they can't make me a new ATM card on the spot as they advertise, I'm going to have a breakdown right there in the bank.

-I have 1,012 things back at the apartment that need doing before I leave tomorrow morning. I have neither time to work all day at the Desk Jockey Day Job nor time to traipse over the town in search of a new ATM card. But I must do these things.

When next you see me and I say something along the lines of "Please...just kill me now," do not assume that I am joking. If I can get to JFK tomorrow afternoon still alive and not rocking back and forth in the fetal position babbling in baby talk, I will consider myself lucky.

Laughter Through Tears

So last night I caught up with the current Broadway revival of Steel Magnolias that is playing at the Lyceum Theatre through July 31st. I had been wanting to see this even though the reviews were not good and the production snagged not a single Tony nomination.

As you probably know, this play ran for years off-Broadway in the 1980's and was made into a hit movie in 1989 featuring a stellar line up of actresses that would make any director drool with envy. Even the least famous of those six women, a newcomer named Julia Roberts, who would receive her first Oscar nomination as Shelby here, would go on to become one of the biggest movie stars in Hollywood.

And this audience, obviously filled with gay men and women on "Girls Night Out" knew all the famous lines and occasionally came out with them before the actresses on stage did. I had no idea that this movie had attained such a cult following in the last 15 years. As I remember it, the movie version of Steel Magnolias was quickly overshadowed by Hollywood's adaptation of another long-running off-Broadway play, Driving Miss Daisy, which went on to win a bunch of Oscars and make movie stars out of Jessica Tandy and Morgan Freeman, the two stage actors at its core.

Interestingly enough, Frances Sternhagen, who originated the role of Miss Daisy off-Broadway, is now a part of the ensemble of women playing Steel Magnolias on Broadway.

I do remember, however, that the Steel Magnolias film was popular enough to spark regional and community theatre productions of the play all round the country. In the early 1990's, I can recall having seen it at the Walnut Street Theatre in Philadelphia, as well as at least 3 community theatre presentations in the Philadelphia suburbs. People could not get enough of this play, it seemed. But that was then, and I was amazed to discover that people, at least in the audience I saw the play with, had such vivid memories of the film.

Steel Magnolias, as I'm sure you know, is set in a beauty parlour in a small town in Louisiana. Every Saturday, the ladies of the neighbourhood gather to gossip and get their hair done by Truvy, the best hair dresser in town. Truvy has taken on a new assistant, a newcomer to town named Annelle, and together they trade laughs and recipes with Clairee, the town grande dame and widow of the former mayor, Ouiser, the neighbourhood curmundgeon, M'Lynn, a professional woman and mother of three grown children, and sometimes Shelby, M'Lynn's daughter who is getting married on the day the play begins.

The first thing you notice in this production is the elaborate set. Though the room is described in the text as a carport that's been enclosed, the beauty parlour that we see on the stage of the Lyceum bears no resemblance to a former carport. I don't mean this as a criticism, and it's certainly a way to go since the play is set in the mid-80's and Truvy has been working there for over a decade. But I always just sort of assumed that some vestiges of the room's former use would remain, as happens in any space being used for a purpose other than that for which it was originally designed. But no matter...

Director Jason Moore, who also did the honours on Avenue Q, has given each lady a star entrance designed to garner applause from the audience. And it worked. Even the lesser known actresses on the stage, including one understudy with whom even I was unfamiliar, got their applause.

Delta Burke, the television star who has lately been turning her talents to the theatre, plays Truvy and, if I didn't know better, I would think that the part had been tailored with her in mind. Truvy fits in perfectly with the persona you've seen from Burke on television and, while it's no stretch acting-wise, Burke is so perfect that you just don't care. And I was amazed to notice that she appears to actually be doing people's hair on stage. I mean, she's obviously not doing the full treatment, but it made me wonder if Burke has any real-life experience doing hair.

Christine Ebersole, as M'Lynn, has gotten a lot of criticism for not being "Southern" enough for this play. And I see the naysayers' point. Neither her manner not her accent are terribly southern, but it must be remembered that M'Lynn is not a prototypically southern character either. She is a local mental health professional and probably has the highest level of education amongst the characters. She has probably spent much time out of the south in the course of her education and career and probably would seem different from the others. And, nowhere in the play is it mentioned that she's from the south. She's lived in this town for many years and raised her family there, but could just as easily have come from elsewhere. Ebersole doesn't make as much of the hystrionics built into her role as other actresses have. The play's final scene, in which M'Lynn is dealing with the weight of the world on her shoulders, contains one emotional outburst, but, otherwise, Ebersole remains in control. It's an interesting way to go, and I certainly see the point of it, but it sort of left me cold. I know what an emotional wreck I would be going through what this character does, and it seemed odd for her to be so together.

Frances Sternhagen is Clairee, the widow of the former mayor and doyenne of the town's society. Sternhagen is also not being particularly challenged here, but she shines as a woman who progresses over the course of the play from wondering what to do with herself and her time to procuring a new career and new interests in travel and culture. Clairee has the most complete character arc of the ladies here and Sternhagen hits each moment perfectly. A character-defining moment happens early on when, after being introduced to Annelle for the first time, she apologizes for her ragged appearance saying that had she known she'd be meeting new people, she's have taken more care. The fact that Sternhagen is, at that moment, the neatest, most put-together person in the room garnered the actress her deserved laughter.

Marsha Mason plays Ouiser, a self-described mean old lady. Mason was a huge star in the 1970's, both on stage and screen, but this may be the first thing I have actually seen her in anything. Hers is the smallest of the roles and, at times, seem to be made up entirely of pithy sayings strung together. She seems a bit youthful and active for this role, and I thought she took the character's heart of gold a little too seriously. But she was pleasant enough in it and I gather this is quite different from the kinds of roles she played in her heyday. And it's always nice to have a star from another era return to the stage.

Lily Rabe gives an astonishing performance as Annelle, perhaps the quirkiest of the roles right off the bat. At first, the character is shy and intimidated by the strong women around her, but then she comes out of her shell and blossoms into a brand of strong woman all her own. When surrounded by the other ladies who all want to know her story in the first scene, she seemed like a gazelle being backed into a corner by lions. Later on, when the others are worried about her conversion to fundamentalist Christianity, Rabe shows us a woman whose beliefs exemplifiy the best part of who she is, but who is not afraid to lighten up and take life as it comes. I was amused later in the play when an audience member loudly spoke one of her lines that she seemed to then play the line truthfully, but, at the same time, acknowledge the rude audience member who got there ahead of her. I can't really even explain how she did it, but she did.

And our understudy was Ginifer King, on for Rebecca Gayheart, as Shelby. King was fabulous as the rebellious daughter who doesn't always know what's best for her. There was not a single note of hesitancy or anything less than surefootedness in her portrayal and it made me wonder if she has gotten to go on with some frequency. I absolutely saw a woman who was fighting her limitations tooth and nail and was not about to admit defeat, even at the risk of her life.

Speaking of understudies, this production somehow procured the services of Sally Mayes as an understudy. Wow! No idea which of the roles she was understudying, but I bet she's great in whichever of them she does. If you don't know Mayes, run out now and buy her solo recordings and the cast albums of the Broadway revival of She Loves Me and the off-Broadway production of Closer Than Ever. You'll thank me, I promise.

So I really liked this Steel Magnolias, despite some shortcomings. I don't quite understand why got so universally dismissed by critics and audiences here. It's not Doubt or The Pillowman, but it's certainly a worthy play and worthy production on its own terms.

The Saga of Harry

Look at what I'm reading. While most of you were working today, I spent a good part of the day riding to the rescue of Harry Potter.

As you all know, the lastest chapter in J.K. Rowling's fantasy series was finally released last Saturday. After waiting patiently for several days, I finally emailed Amazon asking where the hell my book was. I had preordered back in February, so I had expected to have it waiting for me upon my return from Vermont. But no.

The reply email said that they were showing my book as being delivered and that I should check with my local post office for further information. Yikes! The post office?! Well, I had to post some bills, a headshot, and a sympathy card anyway, so I ventured out into the humidity to the Radio City post office, which is nowhere near Radio City Music Hall so I have no idea why it's called that.

The man behind the counter told me that he needed a tracking number from Amazon to be able to do anything. I accessed the internet from my tricorder...um...my cell phone and could not find anything in the email mentioning a tracking number. So I returned home. Not only was there no tracking number in the email I got, there was no tracking number in the record of my order. At this point, I was growing frustrated with Amazon, and decided to give them a call and speak to someone in person.

Have you ever had to actually speak to anyone at Amazon? It's the funniest thing. They make it difficult to even find out how to call because they'd rather deal with issues on-line. But, nonetheless, I persisted and opened a window asking for my telephone number. I typed it in, and immediately the phone rang. I picked it up and voice mail connected me with a nice gentlemen with a South Asian accent who was going to help me.

Amazon seem to be among the many US firms that have sent their customer service departments abroad to India. But that's really neither here nor there. Well, actually it is there, and certainly not here, but that doesn't matter now. The representative told me rather firmly that the book had been delivered on July 16th, the day it went on sale around the country.

The connection was not terribly good and I had difficulty hearing him. And I think we had a little trouble understanding each other's accents. It's humbling to be reminded that I do indeed have an accent. My usual Middle Atlantic brew is pretty standard American speech, but to someone from India, it must have sounded as impenetratable as cockney rhyming slang is to me sometimes. Thank God I wasn't drunk dialing the poor guy and employing a Heart of Dixie drawl.

I asked him to repeat himself several times and I think he was growing frustrated at my inability to understand, although I do think it was more the lousy connection than his South Asian accent. After verifying that the book had been delivered and my reminding him that had the book been delivered I wouldn't have been calling him, he figured out what I was asking and provided me with the tracking number that had not appeared anywhere on the order itself.

Then it was back to the post office, where the kind government employee, who reminded me of Morgan Freeman without the grey hair, looked up my package on the computer and told me that it had been delivered. This was becoming my mantra for the day. Again, I explained that, had it been delivered, I'd be barricaded in my air conditioned bedroom reading it rather than bothering him at work.

He checked again.

And then left his desk to go rummaging through the bowels of the post office...and returned with the package containing the book. He apologized and said that my mailman must have may a mistake and noted the package as delivered instead of noting that pick-up notice was left.

When I pointed out that no pick up notice had been left either, he likewise had no explanation. I'm guessing that my mail carrier may now get in trouble. And let's just hope there's no retaliation. I don't need strange goo or exotic insects in my mailbox, thank you very much.

Sigh. I'm just happy to finally have my copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. And if anyone gives away a single thing about it before I'm finished, I will kill you.

Thank you ever so.

Guess Who Met An Altar Boy?

It's Me...It's Me!

At bowling tonight we played a team called Cast Noah Prom, which was mostly comprised of folks from The Awesome '80's Prom and some friends of theirs. One of these friends was Ryan Duncan who plays Juan (the Hispanic guy) in the hilarious off-Broadway hit Altar Boyz at Dodger Stages.

He was very nice and not a bad bowler either.

I rolled a 115 in the first game and a 120 in the second, which is just about where I've been hitting the past few weeks. But, at least, my average should be slowly creeping up.

And guess what?! I won the 50/50!!! There's always a 50/50 drawing in which half the cash goes to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. My haul tonight was $78, not a whole lot, but better than nothing. My Discover bill is going to have a little something extra in it this month! Whoo-Hoo!

I was so thrilled at my good fortune that I stopped in at Papaya Dog on the way home and had a hot dog. Mmmmmm...

I LOVERMONT

So I spent last weekend in Vermont.

I was going to sing in a benefit concert for Village Light Opera Group, the company I did My Favorite Year with in the spring. We were singing at Memorial Hall in Wilmington, VT and staying at a ski resort called The Moutaineer in nearby West Dover. It was a program consisting mainly of Gilbert and Sullivan pieces and old showtunes. My three favorite numbers were the only three written in my lifetime: "Ragtime" from the eponymous show and "What A Remarkable Age This Is" and "Lady's Maid" from Titanic.

And I woke up Friday morning with NO voice. An inopportune cold had lodged itself in my throat leaving me no upper range at all. I hate this when it happens; it always seems to happen right before I have to perform. There was something running through the cast of the concert; I was only one of several people who came down with this ugly little bug either just prior to or during the weekend. One person even had to have his two major solos cut because, after waking on Saturday with no voice, he just could not get through them.

Anyway, I met Harry, Kathy, and Belen at the Avis Car Rental place on 54th Street and we drove our rental car through the wilds of New York State and into Vermont, which is beautiful what with all the mountains and all. The area we was populated with ski resorts and sat at the foot of Mt. Snow, which I gather is a popular destination in winter.

Once I dropped my bags in the room, I immediately headed to the pool. Vermont does not suffer the humidity that can make summer in New York City so challenging, so it was lovely to sit by the pool, read a book, and swim. We even got into playing volleyball in the water, which was more of an effort than you might think.

And I started to actually meet some of the folks in the cast that were not involved in My Favorite Year. You see, at rehearsals in the city, I often arrived just on time and left as soon as possible, so the socializing aspect was somewhat muted. I get easily intimidated in rooms filled with large groups of people who all seem to know each other already. Scary!

There was also a hot tub, which you wouldn't think would be necessary in summer, but which was wonderful as well. The concert itself was fab and the fine folks of Vermont seemed to enjoy our efforts. My voice improved on Saturday and I was able to sing through what remained of the illness with only a few squeaky high notes. This is one of the best things about singing the bass line.

The weather on Sunday was overcast and rainy, so we didn't get in any additional pool time and actually ended up leaving early to return to the city. En route, we stopped at a country store to buy fudge and cheese and one of the people working there recognized us from the concert. I love when that happens.

You know, I genuinely had a great time on this trip. I met some great people that I would love to stay in touch with and hang out with in future. I still don't know what my future involvement with this company will be, but, if I do return to work with them again, I would have a lot more fun, I think.

Counting Down

One week to go till I head out to Los Angeles for a few days change of scene. I got my haircut yesterday. I sorely needed it. I had developed wings off the side of my head.

No word from any of the agents or casting people to whom I sent headshots and resumes, but I not REALLY expecting anything on that front either.

Maybe I'll just hang out at Schwab's Drugstore and arrange my legs seductively as I sip a soda at the counter.

The Great Sunglasses Debate

Sunglasses.

Believe it or not, I only started having sunglasses as a regular part of my life in the last few years. For most of my life, I just never bothered. This was mostly because I wore glasses for many years and the clip-on sunglasses were a pain in the ass or so I thought.

Even when I moved into contact lens in college, I still never really wore sunglasses...just never got into the habit, I suppose.

Anyway, now I do wear them and actually own two or three pairs in anticipation of whichever one I'm wearing breaking at an inopportune moment.

I noticed something today when I ran into a friend in the street while running some errands. I will always take off my sunglasses when I'm speaking to someone. Always. You see, when I was a little boy, I was taught that you look the person you're speaking to in the eye. And since the other person will be doing likewise, it's only polite to remove the sunglasses and allow them to look into your eyes. It's a way of showing the other person that he or she has your complete attention.

Speaking of sunglasses, I was also taught that, like hats on men, they were never to be worn indoors unless there's a specific health-related reason for doing so.

Now, I realize that, for some, sunglasses are some big fashion statement and are part of the costume when dressing up to go out. And that's dumb. Or rather, it's fine if you are attending an outdoor event and do not wish to speak with anyone. But, otherwise, people want and need to see your face.

I bet some people wear them in some attempt to hide. As in "If no one can make eye contact with me, no one will talk to me or even notice that I am here." And that's wussy. Stop hiding behind the sunglasses. Our eyes can be as expressive as our mouths and to hide them is to shortchange yourself.

So...sunglasses, anyone?

ADDENDUM: I didn't mention it because it's so obvious and, thus, never occurred to me: Sunglasses should never be worn after sundown. No sun, no sunglasses. Actually, that's not a bad general rule of thumb.

He Continues To Read

During the recent technical difficulties, I actually finished reading Elizabeth Peters' newest novel, The Serpent on the Crown, and found it to be a fun and worthy entry in her series of mysteries starring the intrepid turn-of-the-last-century Emerson family of Egyptologists. The timeline of the books started, I think, in the 1880's when the two original lead protagonists met and have progressed over time to the 1922 of the latest effort. In the meantime, the Emersons have had children and grandchildren and acquired a host of friends who also play featured roles in the series. I really love these books, especially since they are written in a faux-Victorian formal style, as though written as the private journals of the characters.

It's so interesting to see these characters grow and develop in ways that those in mystery series rarely do. They actually grow older and change and have to deal with an ever-evolving world and the changes that advancing age brings. I wonder when or if Peters will need to start having original characters die and if the series will ultimately continue without them? There is such a large supporting cast at this point that, in most of the books, a portion of them do not appear, as if they're being rotated out by the author, so I'm thinking that she's hedging her bets and will continue with the family when the older characters must embrace death.

In my downtime, I've also just finshed Nevada Barr's Hard Truth, her latest mystery novel chronicling the adventures of National Park Service ranger Anna Pigeon. Each of these books takes place in a different national park around the country and Barr, a former NPS ranger herself, manages to evoke such a wonderful pictures of our country's natural resources that I always want to go and visit each park after I read the book that takes place there. This time, it's Colorado's Rocky Mountain National Park, where Anna has recently been transferred.

This is another character who grows and evolves and ages naturally over the course of the series. Unlike Peters though, Barr hasn't really cultivated a supporting cast and I have no idea what she will do if and when she allows her leading lady to age into her 60's and have to have her retire from the NPS. Perhaps Anna will continue as a retiree volunteer in various parks, but even that only has as limited a life span as the character. We'll see.

I definitely recommend checking out these books.

The reason that I haven't yet updated the "And What Am I Reading At The Moment" section over there on the right is that I am still anxiously awaiting the arrival of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, which I want to start immediately as soon as the post office delivers it from Amazon. It's shipped, just not yet arrived. Dammit. I don't want to start something else and then have to put it aside when Harry Potter arrives, so, at the moment, I am experiencing the rare phenomenon of being bookless.

Perhaps I'll take the time to wade through the stack of magazines in my living room.

Back From Technical Difficulties

So my technical difficulties have been worked out and I'm back here on-line for all your reading pleasure. Did you miss me? I certainly missed you.

And it's been a busy week or so. I'll try to remember what I've been doing

On Thursday, I met up with my friend Jim and he was kind enough to walk with me around the city while I ran some errands.

In the craziness of preparing for the concert, finding a sublet, and some stressful times at the Desk Jockey Day Job, I'd completely forgotten about trying to go to Central Park and catch the New York Shakespeare Festival's production of As You Like It, which was to close on Sunday while I was out of town.

Since Thursday turned out to be the only possible day I could go, Jim went with me to the park and we camped out for a few hours in the cancellation line (we were already way too late for the actual line). We arrived, I think, around 4.30pm, after a lovely, meandering walk through the park on a simply perfect day. And we were far from the first people in line.

You see, the NYSF hands out vouchers for tickets to the first 50 people from the real line in the morning, so the first cancellation tickets go to them, which can be as many as 100 tickets if all 50 show up and all are getting two tickets.

But Jim and I were lucky and we got two tickets together at 8.05pm, five minutes after the play was to have started. As we all know, nothing in New York starts on time. We even had a few moments to take care of business before taking our seats: I peed and Jim got a cookie at the concession window.

And the seats were fabulous! Not that there's really a bad seat in the Delacorte Theatre, but ours were practically center and right in the middle of the throng. Ever so cool!

I've always liked As You Like It, even though it's sort of cobbled together and comes off as one of the weaker comedies, with many plot elements that are recycled from and done better elsewhere in the canon.

The season that I apprenticed at Williamstown Theatre Festival, WTF presented a production directed by Barry Edelstein that starred Gwyneth Paltrow, fresh off her Oscar win, as Rosalind. That production was controversial and seemed to have more detractors than fans, but I thought it was magical. Of course, having just won an Oscar for her performance as a woman who dons male drag to recite Shakespearean verse in Shakespeare in Love, Rosalind was no acting stretch for Paltrow, but I thought her very charming and she had a facility with the language that I suspect most of her Hollywood coterie lacks.

But I digress...

This As You Like It was set on what seemed to be a giant sundial, but with Latin phrases written over it, rather than numbers. It was sleek, modern, and amusing and I was expecting a modern dress production to go with it. And I was wrong about that. The set seemed to have been inspired by an exchange between two characters late in the play in which one asks another the time and upon hearing that it's whatever time "by the clock," remarks that there are no clocks in the forest.

Lynn Collins and James Waterston (son of Sam...hee!) were the hapless lovers Rosalind and Orlando here. The park is becoming quite a second home for the Waterstons; last year's production of Much Ado About Nothing featured both Sam Waterston and his daughter Elisabeth. I had no idea that the man, who will always hold a special place in my heart as Dr. Eugene Sutphin in Serial Mom, was the patriarch of a new acting dynasty.

Collins was an immature and giddy Rosalind who pitches forward into instant love with the madness of a high schooler. She's a Juliet with some better luck and timing. But she was matched perfectly by Waterston's Orlando, who came off at times like a petulant school boy.

Incidentally, this production seemed to tone down the rampant homosexual subtext of this play in the scenes where Rosalind, in male drag as Ganymede, tutors Orlando in the art of wooing a woman. And with the way that the final scene was staged, it's not clear if Orlando ever even realizes that his friend Ganymede was really his love Rosalind in disguise all the time. The improbability of him not recognizing her throughout the play is amusing underscored by Jennifer Ikeda as Celia, Rosalind's cousin and companion in exile, who looked on through many of their scenes (as a sort of stand in for us in the audience) with a mixture of amusement, disgust, and disbelief.

Ikeda was terrific, by the way, as Celia. Her character was definitely the stronger, more sensible cousin who looked askance at Rosalind's obsession with Orlando...until her own infatuation with Orlando's brother Oliver comes to light and she showed she could be as giddy and head-over-heels as anyone.

The audience favourite though was clearly New York stage regular Brian Bedford as Jaques. Bedford doesn't have the largest role, but he gets the famous speeches, most notably the one that begins "All the world's a stage..." Bedford was the only actor to receive applause at his entrance and he sparked the audience to applaud several times throughout the evening as he either concluded a speech or made an exit.

Another notable element to this production was the original score composed to Shakespeare's verse by William Finn and Vadim Feichtner and sung mostly by Bob Stillman as the troubador Amiens. This is already a very musical play and would probably work well adapted as a full musical comedy. Finn and Feichtner (it's unclear who does what in this partnership)have come up with a handful of wonderful tunes to Shakespeare's words and I hope they get recorded somewhere.

So I really enjoyed this production. It's always a great time to hang out in the park and get a free ticket to a play. And the fact that Jim was along this year for company made it even nicer. I usually go to these things alone because few people I know are interested or have the time to devote to spending some hours in the park in line.

I totally have to write about my weekend in Vermont, but not now. It's already very late and I have a full day tomorrow.

Technical Difficulties

Jere's been emailing me that he's been having problems logging in to do his blogging. I assure you that he's alive and well and will return to blogdom shortly.

Is My Name On This Lease?

Just had an IM exchange with a guy with whom I had a pretty great date last week. And he just wants to be friends. This is at least the second time in 2 weeks that I've heard this. And it happens to me all the damn time. I feel like Sally Mayes in Closer Than Ever.

We met for coffee, talked about a variety of things non-stop for at least 3 hours, and then went to dinner. Not the best first date I've ever had, but I thought it had potential and I was willing to see.

At least this one was honest enough to tell me, rather than just disappearing into the ether. He thinks I'm "someone he wants to get to know better," but not dating material, apparently.

To all you folks out there who keep asking me how I'm not happily partnered by this point since I'm obviously such a great catch, I have one question for you...How the fuck can I even get anyone to agree to a second date?!

Fuck 'em all. I hate men.

Photos

Remember when David was visiting awhile back and we went bar-hopping a little bit? Well, David is an accomplished photographer and he happened to take some pictures that night. Now, I thought I looked a bit freakish in them, but David tells me that his new fag hag had thought I was cute or something similar. I can't remember his exact words on the point. Anyway, there were a couple of shots that I found intriguing, so I got David's permission to reproduce them here. Yes, I am having an exciting Saturday night in the big city, thank you. Whoo-Hoo!

Something about this shot just appeals to me. That's Poor Drunk Joe on the right.

And this is me kissing Poor Drunk Joe. Again, something about it just appeals.

You can check out the rest of that series of pictures here.

A Little More Conversation

Here's a snippet of an IM conversation that I had earlier today with Jon:

Jon: did you hear about birmingham?

Jere: I had not heard this.

Jon: crazy shit going on in this world

Jon: but i'm really thinking that if they keep on with all this "terror, terror" stuff, we're eventually going to get to a "boy who cried wolf" type of situation

Jere: Well, that's certainly what happened after what happened here.

Jere: The problem is that there's no way to truely guard against such things.

Jon: pretty much.

Jon: no, there isn't

Jon: because no matter what precautions you take, the crazy fuckers are going to get through.

Jon: the real way is to figure out what they're pissed about and find a way to fix it.

Jere: So whether we hear warnings or not and regardless of whether such warnings are true or not, such things will continue to occur.

Jon: yup

Jere: Yes, I agree...Now, only if our President felt the same he could change the world.

Jon: please. he's an idiot.

Jere: Granted, but an idiot with great power.

Jon: he can get about as far as "terrorists are bad."

Jere: Well, I was hoping that we'd be able to get through another few years without him doing any lasting damage, but the news of O'Connor's retirement and the rumors about Rehnquist and Stevens are dashing the hope.

Jon: i hate him so much

Jere: We all do...sadly, there's so much fear in the midwest about everything (not just gays) that they will blindly follow him anywhere.

Jon: while we here in the Gay land of New York City suffer left and right

Jere: Correct.

Jere: If anyone deserves to react out of fear, it is those of us who have already been attacked. But we would rather move forward while those sitting comfortably out there in the middle are so frightened of the unknown that they would rather return to a mythical version of the 1950's (that never really existed, except in their own minds) than confront the realities of modern life.

Not Just Another Gay Play

This afternoon, I volunteer ushered for the Roundabout's off-Broadway production of Jon Robin Baitz's newest play, The Paris Letter at the Laura Pels Theatre within the Harold and Miriam Steinbeg Center for the Theatre, just off Times Square. The play stars the superb team of John Glover and Ron Rifkin as two old friends with a complicated history together and also features great work from New York favorite Michele Pawk, as well as Daniel Eric Gold and Jason Butler Harner.

I've waxed rhapsodic before here about what an ideal space the Pels is, but today I had the opportunity to confirm my own opinion by sitting in the mezzanine, rather than downstairs as is my habit, and benefited from perfect sightlines and a feeling that I was close enough to the stage to be drawn into the drama at hand. The Pels also benefits from being underground; not a single phone rang during the entire play, something I wish happened more often here in New York.

The play was rather wonderful too, an exciting new drama about an aspect of gayness that has gone fairly unrepresented on the stage. When I think of "gay" plays, usually I conjure images of frothy comedy with bitchy queens making sarcastic remarks and hot young studs doffing their clothing for no reason other than to be pictured on the poster to sell a lot of tickets to other gay men.

Although there was some nudity here, The Paris Letter wasn't that at all. It begins with a loud argument between Rifkin's Sandy Sonnenberg and Harner's Burt Sarris that devolves into horrifying violence right in front of our eyes. Glover's Anton then takes the stage to tell the story of his friend Sandy and to explain how the horrors we'd just witnessed came to be and what happened after.

In scenes that shift back and forth in time (the play takes place over 40 years between 1962 and 2002), we observe the relationship between the two protagonists as it changes and evolves, from lusty to romantic to friendly to, perhaps, some combination of those. With the exception of Glover, the entire cast doubles as characters from the 1960's and characters from modern times, sometimes tellingly so. Harner, for example, plays the young Anton as well as Burt, a character with whom the older Sandy becomes infatuated.

Rifkin, who is practically a Baitz repertory player, is here playing a role written expressly for him and which he has played, in various incarnations of this work, for three years. And he is just perfect as a 60-something investment banker who long ago decided to submit to a famous psychiatrist's theories of how to turn gay people straight. He demonstrates that just because one has grown disciplined in the art of subverting one's true nature over the course of 40 years, that doesn't mean one's natural desires go away or actually change. Rifkin manages to keep the audience's sympathy with his character even as we feel pity for a man for whom appearances and "doing the right thing" has taken such precedence over being happy. We understand him and the choices he's made, even as the ramifications of those choices make them seem way more trouble than they're worth.

Glover's character is our narrator, our window into this world, and he unfolds the story for us delicately in pieces, as if he's afraid that heavyhandedness might destory it forever. There are many scenes where he simply sits off to one side and watches, like us, fascinated by how much chaos can be wrought in so many lives by one man's choice to deny who is truely is.

Glover's portrait of a gay man in his 60's was fascinating. This character, who has been living an open life all along, is not coupled, and, indeed, has never been able to sustain a long term relationship, but he is far from remorseful or bitter about life. He acknowledges that he's had a lot of fun along the way and met many wonderful people with whom he's had friendships, affairs, or both. The lack of stereotyping here was refreshing. This man is neither a "troll" nor a body-obsessed gay man frantically trying to roll back the years and pretend to be younger than he is. He simply is who he is.

I won't spoil all the twists and turns that this multi-layered story takes, but I urge everyone to go check out this play. For those of you not in the New York area, this play will surely be making the rounds of the resident theatres in this country over the next few years. Go see it.

At a post-performance talk back session, both Glover and Rifkin praised their director, Doug Hughes, as the true architect of what we'd just seen. Hughes, who also won a Tony this year for directing Doubt, is becoming one of New York's most gifted directors. And for good reason...Hughes seems to have a way with small-scale drama, making all the characters and scenes come alive with minimal scenery and special effects (although the one effect here, early in the play, is so--effective--that audience members at the talkback couldn't resist asking how it was done. The answer? "The magic of theatre."). For those of you interested in such trivia, Hughes is the son of actors Bernard Hughes and Helen Stenborg and was formerly the Artistic Director of Long Wharf Theatre in New Haven. Rifkin credited his being the son of actors for his being such an actors' director in the sense that he can give the actor an image or idea to hold onto or play with that helps them crystalize a scene and get exactly where they need to be.

The audience members who stayed for the talkback were your typical subscription crowd: impossibly old, grey, and wealthy. But this group was atypical in a way that speaks well of New York audiences in general and reminded me why our city is still the capital of pop culture in this country, if not the world. There were no questions about how difficult it must have been to learn all those lines or what the actual sexuality of the actors might be. Rather, this crowd was intent on talking about the play, the characters, and what its somewhat ambiguous ending might mean. The gay subject matter was not even blinked at by this group of older people, who are, by all accounts, supposed to be conservative, rigid, and judgemental. The discussion was so lively that the moderators worked hard to keep it under control as people started speaking directly to each other (not in a bad way; everyone was terribly polite) and not to the actors on the stage.

An interesting thing that cropped up here: Several people asked Rifkin and Glover specific questions relating to their motivations in various scenes. Their responses always were in the way of "Well, what did YOU think?" instead of actually answering. When pressed, neither actor would elaborate on their own thought process when playing the scene in question saying that they'd prefer not to go there. Had I been in that position, I'd have been tempted to answer honestly, prefacing my remarks with something like "Well, of course, the interpretation is yours to make, but MY interpretation of the scene is..." Not sure what I think of the choice to evade the question, but that choice was certainly theirs to make. They seemed genuinely thrown by the serious and specific nature of the questions and Glover, in particular, had moments where he confessed that he couldn't answer, or at least not in the limited time frame we had.

Rifkin had some very interesting things to say about the evolution of the play and his performance. He talked a little about how the development process of the play was affected by his "day job" on the television series Alias (though it's in his Playbill bio, he did not mention it by name). On my way out, I overheard one older woman say to her equally aged companion "I had no idea, until he mentioned it, that he was on a television series. Which one?" The other woman quickly explained, adding that it was an excellent show and recommending that she check it out.

Isn't that funny? Elsewhere, I have no doubt that the conversation would have been the exact reverse. "You mean Arvin Sloane does plays? No kidding."

Just another one of the reasons I love living in New York. Go see this play.

Speed Bowling

Tonight, we were to bowl against The Hound Dogs of All Shook Up again, but they never showed up. I was a little disappointed since I was looking forward to thanking Charlene again for the backstage tour she gave my little group last week.

I bowled a 143 in the first game and a 123 in the second, which was a very respectable showing. Both games were way above my average, so that should be shooting up a bit.

It was weird bowling against nobody. We were in and out so quickly that I didn't even have time to participate in the 50/50 drawing. And I could surely use that money were I to win it.

I'm really enjoying this whole bowling thing and I'm definitely seeing an improvement in my skills. I just wish there were more people at Wicked who were interested in coming out and participating.

Anyone want to join a bowling team?

Cali-For-Nia Dreamin'

So I've decided to run away for a week to Los Angeles. I'll be out there from July 27th through August 2nd. I was invited by my friend Michael, who owns a condo in West Hollywood and I thought I'd take the opportunity to check out the scene in LA. I've done a lot of the tourist stuff out there on previous trips and I'm more interested in learning what life is like out there on the left coast.

And I'm going to do a blind mailing to a bunch of agents and casting people out there and see if I can get anyone to meet with me. Anyone reading this have any connections out there? I'd be much obliged.

Oh, and if there are any LA area bloggers who'd like to meet up and get together, that would be fun too.

Let's just pray that I find a sublet for the apartment to help with the expenses. I have a good possibility already and may have this sewn up by the end of the week.

But you never know...Anyone need a one-bedroom in midtown Manhattan for a week? Reasonable rates (I promise).

Good Samaritan

On Saturday, while I was running around town playing Tour Guide for my parents and their visiting friends, our little group found itself on the 5 train heading uptown. At Grand Central Station, we were getting off the train to transfer to the Uptown 6 Local when another passenger got our attention and pointed to the seat where most of our party had just been sitting. Sitting there on the bench was a black wallet. Assuming it belonged to one of us, I grabbed it and quickly got off the train and asked everyone.

And, of course, it was no one's. I had stolen someone's wallet from the 5 train. Or, rather, I had rescued someone's wallet from being stolen by someone else.

So we routed through the wallet and discovered that the owner was an 18 year old guy from Utah called Joseph Allen Atkin. There was no phone number though. But there was $25.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered a phone number labeled "Melanie" in the wallet. With no area code preceding it. So this was definitely NOT a New York City number. Here in New York, we have at least 4 area codes and must dial the full ten digit number (and the 1 in front of it) to make a call.

I called Directory Assistance and got the area code for Utah. Apparently, there is only one. For the entire STATE. How do they manage that? Yikes! It's 801, in case you were wondering.

Melanie was still in bed, but someone in her house managed to rouse her. After explaining who I am and why I was calling, she agreed to email Joey, the owner of the wallet, and send him my number.

Joey finally called me that night, very surprised and very happy that I had his wallet. Apparently it has some sentimental value because it was given to him by someone who's now dead. Or something. I told him where I was, and he agreed to come by the next day to pick up the wallet.

See, this whole time I'm worrying about this guy and picturing some innocent Mormon teen wandering the streets of New York with no money and no identification and wondering what to do and where to turn. I was picturing Joey: Portrait of A Mormon Gay Sex Toy in the Streets of Manhattan.

Our meeting the next day proved me slightly off base. We met up under the big globe that sits in front of the Trump International Hotel and Towers (the former Gulf & Western Building) on Columbus Circle. He was there with his Mom. Apparently, it's some kind of group trip to the city with Joey, his Mom, and two of the Mom's friends. Whee!

They were very excited to get the wallet back and told me over and over what a good time they were having here in the city and how nice everyone here was to them. He offered me a reward, but I was totally NOT taking some 18 year old's cash. They took pictures and promised to send me copies.

I was happy to help. It really felt great. I was glad to be of service. I hope they have a great rest of their trip. If I ever get the picture, I'll be sure to post it.

Just after this, on my way to lunch with my friend Randy, a woman crossing Columbus Circle in the opposite direction somehow tripped and went down with her grocery bags, spilling vegetables all over the street. I managed to ascertain that she was okay (more embarrassed than hurt) and helped her gather up her little green pods, which I was later told were "brussel sprouts."

Apparently, it was my day to help...everyone.

Oh, and I did make it to the fireworks with friends Randy and Paul. At Paul's suggestion, we took the 7 train across the river to Long Island City and found a spot in a state park just a couple of blocks from the Vernon-Jackson stop. I had no idea there was a state park over there.

The fireworks themselves were pretty spectacular and I was glad to have gone, even though I was sort of grumbling about it earlier. And getting back to the city was surprisingly easy. We got a train pretty quickly and I was home inside an hour.

Whee!

Happy Independence Day!

I hope everyone is having a terrific Independence Day! I have no idea what I'm doing today or if I will head over to the east side to see the fireworks or not. I haven't been invited to do anything fun, so I may just stay home and avoid the crowds.

Yesterday, I met my friend Randy for lunch and then headed to park. It was really great to sit on a rock in the beautiful weather and read and lay there in the sun.

Saturday, I played tourguide for my parents and their friends, a terrific family visiting from Cape Town, South Africa. I rose at an ungodly hour to go meet them all on the east side for breakfast.

First, we headed to St. Patrick's Cathedral, then downtown to the World Trade Center site, then to Battery Park, then a ride on the Staten Island Ferry, then back uptown to stroll through Central Park, then to the Metropolitan Museam of Art. Then we left them at the hotel and the parents and I had dinner and they left to return to New Jersey.

It was an exhausting day and I was feeling pretty dead after all that running about. But it was fun in that boy-that-was-fun-but-now-I'm-completely-exhausted kind of way.

But I've also been getting a handle on the apartment, getting my ass in gear and really picking the place up.

Hope everyone's doing something fun today.

Shakespeare in the Park

Hey, Everybody! The New York Shakespeare Festival is doing As You Like It in the park now. Anyone interested in going?

One Night With You

Celebrity Sighting of the Day: actor Christian Slater, currently, but not for long, starring as Tom in the current Broadway revival of The Glass Menagerie, coming out of a bodega at the corner of 9th Avenue and 54th Street with a couple of bags of groceries and turning west onto 54th Street. Good to know we have the gentleman as a neighbour...run, ladies, run!

And I'm back from dinner and seeing the Broadway production of All Shook Up at the Palace Theatre again with my parents and their friends, a wonderful family visiting from South Africa. Dinner was at a favorite place of mine, The Hourglass Tavern. Mmmm...

All Shook Up was just as much fun as the last time I saw it. Jonathan Hadary was out of the show tonight and Michael X. Martin was on as Jim. I love Hadary, but I think Martin was even better in this particular role. I just believed it more from Martin than Hadary is all.

One thing I noticed even more than before was that blue suede shoes really do clash with absolutely everything. Why would anyone want such footwear?

After the show, we went to the stage door where Charlene, my new friend from bowling met us and gave us a royal tour of the Palace Theatre's backstage areas. She showed us some of the dressing rooms (which seem almost randomly laid out with no rhyme or reason), the green room, the wardrobe areas and the wings and stage. It was way cool.

The staircases leading from the basement areas to the stage are narrow and the one stage right is especially trecherous. I can't imagine how the women in the company do it at speed in heels. Of course, they are probably well used to it by now.

The wings at the Palace look like the funnest (and I know that's not a word) attic ever. The set pieces are strung up from the walls and the flies and there are bikes, motorcycles, and other props and set pieces everywhere. Everything used in this show is something you'd want to touch and play with and I was worried that the small child in our group would damage something. No problems though.

The only cast members we saw were Leah Hocking, as she was running about and Sharon Wilkins, who had guest in her dressing room. When we returned to the street, star Cheyenne Jackson was working the crowd, signing autographs and posing for pictures. If the size of the crowd (kept at bay by those metal crowd-control fences) is any indication, Jackson was at it for some time. But he seemed in his element and loving every minute of it. Be still my heart...

I was surprised to learn that his hair in the show is a wig. He likes to wear his real hair short and apparently his own hair isn't very co-operative when it comes to curling in just the right way as is necessary for the show. And it was amusing to note that HIS after-performance hair is no better than MY after-performance hair, meaning that it was sticking up weirdly in odd places and generally looked like he'd recently removed a wig. Hee...

So all-in-all a fun evening. Everyone enjoyed the show and the backstage tour was the icing on the cake. Whoo-Hoo!

At Least I Have Young Skin

Have you ever gotten a zit right there on your ass?

How does that happen? What can be done about it? I have this pimple that is right where I'm sitting and...yikes!

Still getting zits on my face at my age is awful enough, but...on my ass?!

What is this about?

Help!

Bowling and Backstage Tours

Last night, we bowled against The Hound Dogs, a team representing the Elvis Presley songbook musical All Shook Up. I scored an embarrassing 81 in the first game, but redeemed myself with a 120 in the second.

The best part was that I happened to be going to see All Shook Up again tonight with my parents and some friends of theirs who happen to be in town. When Charlene (of the Hair Department) heard this, she offered to give us a backstage tour after the show. WOW!

Can I tell you that I'm now the family star (at least for a little while)? My brother may have a wife and own a house, but I was able to score a backstage tour for my parents, their friends, and the friends' kids. HA HA HA...

I'm pretty excited too since I've never been backstage at the Palace. I'll let you know how it turns out.