Tuesday, February 28, 2006

"please excuse our mess"


the end of one day
and the start of the next
staying busy is great for many reasons
not so much so for others
i'm drained
i have nothing to say
and this is certainly
the point in time
when promising to write
once a day
every single day
for one full year
proves to be an almost impossible task
my eyesight is blurry
there's a dull ulcer-ish feeling in the pit of my stomach
what once was my mind now feels like mush
and i don't have a single interesting
story, experience, rumor or opinion
to share with you
i suppose
there is a lot going on in my personal life
but i'm not ready to talk about it
and it's true that
at least one of our actresses broke down in tears
during filming tonight
but i'm done writing about that movie
so, bear with me for a little bit
i beg of you
while i recoup, recharge and re-god knows what else
the dry spell will subside
this too shall pass
and in the meantime
i'm sorry
but from one hopeless, boring blogger
to the rest of you
all i can promise is that
i will be back

Monday, February 27, 2006

click, click, click


the aesthetic snob
inside of me
was kvetching today
at our shooting location
for the feature film i'm a part of

i'm sure that there are a million undiscovered treasures
i'm postitive that the people are some of the world's best
but queens, new york
could not be any uglier

driving down the litter strewn roads
en route to set
my eyes were bombarded with
run down row house after run down row house
an endless path of soulless highway
dirt, grime, cold, grey
and everything built of either concrete, rust or plastic molding
just nothing short of a visual nightmare

it got me to thinking that
big city dwelling is no life past a certain point
once you've reached a nondescript maturity level
you just understand that we aren't meant to live
one on top of the other
and with each filled dumpster that we passed
small town life began to look more and more appealing

yeah
i thought to myself
it'll be time to move on
before long
manhattan isn't so different from this place
just as cramped
just as cold

and then we crossed over the williamsburg bridge
and the city i love twinkled its billion dollar smile
at our carload of exhausted filmmakers

nothing like it in the world
no comparison
imaginable
new york, new york
there's no place like home

Sunday, February 26, 2006

foreign language


breathe
a slip
wet
the shower a hazard zone
save yourself
i cry
be safe
i whisper

don't know what to write
or do
every word holds the potential
for pain
what step to take
what part of myself deserves listening

too young
i feel
but too old
also

worried
afraid
the e.r. was not in the plan
and i'm so far away
too far away
to help

are you alright
i type
can you hear me
i type
am i in this all alone
i type

terrified
to act
and
terrified
not to

is it the risk
that worries me
or the risk
that turns me on

fireworks
explode
within my body
only one way to exit
only one way to put them out

the white picket fence
is not
i fear
in my immediate future
but it isn't too late
for you
to tell me what to do

why did feelings have to become
destructive
why did it have to happen
now

because
the voice bellows
it was all in the plan

Saturday, February 25, 2006

shoot!


day of filming
10-10
night of drinking
now

Friday, February 24, 2006

left is right


just purchased tickets
for
"Bring 'Em Home Now!"
a benefit concert
with
Michael Stipe
Rufus Wainwright
Fischerspooner
Peaches
and the ultimate rock star
Cindy Sheehan

March 20th
Ladies and Gentlemen
be there or be square
not a noble cause
but
a RIGHT cause
enough death
enough destruction

enough
enough
enough

OVER ONE TRILLION DOLLARS
spent on this war so far
call me crazy
but maybe some of that
OVER ONE TRILLION DOLLARS
could have gone to schools
call me crazy
but maybe some of that
OVER ONE TRILLION DOLLARS
could have gone to the environment
call me crazy
but maybe some of that
OVER ONE TRILLION DOLLARS
could have gone to New Orleans
or to America

to our highways
and our coast lines
to our cities
and our towns

some things just can't be forced on people
history will tell this tale
again and again

and we are not the world's police
because if we choose to be
then there is a WHOLE WORLD that needs policing

so pull out your check book
Mr. President
because as far as i can tell
it is people
excuse me
CORPORATIONS
like you
who are getting richer and richer
off of the death of others
and really that's the problem
DEATH

see, for some crazy reason
some of us loons
just can't wrap our minds around
invading a sovereign nation
that had never, ever done us harm
under false pretenses
and staying there
in the name of democracy
a concept that isn't understood or even wanted
by a majority of its people

in conclusion
Dick Cheney described the day
that he accidentally shot his friend in the face
as "one of the worst days of my life"
so what are we doing to the minds of
those men and women
who are fortunate enough to come home at all?
cause last time i checked
it wasn't bee-bee guns
that THEY were playing with

enough politics
for now
i'm sorry to carry on like this
lord knows, i could do it all day

if you listen to the deepest part of your heart
the part that guides you to do what's right
then it will lead the way

follow truth
understand pain
end war
now

in other concert news
i am COUNTING THE SECONDS to see this show...



literally COUNTING THE SECONDS

Thursday, February 23, 2006

TRUTH


Bill Maher may very well save our country.
His brilliant television program "Real Time" returned to HBO last week. And in concluding the hour long program, he finished with this entire pearl necklace of wisdom in regards to the current Bush Administration's wire tap controversy.


"So, yes, on the downside our lives here in America are now an open book. But on the upside, BUSH DOESN'T READ BOOKS!
And really people, if you're so worried about the privacy of your cell phone calls STOP MAKING THEM WHEN YOU'RE IN LINE AT STARBUCKS!
Please! Americans don't want privacy. They want ATTENTION! They'll put a camera in their shower and show it on the internet! To get on television they'll marry strangers and eat a cow's rectum and ice dance with Todd Bridges! They're TRYING to get on a show CALLED Big Brother!
We are a nation of exhibitionists. From ME to Shining ME! And what we really fear isn't that someone's listening. It's that NO ONE'S listening! This whole country is one big desperate cry for somebody to LISTEN TO ME! PHOTOGRAPH ME! GOOGLE ME! READ MY BLOG!!!"

[crowd erupts into uncontrollable laughter. He continues.]

"READ MY DIARY! READ MY MEMOIR! It's not interesting enough? I'll MAKE SHIT UP! Did you know that I could go on the internet right now under my alternate screen name (Cherry Triple X 69) and get complete strangers to email me a picture of their scrotum? I tell you this country gave the finger to privacy a long time ago. In fact, I have reason to believe I'm being videotaped RIGHT NOW!"

[crowd erupts again. He thanks his guests and then continues.]

"...That's our show!...THANK YOU FOLKS!"


I swear to you, the truth will set you free. It will. The truth will set you free.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

grey life


i remember the morning
that i went for that top button
no!
don't do it!
uh-oh!
here he goes!
and doing the unthinkable
buttoned it

a work whore
pussy-whipped by corporate america
another artistic spirit who has given in
shipped off
sold out
at least for the time being...

i remember the morning
that i went for that top button
what i don't remember
as clearly
is the morning
that it no longer seemed unnatural
to do so

course of life
undetermined
destiny
unclear
but what i do right now
is not who i am
by any means

so, push your papers
push them hard
but shed no tears
when they push back

paper cuts are a part of life

and while you're at it
scream your heart out
scream
and shout
because when you do
the world
uncomfortably
pretends it doesn't hear

i take my hat off to you
men and women
of the three piece suit
the sensible shoes
and the 9 to 5

that summer home
and company car
will never make up
for working in a cage
pushing the papers
pushing the papers
pushing the papers

not in my book anyway

most roads lead to good
if traveled with good intentions
i traveled this path
and my road leads somewhere else

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

"Your Song"


Go HERE to discover the excitement of finding out what song was #1 on the charts the day you were born! And in the meantime, also discover your Life's Theme Song (i.e. what was #1 on your 18th Birthday). I guarantee you won't regret it!

Much love to Miss Heather B for first pointing us all in this direction. And let me know what all of your songs ended up being! Mine actually makes more sense than I'd like to admit. Olivia Newton-John's "Physical" from my birth date of January 18th, 1982. And Savage Garden's "I Knew I Loved You" from the Big 1-8, January 18th, 2000.
Classics, I tell you, Classics!

Monday, February 20, 2006

day of rest


office closed
no filming today
only
cheese, wheat thins
and a
project runway marathon

afternoon bliss

immediately followed by
magic hat
caesar
and an overpriced brownie sundae
split two ways
amongst numerous post-collegiates
at a too-expensive-for-its-own-good
upper east side pub

it's late
for me
and a day of rest
should mean
a day of rest
so, no more for now

but

consider yourselves lucky
i could have written about
giving my seat up on the subway

and we all would've regretted that in the morning

Sunday, February 19, 2006

A Better Day...


Yesterday evening's shoot was far more enjoyable than the day before. No gratuitous crotch shots. No simulated butt sex. No standing in a room filled with strangers high on weed while wondering where this footage is going.

The director is incompetent, a dip-shit and a total moron. That much is certain. But everyone else affiliated with this project is actually pretty awesome. They are all enthuastic, down to earth, chill and hilarious. Plus, every other actor there (who wasn't a previous friend of the director) was so fed up with the way things were being handled that they would each individually launch into screaming fits nearly every hour on the hour.

Rick, the Hispanic actor who had been playing my father didn't even bother to show up. The entire scene then needed to be re-written. Another actor cast in a supporting role waited for many hours to shoot his scenes before finally giving up and leaving set. The beautiful and talented actress who's playing my character's "wife" stood in the center of our crowded room wearing her costumed satin, off-white wedding dress and proceeded to break down into tears while threatening to never come back again. The sight of which I may never forget... (She had been with the project since before the original three actors departed and rightfully feels she's given the experience every opportunity she can) And the woman playing my character's mother got so fed up at many points during filming delays that she could often be heard breaking into a barrage of swear words delivered entirely in song.

I pretty much just sat back and laughed.

So long as Puerto Rican crotch rot isn't swingin' in my face and I'm getting paid in the meantime, all's fine by me. But yesterday afternoon, in the Times Square subway station where I was switching from one train to the next on my way to the location, I was in a completely different state of mind. Nervous, angry and still reeling from being violated the night before, it was at this point that a thought came to me. Alone on the crowded platform I realized that...

When a situation looks bleak, when you just wish that you could fast forward to the time when it can all be over, Sometimes it's just better to appreciate that you're feeling something VERY DEEPLY.

It sure beats feeling nothing at all.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

WTF?


O.K. Last night was an experience that I will hopefully FOREVER forget! F-list filmmaking at it's finest!

Where to even begin? The scatter-brained and wholly unappreciative director who wasn't on set at the time I arrived? The entire production crew, made up mostly of the director's Texas friends, who treated the experience as just another excuse to smoke pounds and pounds of weed? The other two brand new actors (also just replaced that morning) who would now be playing my parents? Or the fact that the party scene we were filming consisted of about five people more or less pretending to be in a room crowded with celebrating party-goers?

Did I mention that the prop master, the production assistants and more than half of the party crowd decided to get up and UNANNOUNCED go to bed in the adjoining hotel room well before even a portion of the night's shots were filmed? No? Did I mention that apparently my character is half-Hispanic? No? Because the actor playing my father sure as shit is!

Maybe I just left these details out because I was too traumatized all evening long by the fact that this bachelor party scene included both a male and female stripper. The female stripper an "actress" friend of the director and the male stripper a man who turned out to actually be the real deal. Ordered, I imagine, in advance and paid for on the spot. The male stripper was a relatively pleasant and easy-going Latino man named Gabe who came dressed as a Cop. (Early on, this REALLY freaked out any of the crew members who had been participating in their pass-the-marijuana game) Through their haze of smoke I could tell that each of them was convinced he was a legitimate Officer of the Law.

During my first shot, a dancing scene that involved the male stripper entertaining the "crowd." Stripper Gabe initiated his routine by proceeding to grind himself upon my face, the smell of which I fear may haunt me for some time, and simulate positions I don't particularly feel comfortable disclosing here. I felt like I was Jennifer Connelly in "Requiem for a Dream" only I wasn't getting drugs out of the deal.

Luckily this all ended when I walked out of the shot, shocked that a director would allow something like this to happen without 1. First consulting me 2. Taking the time to block the movements or 3. At the very least discussing personal comfort levels with every single actor involved. I walked out of the shot and informed everyone in the room that I in no way felt comfortable with the nature of the material or the way that it was being handled and that from this point forward if they wished for me to continue in the role I would be acting as an observer of this stripper and not as a participant.

At the end of the evening I was apologized to profusely for the way that the entire shoot was being run and I was thanked for my candor, honesty and willingness to discuss my inherent concerns. I informed the leading members of the crew that I am not an actor who needs to be babied. I am not an actor who needs his hand held or to be patted on the back after each take. I am an actor who has worked on student and independent films before and one who is capable of handling controversial material. But the way that they were running their shoot was completely unnacceptable. I was promised that nothing like this would ever happen again during the course of filming and was surprised to be informed that the project was not a student film at all, as I had first been led to believe, but a seventy minute feature that would be filming through the beginning of March. And, more importantly, a film that comes accompanied with full actor's pay.

These people have one more chance.

The morning shots back at the Embassy Suites Hotel were scrapped because my Puerto Rican pappi has another engagement he needed to attend. But I will be headed to a church on the Upper West Side shortly to begin filming what is supposed to be my character's Wedding scene. I have no qualms about being the second, third or fourth actor to walk away from this production. I have never in my life experienced the sensation of being so outside myself. I have never in my life felt more violated (AND ON FILM). And I have never in my life been more amazed at just how unprofessional people can be.

Friday, February 17, 2006

"Wake Up Call"


My phone has been acting up recently and sometimes I don't receive calls, only the messages that arrive without ringing. It was five days ago, while still in Florida, that I found myself disappointed at a particular message I had gotten one lazy afternoon.
"Hello, Chris? We were wondering if you can fill in for a supporting role in a New York Film Academy final thesis that will be shooting the 17th through the 20th of February? Please let us know as soon as possible your availability for those particular dates..."

I was disappointed to receive this call not because I'm not interested in working as an actor or because I have a personal hatred for the New York Film Academy, but because when I rang back only minutes later, the powers that be delivered the news that the small role had already been filled. I wished them well on their project and made it my best effort to get off the phone as quickly as possible. "Oh well, ho-hum. It wasn't meant to be" came out of my mouth. While "Damn, I can't even book a supporting role in a Student Film" rumbled deep inside the pit of my stomach.

It should come as no surprise then that I found myself more than a little taken off guard when I received a similiar phone call at 8:30 am this morning.
"Hello, Chris? We've had an actor leave us and were wondering if you would be able to join our film for the next four days. You will now be playing the lead role of David in my autobiographical film, "The Closet Door."

I was emailed the script for tonight's shoot this morning and filming begins this evening at an Embassy Suites in Battery Park. It continues through the rest of the long weekend at that location and concludes at a church on the Upper West Side. All I know is that I'm playing a man named David and that he is gay, a Canadian and is marrying a woman so that he can get his greencard. Comedy? Dunno. Tragedy? No clue. Nude scenes? Let's hope not.

The life of an actor.
One day you're out and the next day, it's go-time.
Well, I guess, we should now make that showtime.
Eh-hem.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Vintage II


Originally written in my journal
April 14, 2005

About a year ago, in my last semester of school, I was given an assignment at my Film and Television Acting Studio. Two days ago, buried in the back of an old binder, I found the results.


"Letter to Me as a 9 year old person"

Wow. I'm so confused. I don't know what I want to do or what these feelings are inside of me or why I don't belong better. I want friends. Why don't I have real friends? What is the matter with me and what do I need to do to belong? I love art. I love it. I love drawing and painting and sculpture and photography. I like to make things because I know that they will be here forever. And I know that I will not be. I'm ready to be old. I'm ready to live somewhere in a big city like Orlando and be an animator and then I can work at Disneyworld and be around the Disney movies before anyone else and help to draw the characters and create new ones like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. I would love to draw all day long and be around the magic of the Disney Kingdom and live where it is warm and sunny and I would be grown up and have a house and a yard and palm trees of my own. I don't know what feelings are inside of me. So many of them don't make sense but they still feel good for some reason. anyway. I like my family but I don't have good friends and I would like them. I wish I was better at sports cause I think it would make dad happier and Will is good at sports and I can see that that makes dad happy. I wish I could make him proud like Will seems to. I think that some of the boys that play sports with Will look good and seem nice but I don't belong with them. I'm too grown up for them. I'd rather be in my room.


"Letter to Me as an 80 year old person"

Wow. Where did all these years go? My body hurts. I feel achey and tired and I sleep all day long. What have I done with my life? I feel like I did so much but what has it all amounted to? I had two kids. I love them so much and now they have big kids of their own. I was open and honest and gay in a time when it was a little scary to be so. I loved and I lost and loved some more and here at the end it is just me. I spent WAY too much time worrying about getting sick when I should have lived just a little bit more. I was pretty damn crazy in my day though. I didn't have nearly enough sex. I spent far too much time alone. I still miss my parents. I so miss so many people. The things that mattered in my life were my family and art- in all its forms. The love that I felt which was never felt in return, the love that was felt towards me which I couldn't force upon myself. The beauty of the day to day. The magic of youth. The endless fears and possibilities. Wow I'm old. Sleep suits me now. I've lived in full. Success and failure. The hard and effortless. The blessings- all of them. Thank you for life. It is truly magic and in some small, important way - so was I.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

spring, start, light, breathe, green


i woke up this morning to the sound of birds chirping
now i know nothing about birds, but whatever the species, it had to of been the exact same kind that i would wake up to every morning in my hometown of fayetteville, arkansas
very nostalgic
the whole day continued in this fashion
the morning sun felt like elementary school
the dew smelled of dawn darkness and adolescence
liriope popped out as a familiar friend
while feelings of spring were everywhere
well, spring and easter and fayetteville
the new school and possibility and home
sharp afternoon sun beat down upon the racket ball courts and sent a flashbulb memory of myself lying in the grass while reading "the stranger" for the first time
when no doubt's "don't speak" hummed from the car radio i was shocked to be reminded that the song was over ten years old
even the taco bell we stopped into alongside the highway harkened back to hour long lunch breaks and the dramas of high school
the flight was like so many before it
and now i'm safely "home"
a new nostalgia
sad to be away from the place i feel so right in
but glad to know i feel right here too

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Happy Valen-TIMES Day!








love is what it's all about.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Magical Kingdom


go there
be the child you once were
all it takes is a ticket
and free reign to
run, jump, laugh, sing, play
the magic never leaves you
it only rests
waiting for that special day
when you
will once again
set it free

Sunday, February 12, 2006

The Higher


This afternoon was a cold and rain soaked day in Central Florida. Matthew realized mid morning that he had an afternoon preparatory course scheduled for his MCAT exam and informed me that he would be needed on campus between the hours of one and four. After a brief period spent considering my options I agreed to join him on campus, where he told me I'd be able to either sit in one of the student centers using the internet or browse the University library. Once parked in the cold, soulless garage and past the still lush outdoor common area known as Martin Luther King Jr. Plaza, Matt ordered a large coffee and then made his way up the stairs to wherever it was he needed to be.

Lost in a way, but not at all afraid, I began to wander the corridors of the Marshall Center just like an alumni wanders the halls of his alma mater or a traveler makes a path down the quiet streets of a foreign land. I was at once of this place and not of it. I was at once familiar and unaware. Passing down marbled halls, it wasn't long before I came to a large, open study center housing no more than one or two burrowed students. Truth be told, the entire campus seemed a ghost town to me. The cold outside only accentuating the emptiness of these once and again bustling rooms. It was honestly with some surprise that I began to hear voices. They were coming from a not at all far off place. And when I turned, just slightly to my left, I witnessed a sight that would come to shift and affect me in ways I would never have dreamed.

Today I was saved. By the lord and his people.

Through one large glass window directly connected to a University housed study room I saw a handful of men and women, all black, some of them dressed in their Sunday's best and all standing with their hands raised, shifting to the power of a higher being. Transfixed, I kept walking with the awareness that it is rude to stare, but only a few feet ahead came upon a second equally sized pane of glass. The room was now visible in full. Twenty or thirty individuals stood in this brightly lit, tan walled room. I now saw that two of these individuals were white. All were listening to an enormous barrel chested man speak in a welcoming, even inspiring baritone. I watched in silence, really unable to move away. Perhaps a full minute passed before an older woman standing at the front of this gathering beckoned me inside with a nod, smile and movement of her hand.

Once through the glassed sterile doors, I nervously took an empty seat at the far back of this tiny, square shaped room. The man who was speaking soon finished and made his way immediately towards the back. Before taking a seat in the one chair beside me he extended his hand and asked my name. A simple song began to play on an electric piano and the woman who had beckoned me inside, dressed all in white from her feathered hat to her ruffled skirt, began to sing. The words of the song were unclear to me but everyone else seemed to be familiar, as they all immediately proceeded to chant along with her. At first I believed the lyrics to be, "Remain Whole" and I still think this to be the correct interpretation. But at times the congregation also seemed to be singing "Remain Home" and even later perhaps the words, "We're Made Whole."

The room was filled primarily with African Americans but the diversity amongst this community was astounding. Families, children, infants, the mentally handicapped and the alone all filled the folding chairs that had informally been positioned into rows. A white mother bent down to whisper into the ear of her caramel colored son. A beautiful light skinned girl stared back at me for the longest time as her little sister with matching braids fidgeting in the chair before her. Valentine's Day candy was to be found littering many of the empty seats and periodically a father would leave the room, only to return with a fresh bag of Miss Vickie's potato chips in hand.

After a good little while, a Circle Prayer was initiated and color rushed to my cheeks as I was asked if I'd like to come to the front and be prayed for. I answered back meekly, "Yes" and made my way up to the front of the crowd. Once beside the makeshift altar and hand in hand with an older man who smelled of cocoa butter and baby powder and an older woman who smelled mostly like my grandmother, neither of whom I'd ever laid eyes on before, the prayer began. There were maybe three groups of people, with some of the congregation still opting to remain seated. I can't speak for the other two groups but there were five of us holding hands where I stood, not including a young child. One of the church leaders began to pray for the only caucasian woman, whose five year old son stood beside her, never once losing contact. The title "Lord God" was used between 100 and 300 times over the course of this session and was often used after just one other word. The phenomenon sounded something like this, "Lord God we're praying Lord God for Jessica's eyes Lord God! Help her Lord God to see Lord God! Lord God help her to see life Lord God for what it is Lord God!"

The momentum and volume gained steadily as the prayers continued to flow. We prayed for everything from Jessica's eyes (which apparently afflict her) to her parent's health and the struggles of her past. I noticed a few minutes into these proceedings that tears had started to flow steadily down Jessica's face and that her boy had clung even tighter to her. "Lord God we PRAY Lord God for Jessica to overcome the turmoils Lord God of her PAST Lord God! Lord God we pray Lord God for her SON Lord God! Lord God we pray for her family Lord God! Lord God we pray for HER!" Before very long Jessica's tears had so fully overcome her that she collapsed to the floor, nothing more than a throbbing, lowered life filled all at once with hurt and faith and belief and love.

"You've just encountered...You've just had an encounter WITH Jesus" was giggled out later on by the woman dressed in white who I would come to know as Pastor Carolyn. Along with what I imagined was her husband, a man who introduced himself as Pastor Hill, I was welcomed into the Christ in New Ministries Church, a group of people who in describing themselves said, "We're small but we're Powerful." None of this, however, happened before I was more or less inducted into this gathering. After the circle prayers had ended, Jessica had composed herself and I'd once again taken my seat in the back, certain that my time in the spotlight was over. I, very unexpectedly and along with another newcomer named Will, was called to the front of the church so that the two of us could "pray for each other. "

And so, I once again made my way up the aisle and after a brief introduction found myself hand in hand with this almost purple colored man, a late twenty something who wore a huge tucked-in plaid shirt reminiscent of Burberry and who looked more serious than I even felt capable of. Each of my hands in each of his, heads lowered, this stranger and I stood before a gathering of complete strangers. It was all just too surreal. Some words were uttered by Pastor Carolyn and despite the fact that my eyes were shut as tightly as I knew how, the quivering that shook my hands and the sound that filled my ears informed me that this young man named Will, this young man whose hands were tightly clasped to mine, was crying.

A hard, silent weep shook his body, and thusly mine. This man was moved by either God or prayer or acceptance or perhaps just the touch of another human being standing before this group of people, keeping him from standing there alone. At any rate, he was moved to a feeling that actually frightened me, deeply rattling my nerves. I held on for some time to this person who I'd never, ever know. I held on not for my benefit but for his. I held on not for my life but for the life of every person in the room. And I held on not because I necessarily had faith in me but because I certainly had faith in something higher.

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Line of Reason


i respect writers
i admire their lives
there is value in words
i aspire

Watching "Capote" this evening from the small Florida movie theater attached to the back side of a vast and brightly lit mall, I worried once the picture began that I would be unable to overcome the situation my friends and I had found ourselves in. The screen showed smoke grey skies followed by a desolate landscape. A house stood quietly in the distance with nothing but yellowed emptiness to shield its exterior from the winter's cold. Picture after picture glowed before us and with each new image (devoured immediately by my hungry eyes) a sharp, rigid vertical line vibrated and shifted to the left side of the screen. What was this odd and out of place string of movement doing in a film produced during our digital age? Was it a scratch in the film? A grating directorial choice? I wasn't sure.

"This is gonna get annoying," I whispered into Matt's ear, not twenty seconds into the movie. "Don't pay attention to it," he whispered back. And miracle of miracles, I didn't. A good five or ten minutes passed before the "uniqueness" that is my mind was fully able to shut the annoyance out. And eventually the scratch of movement just went away. Granted, it wasn't long before this original string was replaced by a newer, brighter and even more motion filled vertical line shifting and shaking, now at the far right side of the picture. And in addition to these stadium screen sized technical difficulties, the crack of light that peeked through an uneven floorboard to the right of my periphery was also a nuisance. As was the phone that rang during the film's most quiet scene. As was the steady hum grunting from the projector's booth. As was lord knows what else.

Anything can get under my skin. Even the sound of this keyboard from time to time. My eyes and ears are unnaturally in tune with the world at large. And my brain refuses to let any of it off easy. But, I was taught a valuable lesson tonight. A lesson that I have tried to teach myself over and over again. But one that apparently only needed to be whispered into my ear by someone who I trust.

"Don't pay attention to it."

And, with time "uniquely" enough, I didn't.

Friday, February 10, 2006

dr. phil


tonight will be dancing
in the meantime i wait

relationships are interesting
they will take you to places that you never would dream of
and shapeshift in ways you could never have planned

when you find it
hold on
grip ever tighter and tighter
reminding yourself that it's real

get past the hard times
get past your negativity
work
work
work
because honestly
that's what it takes

every morning will bring a new challenge
every evening will bring a new joy

as a single person
which i was for decades upon decades...
i would always say in agony
to a friend over cocktails
or a roommate beside the tv
"life is not meant to be spent alone"
"we were designed to walk side by side"

i stand by that notion
we are better in pairs
more alive, more awake to the world
and somehow
more ourselves

right now
i am happy to be in front of the computer
in the dark
with lindsey asleep beside me
and my boyfriend away
off at work

sometimes the awareness
of his existence in the world
is all that i need to keep going

be you single or married
engaged or alone
hold tight to the notion of love
if that is a feeling that guides you

tonight will be dancing
in the meantime i wait

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Cursing Down at Me


Central Florida seems to consist nearly entirely of chain restaurants. So, driving down a strip of highway it is in no way abnormal to pass a Chili's followed by a Denny's, a Bennigan's followed by a Houlihan's, and a Cracker Barrel followed by a Golden Corral. It was after dining at one of these "fine establishments" earlier this afternoon that I found myself suddenly and unexpectedly needing to quote un-quote use the facilities. Seeing as I was in public, browsing a Borders Books and Music to be specific, and would be wholly unable to wait until we returned home. It was without hesitation that I headed for the nearest restroom.

Once inside and "seated," if you will, I found myself impressed by how calmly I was handling the situation. Usually a mess when it comes to the public toilet department, I had absolutely no qualms or reservations whatsoever about droppin' my cosby kids off at the pool. Despite the presence of the gentleman sitting in the stall beside me, who it appeared was 1. enjoying the contents of an entire newspaper (the pages of which could be heard loudly and crisply shifted every half minute or so) and 2. had proceeded to remove both his shoes (as they were practically all the way past the shared partition and well into my side). For all I knew it was a manager on his break. But whoever it was, he sure was taking his sweet time.

It wasn't, however, this man's presence or even my grace under pressure that struck me most. It was instead the sight of what the numerous other "patrons" who had donned this seat before me had chosen to do with their free time. Carved into nearly every surface of the three half walls that surrounded me were messages, warnings and quips meticulously hand-crafted by the countless prior individuals. Now anyone who has attended a public restroom before is familiar with this phenomenon. And, if so, what I'm about to say will come as no surprise. But it just hit me as especially odd, slightly amusing and only a bit messed up that of all the infinite things that a person could choose to express regarding his personal situation, his beliefs or even his state of mind that all anyone could seem to come up with was obscenity after obscenity.

"FUCK YOU"
"no fuck your mother"
"You wish, bitch"
"Ha Ha on her face!"
"yeah, yeah WHAT HE SAID motherfucker!"

This sort of thing continued on and on for nearly 360 degrees, up, down and side to side, for as far as the eye could see. Just an ocean of countless insults and scripted smack downs carved into the thick plastic laminate and delivered from one stranger to another. People who would never meet. People who if they did would never know in the first place. I was left sitting there, with nothing better to do, wondering first why so many people carry around pocket knives or objects sharp enough to carry out such a task? And also, more importantly, where does a drive of this nature even come from? Is it expressing a deeper rage in as passive a way as possible? Is it just another form of sticking it to the man (in this case Corporate America and its affinity for the bookstore/ entertainment/ coffee shop hybrid)? Or is it simply passing the time, a way to amuse yourself as you relieve your body of whatever it is you just ate?

Maybe I'll never know the answer. Maybe it runs deeper than I could ever imagine. But I do know that to destroy public property and express hateful, empty words, even in as harmless or as comical a venture as this, seems to me an utter waste of time.

You won't find that sort of thing here, not on this blog anyway. I won't let this endeavor devolve into a bathroom wall. There are always about a million more significant things to say besides "Your Mother." But if that's more your sort of thing, then I'm sure you need look no further than your local 7-11, Barnes and Noble, Chick Fil-A or even High School locker room. The popularity of childish, bathroom humor is as timeless as a Chanel suit. And the best part is that the exercise is more or less a team sport. Everyone gets a say, there are absolutely no repurcussions and you can never go too far.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

SURPRISE!


carried off without a hitch,
i am not good at keeping these things quiet
so it's been a miracle really,
and a VERY long month

this morning i arrived
tampa, florida
matthew's birthday
the surprise to end all surprises

the call went something like this,
"happy birthday baby!
work sure is boring, wish i were there with you"
and him,
"yeah, me too, i really wish you could be here also..."
thirty seconds later
cut to
me storming in through the front door
as he sat mouth agape
roommate poised and ready with the digital camera
shock
excitement
uncertainty
joy

is it real?
it is.
is it you?
it's me.

i'll be here for a week
don't think for a second that i was gonna spend valentine's day alone!
and i'm not the one finishing my last semester of school,
so i can allow myself the flexibility to travel

it'll be an amazing seven days
god willing
it's hard when something like this is a surprise
hard to believe
hard to plan
hard to prepare for
i've been leaving subtle hints
coaxing him to save a little spending cash and keep the schedule relatively clear, without giving too much away

BUT
on his plate:
a full class load, mcat prep course and four shifts in the next three days alone
on my plate:
a whole hell of a lot of free time
and a dog
who has traveled down south in a carry-on to keep yours truly company, and maybe pick up a suntan of her own in the meantime

so, Thank You Lindsey!
for all your help in planning this
i truly would not have been able to do it without you
and Happy Birthday Baby!
you deserve all the happiness in the world

on your special day
22 years old
you say that you feel older,
i know the way that goes
but don't you worry yourself
we'll keep things spontaneous, light, exciting and fun

a surprise
a little planning
and a lot of love are all you need

to stay forever young.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

When every day seems small


remember that it isn't.

Monday, February 06, 2006

magic


spinning, turning
the wheels shift forward
excessive planning required
for change afoot

who knows the outcome
neither you nor i
but on the edge of our seats
we remain

the saying applies
as much now as ever

"only time will tell"

and in retrospect
we'll yearn
for those wondrous moments
before
the outcome was known

Sunday, February 05, 2006

SUPER


ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?

Good, cause that makes one of us...
I'm headed out of state to the former home of Gloria "Sunset Boulevard" Swanson, where the infamous "I'm ready for my close-up Mr. Demille" scene was filmed, for MY Super Bowl party. There are rumored to be hundreds of guests, tents, flat screen TVs, catering from some of the best restaurants in Manhattan and a spread that includes such choices as sushi, chinois and lord knows what else.

I've informed everyone who will listen that my attendance is based solely on the stipulation that I can and WILL be the official cheerleader. (And that I don't actually have to watch even one second of the game...) It should be a lot of fun!

Mostly I'm just looking forward to the Miss Piggy, Jessica Simpson Pizza Hut commercial. Because, seriously, if we've learned anything at all it's that, "These Bites were made for Poppin'! And that's just what they'll Do!"

Plus, you never know who will pop a titty out!

Alright, gotta get my game face on! Wish me luck!

Saturday, February 04, 2006

mercy train


en route to brooklyn this evening
via train
and after maybe one too many cocktails
i noticed a man
with particularly horrible skin
and for some reason
mentioned to the friend of mine standing beside me
whose twin is a pastor
"hey maybe your brother can cure that guy
like, you know, what was that disease... in the bible?"
"leprosy?"
"yeah, that"

within a moment or two
it didn't take any longer
my mind answered back
what was that remark all about?
where would it have even come from?

"that's sad"
i immediately spewed forward
"what's sad?"
my friend asked in response
"that i said that..."
and then, a moment or two later
"it's not sad,"
he replied
"it's just mean"

head lowering
awareness
nod

we continued on our ride under water
laughing as if nothing had changed
but it had become clear to me
after just one silly, stupid statement

practice what you preach
i say
to self
practice what you preach

Friday, February 03, 2006

The Streets


This evening, after leaving work, I walked from 51st Street on the East Side to 42nd Street on the West Side and then continued down a good long ways, managing to cross back over to the East Side and then well past Houston Street, where I currently live.

For anyone familiar with New York proper, you'll know it was a good long trek. But, despite what a very notorious Groundhog might have seen, Spring does seem to be peeking its warm and wet head back out at us New Yorkers. At least for the time being. And a deeper calling from inside of me overruled my usual laziness and demanded to be a part of it.

I didn't encounter any fascinating individuals or scandalous celebrities crawling out of their hotels as I made my way southbound from place of work to place of rest. I didn't come to any firm resolutions as to where my life was headed or how I felt about the events of the day. I didn't even listen to my ipod and experience the vast array of emotions that usually accompany the combination of music matched with Manhattan.

I just walked. Drifting between observer of the outside world and observer of the inside. Always watching a little more carefully as I crossed street after street after street, still stunned by the vehicular tragedies of the past few weeks. I zoned in and out of what is shaping up to be an all-together unremarkable life as I made my way the sixty sum-odd blocks home.

And now I'm writing about it. And you're reading about it. Isn't it all just so interesting, these lives we lead? The absolute normalcy of it all.

I write that with unwavering sarcasm. But, the truth is that normalcy can be a blessing, when faced with the alternative. I watched the film "Crash" tonight for the first time. For a film so intrinsically about racism and its dangers, I was struck even more deeply by its theme of violence. We all carry rage inside of us, that much is certain. It is only what we have available during our moments of rage that determines the fates of our lives as well as the fates of the people who we come into contact with. In response to this reality I have only one statement to make.

Sensible Gun Legislation.

Sensible Gun Legislation.

Sensible Fucking Gun Legislation.

We should not live in a country where it is easier to obtain a gun than a passport. We should not live in a country where a momentary explosion of involuntary rage results in an unexpected death. We were not designed to hurt one another, but we do. We were not designed to starve, but we are. We were not designed to have no chance at a better education, but that is now the case. And we were not designed to hate, but its existence is everywhere.

I am often left feeling helpless, worn down by the sensation that I don't know WHAT to do. Except to express the fundamentals of acceptance and peace to any and every person who will listen or read or converse or overhear. Because what you do and say and act out and believe matters to at least one person, I guarantee it. And what that one person does and says and acts out and believes maybe even matters to two.

The truth of the matter is that we are starving and failing and killing ourselves. The time has, without question, arrived to ask ourselves why? But much more importantly, the time has, without question, arrived to ask ourselves how do we kill it?

Now.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

business/ trip


"over the bridges
and past jersey
to phil-a-delphia i go..."

an important business meeting
MY business for a change
well worth the day long excursion

but please
promise yourself that you won't book a trip
to the land of the cheesesteak
anytime soon

mishap after mishap
like a screwball comedy
only i wasn't laughing
a hidden chinatown bus line
a water spillage resulting in my now defunct camera
about a million screaming kids
and every single person
in every single language
speaking on their cell phones
VERY LOUDLY
for two straight hours

oh, the bus ride was a dream
let me tell you
and things didn't get much easier once i arrived

but a success
through and through
to think, the lengths an actor will go to
for that zero point zero zero chance
that something will go right
for a change

Hell, we all need SOMETHIN' to tell Oprah.

at home tonight
FINALLY
i rewarded myself

some choose liquor
others a joint
for me, just sushi
and a fresh "will and grace"
which actually made me cheer
at their darkness
and their warmth

you don't really get it
as a very young person
looking up to these single and "fabulous"
fictional characters
carrie bradshaw
ally mcbeal
will truman
grace adler
their lives seem so exciting
who needs love when you have a roommate and a bank account?

but it's hard
it's sad
it's lonely
and rarely is it ever funny

i applaud that show
haters be damned
it could take itself more seriously
in my nuanced opinion
it should have always let the emotional moments land
for at least a second or two longer
before a character launched back
into their next pratfall or prank
but there's not much out there that deserves the title of
"groundbreaking"
and this does.

i remember sitting in the living room
of my childhood home
pimply faced
nervous
scared
and "will and grace" came on the television
i somehow ended up watching it
with my parents in the room
well, watched them watch it was more like it
to see how they'd react

they laughed

and another small piece chipped away
my heart began to entertain the notion that,
you can consider not being afraid of the feelings you were born with
you can consider not hating yourself
you can consider laughing at the beauty inside of you
with the knowledge that you are not alone
in this sad, sad world
at all.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

just another day at the office...


confused, might describe it
hurt might as well
oh, what a day
what a day

i won't go into details

to do so would be neither
smart
nor
appropriate
but it goes without saying
that to be laid off from your job
then told it was just a mistake
all in the course of a day
is a situtation
that I've never found myself in before

a thank you and a week's severance
are all there is to cling to
with a handshake
and a goodbye
your only friends

shell-shocked
embarrassed
ashamed
all of these flood the edges of my brain
as i sit
prisoner to the office that holds me
afraid to exit at all
unable to look anyone in the face

"not our department"
"budget cuts"
"number crunching"

elsewhere

luckily for us,
an error on their part
could happen to anyone
i am sure

we are safe
but
corporate america
my lord
these kinds of mistakes
should not be taken lightly
a full apology
expected
soon
but wouldn't be surprised
if all i get is an email
"oops"
"we'll need your schedule for the upcoming week"
"sincerely..."

is it possible for something to be
"unexpected" and "typical"
at the same time?

i guess we'll wait and see
bright and early in the morning

but in the meantime
i will remind myself
quietly yet often
that
i matter, i'm human
and

i am not a number.

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