wish granted

go ahead
ask her urself

You "Tarzan!" Me "WHAT?"

Now, I don't usually do bitchy gossipy posts like this one. But as a huge fan of anything Disney and particularly anything Disney on Broadway, I just found it to be too hilarious that the long-maned, tan-skinned man standing on the left in the pictures below (and I use the title of "man" in the loosest sense of the word) will be playing the lead role of Tarzan in Disney's upcoming Broadway musical, now in previews at the Richard Rodgers Theatre.








These photos were discovered recently on the actor's Friendster profile. And frankly, I'm just wondering how much longer they'll last up there before the execs at ABC/Disney get their mits on them. In case you were wondering, the blonde gentlemen in most of the pics is Tarzan's very supportive "roommate" Jimmy.

Literally, this actor Josh Strickland could not be any more beautiful or aesthetically perfect for the part. But then again he could not be any more effeminate either.

As an alum of both "Star Search" and "American Idol" he's probably got the pipes to match that bod. But something tells me that it's gonna take a little more than an oversized loincloth to make up for this lady's undeniable qualities.

I'm thinking that maybe Tuesday through Thursday he can play Tarzan and perhaps the rest of the week he'll just step in for the role of Jane.

Now maybe many of you are thinking, "But, Oh Chris! It's Musical Theatre! They're ALL gay!" And to that my response is that first of all, No actually they're not. Second of all, This isn't just any old Broadway chorus boy, but the role of uber-macho-jungle-dude Tarzan. And thirdly, We all have to remember that this is DISNEY we're talking about here. And their interest in a performer who they've invested millions of dollars into is extremely involved. After all, they've got both merchandising AND little girls to think about now!

Ah, who the hell am I kidding? I wouldn't even be "outing" this dude if I thought that more than a handful of people read this stinkin' blog. To clear the air, I hope that Mr. Josh Strickland wins the Tony Award come June. And before he takes to that shining stage at Radio City Music Hall I hope that he leans over to give his "roommate" Jimmy a big fat one on the lips.

I hope so. I really do. A boy can dream that the worlds of Big Business commercialism and basic human truths can co-exist in both harmony and profit.

But, then again, I won't be at all surprised if come Opening Night, our beloved Tarzan's Friendster profile is removed and he suddenly finds himself with a new real-life "Jane" on his arm, smiling just as broadly and awkwardly as he'll be.

mission: implausible

there are people who go to the gym every single day.
i see them there.
they scare me.
gorgeous men and women. probably all relatively intelligent.
wasting their lives away behind the ellipticals or under the barbells.
"does that guy come in here every night?"
i asked matt, one of the crunch employees, earlier this evening.
"oh yeah, every day. Literally Every Day."
he replied.
"They become addicted. You will too."
"um."
i said back, with an all too eager smile on my face.
"no i won't."
i mean.
seriously, i just don't get it.
the gym is definitely growing on me.
most of me genuinely loves the feeling of going there.
accomplishing a task.
and heading home refreshed.
but every single day?
isn't there so much more to be experienced in life?
isn't there simply so much more that a person could be doing?
i think that this is what bothers me most about exercise.
not health conscious exercise.
but exercise with the goal of an extreme physical transformation.
you know.
sculpted abs.
enormous biceps.
perfect calves.
it all seems so temporary.
it's the reason that i don't cook.
ever.
if i'm going to spend an hour creating something.
i want it to last.
i want to be able to pull it out.
dust it off.
and show it to my grandkids.
i don't want you to just be able to shit it out four hours later.
that's temporary.
like those perfect abs.
they will not last.
and so these gym freaks work out every single night.
night after night.
knowing that their ideals of perfection must be constantly maintained.
sure an extra dessert won't kill those obliques.
and of course missing one day of weight training won't destroy your pecs.
but enough of it.
enough of life's little casual enjoyments.
will.
so when do you stop?
do you work out every day until the afternoon you finally keel over mid mile on the treadmill?
or do you eventually say.
this is my life.
not yours.
i want to live it healthily.
but FULLY as well.
i value what i was born with.
and i do not want to destroy it.
break it apart.
and build it back again six times larger in some areas.
and ten times smaller in others.
to be perfectly honest.
yes.
i want to be healthy.
and.
yes.
i want a perfect body too.
but i want it on my terms.
and those don't involve living in the sterile, halogen-lit sweat chambers of crunch fitness day in and day out.
it's true that part of me can't help but look ahead.
nervously.
in anticipation of the day that i don't aspire to greatness quite so strongly.
those 35 year old men look half their age.
what with all the time they've invested in themselves.
and they certainly make a mighty strong point.
but i suppose.
that you.
like them.
just have to do what feels right for yourself.
perhaps fitness, to some, truly is life.
the beginning, middle and end of it.
but if.
perhaps.
it isn't that way for you.
never, ever ask yourself.
am i still attractive?
can i still be healthy?
or do i still count?
because you are.
you can be.
and you do.
each and every one of us.
in each and every size.

"the Last word"

J: "Sex isn't a leisure activity."

C: "What is sex then?"

J: "Sometimes it's a revelation... Sometimes it's fun... Sometimes it's scary... Sometimes it's tepid."

C: "Which is it with your friend? I'm interested. I've never been with a transsexual."

J: "That's a personal question."

C: "I only ask questions that are personal. Questions that can not be answered by a textbook. Besides I'm writing an article."

J: "About sex with a transsexual?"

C: "Unfortunately no. Just a very silly article for a very silly magazine. Gay travel destination. So I'd like to know what it's like here for you and uh..."

J: "Max... Why is your article silly?"

C: "Because I think every place should be a gay travel destination. We limit ourselves with these stupid..."

J: "Labels."

C: "Labels."

Vintage III

Originally written in my journal
April 15, 2005

In recognition of my first official tax season and due to the fact that I saw the very money-centric musical "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on Broadway tonight, I can't help but be reminded of my encounter a little over a week ago when I first paid my own taxes...

After putting off what was certain to be an arduous and terrifying encounter for months, and after completely missing my first appointment, I was no less than thrilled to meet Josie, the 300 lb. salt and pepper haired H&R Block employee who would be assisting me in filing my taxes as a host/server for the year 2005. It was clear from the moment we first met that Josie was just about the most fun and (unintentionally) amusing human I'd ever met.

We talked. She gave me the ins-and-outs of the tax game. And in her blunt "New Yawk" kind of way assured me that next year I'd be filing not as a Server but as an Actor.

Josie had the sort of self-assured certainty that forced me to sit up straight and consider believing in myself. She went on and on about the endless possibilities that lay ahead of me. And how each of them could be applied to saving money come next year's tax date.

"D'jou gotta' good build. D'ja hand-soome. All d'jou godda' doo is make Twenty fi' bucks doin' some-tin and d'jou file as an Act-uh. Write off ya' Hae-cuts, d'ja Moo-vie Tickets, d'ja Entuh-tane-munt magazines. D'jou gotta' nice build so d'jou can doo dat."

I loved Josie.

We seemed to gab for hours. I honestly couldn't get enough of her. "Ah we dun he-ah uh whut?" she'd ask after having spent the last half hour unnecessarily explaining the purpose of a W2. Before I'd immediately shoot back, "Ooooh, now wait a second Miss Josie Girl! What was that you were calling these pieces of paper here? Were they a One Thousand Ninety Nine? A Ten Nine then Nine? A One Zero Nine slash Nine? Oh Josie! I'm just sooooo confused!"

By the time I finally walked out of that H&R Block Outlet on East Houston and Avenue A, wishing every day could be tax day, I grinned big and from ear to ear alone on that street. Not because I knew I'd be getting almost $1000 back from the government but because I'd been given an even bigger gift that afternoon.

Josie had told me, in her own special way, that I could do it.



March 27, 2006

And she was right.
Despite acting being nowhere near my predominant source of income, due to a few specific gigs, this year I was in fact able to file as an actor. Thusly writing off everything from my "Moo-vie Tickets" to my "Hae-cuts."

And when I greeted Josie today with a great big "How are you!?" She deadpanned back (as only Josie can pull off) "PISSED." Before launching into a tirade on everything from her carpal tunnel and how she missed acupuncture this morning, to the recent discovery that somebody's been sneaking into her bank account to buy trinkets on eBay. "Can d'jou frickin' bee-leeve dat? I'm PISSED! I reely yam."

I'd missed Josie! Picking up with her was almost as if no time had ever passed at all! Today we even got into her love life! After clicking the "single" button on my tax form Josie asked me, "So when d'ju tink d'ju gonna get maa-ried?" And I replied back, always with that hint of nervousness, "Oh, I don't know Josie. When they make it legal for two men to get married I suppose." And right then and there she told me, "Yey-ah, I'm gay tu."

I smiled up at her as she clicked away, searching for any means possible to save me money. And grinning ecstatically I shot back, "I knew I liked you."

God love her. Josie got me a great refund again this year. Now all I've got to do is count the days until next year's tax season. Cause with a gal like her, it truly is the most wonderful time of the year.

THE BRINK

I made a list this afternoon of the things that needed to get done.
The list went something like this.

-Get a Job
-Pay Taxes
-Buy Toiletries
-LAUNDRY
-Buy Pot (for kitchen)
-Get Bradshaw final shot: Bordatella?
-Pay Bills

And as this list was rounding to a close, I started to ask myself, at what point do these huge requirements become a person's life?

Seriously though, and I'm not just looking for the answer: at age 18, BITCH! In all honesty, at what point does a person make this life altering transition and begin to come to terms with the new-found responsibilities that new-found freedom brings?

Now I know that this is a constant debate inside my head. And I'm also aware that the responsibilities I've listed pale in comparison to those of, let's say, raising a child or supporting a loved one. But, frankly it should be noted that I've always been the type of guy who LOVES making lists, buying toiletries or looking ahead to the future.

I'm just left wondering when all of these tasks became so undeniably adult? So inexpressibly sterile? So unavoidably expected?

It was one thing for the freshman in college-me to run down to the drug store and pick up a pack of cigs or a couple of Pink Lemonade Snapples. But it's an entirely different scenario to have the word "Job" sitting right there beside the word "Taxes."

Just another right of passage, I'm aware. And certainly not the first time I've found myself buying kitchen supplies or doing my own laundry. But it hits you, every so often (like an asteroid) that you're just not the kid you used to be.

I know he's still alive inside of who I am.

I know that I feel him there, more often than I'd care to admit. But I'm certainly not having "Runaway Bunny" read to me as I'm tucked into bed promptly at eight. I certainly don't eat rectangular sausage pizza from the cafeteria lunch room. I have no concept of the word "recess." And I no longer spend hours alone in front of my coloring books.

I might still be shading and texturing inside the lines. But those lines no longer make up the shape of my favorite cartoon adventurer or princess. Those lines are my life. The day to day. The realities. The inescapable truths.

I could look at this massive shift in time and space as a forward sweeping rocket ship destined to bring nothing more than back pain and facial sagging. Or I could look at it perhaps as life's greatest adventure. The tried and true path of following certain specific codes of conduct regarding the government or self-preservation while (throughout these undeniables) always, steadfastly remaining true to who I am.

Being a grown up isn't so scary.

Scary yes. But not SO scary. I think I just might like trying this on for the next few years. And right about when the adults-only world starts to seem as tiresome and predictable as the childhood-only world seemed to the six, ten or fourteen year old me, well, then it just might be time to start the crazy cycle all over again.

And bring some new adventurer, bravely and proudly, into this world.

passion / pray

ok God
lesson learned
not much more to say
anymore
about this matter
no more to say
at all
really

if there was anything else
that you felt you needed to teach me
pertaining to this plight
then please
for future reference
just be a bit more clear

and if
you just so happen
to have turned your back completely
then
please
remember that i
have not turned mine
on you

a blessing came in human form
this past summer
and then that blessing was taken away
with the promise of a re-birth
in the
almost
foreseeable future

more than forty days or forty nights
this test carried on
and through faith in something higher
alone i have survived

but now
the time in the desert has almost ended
and the awakening for new life
has finally
arrived

your blessing is risen again
and all of my thanks and praise are granted
to you
for this gift

but in regards to that other thing
the cruel joke
that's been played
while your back has been turned
on me

well
i think
that enough is simply enough
because if this is just another lesson
that you've been trying to teach
for some time now

well
like i said in the beginning
ok God
lesson learned

PostDate

I missed writing today, again.

Oops.

But it's the thought that counts, right?

the life of gift

thank you
mom
for a wonderful seven days

such beauty
and strength
reside inside of you
you'd never even know

and the truth shared between us
unimaginable
to who i am today
like a dream
that the teenaged version of me
could never have even
started
to wish for

time spent with you
is a magic all its own
like the pouring of a glass of cold water
from one pair of hands to the next
it fits both ways
is enjoyed by either
and is often understood
without the use of words

simple shared awareness
exists in us
simple shared connectedness
touched by
the ever-presence of
new awareness
too

i never fear the truth when i'm with you
love truth
friend truth
life truth
fear truth

it's all in me
and all in you

like maybe
we're in this together
somehow
despite our many miles apart

i sure
wish dad could have been here on this trip
like we said
he certainly always brings
his own special energy

but we did pretty darn good on our own

so, i just wanted to thank you again
for every sacrifice that you've made
and for every inch wider that you've opened your mind
trying against all odds to comprehend this life i lead

thank you
for our week together
i needed it in ways you already know
and in ways
unknown even to myself

the older i get
the more the knowledge arrives
that
when life
seems to slip out from under your feet
family
is often
not only the one net
always there to catch you
but
family
is often the only net
strong enough to hold you
too

support. life.

he was hit by a car
or maybe it was a taxi
at around 5 o'clock am
wednesday morning
on bowery and 2nd

bruised
bloodied
bandaged
and hooked up
to every contraption imaginable
his blood pressure
pulse
and temperature
were still being carefully observed
when we arrived

it was the early afternoon
following brad's accident
that my mom first received the phone call
from his mother
in arkansas
who told us that she was on her way
that we didn't need to visit
but that she wanted us to know what had happened to her son

it was clear from the beginning
knowing my mom
that she would not be able to let that situation be
and felt that if her child was hurt
in a far off city
that she would want someone there
just to see that he was taken care of

when the two of us were finally cleared
for access into the hospital's emergency ward
brad remained in deep pain
and seemed understandably
confused
embarrassed
saddened
and upset

but throughout this horrific ordeal
with a grace and calm that i do not myself contain
this 20 year old boy
was at all times
more a gentleman
than i could ever be

"please"
"thank you"
"sir"
"ma'am"
to every person who visited him
from the chaplain
to the nurses
and from the doctors
to the insurance employee

when my mom and i had first arrived
at about 2 in the afternoon
his sister
who lives in brooklyn
and who he was visiting on his spring break
cried
while brad held back tears of his own
at, i imagine, having unexpected support
from people who he barely knows
but also
i am sure
at realizing
in that moment of seeing us come round the corner
the reality of what had happened
and at how
the unthinkable
had occurred
to him

"i'm sorry for you guys to have to see me like this"
he said at one point
and something like
"i'm so embarrassed"
he mentioned later on
"hey, you're gonna be just fine"
"and this is gonna make one hell of a story"
we joked back
trying against all odds
to lighten the load

we made all the jokes
that people make in these situations
we joked about the sedated woman two beds down
who was being watched by a string of police officers
and who was apparently all over the news
for (i'm not kidding)
stealing a mac truck
getting into a high speed police chase along the west side highway
being stopped by a crane placed in her truck's way
and crashing into a pole before attempting to run on foot
at which point she was taken down by a pack of police dogs
and put under heavy sedation
for screaming racist obscenities at the hospital employees

but aside from her
i joked that he was really leaving new york with a bang
his sister joked that he was just trying to extend his spring break
and he joked that now he'd always know
what it really meant
to say that you
feel like you've been hit by a truck

for me
(which this situation was clearly not at all about)
i just couldn't get over
how much of my heart went out to him
this person who i did not really know

sitting there between the hours of two and six
i was just so aware
of this vague yet overwhelming desire to comfort him
and how much i wanted to be someone who he would want
to hold his hand
or rub his feet
to take some measure of that hurt away

i so badly wanted to be his mother
or anyone who could stroke his hair
and who he could cry in front of

i so badly wanted to be his girlfriend
or anyone who could take him out of this reality
if only for a moment

as unimaginably difficult as all of this must have been for him
it was also a little bit difficult
for me
to be so powerless
in taking that pain away

that being said
i took it upon myself
to be as proactive as possible
in the tasks that i could accomplish
and in the tasks that would be allowed
by him

when his neck brace continued to cause extreme discomfort
i arranged for a more fitted version
and when he started to get hot
i asked nurse mary for any help that she could provide
so, shortly thereafter
two ice packs
arrived
and were placed under his arm pits
where the glands are most heavily concentrated
and where they can do the most good

when i asked if there was anything more that he needed
a book
a magazine
a video game
a drink
he said
with that weak smile ever present
that "a sprite sounds good"
and after checking with the nurses
who said that a couple of sips would be fine
i ran through the halls of bellevue hospital
to find the nearest vending machine
and grabbed
a bottle of sierra mist
(the closest alternative on the premises)
which i handed to him
and helped him to drink
uncomfortably
through a straw

my mom and i waited
with this 20 year old friend of the family
for the afternoon
while his 23 year old Yale educated sister
went home to brooklyn to gather some clothes
and grab a sandwich
before she headed back

this boy
excuse me
this man
who was visiting his sister tara
on his spring break from college
was struck by a vehicle
after a night spent out with friends
who had also happened to be in town

he was brought to the emergency ward
where after many hours
his vitals were stabilized
and at this point
was held for observation
while his mother
a good friend of my mom's
made her plane arrangements
to get to his side

an event like this changes anyone who is touched by it
there is no simple answer to the why or how
there is no immediate or tangible change that comes as its result
i have no sudden desire to go into medicine
my mom will be headed back to arkansas where she will be at work the next day
brad's mother karon arrived in new york this evening
and will be taking brad home with her soon
where he will begin
what will hopefully be a fast recovery
while his sister
i am sure
will return to work as well

but

it's really scary
to see someone like that
to know that they'll live
and thrive
and forget about all this in time

but

to be there
in front of someone
who is feeling so much pain
and embarrassment
and anger
and hurt
to be there
and to not be able to touch them
or cure them
or take that ache away

it's terrible
and a piece of my heart
broke off that day
some of it returned to arkansas with brad
some of it departed for brooklyn with his sister
and the rest made its way home with my mom
who
could not imagine
letting him
be alone.

psych sesh

butt in seat
crotch adjusted properly
is always a must these days
it seems that lately i'm very crotch centric
crotch phobic?
crotch aware?
at any rate i am very sensitive
to the junk being positioned properly
when seated anywhere
particularly in public
and double particularly
if i'm at any kind of special event
so you can imagine
for a moment
(if you were in my shoes)
that the question always arises
to go for the shift?
and risk everyone seeing
or not go for the shift?
and essentially wriggle in agony until the end of time
ok
i'm sorry
just got sidetracked by the crotch
it rules the mind
more than you'd know sometimes
and i apologize to all who are mortified
but with that
we move ahead
right
now
so this evening
butt in seat
and crotch adjusted properly
i might add
broadway's 'rabbit hole' played out before my eyes
or what was left of my eyes
what with the blur
the cloudiness
the un-clarity
and the soft focus
resulting from them
yeah, something was definitely going on in the cornea region
or was it the pupil?
the iris?
who the hell knows?
but i couldn't see
and all the contact adjustment in the world
would not help the situation at all
there seemed to be an excess of gunk
in the lids of the eye
and yet the center region remained for the most part dry
which made for splotchy vision
like there were fingerprints where clear sight should have been
so, the show played on
and i proceeded to be moved and affected
at the moments when these feelings were intended
but my damn eyes wouldn't stop bugging me
and yet somehow
this terrible affliction
which I'm going on and on about
didn't seem to be a nuisance during intermission
nor was it a problem before or after the curtain fell
but throughout the show i suffered
like i was being punished for enjoying the experience too much
like real life was sort of a blur already
so we'll let you off there
but if you're actually tuned in
to a piece of theatre
or an emotional journey
well, fuck you!
your eyes just can't live up to the sensation
and the fuzziness arrives
without warning
but the worst part is
that this isn't even an isolated incidence
the awareness of my splotchy, twinkly vision
has been happening over and over again
like right when a show i'm dying to see comes on
or when something important is about to happen in life
the blur washes over me
like clouds between myself and the picture
this ailment is either the effect of being in a dark room
or much, much scarier
it is simply myself
and my own very messed up mind
knowing that something important is happening
and my choices are either to see it perfectly clear
with absolutely no visual distractions
(which is often impossible)
or to tune it out completely
while focusing obsessively on my slightly obscured sight
you can't win
with a brain like mine
be it sight or sack
its like the casino
and a totalitarian leader
all rolled up in one
IT is making the rules
IT is calling the shots
the house always wins
with a brain like mine
and i'm just lucky to make it out alive

the concert

rufus wainwright
cindy sheehan
peaches
fischerspooner
margaret cho
bright eyes
moby
susan sarandon
michael stipe
other performers
and a ballroom full of people

albeit
a ballroom full of strangely similar looking people
in this case nearly all under the age of 25
and predominately lgbt
which
despite the youngish, hipish, queerish lineup
did seem a bit odd to me
i had expected more diversity
but then again
we were in the pit
and who knows what it was like upstairs

and so created
from this youthful, vibrant energy
was a ballroom filled with people
and a nation on its way
all rallying for peace
all demanding it
not when they decide that enough have finally died
but now

nothing struck me more this evening
(except perhaps for my mid-show text)
(which arrived from my little brother will)
(and so eloquently summed up the evening as a whole)
in it he simply wrote
"fuck war-go rufus!"
and smiling ear to ear
i laughed because he got it
what this was all about
rock on boyeeeee
brilliance through and through

but honestly
aside from this moment of zen
nothing struck me more
than the speaker who screamed
to a ballroom of aware minds
that
"america does not want this war"
"the people of iraq do not want this war"
"and finally after the latest poll, we now know that the soldiers do not want this war"
"WE ARE THE MAJORITY"
"and if this were a true democracy"
"we would demand to bring them home now"

wow
we ARE the majority
rally behind that notion
we are the majority
and peace must be taken back
it must be demanded
and it must now
be fought for

This Day.

This Day.

What was old is new again and what is freshly discovered seems all at once familiar. Life will present you with a string of contradictions when viewed with open eyes.

Today began with a church service at St. John the Divine, the World's largest Cathedral, and then brought with it a pair of paradoxes to remind the self that life is ever changing.

The journey to St. John's Upper West Side locale marked my first time attending mass in New York City. While I've always loved peeking into the welcoming sanctuary of a neighborhood house of worship, finding fleeting solace in its peace amid the chaos, I certainly would never have considered bringing a friend into St. Patrick's or Trinity Cathedrals the equivalent of sitting through an entire processional and service. So to actually be attending the 11 am Choral Eucharist at this particular spiritual mecca was an event that I'd not only always intended to experience, but was one that I found myself excited at merely by its happening.

I was raised in the Episcopalian church. And it remains one of the organized religions that I can more or less still stand behind. But having been almost completely removed from its traditions in recent years, it was surprising to me how familiar the entire service remained. Psalms and scriptures were as much a part of my consciousness as the awareness that I'm male and of a certain age. Collection and Communion followed one another with the satisfying familiarity of a conversation with an old friend. What was new was old again. And that sensation brought with it an unspeakably moving sense of growth.




This evening, on the other hand, proved that the familiar can also surprise when one is not expecting it.

Walking off a long and delicious meal at Manhattan's Perry Street restaurant, my mother and I found ourselves standing at the west side of Washington Square Park and directly in front of my freshman year dormitory Hayden Hall. Upon my urging (and the deeper calling of my perpetually full bladder) we made our ways inside so as I could both use the facilities and take a short stroll down the always invigorating passageways of Memory Lane.

But once through those glassed doors that had proudly escorted me into my first taste of independence, it all seemed the same and yet somehow unsettlingly new. While there were many familiar occurrences, ranging from the bored Resident Assistant peering out from behind his partition of pointlessness, to the constant whirl of elevators opening and closing upon onslaught after onslaught of sweat suit sporting students, to the Campus Security Guard who had manned his same post since my days as an occupant some five years ago. Even the sight of a pudgy girl curled up on the lobby couch bawling into her cell phone seemed oddly at home here.

But the ceilings had somehow lowered with time despite my unchanged physical height. And the rooms had somehow shrunk regardless of their unaltered facilities. The overhead halogen lamps now shined a different hue of chemicalized yellow which set me slightly off balance. And the environment as a whole was without question a part of my immediate history and yet completely foreign to my present state of existence.

It was perhaps not at this time, but later, that I started to think about how much our concepts of time and memory can shift without our awareness. And even more so than this, how quickly our lives can change without our agreement to let them. While I've certainly moved on from academic life in my post-collegiate years, I never remember allowing for my former home to become a stranger to the me I know today. And while I have for the most part left the Episcopalian church as I've grown into adulthood, I never knew that it had, in this same time, refused to leave me.

Such adaptable creatures, we prove ourselves to be.

A move to the place you feel your heart is guiding you towards. An ending of the job you never thought you'd begin in the first place. The family that is as much a part of your chemical makeup as your blood cells or your muscle tissue, here, asleep on your couch. In this moment. At this time.

Life will always throw you for a loop and bring a change when you aren't looking. Often in the smallest of ways. It is in our adapting to these changes that we prove our strength.

Life will not always be the way it is today. And, without our even realizing, yesterday has already passed. For many reasons I am terrified by this fact. For many reasons I hate that there can be no other way. But through this anger and this fear, the living of our fragile, lovely lives still manages to move forward.

And with it, so do we.

Our Day

Stop One

Stop Two

Stop Three

Stop Four

Stop Five

Stop Six


And tomorrow brings an even newer set of adventures...

As does every single day that follows it...

Fresh...

Alive...

New...

Breathe...

Challenge...

Start...

Again...

Luck O' The Irish

I'm not Irish
so that might explain the day I've had
ugh
life changes so fast
when you don't control your own fate

my corporate life is over
for now
thank god
but
oh, so scary too

tomorrow's a new day
and my mom is in town for the week
perfect timing really
I'm gonna be just fine

I know
that everything happens for a reason
and better days will come
for sure
but goodness me
i don't like this feeling

Loyalty is a virtue, however
so, thank you ashley
for standing by
no matter what
we were always in this together
from the start
and we're gonna be just fine

no better than that
we'll be great
phenomenal
incredible
grand

this is the start of a brand new life
and i wouldn't give up our time together
for the world

3yearoldpic

drinks with an old friend
who you haven't seen in years
can be the best reminder
that you're alive
that you exist
that your history lives on
and that in some small way you've mattered
against all odds
you've managed to pierce the surface
of another person's existence
you've been remembered
and your actions count for something
thank you ark mark
for a wonderful and thought-provoking night
your memory of the past is enviable
and its amazing to be reminded of old times
continue to challenge thought
conformity
sexual identity
and film
hearts and brains like yours
don't come along every day
and your company
makes for one evocative evening
cheers dears
and always forget that
"the ladies drink the lady's drinks"
sorry
ok, now
just breathe

The Chris List

Theatre to see:
"Awake and Sing"
"Jersey Boys"
"Rabbit Hole"
"Tarzan"
"Three Days of Rain"
"The Threepenny Opera"

Restaurants to enjoy:
Perry Street
Bette
The Odeon
Mo Pitkin's House of Satisfaction
Vynl
Rao's

Toiletries to buy:
Neutrogena Acne Wash
Biolage Shampoo
Paul Mitchell Tea Tree Conditioner
Generic Antibacterial Dish Soap
Small Hand Towels
Toilet Paper

Books to read:
"The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy
"Middlesex" by Jeffrey Eugenides
"The Beautiful Room is Empty" by Edmund White
"The Da Vinci Code" by Dan Brown
"Without You" by Anthony Rapp
"The Annotated Wizard of Oz" by L. Frank Baum

Things I want:
Burberry Trench Coat
Fake Alligator Briefcase
New Dress Shoes
Rosie O'Donnell Head Buff
Fabrice Moireau's "New York Sketchbook"
Cumming the Fragrance

Things I need:
Fresh Gym Shorts and Socks
New Bedding
Non-Destroyed Dog Carrier
House Plant that isn't down to three brittle leaves
Numerous Photo Albums
A Bigger Apartment

Resolutions to self:
Exercise Four Times a Week
Look for Acting Work Every Single Day
Give my dog more time outside
Tell my boyfriend and family "I Love You" every chance I get
Start saving for potential road trip/ L.A. vacation/ London retreat
Find the Joy in Writing Once Again

anonymous said...

ouch
my body hurts
spinning sunday
chisel monday
yoga tuesday
i feel like a new man
and this new man
is in serious pain
as i raise my ass for the vertical climb
lift the weights for set number fifty three
or fold myself into yet another impossible position
i realize that working out isn't so bad
the big secret has always been
that it actually does make you feel better
and after this awareness made itself clear
the realizations just started to come one after the other
this afternoon
crouched in my umpteenth downward facing dog
i reminded myself that
utter contentment
and unexpected serenity
arrive not through chanting
or praying
or wishing
or thought
but merely through breath
doing what you know inside is right
telling the truth that frees you from yourself
and taking your life into nobody's hands but your own
i feel really happy right now
despite it being hard to put myself out there
cause not a day goes by that i don't wonder why i do
yet i'm still here
we're almost at the six month mark
and in the meantime
the few can hide behind their keyboards
but i'll tell it to you straight
and will always keep things real
because that's how i was raised
and this is who i am

yours truly,
the victim

pop junk

(am i the only one who sees a resemblance?)


"Flavor of Love" is maybe the best show ever
the 'character' "New York" needs her own spin-off
i am not fucking kidding
that woman is beyond endearing, beyond mesmerizing and beyond brilliant
that she didn't "win" this contest is a travesty which defies expression
my only hope is that she can move on from this
live a happy and productive life
and thrive with a headlining series of her own
flav will just have to live with the choice he made
and start the rest of his long and boring life alongside the very dyke-ish "Hoopz"

and while we're on the subject of dykes
"The L Word" last night...
my god what an episode
so edge of your seat heart-breaking
so no-turning-back tragic
one of the best episodes ever in the history of television drama
it took a good long while before I was able to fall asleep
it hit that deep
for those of you who don't know
the central character of dana fairbanks
is a 32 year old tournament winning tennis star
who died of breast cancer in last night's episode
it is only a show and she is only a character
we all know this
but damn if it wasn't hard to watch
you must see it if you can
must, must, must see it if you can

in other pop junk news
matisyahu
the orthodox jewish rapper
who apparently had the #1 album in the country this week
and who up until today could be heard playing from my myspace page
doesn't shake hands with women
and wouldn't take the stage with rapper eve because he refused to risk touching her
(i mean i'd probably refuse to take the stage with eve too, but for totally different reasons...)
i'm telling you
religion
i just don't get it

what else, what else in the world of pop junk news
um, don't see the movie "failure to launch"
i got my money back from the amc theatre on third avenue and i still feel jipped
no kidding, got ma' damn money back
still feelin' jipped

not really a fan of "the sopranos" but am hoping that "big love" is good
i feel like it'll be "six feet under" the sequel but you never know with these things

and other than that no big entertainment opinions or recommendations
except maybe just to read a book if you get the chance
and you can look along the right side of this blog
to see what i would suggest in that department

alright, enough of me
peace.

Barbara Walters Interview

It has been very hard to write lately. I've been holding back a lot on a deeply personal level. Holding back things that I don't particularly feel belong in a public-ish forum. Things that maybe other people don't even deserve to hear. But it's been hard to get past thinking about these things without addressing them in some way. And I'm tired of searching for something else to write about. So here comes the outpouring. Look away now if you're either easily offended, fundamentally disinterested or... my parents.

My boyfriend Matt and I have been having some troubles. Problems stemming from the fact that we are in the final stretch of the long-distance portion of our relationship, a time spent more or less apart for the past seven months. Our story began after meeting last summer in New York and has up until this point defined my life as a human being navigating the rocky terrains of romance, commitment, sexual awareness and trust. Matt left in September to finish his last semester as an undergraduate college student in Florida and since that point we have experienced many ups and downs but have made this relationship work with the concerted effort to travel and see each other at least once a month and to talk on the phone often five or ten times a day.

I love him. I've missed him. I've been frustrated by him but have particularly been frustrated by our incredible physical distance apart. The incredible, undeniable divide. I've also been afraid of the non-stop train of motion headed towards for-real, no turning back couple-dom. As a young man who was always deeply envious of his parents' love story, two people who are still married and have been since my mother was 20 and my father 23, it turns out that I'm not quite ready for that kind of a commitment. Not now anyways. Truth be told, I'm terrified of it. Not because I need casual sex or that I lack any kind of emotional or physical fulfillment that Matt isn't able to give me. Maybe it's living in a city like New York, where people just don't settle down as quickly. Maybe it's because I'm a gay man. Or maybe it's because I'm afraid to close any windows at the age of twenty four. But despite my deeper, unquantifiable apprehensions, I remain deeply committed to this person and to this day am still whole-heartedly in love.

We have agreed to take a bit of time away from speaking in the effort to revitalize the spark that we've shared since day one and also to remind ourselves just what we would be missing if we were to royally fuck this up after so much time. If I do say so myself, it's working. And I am committed to going at least a little bit longer. A few text messages aside, it's been almost a week now since I've spoken to Matthew, certainly the longest period of time since I've known him. And it has not been easy. Nor has it been unbearable feeling to some degree like a "free agent" again. The single life in many ways does suit me. But life without that person who changed you, maybe for the first time, maybe for the last, is never, ever easy. And I greatly look forward to the day when I will hear his voice again. Not so much as that afternoon in early May when I will attend his graduation and set into action the plans for his permanent move to New York City, but every day can bring its own small gift.

This wasn't meant to be easy to read. For the first time ever I am making little effort to overtly analyze, spell check or proof-read. I'm not trying to be poetic or even particularly engaging. And of the very few people who do read this online experiment that I'm creating, certainly many of you will have given up on this "entry" by now. It isn't light or breezy. It isn't brooding but justifiably short. It isn't filled with puns or witticisms. But I needed to get some of this out of me. And I hope that what I'm writing in no way hurts you, Matt. Dare I say, I know you well enough to gather that it won't. But it has been because of you that I have waited this long.

It should also be mentioned that the root of these problems, aside from my own frustrations at our distance, is the fact that I cheated. Not for the first time since we've been apart. Though every time he or I have "slipped" it's been confessed to the other and handled in the best way possible. There are certain extenuating circumstances that arise when two young people attempt to make what many consider the impossible obstacle of a long distance relationship last. But this time I felt I needed more. In this last three months of our time apart, the time when Matt was to be the most inundated with his school and work and thusly, the least available to me. I felt I needed drinks, conversation, someone to flirt with and then take home. It was simply a desire that I could have resisted but in all honesty felt that I shouldn't have to. And Matt was made aware of this longing well before any action towards it was taken.

That's all more or less in the past. One afternoon with a seemingly kind and understanding fellow satiated that desire to some degree. And I am more than willing to wait the next month and a half until Matt and I can be together again. But I am not so consumed with self as to be unaware that my actions, my needs and my curiosity could paint me a villain in others' eyes. And to be perfectly honest, I'm okay with that.

Love is easy. But relationships are hard. Making your way through this world while steadfastly maintaining a desire for openness, connection, whole-being-fulfillment and truth can be difficult. But I would not change one choice or one day of our relationship for the world. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction and I am happy with where we are today. The future looks bright from where I stand. Every decision that we've made as a couple and every obstacle that we've tackled as one has been in the pursuit to make this relationship work. Our story is in no way finished. The journey has only just begun.

I might be afraid of forever today. But I'm not afraid of tomorrow right now.

ehh.

Today was spring cleaning, not spring writing.

I'll be back tomorrow.

"I'm" back

it's coming...
nothing in this lifetime compares
to a day like today
that first
ahhhhhhhh
inhale
of warmth
breeze
moisture
and life

spring

is certainly on its way...
walking the dozens and dozens of blocks
between 51st and 14th streets
headed home
and side by side with my longest new york friend
the two of us were just blown away
by how incredible it feels
to be alive within this city again

no bundling
no huddling
no shivering
no coats

just block after block of
streets that seemed familiar
streets that appeared new
streets that brought back memories of past lunches
past errands
past dates
and past strolls
not at all unlike our stroll today

we walked to welcome in this new season
possibly the best new york will see
we walked to welcome in spring
and to perhaps invite it to stay awhile

there really isn't anything like manhattan at this time of year

~cherry blossoms fill every restaurant's floors

~the streets come alive with the sight
of crisp trenches and brightly hued umbrellas

~dogs shit on daffodils instead of cigarette butts

perfection
perfection
perfection

leaving a particularly long day at the office
we felt we had no choice BUT to walk home

it was so refreshing
so shake the cobwebs off inspired
that at one point
i was called upon to nearly shout
as we passed the hippies and hobos of union square south
that, "as dramatic as college was
for some reason whenever I think back on that time
the weather was always like this!"

and as if to welcome in the start of something new
a band played loud rock music streetside
on the picture perfect corner where i live
as a crowd gathered
to cheer them on
call for "ONE MORE SONG!"
and enjoy those last fleeting moments of daylight
on this perfect, perfect day



my dog particularly enjoyed the show
if "i" do say so myself

and the beginning of something new...
began

CAUTION!!! BEWARE!!!

Well, the old saying goes that "You get what you pay for." And with the free morning newspapers available at almost every subway stop, this expression seems to remain as true as ever.

Sure these "publications" provide the valuable service of keeping us from noticing how creepily we are being watched and by how many strangers as we make our twice daily commute. But, my god, this is news?

Why don't we just go back to writing about who Jessica Simpson is potentially sleeping with. Oh wait, we never stopped writing about who Jessica Simpson is potentially sleeping with.

I swear that 99.99% of what is put in front of our eyes and ears via television, print or radio is nothing more than cleverly marketed distractions from the abominable acts happening as a result of our government both here and overseas.

If word gets out that Paris Hilton is on the Bush Administration's payroll...Well Damn! That'll make one TRULY juicy Us Weekly cover article!

Which calls to mind another tried and true old standby, the classic phrase "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." And, sadly, lawd knows that we all do need some distractions from time to time. Especially with the way things are going these days.

So with that, let me present to you the first Reese's Peanut Butter Cup "Egg" of the season. The best candy, hands down, in the history of the universe. And frankly the only one that matters.


Mmm-mm-mm-mm-mm! Enjoy!

Bridge and Tunnel: Heart and Soul

The world inside the mind of Sarah Jones is teeming with activity and life. Rich, deep heritage mixes with thick, sprawling cadence. Human beings concocted with only a spare prop jacket and a physical posture shift come one after the other, amazing her audiences with their insight, humor and truth.

See Sarah Jones in her one woman show "Bridge and Tunnel" on Broadway, a true love letter to New York and all its people. Or rather a true love letter to New York and all its buroughs.

The more than a dozen characters that she portrays in her hour and a half Broadway debut (all American immigrants participating in an annual "beautiful South Queens" poetry slam) are as fully realized as could be imagined on the stages of this fair city.

Each character she creates will shine light on the potential emotions of the woman sitting behind the partition of the Post Office cart parked outside your office. Or the opinions of the man who rings up your milk and cereal at the local bodega. Or even the intrinsic fears of the lady sitting beside you on the bus ride home.

The talent for pitch-perfect mimicry exhibited nightly by Ms. Jones deserves as much attention as it can garner. But the beauty of this experience for theatre-goers is in the realization (again and for the first time) that the human experience far outweighs your own. And in giving this gift poet, playwright and actress Sarah Jones deserves as much acknowledgement as can be bestowed.

To think that all of these "characters" surround us every day seems obvious. The crowded hustle and flow of our thriving metropolis is as unfortunate to residents as it is appealing. But, to think that all of these characters actually came from a place deep inside her mind is all at once remarkable, thrilling, unbelievable and well worth your time.

"Bridge and Tunnel" has extended through July 9 at the Helen Hayes Theatre on Broadway. Go there to spend an evening with a dozen or so people you'd never have thought you'd meet. Go there to hear the voices coming from deep inside your heart. Go there to remind yourself why New York is the best city on Earth. And go there for the well-deserved indication that you are not alone.

Empty "Gardens"

Is it possible to be haunted by a film that you haven't yet seen?
The time that "Grey Gardens" first entered my awareness is unknown but it's impact on my subconscious is certainly undeniable.
Was it one, two or three years ago that those first images of Big and Little Edie appeared before my eyes, or was it as a small child?
Which current homage has most re-ignited my deep-seated curiosity for the documentary film?
Is is the Off-Broadway Musical? The in-development Drew Barrymore film project? The Rufus Wainwright song title? Or the themed photo shoot featuring Kylie Minogue?
The origin of this unenlightened and ill-informed obsession is not clear. But the fact that the DVD can't be found anywhere, other than a $40 Criterion Edition on Amazon.com, is unforgivable.
An evening NEEDS to be spent with these two women. And, for the love of God, sooner rather than later.

In other "news," all of our thoughts and prayers go out to 13 year old Will Reeve, who lost his mother Dana to cancer early this morning. She seemed to the world to be as brave and spirited a woman as could ever, ever be.
Dana Reeve was the consummate companion, the consummate activist and the consummate human being. To say that she will be sorely missed is beyond understatement.
It isn't truly known in this lifetime why these things happen to our parents and our friends, lung cancer in a 44 year old mother and widow who did not smoke. The only answer imaginable is that it simply is not for us to comprehend.
But, she is above us tonight, and she is not alone.
Our prayers are with her family.
Our prayers are with her son.

Someday

...for us.
Someday for all of us.

The popularity contest ended long ago. Truth is now the only guide. When all feels lost and there are few that seem to understand, remember that...

Perfect worlds must first be dreamt. Only then can they can be lived.

Til This Time Next Year

Ughh, the Oscars.
You have got to be the most abusive life partner in the history of the world.
All year long we wait around for your attention and when you're finished with us, somehow all there is to remember you by is the dull stench of take-out and a television headache to last us until next year's telecast.
Sick. That's the only word to describe it. Seriously, who picks this shit? For getting it so right when it comes to the nominations, are the winners just selected at random or is it via dartboard?
Alright, come on, Three-6 Mafia? Is there something we're just not understanding or is that possibly the worst rap song ever?
Like every old white Jewish fuck who votes for this shit thought it'd be really "BRAVE" to give the award to something out of the ordinary and controversial. Too bad in this case out of the ordinary and controversial translated to complete and utter crap.
Literally, how many times can a woman sing "Hard out there for a Pimp" without sending somebody into a seizure? WORST. RAP. SONG. EVER.
And "Memoirs of a Geisha" winning over and over again? How did this poorly reviewed spectacle end up winning just as many awards as the film that took Best Picture? Costumes a sane person can understand, but the rest of it? Are you bitches crazy or did somebody just lace your tea?!
And finally, what the eff is up with "Crash" winning Best Picture? Truth be told it's an incredible film but is certainly not any more well made or culturally significant than "Brokeback Mountain." Plus, frankly, is "Crash" even eligible? Didn't it come out like two years ago?
Again, Ughh.
Until this time next year, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, there has got to be a way to learn just how to quit you.

Head Rush

Leave your mark. By any means necessary. Find your niche. Discover what you love. Make it work for you. Force it to be as profitable as it is enriching. Keeps things fulfilling, always. But do it now while you still can. Because every day that passes brings the potential for another door to close.
Or, conversely, to open. In an alternate frame of mind, you must only breathe. Let it in. Fill your self with the knowledge that changes come all in good time. And allow for the natural gestation that gives life to healthy creative growth. To every season turn, turn, turn and all that other junk.
Faith in life's greater journey is key to making the journey journey-able. It'll come to you. Trust some part of that.
Or don't listen to any of this. It is not meant to be a sermon. Lost in a whirlwind of paradoxes and unforeseen choice-making one simply must put one foot in front of the other.

look away, can't

there is a light
outside the window
ominous and other-worldly
as sharp as it is bright
it's beam pierces through the darkness
and is pointed right this way

there is a light
outside the window
the significance is minor
of course
that has to be
unless in fact it isn't
unless in fact
sleep won't come
will never come
as it's direct result

there is a light
outside the window
it's pin prick burns the eyes
hurts the brain to stare at
reveals no truth at all
but leaves one wanting more

the light
is cold and menacing
ugly, dead and razor sharp
one should never have stared at it
in the first place
one should never have paid it any mind
it is only a light
outside the window
but
there is no looking away

Mission: Impossible

Uh oh. Here it is, the eleventh hour. Time to write the blog. It's now or never...
Lately this is what it's been like inside my head. I remember the good old days when it sounded a lot more like, Yee-Haw! Here it is, the eleventh hour! TIME TO WRITE THE BLOG!!!
But my utter lack of enthusiasm to put any part of myself out into the world will pass in time. Before long I'll be whoring my personal secrets out to the unloving and judgmental universe like there's no tomorrow.
Today, on the other hand, I don't want to tell you people anything. Except that my dog has a veterinarian vaccination and teeth cleaning at 9 am in the morning. And that means I should be getting ready for bed soon. Eight glasses of water a day. Eight hours of sleep. That's just how I roll baby. That's just how I roll.

I do, however, have a controversial and potentially impossible plan of attack for re-invigorating my daily www entrys. It's something I've been ruminating trying out (originally for one day only) since early on in this year-long writing experiment. I'm just going to extend it is all.
For one full week I am going to post every single day (as usual) continuing on in developing the voice and dedication required for being a skilled writer. Only now, I will go the entire seven days without once using the pronoun "I."
It's over: My obsession with self. It's over: My constant exploration of every single thought or emotion that bubbles up inside me, no more significant than a fart. Plain and simple, it's over: The pronoun "I." For one complete week. We'll see how "I" do. But be on the lookout for any rogue "I's" that slip in. Don't let a single secret "I" slide through the cracks! "I'm" begging you!

One week.
Here's hoping that "I" can do it. Here's hoping that "I" can still keep things personal. Heck, here's hoping that "I" can find plenty to say without devolving into just another celebrity commentator.
Oh, what on Earth am "I" thinking? "I" don't have a shot in hell.

ash wednesday

filming finito
until further exterior shots
and a sauna scene
to be shot this spring
in texas

wish me luck

i may be a lone star
but the lonestar state
sure as shit
ain't my kinda home

just saw now
that rosie had a
"blog block"
yesterday too
and wow, i thought
kindred spirits
she and i

my block however
is still in effect until further notice
plus, i'm nowhere near
her 400 sum odd comments a post
but
every day
i'll be here
for better or worse
every
every
every
day

a p.s. to ashley
huge thank you for a thrilling night
at the theatre
"barefoot in the park"
may not have aged so well
but an evening out with you
will never get old

and p.p.s.
big up
to anyone out there in the cozmos
who reads this mess
even those of you who pretend you don't
or those of you who cynically sneak on
hell, thanks even to those of you who browse
only when no one else is looking
i might not know
when or why you come here
but i thank you so much anyway
just for visiting
if reading any of this
means even a fraction as much to you
as it does to me
writing it
then i have no reason not to be
a happy, happy man

oh! and finally
p.p.p.s.
i promise FULL SENTENCES SOMETIME SOON
possibly even in the near future
well...
maybe
i don't know
don't hold your breath

alright, goodnight