all neuroses, all the time

Wednesday, October 31

as the beatles would say, "good morning, good morning, good morning-uh."

it's half past midnight right now, i just got in from another glorious evening spent in the fucking costume fucking shop fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

whew. that felt good.

tomorrow will be fairly busy, so i may not get to stop in and say hi- maybe i will, maybe i'll surprise myself. maybe, perhaps, yes. (bonus points to you if you read that last sentence and thought of kraftwerk... who, by the by, have a fabuously simple and ingenious website, go check it out, m'kay?)

ugh, time go night night.

Tuesday, October 30

so i skipped class this morning to sleep in for once, and now i'm watching horrible t.v. shows like "talk or walk" and "people's court." i mean, truly brain-cell-killing stuff. i look at these people on these shows with their petty little problems and their absolute lack of common sense or basic ethics and i am amazed that these people roam the earth. how has social darwinism not kicked in here and thinned the herd?

i told you, my attitude sucks this week.

i look over at my dog, lying in my bed with the covers up to his muzzle, on his back with his front paws stretched out and twitchy doggy dreams running through his head, and i think:

he's got the right idea.

Monday, October 29

okay, so i decided to have a little looky-loo around my links and favorites and have a few things to point out:

1. after thinking of david as the quintessential single man, it is heart-warming to read he has bickery boyfriend dramas too.

2. i like cory's site not just for the picture of his fabulous bald head but also for his commentary and especially his running tally of meals eaten and favorite recipes.

3. andy has a jewish friend with a wrestling fetish named scott whoappears to be indeed neurotic and jewish and... well... theoretically dreamy. his blog reads that way, but of course i could be wrong. more info when a picture is inevitably posted.

4. i am jealous of j-no and his fabulous new living situation. hound dogs and cafe du monde and cutey boys, my favorite mix.

5. i am wasting time, and should go to work.


hey all:

this week is the last week before the next show opens, and i've got 130+ costumes to work on or finish or design or magically pull out of my ass or whatever. so, if i'm a little sporadic in my postings this week, just know it's not because i don't love you, but daddy has to work and make money so you can all have ponies and go to private schools and have cars on your 16th birthdays etc. etc. etc. okay?




p.s. this show is making me lose interest in costuming. i feel a tad "in over my head" right now, and my attitude about everything sucks. but, i hope you all had great weekends, went to some fun parties, had wild birthdays, got laid, got drunk, whatevah. xoxoxo

Saturday, October 27

highlights from last night's dream:

i was at a "pret a manger" (fancy shmancy sandwich shop in the uk) learning how to scuba dive from a cute hawaiian guy. he had me put a handful of cereal flakes in my mouth, but they were made of pure gold. i turned around and saw candace bergen, who was quite taken with me and we started to kiss and hug and coo right there in the sandwich line. suddenly she was pregnant and so i went shopping for toys for the baby. i returned and she had had the baby, which had huge eyes and looked like a grown up kewpie doll. and it seemed like it could talk. oh! like that gangster in old bugs bunny cartoons called "baby face" who they cart around in a baby carriage. or something.

anyway, candace and i immediately started to fight. and then she started pulling on something that appeared to be frowing out of my back. and sure enough, right above my ass-crack was a tail, like on a possum or a rat: mostly hairless, but with a few ugly hairs sprouting here and there, and long and pink and bony.

ugh, i feel ill.

Friday, October 26


a confession

well, at a loss for something to post about (my life is all about the subtle differences between polish and russian kapo uniforms at auschwitz right now. see? i told you) i'll make a little confession. it's of a vaguely sexy nature, i guess. okay, it's actually not vaguely sexy. it's all about the sex.

i'm a total voyeur. i've been thinking about this lately, and wondering why it is. what sets off our particular fetishes or fantasies? where in the hell did i get my black-haired jewish man fetish (watch out, andy! although, don't fret: you are too smart for me. actually, perhaps smarter than me. and i can't have that in a crush)? or what about the hairy ass crack fetish? or the hairy forearms and top of hands fetish? what about my pale-brunet-with-freckles fetish? and why do palestinian-uni-brow-sporting guys give me the hots? and where did that "short stocky chunky guy" thing come from? why does joey fatone (the porky italian guy from n'sync) give me a hard-on like he does, besides being cute? i mean, all the things are in place: nose size to eye proximity ratio is excellent, width of eyes and distance from hairline is perfect, lips and chin ratio fine, he just has to keep the goatee.

see? insane. totally, like a teenage girl.

anyway, what made me a voyeur? i don't remember stumbling on any relative en flagrante when i was a child or anything like that. where did my liking to watch come from? if i could, i'd just as soon watch someone beat off, or two guys fucking than get involved; although, don't get me wrong, i'm not one to turn down a well-lubed and primed arse-hole or a rockhard and ready dick. (primed? like a catalytic converter? i guess so.) in fact, the last time i was in a 3-way, which regular readers might remember was just last week, i had more fun directing the action than participating. i could offer helpful suggestions and move naked bodies around and get the best viewing angles and just watch the whole dirty show. of course, i didn't turn down the odd dangly parts, or the stiff and pointing bits; so it's not like i just sat and stared like a lobotomized mental patient or something. i got involved. but getting to call the shots during the pre- and post- coital showers was a blast: "yeah, you put your leg up on the soap thing, let me see that ass. okay, you soap that ass up, and give him a poke or two with your fingers right there. yeah, there. ah, yeah, that's hot..."



maybe i should direct porno. and i don't even watch a lot of porno, but when i do i like it to be amateur: poorly lit, shaky camera, stilted conversation, and a big gusher money-shot that you just know that hitchhiker or mechanic or lawn guy is regretting like 2 minutes later after he has hastily zipped up and pocketed the 50 bucks the icky old sweaty accountant gave him. whew! that just got me worked up!

i wish sometimes i had an exhibitionist neighbor that would let me watch him fuck his girlfriend or something. i had one, once. he really just showered with his shades open a lot, and he knew i was there. but it worked for me. now don't think i'm all pervy. if you invite me to your house i'm not skulking around the hallways hoping to get a glimpse of you in your underwear or on the pot or in the shower. i'm not a freak. i just know what would make me happy in my ideal fantasy sexy world (hey, that sounds like a japanese hentai site!). i also dated a guy who let me live out a bunch of my fantasies, which was nice. of course, once they were over so were we. there wasn't much there but the fucking. ho hum. anyway, he once got together with a hot guy at my instigation and let me watch through the window outside, which is indeed very pervy, i admit. but the guy knew about it, and he was my opposite: he wanted to be watched. a match made in heaven. then i went inside and fucked 'em both. ah, memories. now i'm an old married lady.

hmmm. i don't know why any of you would want to read this. or believe it. you click on my picture at left and think: huh? you read some of my more neurotic and needy posts and think: wha? why? why is he getting laid, and i'm getting nuthin'? i don't know. when i was younger, i think the attraction used to be my big dick; but you lose that the fatter you get. it just... er... goes away, sort of. swallowed up by your belly. ugh, what a depressing sentence i just typed.

i assure you at one time i was a bonafide sex machine. but it's true, i guess, about getting older: you do slow down a bit, down there. well, i did, anyway.

why did i tell you people any of this?

Wednesday, October 24

boy howdy, i must have been pretty damn tired last night- i just read that last post and it made no sense. weird syntax and punctuation. of course, regular readers know that that is actually how i usually write, but for some reason yesterday's post seems a bit... incoherent.


that's all i got.

Tuesday, October 23

the cat is away... on a business trip in south carolina, which was postponed in the first place because of some trouble last september 11. you may remember it.

but this mouse is putting his tired ass to bed.

cranking out concentration-camp striped uniforms really wears you out.

it's surreal, too. because they are beautiful. before we over-dye them, and distress them, and rip them, and dirty them up.

maybe more in a bit. i'm tired though.

i'm all non-sequiter spouting right now. i should sleep.

Monday, October 22

last night i was lying in bed, in a weird asleep/awake sort of state, and i could have sworn that i heard someone breaking into the house - it was this scraping sound, this shifting, this low frequency sort of bumping and stumbling that seemed to be coming from the living room. my brain told me that it was nothing, all doors and windows are locked, just go to sleep. but then the rhythm of the odd noises would start again, and then my pulse would sky rocket, and i'd lie there, terrified. the odd thing is, i couldn't open my eyes, and i felt paralyzed, like when you get chased in a dream but your feet feel like they are made of cement, or your steps are slow and labored because the bottoms of your shoes feel coated in super glue.

i just had to lie there, hearing things, and being scared to death. and then the most vivid part of all, i just knew that willy was dead. i remember that i was suddenly in a chair next to the bed, and he was lying there, and he was already gone. and i couldn't figure out what happened, and i was filled with the most crushing grief, and i held his hand and moaned and wished he was back with me again.

finally i screamed and sat up, willy jumped up, i tore out of bed and ran to the front door - it was locked. the windows were locked. everything was fine. everyone was alive, everything was as it should be. i came back to bed, burrowed into his back and fell asleep.

i had a dream of being a monk at some point. me and a castmate lived together in a cave with a big wooden door in the side of a mountain and took "showers" in dirt. but we were clean, and smelled good, and happy. two brothers growing vegetables and laughing and singing and reading and loving life.

i woke up this morning feeling vaguely hungover, totally fatigued, all my muscles were sore and my head pounding. i'm still feeling out of sorts, filled with a strange and incessant dread.

what in the fuck does it all mean?

Friday, October 19

the "miss high hair" contest is the place to be on sunday afternoon during southern decadence. everyone crowds into the "good friends bar" on dauphine and hoots and hollars at the bad drag- beer and bourbon are swilled around the tiny stage, and upstairs in the bathroom, crank and coke lines are snorted and blowjobs given- it's my kind of place.
sunday is my favorite day of southern decadence- oh sure, the all-night sex party at the phoenix is okay on friday, and the afternoon drunken show-and-tell at various dive backrooms is okay for saturday, but on sunday you can sleep in a bit and then get rolling for the afternoon: lunch at the clover grill and then a full day of drag queens, the big parade, dancing, drinking, and plenty of fooling around upstairs around the pool table at lafitte's or by the toilets at the rawhide.

the rawhide is one of my favorite bars in nola. during southern decadence they partially shut down burgundy street and all the leather daddies and cubs and their admirers spill out into the street and cruise. it seems like all of austin goes to southern decadence; it's relatively close, and the labor day weekend means an extra day... so you run into everyone you know there, people who you rarely even see out, and they most always are wearing something they would never be caught dead in at home: chaps, jockstraps, harnesses, dog collars. things like that. things i love to see on others, but would never (well, maybe not "never") wear myself. okay, i've worn chaps.

in new orleans you can drink in the streets, which you can't do in lots of places around the u.s.- hell, i took a beer into the gap with me when i was looking for some cheap socks one time - nobody batted an eye. the lines at the bars are ridiculously long, so most people invade all the little corner stores and convenience marts that are all over the french quarter. you buy a six pack, stash the cans in your and your friends' pockets, by a community pack of smokes, find a good spot on the sidewalk and get into some hardcore cruising. boys will walk right up to you and grab your crotch if they like you, and if you are a big hairy boy you are sure to get a few drunken "woofs" from the cubs and bears and otters and whatever other animals the homos are calling themselves this year. only in new orleans do i like this sort of grunting and barking. it annoys me everywhere else, i don't know why.

the rawhide has a room by the bathroom that is like a cyclone- it sucks you into it and sends you whirling through a sea of tightly packed bodies around a pool table and out the other side- and usually you are left zipping up your fly or buttoning your shirt or flicking cum off your hand or face, depending on how much you could get done in the crush of sweaty bodies and willing mouths (and worse). people are jammed into the corners, heads bobbing up and down on dicks and tongues mashed into asses; it smells like sex and it smells like poppers. a wave of heat and wet rises off the masses, and 10 minutes in this place will leave you soaked in sweat- or piss, if that's what you want; i saw a guy fall to his knees and beg to be pissed on, and 5 flies dropped and 5 dicks came out. they obliged him. men stand on the pool table, and an assembly line of ready lips and tongues move cock to cock, or two guys will tag-team on a guy and work over his dick and balls. there are moans, there are the sharp smacks of hands slapping ass cheeks, the sounds of sucking and licking, and the gasps and grunts of sex. everyone is welcome, everyone is satisfied.

out on the street there is fooling around too. we had all found a prime spot in front of an old shotgun house when a trio of goodlooking leather daddies walked up to our group and singled me and a friend out... they wanted to see our dicks. naturally we wanted to see theirs first, and they hauled out some meaty half-hard cocks for us to appreciate. we did the same. soon all of us had our dicks out, our hands all over the place, in ass cracks, pulling on balls, pumping each other's dongs in a grown-up circle jerk. the first one to cum met with the group's appreciation, as did the one who came the most, or the farthest, or had the best look of ecstacy, or groaned the loudest. we laughed at the spots of cum on our pants legs, on our t-shirts, in our leg or arm hair. wet and sloppy tongue kisses were our goodbyes, and we all vowed to see each other later that night, knowing we wouldn't; but just in case we did we might have a repeat of all this mind-numbing nastiness- and then with a laugh and a shake of our heads, cigarettes were lit, beers were popped open, and more dirty tales were told. it's like this all weekend long.

i think new orleans cops are cracking down on the public sex now- but this is how it was for me a few years ago- i missed southern d. this year, but i'll be back next. see you there?

there! how's that for smut?

okay, i have to go be a friar now- god forgive me.

i love that j-no was quoting from my second-favorite blondie album yesterday- one more reason why i like that boy. (first favorite blondie album is "parallel lines," which was re-released this year- go get it! now!

getting better, by the way. but all strung out on nyquil, which suits me just fine. ::hic::


oh, and go read choire's post from 10/18. HI-larious.


Thursday, October 18

still sick, and as i have all sorts of weird antibiotic allergies (the kind that close the throat, and make your pulse soar) i have been instructed to just see this through. so it's me... and.. my... phleeee-eeeegm, strolling down the avenue... (you know the tune, right? well bill does.)

at any rate.

i can't wear myself out today, i have a show to do tonight- so no big post today- sorry, all five of you, my glorious regular readers.

more to come, tomorrow.


Wednesday, October 17



caff caff


no sex today.

Tuesday, October 16


i'm sick.


(back to nyquil-fueled sleep)


Monday, October 15


just a quickie to check in and say howdy- well, the email has spoken! more smut to come here at brucehoax!

but here lies a problem: i don't know how graphic to be. i mean, if you, dear reader, were here right now and asked me to tell you a smutty story i'd have no problem at all spinning out a real juicy tale. but this online thing is different. will the words "dick" and "ass" and "cum" and "hard-on" change the tone of this blog? will new readers think they have merely stumbled on some horny homo's homepage (alliteration! yippee!) and assume that there is not a nugget of wisdom or wit to be found among the purple prose? hmmm. advice, please.

(although such words will certainly increase my hits. am i that desperate? yes... well, fuckity fuck cunty cock cum fuck it!)

i mean, i want this to be truthful, and real, and sometimes touching and wise. and as i don't really ever comment on current events (as i am either not clever enough or not interested) there has to be something to get you guys coming back. is it a sense of loyalty that keeps us all reading each other? or have we made some friends? i hope for the latter.

that being said, i'll post a southern decadence story this week that will best describe what goes on there for you readers that have yet to make the trip to new orleans. it's a good way to start the smutty train rolling.

hey! maybe it'll be a weekly feature! like in the middle of the week, something to keep you going through the work week. HEY! wednsday is HUMP-DAY! do you brits get this reference? or is this an american thing?

well, anyway, "hump-day" seems appropriate, don't you think?

stay tuned.

the show was great last week, by the way. friends came in from out of town and stayed the weekend- lots of fun had by all. cripes! i've got to go to work!


Friday, October 12

hello on this "day-after-coming-out-day." i had lots of fun yesterday tormenting all my favorite closet queens about calling their parents and spilling the beans- although they didn't think me at all funny. ah well. i'm not as ruthless as i sound, i know, i know, coming out is a long and hard (oh! freudian slip!) process... but i mean, come on. just do it already. i think being a homo is just great.


two nights ago we gave what has to be the worst show i have ever been involved with, if you don't count the time i fell off a platform during "henry IV, part one" and dislocated my foot: popped it right off the socket and left my toes pointing back at my face. anyway.

the show was to begin at 7:30. at 7:00 the light board would not turn on. the fancy new computer system had failed: the hard drive had crashed, the victim of fucked-up theater circuitry. all the cues were wiped out. one of the actors went home and pulled out his hard drive and brought it back and stuck it in. nothing. they fiddled and noodled about and gave up at 8:00. it was a sold out show, and the audience, crammed into our tiny lobby, was getting restless. finally they were let in and seated, and our director gave a funny speech about how we would be presenting the show as in shakespeare's time, with scene changes in full view, in bright light, and without the subtleties of light effects and gels. (although, back then, it was because the globe theater had a great big open-air stage. whatever, the audience liked the joke.) so the work lights were cranked up, the stage was bathed in harsh blue-white mercury lighting, and the show went on. then the sound fucked up. then it worked. then a fire broke out over one of the entrances, the result of an errant light magically coming on and tipping over and setting a curtain aflame. it was put out with little incident. we stumbled through the show, disoriented at being able to see everyone in the theater sitting in their seats.

then, during the tybalt/romeo fight scene, tybalt's sword shattered into pieces, a big sliver of which flew out into the audience and struck a man in the head. he lived. and promised not to sue. at intermission a handful of the audience left, now fearing for their lives. the last half of the show went off without incident, although entrances were missed, cues were dropped, and confidences were shattered. ah, me. of course, this production has been plagued with problems: last week a clueless props person filled romeo's poison vial with aftershave ("hey! it was green! it looked good!"), giving his dying speech a realism and resonance that was a real wonder to behold: "ah, true apothecary, thy drugs are quick! ACK! COUGH! COUGH! SPUTTER! HACK! ::thud::." juliet also managed to actually stick her dagger through her gown in two places when she offs herself as well. god, what a week. we are selling out, and the show is making money, but i imagine we will all be dead by closing. which is now a week later, as the show was extended through next week. i got a great review, by the way. i was called a "gem," and my friar is played with "long-suffering good humor."

speaking of which, last night during my final scene, a woman in the front row who had laughed and commented through all the sad parts of the play ('he's dead! ha!") burst out laughing during one of my more sober speeches. it unnerved me, in that insecure actorly way. she laughed at everything. paris's death, romeo's death, juliet's fake death, her real death, etc. and she wasn't being cruel, i think she was actually a little retarded. no matter. tonight is a new show, new night. and closer and closer to our closing. god, i can't wait.

i'm cruising around town right now in a rented p.t. cruiser, as my mother left it here since she flew off to santa fe for the week. it's all pimped out. it looks like a car designed for "blade runner," like the future will really be the 1940's redux, and sean young, doing a mean "mildred pierce," will cruise up to her glass pyramid office in this strange and self-consciously outfitted automobile. it's just so.. errr... tacky. but i adore it, it's one of those cars that people will stop you in parking lots so they can look at it and marvel at the freaky detailing and deceptively-small-but-actually-huge back seat. it reminds me of a car that roger rabbit might drive, as if at any moment a slew of zingy one-liners will erupt from that ominous chrome grill, a borscht-belt comic with a raspy brooklyn accent under the hood. i will miss the "p.j. cruiser," as it has been dubbed by my younger castmates, when i give her up next monday.

okay, i have to get ready for a design meeting at 1:00. today i have to track down the fabric we are using to make 25 striped concentration-camp uniforms for the jewish prisoners in miller's "playing for time." i'm thinking mattress ticking. it's sad that i can talk about the concentration camps and not be totally repulsed anymore, but that's what daily exposure to graphic pictures of death and details will do to you. for 3 months i've been researching the holocaust, and viewed some horrific stuff. i'm hardened. unfortunately it is now just a job for me to do, and a requirement for graduation. i imagine people feel the same way about any more talk of the wtc disaster. which is sad, and frustrating, and typical, and inevitable. i hope you guys up there are doing okay. i still feel it. i still give a shit.

quick and necessary change of topic

what else. oh! look to the left for the ubiquitous amazon wish list! (it's under HEY SUGARDADDY!). i'll put some more low-priced items in there for you tightwads, okay? but really: I AM WORTH THAT MARK ROTHKO BOOK. REALLY.


Thursday, October 11

andy brings up something that i was thinking a few weeks ago:

"Yikes! Are his videotapes only for propaganda or is he issuing coded orders to his
Geez - Secret Codes? Spies? Battleships? Bombings?
Does anyone else feel like they're living in WW2?"

just last week before a production of "man of la mancha" at the paramount we were given a pre-show speech by the house manager about "those darn terrorists" and "let's show 'em what americans are made of!" - then we were asked to rise and sing the national anthem - and with hands on hearts we warbled through the tune. it was wonderful, and vaguely ridiculous, too. but i'm left with a craving for a u.s.o. musical or hollywood stars serving drinks at the canteen. although i guess we already had that when they answered phones and took pledges for the red cross- what a time to be alive, i think.

i'm avoiding the subject of the previous post, on purpose.

although let me ask you: would you like a little more smut here?

Wednesday, October 10



the dog saw it all.

and i saw stars.

again, ahem.

ahem. ahem.


Tuesday, October 9


and with a new goatee.

i love goatees.

boy, he looks good.





i better go be a good host.

okay. counting down.

any minute.

i'm all giggly!

and filled with a sort of dread.

tee hee hee.



so we just went out to dinner with friends, and then headed over to the country bar and played pool and watched all the country 'mos two-stepping and promenading around the sawdust floor, and now we are home and i'm a little drunky.

and a friend just called who we have with, and is on his way from across town. his boyfriend is asleep. he's a little...randy.

what are we doing?

oh god.

i feel like if he is making the trip all the way out here we owe him a little something.

or a big something, if he is so inclined.

oh god.

i better go take a shower.


Monday, October 8

well, hello.

what a weekend- my mother blows into town, then my father and step-mother, and then the u.s. starts bombing afghanistan. i'll just address my family.

so: my mom shows up on saturday so she can see the show and hang out a day and shop for fabrics to redo her house in and then i am to take her to the airport so she can go off to santa fe for the week with her best friend. and so that's what we did. along the way, she tells me that her paperwork has been submitted and she has already had an interview for a spot in the doctoral program at the university she is eyeing- and that the house back home will be up for sale by december and my step-father will have moved somewhere else and the divorce will probably not be that big of a deal and would willy and i come down to pick through the furniture and take what we want?

i am floored. not because i don't want her to do all this, but because i never thought she would finally do it. she has been wanting to get her doctorate for years, she has wanted out of our hometown forever, and she has wanted to sever ties with her husband for a while too. but something always comes up. there is always some thing holding her back: what would we do with my grandmother? how would she afford a move? and school? where would my stepdad go? is she too old for all of this? etc. etc. etc.

well, now it looks like it is happening.

i have often wondered about people who start over. who chuck their entire ruined lives and rise from the ashes and soldier on. my mom is doing this, finally. and i've been making plans too. i'm a born-and-bred texan. i am supposed to stay here, if you believe the texan propaganda. and i never thought my mom would leave, as we are an old south texas family and everybody knows everybody in my old hometown. there is a comfort factor there, when you have such strong community ties and history. but that was then.

since "the trouble" in my family that i've alluded to here and there in these posts, all semblance of normalcy and tradition are gone. i want out. my mom wants out. and god help anyone who stands in the way of our progress, as we have been down too long to live like that anymore. we are cutting family ties, we are leaving our birthplaces, we are getting the fuck out.

when i graduate in december i will already be preparing for a graduate program, as after i have a career for 10 or 15 years i want to spend my 40's and 50's teaching at a nice private liberal college. i want to live somewhere with a winter, where leaves turn from green to red and gold and where i will see some snow. i want to know what a nice long spring or fall is like. i know summer. and if a graduate program will take me somewhere north or in new england, i'm gone. i don't care anymore where, just as long as they will pay for it and it's less than three years. i might work in film or t.v., most likely on stage. in february i will be attending a huge technical theater convention in new orleans (expect me, jonno!) and will present my heavily-padded portfolio to all the schools that will see me. and then, goodbye texas.

we are getting out.

we are starting over, and creating new lives and selves that no longer rely on family roles, societal expectations, or life-long ruts and bad habits.

more on this at another time.

my father and stepmom took me out to dinner yesterday after the show, and we actually talked quite a bit about the current political situation. of course they slagged off clinton at every opportunity, but i begrudgingly admitted that george w. seemed to be doing the will of country. well, i had to say something. and getting into it with them is just not worth it. besides, it was enough that they even came, and so enjoyed the show. raves and raves and raves. and from my father, that's like him giving me a gold ingot or a huge diamond or dell stock or something. i lapped it right up. he's ex-military, and all about self-control and conservativism in all things. and efficiency. he's all about that. he's pretty cold, too. not very demonstrative, or affectionate, and witheringly sarcastic. gee, with my over-protective and coddling and free-spirited mother it is no wonder i turned out a fag.

anyway. i think to sum up my father, here's an exchange that took place at dinner:

"well, have you seen the waitress?"

"no, i wasn't paying attention... i was more concerned with that A-rab over there with the package under his arm. luckily, he left."

"did he take the package with him?"

"oh yes, i made sure i saw him do that. i mean, that's my job."

me (in my head):
"his job? how? as a man? as an ex-military guy? as a patriot? as a bigot?"

you see? i come from good stock.

oh- it's time for class- i'll catch you all in a bit.


Thursday, October 4

"The only hit that comes out of a Helen Lawson show is Helen Lawson, and that's ME, baby, remember?"

so, we opened! and if the audience reaction was any indication, we've got a little money-maker here. well, not so little - there are almost 30 people in the show - and it's a real crowd pleaser, as we are doing it traditionally in the renaissance style, as the set and costumes are realistic and recreate old verona well, and most especially because it clocks in at just over 2 1/2 hours, as we trimmed a lot of fat off of it. and if i may so myself, i'm fabulous.

i hate the fact that i need the applause. there is nothing like it. i don't have the confidence i used to, as recent posts have attested. but even when i wasn't a basket case i needed it. and i'm not one of those center-of-attention-limelight-grabbing-look-at-me-LOOK-AT-ME people. i sit and listen, start conversations, interject, laugh, comfort, etc. so i'm not desperate for mass adualtion. i wasn't one of those kids that you see at social gatherings making faces or tantrums or acting precocious or faux-angelic for the ooohs and aaahs of the crowd... but i always had the need to express things to people, to channel laughs or tears or anger or stress, and it made me a tad wise beyond my years, i think. i had startlingly adult conversations when i was kid- i knew why people acted as they did, why people lied, why people felt insecure, why parents and children couldn't get along, what body language meant, who had secret and long-simmering resentments to whom, etc. etc. etc.

i was 7.

i learned how to think for myself as a result of my parents' divorce. my mother started a successful business and worked and worked, and i came home from school and did my homework and read and fixed dinner and went to bed. somewhere in there i developed a real sense of intuition. i understood emotions, i think because i had so much time alone that i could not help but turn my gaze inward- and i also think that the tension in my house before my parents split up made me develop a very fine-tuned emotional maturity. i learned to read those angry silences, those sighs and rolling eyes, that sarcasm muttered under the breath.

anyway, it makes for a good actor. i'm not great, yet. i'm working on it. i have a lot of personal issues and inhibitions that still keep me from absolutely immersing myself in a character- but at the same time i think that there is a real importance in holding a bit of me back- i have to keep part of me safe. and sometimes the stuff on stage calls forth a lot of bad mojo-

last night when i walked out into the tomb and discovered romeo dead, and i fell to the floor and cradled him in my arms and started my "o pale!...and steeped in blood?" speech, i let a lot of this last few weeks' trauma out- just a tad, just enough to get me where i needed to be. and as i cried, the audience cried, and the despair was heavy and thick. i walked off the stage and kept crying. for romeo, for friar laurence, for juliet, for verona, for me, for willy, for new york, for the whole fucking world gone to hell.

i finally have grieved for all of you so directly touched by recent events- i held back, because i wasn't there- how could i co-opt your grief? how could i make it about myself? it seemed selfish, and desperate. i know so many people that are trading on some very loooooooose connections to "friends of friends of friends of new yorkers at the wtc" to give them an excuse to cry and carry on and get attention. you, know. show people.

but as an emotional person, as a person who hurts when people hurt, who knows why people hurt, and how horrible and wonderful it is to hurt sometimes (wonderful because your life can change after a tragedy for the better, and it's unknowable, and chaotic, and terrifying and brilliant), i still made myself shut down, and removed myself from the national grief, and kept to myself, and let people get through it.

but now i'm grieving.

how did i get here from "we had a great show!"?

who knows? more on this later. my childhood and my theatrical career are all wrapped up together- i'll address this somewhere down the line.

to sum up: the show ROCKS.

Wednesday, October 3

okay. all better.

after two weeks of tense silences, surly looks, and hurt feelings, we have reached an agreement. i think.

we shall see.

i love him so much, but he has some issues to deal with about himself that can no longer be vented on me. i am worth more.

we shall see.

on a lighter note, thanks to bill for this link to an anagram generator- i'm hooked! and laughing myself silly.

favorite so far: "jockstrap inn ho."

well, there was that motel in oklahoma city...



Monday, October 1

william and i are on the outs.

more later.

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