Ranting Details

Keanu Joos.

There is something about sleeping in hotels that always gives me strange dreams. Even when my brain is fatigued (or perhaps because of that) I am able to create the most bizarre events imaginable when I lay my head down on the pillow. Bits of choreography will fly by at times, music from whatever ballet I am doing, events from my past, or complete random creations all inhabit my thinking as I’m sleeping.

Over the past month on tour I have had relatively fewer dreams than usual and when I do dream I tend to forget them. Waking up the other morning to a knock on my door interrupted what was one of my most bizarre dreams ever but even the little bit I experienced was too foolish not to write about.

It all began with me roaming the halls of some unknown theater filled with the familiar faces of ABT. Going about my normal routine, signing in, checking the casting and the schedule, etc., I was approached by Victor Barbee (associate director.) He quickly grabbed me and told me that I was needed that night to perform the role of “Death” in the Green Table. Aside from this being a part that I knew I had never learned, I agreed and thought I would be able to pull it off because I have watched it so many times how could I not? The moments progressed and suddenly I was begging people for help remembering all of the individual parts that death has to do. Before I knew it I was standing on the stage and the curtain was about to rise. Fortunately, David was standing in the wings prepared to mark the ballet for me as a sort of guide. Darkness overwhelmed me as the opening chords of Death’s solo rang in my ears and the lights came up to me having no clue what I was doing. On top of that, I wasn’t myself but instead was Keanu Reeves playing Death. Oddly enough with his dead(pan) acting “skill” perhaps this would be a suitable role for him but dancing was not his strong suit in my dream. Fumbling about the stage, I (Keanu) improvised my way through a rolly-polly version of the solo while the rest of the cast stood in the wings attempting to get me back on track. The audience slowly became restless and started shouting things at the stage. Chief among those voices was (for some reason) Evan Rachel Wood (star of the film “Thirteen”) harassing me from the audience. Knock, knock, knock at my door and my eyes opened to a world that was a much calmer place than the frantic stage of my dreams.

Part rock concert, part classical ballet, all chaos, what did this world mean? Any dream detectives out there?

(This....)

(+this=MASTERPIECE.)

Growing, Growing, Gone…

(A picture of what is quickly becoming the regular evening in my hotel room; microwave food, TV, and epsom salt to soak these tired muscles.)


DISCLAIMER: Forgive any typos or incoherent rambling....it's been a long day!

My mind feels like a shake and bake bag that is still being shaken; when will I finally get to cook?! 48 hours into my Boca Raton stay I have learned (almost) all of my parts for “Romeo and Juliet” and the fun has barely even begun. Three years into being a professional dancer it is strange coming down to a local studio and jumping into the routine with students all over again. Suddenly you are the person that students are looking up to which for me means I have to watch my regular potty mouth while in rehearsals. “Fuck” might fly around people my age but around thirteen year olds, not so much.

For the past two days Roman and I have endured grueling (more so for him than myself) 10-hour days constructed to help us learn the ballet. It is the first time in my career that I will have danced a principal part in a full-length ballet and I am a little wary of how my stamina will hold up. Fortunately, I get to die at the end of the second act in a death scene that stretches on as long as most pas de deux. Now that the steps are in my body I am trying to find a way to add characterization to the movement wherever possible. While I consider myself a playful person, I haven’t ever danced a part with Mercutio’s temperament before.

(The harlots try on their sassy fake hair pieces in the sunlight. Where are my extensions? I think it would really add to the zaniness of Mercutio, no?)

Whenever I agree to do a gig there is that fear of the unknown that seeps into your brain a few days before you journey to the destination. Will I be what they are expecting? Will they be what I am expecting? Am I up for the task? All of these things are normal and are obstacles that I try to turn into motivation to do my best possible. Fortunately I have a built in comfort having Sarah and Roman by my side.

While we all have our ways of dealing with stress I am actively trying to change my biggest one, whining. It seems that my brain thinks the more I complain about a task the easier it will seem in the end. My dad has pointed out how that’s not exactly the healthiest way to approach things but it has become my habit. As with many other things that are engrained in your character, this one is proving difficult to break.

(Andrea, my harlot and Roman and I's constant companion over the past few days, shows a little bit of that flirtation that will get me to kiss her endlessly on stage. Don't worry I have a constant supply of gum in hand. Nothing like a swashbuckling, sword fighting, mandolin playing, gum chopper!)

Rehearsals have been stretching on for hours and I am doing my best to interact with the students. It is refreshing having new faces around and part of our Three Musketeers (Romeo, Benvolio and Mercutio) is a student who makes the mixing more exciting. On top of that, we get to dance with a few of the local girls who are playing our Harlots. The hospitality of this studio has been overwhelming and I wish we had a little more time to be social, but I guess that isn’t really what this week is about.

While I was sitting in the wings today my harlot Andrea asked me if I found it hard to fall in love with a woman being a gay man. This was a topic that had come up between Daniel and I last week when we were discussing different people playing Romeo. I find the biggest deal breaker is whether or not there is actual chemistry. Just because I am gay doesn’t mean there can’t be chemistry including underlying sexual tension with a woman. However, if there is no chemistry it doesn’t really matter gay or straight. There are plenty of partnerships with heterosexual men where I don’t believe it for a moment. Gay men tend to push too hard to emote “heterosexual love” when they are partnering women. The thing to remember is that love is universal and it is about the connection and the intimacy of being with a person. Approaching my first on stage kiss I am stressing a little bit about making it believable but when the moment comes I am in the character and I know it will be fine. While portraying believable love on stage is difficult either way, I find that defining it as being a gay man trying to fall in love with a woman is too limiting; I just need to be present. With the constant repertoire of straight love that overwhelms our lives I look forward to seeing what Matthew Bourne can do with his “Romeo, Romeo” idea he said he is milling about. It often seems that portrayals of gay love on stage are either a novelty or too desperate to make a point. Whether or not he will be able to integrate it seamlessly into the story will be the true test.

(The evil temptation of a Florida sunset that tempted us as our 9th hour of rehearsal began.)

My body is increasingly hungry for my own bed. Every night sleep seems to get a bit tougher and waking up to barren walls and generic furniture all the more painful. The end is in sight and after our first tech tonight I am looking forward to the task at hand more than ever. Now if I can only figure out how to die a believable death, the love stuff will seem like nothing.

(Sarah sums up the zaniness as the tech rehearsal comes to a close.)

BLOG SUPERTAR ON THE LOOSE!!!!

In lieu of recent blog events I would like to preface this story by saying to take none of it seriously. I love animals just as much as the next person, we were just having a little fun with props so please no attacks. With that in mind let's begin the first and only blog story of tour "Barbamelda Needs Meat." On a side note, I will be taking some time off from blogging this week while I am in Florida dancing "Romeo." I will do my best to get in a few but I can't make any promises as I have a full ballet to learn and perform in a week!


(Herbert was a normal chicken who rested all day long, watching the events of Verona from his perch. He had seen countless battles as well as crude lovemaking and considered himself one of the most street smart of all the chickens.)

(The entire town loved Herbert and even bathed him in their mouths on occasion. Life couldn't get any better in this quaint village.)

(Suddenly one day while perusing the market, Bella had a fearful premonition that Herbert’s life was about to drastically change.)

(The masses began to retreat in fear as the threat of chicken doomsday loomed. Matt assured everyone that as long as they touched his mushroom force field hat, happiness would remain.)

(Little did he know that the whore, Barbamelda, was waiting to steal his hat and doom the village to a chicken-less fate.)

(Barbamelda frantically scanned the market for this infamous chicken whose neck she would soon devour.)

(Herbert was used to mouths but he knew immediately that this was the last he would ever meet unless someone intervened.)

(Daniel screamed out in panic as the crowd rushed to banish Barbamelda from their provincial town.)

(Yet it was too late for Barbamelda had swallowed Herbert whole. Using his special nutrients she began to grow a mandolin out of her ratty hair that she would bludgeon the town with.)

(Would no one stop Barbamelda from her tyrannical rampage?! The last glimmer of hope drained from the townspeople's eyes as the sun set.)

We’re All Whores.

In an effort to drive myself completely crazy I have decided to give my life over to Shakespeare for the next two weeks (well actually only one more at the time I am writing this.) As we finish up our run of "Romeo and Juliet" in Chicago I am spending all of my free time preparing for my next encounter with "Romeo" which happens to begin Monday. That is when I will fly down to Boca Raton to assume the role of Mercutio in the local production alongside Roman Zhurbin and Sarah Smith. While I am looking forward to it very much, a chance to push myself both technically and artistically, I am in Shakespeare overload. On top of dancing this masterpiece of a ballet I happen to be reading "Will in the World," an incredible hypothetical biography of the brilliant playwright. Never before have I studied Shakespeare this intently or had a book provoke so much thought about the ballet I am dancing.

Page after page I am amazed at how Shakespeare soaked up the world around him and spun it into poetry. People that peppered his life are turned into the most legendary literary characters of all time with the power of his pen. On top of this extraordinary gift, he was so knowledgeable about every facet of society that he can flesh out the worlds he created like no other writer. I haven't yet reached the portion of the book that dissects "Romeo" but after looking over a copy of the play this week I am more amazed than ever at MacMillans adaptation.

(A blur of fatigue as we rehearse during the day.)

By this point of a tour (week three) it is obvious to everyone that we all just want to be out of hotels and into our own beds for a change. The trouble is how to keep that frustration off the stage and give the best performance possible every night. As a dancer in the corps I find this ballet to be one of the most difficult to stay present in. At first glance it seems like the easiest ballet for the corps, no pointe shoes for the girls and hardly any dancing for the boys, but that is exactly the type of mentality that gets us in trouble. To create a believable scene there needs to be 100% commitment from every person on stage because you are only as strong as your weakest link (goodbye.) The minute laughter sneaks into the performance is the minute it flies off its hinges. My intent is not to point fingers at anyone because I am just as guilty as having my moments of "fatigue laughter" as the next person. Yet I find that is what keeps me from being a great corps dancer; the ability to leave fatigue and mental lag off stage and immerse myself in the story like I have never seen it before, night after night. A true example of this professionalism is Marian Butler whose acting and dedication I can only emulate.

Standing on the side watching Mercutio die time and time again I get angry finding myself gesturing the same tired arms that I always do. Yet I don't feel as if any of us know any better because this ballet requires more than typical "ballet" mime. The production is as much a play as it is a ballet but I don't feel like I am doing enough to tell the story. In my dream world we would have someone come in, perhaps an actor or director, to work primarily with the corps on creating the story. Ballet is such an independent establishment that this type of mixing never happens but hey, a boy can dream.

(Another blur, this time a little more exciting. Blur in the foreground, fatigue in the back.)

Today as I was standing on stage I realized that in this ballet we are all whores because we don't know any better. Let me explain myself. During the fight scenes or any of the multiple crowd scenes, we all just grab whoever is around and treat them as if they are our dearest lovers, then I turn around and do the same to another dancer. Not the most believable interactions but something that we all do as a way to "interact." Opening night I managed to create an arc with my partner Kelly Boyd that proved to be fulfilling and true to the story of the ballet. The trouble with being so close with everyone is that we all know how to make each other laugh so easily that nights like the opening seem few and far between. I don't know exactly what I am getting at here, it is turning a little bit into one of those ranty posts of mine and I apologize. Mind over matter can be such a difficult thing when you feel this drained and have to maintain some sense of story and integrity night after night.

Typing this in between shows is getting me a little revved up to go out and see what I can do differently tonight. This afternoon during one of my moments where I stand around as the other boys begin to fight I attempted to stab a chicken being protected by one of the Montague women; perhaps I should refrain from such antics this time around but at least my anger was directed in the right place. My other goal is to not be such a whore tonight; I don't think Shakespeare would be proud.

(A gaggle of whores.)

Chi Town.

Even though Ann Arbor had overjoyed me, I still had 24 hours left in Detroit following my wonderful beer pong night. Doing my best to keep my spirits up, I counted down the minutes until we boarded yet another plane flying to yet another destination. Fatigued and mentally drained, I slept the whole 45-minute flight to awake to a new world. Chicago has been part of our tour itinerary every year since I have been dancing with ABT but it has never really grown on me. Perhaps it’s the egotistical New Yorker in me, but until this trip I have never felt the need to do much other than trudge back and forth from the theater each day.

All of that changed when I awoke in my king size bed Monday morning to Spring-like weather and an open mind. Frantically getting dressed, I wondered what the day held in store and hoped that I would discover a Chicago that was far away from the chain stores of Michigan Avenue and the heavy buildings downtown. All of those cereal commercials that claim to be part of a “healthy balanced breakfast” don’t know anything because I found that all you need is at The Original Pancake House here in Chicago. Pairing stimulating conversation with perfectly cooked eggs, pancakes and bacon, Gillian, David, Jackie and I started the day as every day should be started.

It was a welcome relief to walk out of a door and feel comfortable roaming the streets again after a week of guarding myself and briskly walking to the theater in Detroit. Leisurely strolls and money seemed to be the theme of the day as we wandered from store to store leaving a Hansel and Gretel-like trail of money wherever we went. Perhaps it was my newfound freedom or just spring fever but I needed a little retail therapy. It’s amazing what buying things can do for your mindset. Of course half of the fun is discovering things with your best friends and what would an exploratory day be without a few exciting stories to recount?

(To shoe? Or not to shoe?)

Where do I even begin with Jake? Jake, Jake, Jake, everywhere we walked on Monday we couldn’t seem to escape the shadow of the wonderful men’s boutique whose bags David and I had slung from our shoulders. Yet it wasn’t what was in the bag but how it got in there that was the exciting part. While I don’t think I would have the talent or patience to work retail, I am completely in awe of people who are incredible salesmen. Jared at Jake was perhaps the best salesman I have ever experienced. From the minute we walked in, Jackie, David and I spotted this gorgeous man standing at the back of the store who quickly approached us to ask if we needed any help. Stunned into silence for a minute, I had to quickly blink myself back into reality before I could nervously reply that I was just looking. As attentive as a doting mother, but as hot as Jude Law, of course he had to be genuinely nice as well. Slipping into basically anything he handed our way, I was so flustered by the end that I attempted to put my right shoe on my left foot before foolishly realizing my mistake. As I handed over my credit card I couldn’t quite believe that I was about to plunk down that much money for a pair of shorts but there was just no way I could decline the chance to stand at a counter staring at him for a minute longer. Our trail of money quickly turned to a trail of drool as conversation seemed to come back to him every couple of minutes. He was just too smart; working the boys, working the girls, no one could tell who he was into. Like the best salesman, he put on a good act. A few hours later I got a phone call from Blaine and Misty who quickly asked if I had been into Jake. Apparently they had met Jared as well!

Maybe it’s just the whole “grass is always greener” theory but I always find that men’s shopping out of the city presents better boutiques than in the city. On top of the wonderful clothes we were finding I was amazed and how nice every single person was. One store even opened their doors for us when they saw us lamenting the sign that read “closed” at the front door. Everyone seemed to take a general interest in interacting with their customers and the mix of gorgeous weather and wonderful people was making this day one to remember.

I’m not usually one to endorse gimmicks but when done right they prove difficult to resist. This was exactly the case when we walked into “T-Shirt Deli,” a delightful store where you create your own T-Shirt with anything you want written on it. Now, this may sound just like any other store you have seen in your mall but it’s all in the details that they hook you. Friendly service lines the walls of this store set up to look like an actual deli with all of the choices set up in deli cases. Finally, a chance for a little self-expression! Being the t-shirt whore that I am, I couldn’t help but want to make a whole wardrobe for myself but instead I decided on one adorned with a quote from Shortbus that David and I have been joking about, “Like this…Boom.” Not the most exciting thing to others but I found it to be enjoyable. The ladies were kind enough to let me take a few pictures of their store for the blog and they even made us their first “Customer of the Month.” I’ve never felt so honored to be a consumer. As much as I like my shirt, Daniel’s is even better “No One Cares About Anna…Spank the Media,” a perfect compliment to my last blog.

(Posing with our shirts so we can be customers of the month.)

Jackie had the wonderful idea that we should start writing guide books for all of the different places we visit and as the day continued I couldn’t help but agree; just about every detail was shaping up to be perfect. Even before the incredible dinner at Avec, I felt overjoyed to finally be having a relaxing day in the middle of the tour insanity. Dinner began and I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven. Wonderful wine paired with stingray, dates, cod, spinach pasta and more wonderful company; it’s moments like this where I cherish the opportunities I have at this stage in my life. Touring the country doing what I love and enjoying it with the people I love, what could be better? Only a few hours remained in our perfect day before Shakespeare would take over our lives once and for all. How will we survive?!

(Sassy green bottles with sassy green people.)

Sign of the Times.

(This forgotten gem, found in a bathroom in Ann Arbor, is all too relevant for this post.)




Over the past year several friends have approached me about my TV addiction. In the long line of things to be addicted to, it could get much worse but at times it seems like the direst intervention is needed. Pop culture takes a hold of my brain and coils like a snake squeezing out any useful knowledge I have. For someone as obsessed with celebrity and gossip as I am to sit down to type a blog about the ridiculousness of the news media these days must be a sign that something is truly wrong. Now what exactly can be done to fix it?

This topic may come out of left field but I assure you that hotel time is usually the one time where I can justify vegging out in front of a the TV set. Yet for the entirety of this tour I have turned on the TV seldom as Nancy Grace actually listens to her guests. Last night Ms. Grace caught my attention during a brief search for something to divert my brain for a while. Donning eye shadow more suitable for Jafar than a news anchor and screaming like a drunk Southern woman at a baseball game, Nancy Grace embodies everything wrong with culture at this very moment. Year after year I say to myself that I will make a better effort to be informed about the real world rather than US Weekly but mainstream media has turned into mainstream entertainment hardly better than tabloid gossip rags. Is 24 hour coverage really necessary for a woman who's biggest contribution to the world was being a spokeswoman for Trim Spa? Anna Nicole has achieved a level of fame that during her lifetime would have seemed like an impossible joke. While thousands are dying overseas we are left to ponder the paternity of her offspring while any news of importance scrolls across too quickly to be comprehended on a ticker below. Wait! Al Gore was speaking to Congress today? Forget about that, lets get some experts to dissect what was going on with Anna in that clown makeup.

(How reassuring to know that this face is giving us our news.)

After my encounter in Detroit I can't seem to stop lamenting the state of our country and the terrible downward spiral the Bush administration has put us on. Not to say everything was peachy before but let's face it, it's gotten much worse. Every bit of information we are being fed seems to go through a filter meant to keep us as uninformed as possible. Sitting here typing in my beautiful hotel room on my great computer, I feel a bit like an asshole sometimes because I don't actually get out there and do anything to help change the state of our country. What good does lamenting do when I don't start to take things in my own hands? Unfortunately I just don't know where or how to reach out. My friends and I were talking about how desperately we need to get out get ourselves and others educated on what is really happening in this country. Due to the fact that everything has been built up to require a sort of "blockbuster" approach, the most important news becomes the stories that seem more like Lifetime movies than anything else.

Where are the people in charge of polluting our minds with this crap? It all makes me think of "The Green Table" and the fabulous opening scene where the diplomats stand around arguing about how to run the war when they know all too well that the only way it will affect them is monetarily. As one reader said, homophobia, sexism and racism are alive and well all throughout this country yet we hear so little about it; probably because much of it is coming straight from the top of the food chain. For all of the focus on this missing child or that detoxing celebrity, how am I to know about our economic and social problems? It's time to pop the bubble and explore with intent to change something.

Maybe I just have really bad TV stations in this hotel. Thanks for making it through this redundant rant with me!

La la, la la, la, PONG IT UP.

Hand/eye coordination has never been an easy thing for me. During recess in school I was more likely to be running up and down the field chasing the rest of the group than actually catching or throwing any balls in a given game. Fortunately with my career choice I only have to catch and throw women and the balls can be left to the other professions. Little did I know what a challenge I was in for last Saturday.

After frantically scrubbing off my makeup, David and I hopped in a cab (the most expensive ever) and trekked to Ann Arbor in hopes of finding some college excitement to spice up our Detroit misery. Every time I go to Ann Arbor I come away feeling renewed artistically and mentally after getting to spend some time with the wonderful musical theater students that attend U of M. Often I get frustrated that I don't get to see these inspiring folks more regularly but I am teaching myself to enjoy the moments I have rather than worrying about the ones that I don't. Focusing on the individual moments of life can be so challenging at times as we let the negative overpower the positive at any given turn. It is a wonderful feeling to step into a group and feel welcome when you don't have the day-to-day experiences to springboard from and for me, a true sign of comfort. My first trip was about a year and a half ago and ever since then I believe my friends in the city have considered me a tad crazy for having such extreme feelings for a place so far away from the Big Apple. While normally we place so much importance on how the weather effects our mood, I will take hail as long as I have with exciting people.

(Clash of the Titans. Actually a wonderful merging of the Titans as they immediately bonded over the joy of buying cheap beer to play true college games with.)

Speeding through Michigan my eyes started to glow as soon as I began to see familiar sights. Of all days, we had to arrive on St. Patrick’s Day but at least we knew we would see the college students out in all of their drunken glory. In my mind I was placing a lot of importance on this night because I wanted to bring my best friend from New York (others unfortunately couldn't join us) to meet everyone. This was not just any normal night either, it was the "Rock/Pop Star" theme party at Forest Court (one of many quintessentially college houses in a quintessentially college town.)

(Loving the dingy basement with the perfect tournament "table" surrounded by the perfect players: note that I am not in the picture.)

The theme party is just one of many examples that makes me feel creatively inferior/inspired by this group of people. Every step they take, even drunken steps at drunken parties, has a sort of unplanned artistic life to it that I can only emulate. The whole night got David and I talking about what effect environment has on your mental state. Obviously being in a school setting is vastly different from the "real" world but the camaraderie and positive reinforcment that this group has is truly inspiring. I feel that there is this mentality that suddenly when you step away from school you are meant to fend for yourself which for me happened at such a young age. Roaming the streets of the city I wonder what is just behind the brick facades that I pass everyday. There is an artistic pulse that beats stronger than any other place yet finding your path on it is difficult. At a school, the path is given to you (in some ways) so joining in with your artistic cohorts doesn't seem like such a challenge. Initially leaving school seems like the only way to survive; the further away you get the more you long for its comfort once in a while. Recently I have banded together with several people in ABT in an effort to watch out for each other artistically and technically with an honesty that at first seems scary but proves beneficial. Like the ensuing game of beer pong, you can at least throw the ideas out there and hope that they hit once in a while.

For people like me, the balls rarely hit as was evident in the basement of Forest Court as the Hallberg/Murphy vs. Pink/Prince battle began....

(Taking one of many failed shots. David's face seems to know the outcome even though the ball is still in my hand. Bitch doesn't have any faith in my ability!)

(Perhaps it was the power of their amazing costumes (Pink and Prince respectively) but they wiped the floor with us. I knew I should have worn a costume.)

(Even our cheerleader Marie Osmond couldn't help me get the ball in the cup.)

What meant so much to me about this night was that even though we are all at such different places in our lives we had an incredible time. Different environments can come together and create one super-fantastic environment! To go from being so disrespected days before in Detroit to sharing such joy with friends made me realize what amazing people there are in this world; the others just need to learn to spread this love and happiness. Did I mention I was going all emo on you tonight?

(Even though I have known him since first grade the eye make-up was still a shocker to me. Maybe that is why I kept missing the cup? God I am good at finding excuses....I should be a professional child.)

Lazy Post of the Day: I Need You Now Tonight.

What would happen if your 8th grade teacher became a pop star and journeyed into a music video fantasy land?  You would get the following clip, perhaps the funniest music video I have ever seen.  It is quite likely this was made in a warehouse with nothing but an industrial wind machine, a rack of 80's clothes, two sassy boys and a Mac computer (for the wonderful iMovie editing of course) and I love every minute of it.  There are too many good moments to point out, but watch for the wind that almost takes her face off but could be a cheap alternative to a face lift.  Also noteworthy are the dance breaks (my favorite is at the 3:00 mark) which also looks like your 8th grade teacher starring in a dinner theater version of "Mamma Mia" (still with two boys in tow.)  The look in here eyes (coincidentally when she says "the look in your eyes") when the thumpa-thumpa beat comes in is priceless.  Moments later it pans away to reveal the first of many unflattering outfits with no bra.  Who knew my momentary stop at a Chicago gay bar would yield such a wonderful result?!  Wow, I can't stop watching it.  No denying it's a pretty powerful song, I mean why else would they have put it in the Michael Crawford flop-masterpiece "Dance of the Vampires" a few years ago?  There is a strange 20 second ad at the beginning but wait for it...and the joy will come. 

*Update- My friend Jess watched this video and left me a little message which I couldn't help but share with you.  Her description far surpasses mine!
"omg that video! points i need to mention though i could go on forever...
1. it's subtle--but watch her right shoulder move in the beginning when she's first starting. she can barely contain herself.
2. the neck roll....brilliant!
3. please tell me you noticed how her red crushed leather jacket is actually two different coats. one is ful length and one is cropped, but they are essentially the same jacket.
4. i feel like this is what would happen if my mom took ecstasy, had some friends in the soft-core porn industry, and some spare time in a deserted warehouse."

Detroit Rock City? *Updated

“I looked to my left and saw it coming from over a hundred feet away. As I stood mid-block in downtown Cleveland, a place where the entire company had openly admitted to being scared of, I suddenly felt the most helpless I ever have. The only thing I could think of to do was to turn my back as the group of twenty drunken fraternity boys stumbled closer. I brought out my phone, something to take my focus, and watched David cross the street towards me. As he stepped up onto the curb, the pack of boys passed by us. I thought maybe for a second I had avoided what I still knew was coming and then I heard it. To tell you the truth, for something so vivid in my mind I know that I can’t remember the exact words; strange how the mind can choose to blank out something when it wants to. It’s like looking into the sun, so blinding, vividly bright, but out of focus at the same time and you can’t look for too long. "Its a bunch of fucking faggots" I heard at an alarming volume. I stood in stunned silence as he and his cronies walked away.”

Before I started my writing on this website I played around a little bit with blogging on MySpace. The words above are from an entry almost exactly a year ago and it doesn’t surprise me, but still pains me, to say that the same thing happened only hours after entering Detroit last week. As much as I disliked Cleveland, Detroit rocketed up the list of despised cities.

After a long day of rehearsal, David, Blaine and I decided to walk to the Hard Rock Café, which was only five minutes from our hotel. Like the events in Cleveland, I could see what was going to happen a mile away. Positioned in front of us was a group teenage boys that we were going to have to walk through to reach our destination. As a child I faced relatively little ridicule from my peers concerning my sexuality but it hurts more as an adult than it ever did in my youth. What began as harmless teasing (“Oh look it’s Jon Bon Jovi! N’sync baby!) quickly escalated to “Fucking faggots get your asses out of here. This is Detroit, faggots!” and various other slurs which are burned in my ears. Doing my best to hold my head high and walk through the crowd of boys as they swarmed around us like animals, only to continue yelling as we passed, I was having a hard time not being visibly shaken. I don’t know if it is possible to really do “well” in these situations, but I handle them especially badly. To be yelled at and taunted by a group of ignorant teenagers for your physical appearance is a cruel reminder of what is wrong with this country. While I should be able to accept it as ignorant teenagers, it gets me thinking of where they find that this behavior is acceptable. We are living in a society where harassment is everywhere and the intolerance is being passed down from generation to generation. When will it stop?! With an administration in office telling the country that my lifestyle is immoral and punishable, can I really expect it to?

Last election I remember reading an artical in the Times about how it was almost impossible for New Yorkers to fathom a Republican winning. As some of the readers have commented, unfortunately its just difficult to get a grasp on what the country is like when you are living in one of the bigger metropolitan areas. Homophobia does occur in New York, albeit rarely, but something about it seems more violent in other areas of the country. When I walked through these boys as much as I doubted the possibility, physical threat didn't seem too far off. Socioeconomic levels always play a part in aggression and as some have said, while that doesn't excuse it, it begins to become more understandable. It just seems strange to me that with a group of African-American teenagers, they weren't able to see the startling similarities to the words they were screaming at us and many that have been directed towards them over the past few decades. What does it take to break this cycle of ignorance and have a live and let live attitude?

(Blaine displays that what you do in your free time shouldn't be anyones business. If you want to eat jerky, eat jerky.)

While I mean no disrespect to people that live there, needless to say Detroit is on my shit list. The neighborhood we were staying in was desolate and I closed myself in my hotel for the majority of the weekend. It is in places such as Detroit that tour suddenly becomes a lonely existence and remaining positive is difficult. Finding activities to occupy yourself is increasingly challenging especially when you feel you are at risk of being harassed as soon as you step outside your door. Even sitting here typing makes me physically pained to think about it.

Fortunately another event would come to the forefront of the weekend and scare the shit out of me; I got thrown into a part I had never done. Another result of tour is that people begin to get fatigued which leads to injuries and emergency substations for different parts. In the three years since I joined the company I have never gotten thrown into anything with no rehearsal, but there is a first time for everything. During class on Saturday I was just going about warming myself up when I was informed that I was needed for the Aristocrat section of “Swan Lake” that evening. Last month I was switched to a new spot but I felt confident that I knew the material. However, I am nursing a hurt back and sprained toe and have also never done the material in rehearsal. Doubt began to trickle into my brain. After a moment of my mind telling me there was no way I could succeed I realized this was an opportunity that would let me dance a part I was longing to do. The challenge wouldn’t be my body but my mind.

(Idleness can lead people to do strange things.)

Between shows I did my best to review the material and try a few things out which only made me more nervous. Some people do well under pressure but I have never been one of them. If only I was capable of tricking my mind into forgetting about the pressure and the nerves but then I would have to add magician to my “special skills” list. Before I knew it the curtain was up and suddenly I was doing the same scene I have done countless times before but from a new set of eyes. Peering across the stage I saw the spot where I should be standing filled by someone else and felt my feet planted on a new square of the floor. Once the dance began I knew that if I successfully got through the first entrance I would have the confidence to make it the rest of the way. While that is a lot of pressure to put on yourself, it is unfortunately the masochistic fashion of a dancer’s brain. Lowering myself to my knee after a triple pirouette I took a moment to breathe as I scanned the audience with (what I hoped was) aristocratic elegance only to get up moments later. A few arm mistakes and one stumble later, the cannon launch was over and I was still alive. Any fear I had about jumping at the opportunity to dance the role was gone and I laughed at the person I had been only minutes before. Fear can disappear so easily and were I to have this challenge thrown at me again, I have the building blocks to attack it with more maturity. Of course, there is a time for maturity and a time to throw it out the window…that time was only a cab ride away.

(Aristocratic and alive.)

Bricklayer.

He feels the weight of the world
on his shoulders.
Multiplying burdens burning
responsibilities on his small frame
brick by brick,
as the balancing act continues.
Pensive and content yet nowhere to go as
he builds the world around us.
One for his daughter, and one for hers to follow.
Burrowed in like a skeleton awaiting excavation;
Yet he still breathes.
For who?
He who builds the structure has none.