I left New York a year ago.
This fact totally blows my mind.
I was sitting down in my apartment this evening (it's the occasionally creaky ground floor of a Victorian-era house), sitting in my new faux-leather Target easy chair, watching Packers-Saints on my big flat screen - and I looked around and realized that I didn't have any of these things twelve months ago.
Not only that...I had no concept I would own these things then.
I didn't even think I would still be here in Sleepy Hamlet.
It's amazing how quickly and completely life changes. And I'm so glad that the change has been mostly positive.
Showing posts with label life's funny moments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life's funny moments. Show all posts
Thursday, September 08, 2011
Friday, April 01, 2011
i give up
Teaching is making me miserable. There's no acting work for me. Why sugarcoat it anymore? I'm quitting theater entirely. I bought an LSAT book the other day, and I'm going to take those in the fall and aim for law school next year. Sometimes you just have to grow up.
(april fool!)
(april fool!)
Monday, February 07, 2011
hope everlasting
Back in June, I received a bracelet enscribed with the word "Hope". (The story behind it can be found at the bottom of this post, if you're too lazy to scroll down.) The original lasted until September, when it broke on the day I was leaving Pittsburgh for my five day cross-country drive to Sleepy Hamlet. Thinking that it was an ominous sign to drive across the country without hope, my mother gave me hers (she hadn't opened the package). Unlike the previous bracelet, which I would take off to shower, I never took this one off.
I woke up this morning to find it broken on the air mattress where I had spent the night.
Fitting, right?
A psychologist might find it interesting that I now equate the snapping of my charm with the end of the Steelers' championship run, rather than the loss of hope in my life. Of course, said psychologist would have a field day with my devotion to my football team.
However, I feel like I'm at a better place now that when I donned that bracelet. My brother and I were kidding around about this this morning, and we were making jokes like, "You're carrying hope in here!" while pointing to our chest. "You've had it all along!" And...there's probably some truth to that, you know?
I'm not going in search for another "Hope" bracelet. I feel like the bracelets did their job. And while I won't miss people asking me why I'm wearing a hairband on my arm, and even though I will probably rub my wrist looking for that familiar band for the next few months, I no longer need a waking reminder of the fact that my life is going to get better.
Because it has.
I woke up this morning to find it broken on the air mattress where I had spent the night.
Fitting, right?
A psychologist might find it interesting that I now equate the snapping of my charm with the end of the Steelers' championship run, rather than the loss of hope in my life. Of course, said psychologist would have a field day with my devotion to my football team.
However, I feel like I'm at a better place now that when I donned that bracelet. My brother and I were kidding around about this this morning, and we were making jokes like, "You're carrying hope in here!" while pointing to our chest. "You've had it all along!" And...there's probably some truth to that, you know?
I'm not going in search for another "Hope" bracelet. I feel like the bracelets did their job. And while I won't miss people asking me why I'm wearing a hairband on my arm, and even though I will probably rub my wrist looking for that familiar band for the next few months, I no longer need a waking reminder of the fact that my life is going to get better.
Because it has.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
so you want an update, huh?
I'm permanently leaving New York and moving to...
Sleepy Hamlet.
How's that for a shocker, huh?
I'd write more, but I'm too busy packing up my life.
Sleepy Hamlet.
How's that for a shocker, huh?
I'd write more, but I'm too busy packing up my life.
Monday, June 21, 2010
ten things i learned on vacation
1. I'm good at traveling
I went on a ten day excursion to Sleepy Hamlet and Las Vegas - two very different climates and two very different atmospheres. And yet I managed to fit everything into a carry-on-sized bag. Winner.
I also left my laptop at home, relying on my Palm Pre and iPod Touch, and had no internet access in Vegas other than my phone. If you've ever met me, you know that's a minor miracle.
2. I can't treat my body the way that I used to
One of the few positives of my crappy temp job is that since I don't take lunch breaks (because I don't get paid) I bring healthy food to work. I've kind of shifted into a grazing mode: a handful of almonds and cranberries here, an apple there, a turkey sandwich at lunch. Occasionally I'll have a bag of chips or some chocolate, but that's the exception to the rule. Dinners have been pretty light - mostly chicken or fish with some vegetables. I've also been working out pretty consistently these days, and I've cut back on the drinking.
On vacation?
Multiple drinks most nights. I got completely hammered at least three times, and had one of the worst hangovers of my life. On a different morning, I woke up still drunk from the night before. I ate loads of red meat and greasy food. Salt. Fat. Sugar. Very little exercise (unless you count "twelve ounce curls" as working out).
Five years ago, I could eat that without skipping a beat. Now? I feel sluggish, bloated, slow. I went grocery shopping tonight and I've never been so excited to buy fruits and vegetables. This must be a sign of me getting old.
3. I'm ready to go back to Sleepy Hamlet
The first leg of the trip was spent in my old stomping grounds, and I had a great time. My man Leprechauna Jones and his lady came up from LA. I stayed with an extremely cool chick who we'll call The Prodigy (another story for another time). I saw all my old peeps. Everyone had such nice things to say to me, and more than one person said, "They need to bring you back here." Normally I just laugh stuff like that off...but this time was different.
I hate admitting that I want acting jobs, because that opens up a whole can of worms, but I really want to live there again, to work there as an actor. Never thought I'd say that.
We'll see if it happens.
4. I miss having a community
One of the reasons that I love Sleepy Hamlet is because of the network of friends I have there. Not only do they know me, but they know and like each other. I feel like I have a real clump of people who have my back. I love them like family. It was really hard to leave them this time...but then I went to Vegas and met up with my actual clan...
5. My family is remarkable
I had a great time in Sleepy Hamlet, but it was exhausting. I really wasn't looking forward to spending four days in Vegas for a birthday party/family reunion. I've got some crazy family members who get on my nerves, and I was afraid that it was going to be a disaster.
Instead, it was delightful.
I spent some quality time with several cousins that I hadn't seen in years. We ate, we drank, we gambled, we sang, we prayed, we laughed. And I was really reminded of my legacy. I am related to some remarkable, talented, intelligent people.
One experience stands out. We had a Father's Day brunch on Sunday, and my brother had already agreed to sing one of his songs. As always, my cousin who generally plays the MC tried to get me to perform something. My attitude is generally, "Why? Who wants to see a monologue out of context?" But she kept badgering and badgering, and finally I relented. I got up in the little room we had reserved and busted out forty lines of my best Shakespeare.
I have never received such an ovation in my life.
If you've never had the change to have several generations of your family applaud you and give you hugs and pounds and kisses, you really have to do something to make that happen. It's an amazing feeling. To be able to share your art with your own flesh and blood - and to have them get it, really get it...wow.
The coolest part was that my brother played after me, and then my father got up and said that he was proud of us, and proud of the whole family for working to make it possible for us to get to the place where we're able to share our gifts. He talked about talents of previous generations who didn't get the chance to shine due to various circumstances, and said that my brother and I are reminders that you can really do anything you want to, if you're willing to work hard. It was really great to hear him verbalize that. I don't know that I've ever been prouder of my dad.
So yesterday was a great day. Then I hopped on a redeye back to New York, got home at six, crawled into bed at eight, and couldn't stop my brain from racing. Because, over the past few hours, the following realization had crept over me:
6. I'm not in a good place
While the validation from my family was great, in some strange way it magnified the misery I've been feeling lately. I hate this temp job with a passion, and I feel like it's keeping me away from doing what I want to do. I had just spent ten days with two great communities that I belong to...only to come back to New York and realize that I don't have one here. Sure, I have great friends here, but they're all individual friendships; there's no greater connection to a whole.
On the female front, I've been rejected by girls I liked twice in the past two weeks, and I kept having this visceral reaction in the pit of my stomach whenever I would see couples holding hands, or kissing. At first, I thought I was just turned off by PDA a little more than normal, but as I thought about it more and more, I kept returning to the horrible conclusion that I first blurted out to my therapist a couple of months ago, which is:
7. I want to be in a relationship
It really hurts me to admit that. I feel like I'm supposed to be independent right now - after all, I was with Maxine on and off for almost eight years, and during most of those "off" times I usually had someone around. I feel like I'm supposed to be ok with being alone. But I have to face facts, and confront the truth: I would really love to have a partner.
You know what the worst part of this is?
8. It's logistically impossible for me to be in a relationship right now
I realized that truth last night, after reading an e-mail from The Prodigy telling me that she wasn't interested in having a relationship with me. Now, there's a bit more to the story than that, but nevertheless my feelings were really hurt. After thinking it through, however, I realized that my travel schedule over the next few months and my economic condition isn't so conducive to a healthy relationship. Sure, I could make something work long-distance, but I've already done that, and I don't know if that's the kind of relationship I want right now.
9. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be in New York
Something else I realized in my talks with The Prodigy (it was an intense few days) is that I'm not sure how much longer I want to be here. I'm not living the kind of life I want to lead. My competitive nature is the one thing keeping me here; I feel a need to prove that I can compete with the best actors in the world, and land parts in high profile projects. But I'm broke, working a lousy job for lousy pay, and I'm not auditioning right now, and my apartment (while a great deal for the city) is tiny and expensive. I just keep thinking, "Why am I doing this? For what?"
Why shouldn't I move to a smaller regional city, like San Francisco or Seattle or Washington or Denver or Minneapolis and work a lot and teach on the side? I could have an apartment, get a teaching job, meet a nice girl and settle down and get married and start a family. Why not?
Because, if I never gave New York a fair shot, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I don't want to be 55 looking back and saying, "Oh, I could've done this and that, blah blah blah." I want no regrets. So, every though I deny myself pleasure after pleasure, I have to keep pushing. It's immensely frustrating.
So, in summation, what did this week teach me?
10. I have no clue where I'm going
For most of the past decade, I've been able to tell you what I'm going to be doing five years from now. Not with any freakish degree of accuracy, mind you, but I could say, "I'm going to be an actor based out of New York, and I'm going to be with Maxine." Breaking up with her last fall changed all that. Suddenly my life had no anchor. I was free to move in any direction I wanted. Sometimes that has been pleasant, but most of the time I've felt paralyzed. I suppose, however, that recognizing this is some small victory. You have to know where you are before you know where you're going, right?
Two things to close with. Yesterday, I was sitting with my mother in the hotel room. She was trying to give me money, as usual. As usual, I was trying not to take it. But my poverty trumped my pride, and I relented. My mother bent down, cradled my face in her hands, and said, "I just hope that you find whatever it is that you're looking for."
I almost bawled. I have no idea how I held it together. I think I muttered thanks and looked away quickly, but I was just in amazement that she could see right through me like that. I guess that I shouldn't be that amazed. She is my mother, after all. She just wants the best for me.
Which brings me to the other thing.
We got goodie bags for the whole weekend, and much of our swag was cancer-related. (Several of my family members have battled cancer, so many of us are involved in cancer fighting charities.) This was the night of my massive hangover, so I was feeling particularly crappy. I took the bag from my cousin, who pointed out something in their that she didn't want me to lose. Perched on top of the purple tissue paper was an elastic bracelet wrapped in plastic. In the center of the bracelet was a grey bead with a single word printed on it.
It spoke to me. It was just what I needed. I ripped open the plastic, and put it on my wrist straightaway. I'm wearing it now.
It's a reminder. Things may be tough now...but tomorrow brings endless possibility, of brightness just around the corner.
Hope.
That may be all I have, but it's a pretty powerful something.
I went on a ten day excursion to Sleepy Hamlet and Las Vegas - two very different climates and two very different atmospheres. And yet I managed to fit everything into a carry-on-sized bag. Winner.
I also left my laptop at home, relying on my Palm Pre and iPod Touch, and had no internet access in Vegas other than my phone. If you've ever met me, you know that's a minor miracle.
2. I can't treat my body the way that I used to
One of the few positives of my crappy temp job is that since I don't take lunch breaks (because I don't get paid) I bring healthy food to work. I've kind of shifted into a grazing mode: a handful of almonds and cranberries here, an apple there, a turkey sandwich at lunch. Occasionally I'll have a bag of chips or some chocolate, but that's the exception to the rule. Dinners have been pretty light - mostly chicken or fish with some vegetables. I've also been working out pretty consistently these days, and I've cut back on the drinking.
On vacation?
Multiple drinks most nights. I got completely hammered at least three times, and had one of the worst hangovers of my life. On a different morning, I woke up still drunk from the night before. I ate loads of red meat and greasy food. Salt. Fat. Sugar. Very little exercise (unless you count "twelve ounce curls" as working out).
Five years ago, I could eat that without skipping a beat. Now? I feel sluggish, bloated, slow. I went grocery shopping tonight and I've never been so excited to buy fruits and vegetables. This must be a sign of me getting old.
3. I'm ready to go back to Sleepy Hamlet
The first leg of the trip was spent in my old stomping grounds, and I had a great time. My man Leprechauna Jones and his lady came up from LA. I stayed with an extremely cool chick who we'll call The Prodigy (another story for another time). I saw all my old peeps. Everyone had such nice things to say to me, and more than one person said, "They need to bring you back here." Normally I just laugh stuff like that off...but this time was different.
I hate admitting that I want acting jobs, because that opens up a whole can of worms, but I really want to live there again, to work there as an actor. Never thought I'd say that.
We'll see if it happens.
4. I miss having a community
One of the reasons that I love Sleepy Hamlet is because of the network of friends I have there. Not only do they know me, but they know and like each other. I feel like I have a real clump of people who have my back. I love them like family. It was really hard to leave them this time...but then I went to Vegas and met up with my actual clan...
5. My family is remarkable
I had a great time in Sleepy Hamlet, but it was exhausting. I really wasn't looking forward to spending four days in Vegas for a birthday party/family reunion. I've got some crazy family members who get on my nerves, and I was afraid that it was going to be a disaster.
Instead, it was delightful.
I spent some quality time with several cousins that I hadn't seen in years. We ate, we drank, we gambled, we sang, we prayed, we laughed. And I was really reminded of my legacy. I am related to some remarkable, talented, intelligent people.
One experience stands out. We had a Father's Day brunch on Sunday, and my brother had already agreed to sing one of his songs. As always, my cousin who generally plays the MC tried to get me to perform something. My attitude is generally, "Why? Who wants to see a monologue out of context?" But she kept badgering and badgering, and finally I relented. I got up in the little room we had reserved and busted out forty lines of my best Shakespeare.
I have never received such an ovation in my life.
If you've never had the change to have several generations of your family applaud you and give you hugs and pounds and kisses, you really have to do something to make that happen. It's an amazing feeling. To be able to share your art with your own flesh and blood - and to have them get it, really get it...wow.
The coolest part was that my brother played after me, and then my father got up and said that he was proud of us, and proud of the whole family for working to make it possible for us to get to the place where we're able to share our gifts. He talked about talents of previous generations who didn't get the chance to shine due to various circumstances, and said that my brother and I are reminders that you can really do anything you want to, if you're willing to work hard. It was really great to hear him verbalize that. I don't know that I've ever been prouder of my dad.
So yesterday was a great day. Then I hopped on a redeye back to New York, got home at six, crawled into bed at eight, and couldn't stop my brain from racing. Because, over the past few hours, the following realization had crept over me:
6. I'm not in a good place
While the validation from my family was great, in some strange way it magnified the misery I've been feeling lately. I hate this temp job with a passion, and I feel like it's keeping me away from doing what I want to do. I had just spent ten days with two great communities that I belong to...only to come back to New York and realize that I don't have one here. Sure, I have great friends here, but they're all individual friendships; there's no greater connection to a whole.
On the female front, I've been rejected by girls I liked twice in the past two weeks, and I kept having this visceral reaction in the pit of my stomach whenever I would see couples holding hands, or kissing. At first, I thought I was just turned off by PDA a little more than normal, but as I thought about it more and more, I kept returning to the horrible conclusion that I first blurted out to my therapist a couple of months ago, which is:
7. I want to be in a relationship
It really hurts me to admit that. I feel like I'm supposed to be independent right now - after all, I was with Maxine on and off for almost eight years, and during most of those "off" times I usually had someone around. I feel like I'm supposed to be ok with being alone. But I have to face facts, and confront the truth: I would really love to have a partner.
You know what the worst part of this is?
8. It's logistically impossible for me to be in a relationship right now
I realized that truth last night, after reading an e-mail from The Prodigy telling me that she wasn't interested in having a relationship with me. Now, there's a bit more to the story than that, but nevertheless my feelings were really hurt. After thinking it through, however, I realized that my travel schedule over the next few months and my economic condition isn't so conducive to a healthy relationship. Sure, I could make something work long-distance, but I've already done that, and I don't know if that's the kind of relationship I want right now.
9. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be in New York
Something else I realized in my talks with The Prodigy (it was an intense few days) is that I'm not sure how much longer I want to be here. I'm not living the kind of life I want to lead. My competitive nature is the one thing keeping me here; I feel a need to prove that I can compete with the best actors in the world, and land parts in high profile projects. But I'm broke, working a lousy job for lousy pay, and I'm not auditioning right now, and my apartment (while a great deal for the city) is tiny and expensive. I just keep thinking, "Why am I doing this? For what?"
Why shouldn't I move to a smaller regional city, like San Francisco or Seattle or Washington or Denver or Minneapolis and work a lot and teach on the side? I could have an apartment, get a teaching job, meet a nice girl and settle down and get married and start a family. Why not?
Because, if I never gave New York a fair shot, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I don't want to be 55 looking back and saying, "Oh, I could've done this and that, blah blah blah." I want no regrets. So, every though I deny myself pleasure after pleasure, I have to keep pushing. It's immensely frustrating.
So, in summation, what did this week teach me?
10. I have no clue where I'm going
For most of the past decade, I've been able to tell you what I'm going to be doing five years from now. Not with any freakish degree of accuracy, mind you, but I could say, "I'm going to be an actor based out of New York, and I'm going to be with Maxine." Breaking up with her last fall changed all that. Suddenly my life had no anchor. I was free to move in any direction I wanted. Sometimes that has been pleasant, but most of the time I've felt paralyzed. I suppose, however, that recognizing this is some small victory. You have to know where you are before you know where you're going, right?
Two things to close with. Yesterday, I was sitting with my mother in the hotel room. She was trying to give me money, as usual. As usual, I was trying not to take it. But my poverty trumped my pride, and I relented. My mother bent down, cradled my face in her hands, and said, "I just hope that you find whatever it is that you're looking for."
I almost bawled. I have no idea how I held it together. I think I muttered thanks and looked away quickly, but I was just in amazement that she could see right through me like that. I guess that I shouldn't be that amazed. She is my mother, after all. She just wants the best for me.
Which brings me to the other thing.
We got goodie bags for the whole weekend, and much of our swag was cancer-related. (Several of my family members have battled cancer, so many of us are involved in cancer fighting charities.) This was the night of my massive hangover, so I was feeling particularly crappy. I took the bag from my cousin, who pointed out something in their that she didn't want me to lose. Perched on top of the purple tissue paper was an elastic bracelet wrapped in plastic. In the center of the bracelet was a grey bead with a single word printed on it.
It spoke to me. It was just what I needed. I ripped open the plastic, and put it on my wrist straightaway. I'm wearing it now.
It's a reminder. Things may be tough now...but tomorrow brings endless possibility, of brightness just around the corner.
Hope.
That may be all I have, but it's a pretty powerful something.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
changing the paradigm (i need a nice girl)
If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I tend to experience...ahem..."girl drama".
If you know me in real life, you would probably agree that I tend to date CRAZY women.
It's true. I don't deny this. I tend to have a weakness for icy, bitchy, beautiful women, who are mean and/or selfish. Or flaky, flighty women who have random mood swings and do irrational things that freak me out. Like print t-shirts with my name on them. Or plan spontaneous trips to visit me when they know I'm dating someone else.
Yeesh. It looks worse when I type it.
Anyway, I'm trying to actively change the type of woman I date. Some of the qualities that I'm looking for can't be changed; for example, it is impossible for me to date someone who hates theater. Or who isn't honest. Or has a flat butt. But I'm trying to put more of an emplasis on women who value some of the things I do: family, courtesy, tact.
Sports.
Above all, I'm looking for someone who is nice. I used the phrase "big-hearted" recently - not sure that I've dated someone like that since high school.
I had an encounter a few weeks ago that showed me I'm making some progress.
I'm in Brooklyn on a Friday night, and I passed a beautiful woman with an Afro on her cell phone. I am intrigued. I get to my destination, and as I wait outside I see her again. Still on her phone. She smiles. I smile. She approaches me.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Excuse me, can I ask you a question?
ME: Of course.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Would you mind doing me a favor?
Uh-oh. Alarms bells going off.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: I'm trying not to run into my ex-boyfriend, and I think he may be inside this bar. Would you mind going inside and checking to see if he's there?
Now, obviously, I'm thinking BULLSHIT. Obviously, this woman is just looking for an excuse to talk to me. It's a lame one, but I'm kind of impressed that she came up with something so...so...dumb. And, you know, having a pretty girl make dumb excuses to talk to me is kind of awesome. It makes my ego feel good. So I decide to play along.
ME: Uh...sure.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: He's got dreadlocks. He's really corny-looking.
"Corny-looking"? Really? What the hell does that mean?
ME: Uh...ok.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Oh, thank you. You are so nice!
I go into the bar. It is Buppie central. (Black Urban Professionals, for the uninitiated.) I walk the length of the bar. There is exactly one guy in the place with dreadlocks - and he's the DJ. And, if a girl's ex-boyfriend is a DJ, she's going to say, "Look for the DJ."
Armed with this information, I return to the front, where she is still standing (and still on her cell phone).
ME: The only guy in there with 'locks is the DJ.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Was he real corny-looking?
ME: Uh, I don't know...sure.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Yeah, that's him. You are so nice! Thank you!
We exchange names and chit-chat for a bit, and then she moves off to finish her phone call. My friends arrive (The Flying Squirrel and her friend). We walk through the club, decide that it's not our scene, and head across the street. I see my new friend walking away down the street. Too bad, I think. I had been planning on asking her to join us.
We go to the bar across the street. As we enter, I'm thinking, "She was cute, and she was obviously interested in you. And it's New York, so if you see someone you like, you need to go for it!" I excuse myself and head back out into the street.
No sign of her.
I walk in the direction where I last saw her.
Nope.
I walk around the entire block.
Nothing.
Oh well, I think. I cross the street and prepare to head back to my friends...when I see her coming towards me on the street. Still on her phone. I approach her:
ME: Excuse me, Pretty Woman W/Afro?
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: (to person on phone) Hold on a minute, Darnell. (to me) Yes?
ME: I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to get a drink or coffee sometime.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Hmmm. Well, I don't know. You were acting kind of stuck up back there.
Um, what?
ME: I don't know what you mean. I was waiting for my friends to arrive, and when I turned around you were walking down the street. I was going to ask you to join us.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Hmmm, I don't know. Well...how old are you?
I tell her my age.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Okay, okay, I'm thirty, okay, that works. Well...what do you do?
It is at this point that I seriously consider walking away. These are pointed questions. I feel like I'm being interrogated. But, hey, I am a guy who follows through. In karate, as a kid, the tenth rule was ALWAYS FINISH WHAT YOU START. I must finish this. This is how I roll. So, against my better judgement, I answer:
ME: I'm an actor.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Okay, okay, so that means you must be creative. You look like someone who can sing.
Um, what?
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Okay, okay, I could go out with you. Yeah.
ME: Well, how should we do this? Should I take your number, or do you want to give me yours, or can I give you my card...?
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: A card? That's just so impersonal. (to person on phone) Darnell, I'm going to have to call you back.
Yes, that entire conversation took place WHILE SHE WAS ON THE FUCKING PHONE.
We exchange info, I go inside and hang with my friends.
I tell this story twice over the next two days: first, to a group of female friends, who are vehemently opposed to me going out with her. "If she's going to make you jump through all those hoops now and play these games," one friend says, "she's going to do that the whole time, You don't want to mess with that."
The second time was at our annual Mother's Day brunch: my brother, sister-in-law and I drove up to New England to have brunch with Voice & Sandwich, Grandma, my aunt, and my cousins. After the story, my mother looks distressed. "I just don't like this," she says.
ME: So you're saying you don't trust my taste in women?
VOICE: YES!
We all laughed. It was kind of shocking, hearing that from my mother. And eye-opening.
So, of course, I call this woman on Thursday night, as I'm headed out for the evening.
At this point you're probably thinking, where are these changes? This seems like another pursuit of crazy.
Well, yes.
But as the phone was ringing, I found myself hoping that she wouldn't pick up. When she called me back the next evening, I didn't pick up. And a couple of days later, I deleted her number from my phone, without calling her back.
If she treats a stranger like that, is she really the nice girl I'm looking for?
It took me a while to get there, but I consider this progress.
If you know me in real life, you would probably agree that I tend to date CRAZY women.
It's true. I don't deny this. I tend to have a weakness for icy, bitchy, beautiful women, who are mean and/or selfish. Or flaky, flighty women who have random mood swings and do irrational things that freak me out. Like print t-shirts with my name on them. Or plan spontaneous trips to visit me when they know I'm dating someone else.
Yeesh. It looks worse when I type it.
Anyway, I'm trying to actively change the type of woman I date. Some of the qualities that I'm looking for can't be changed; for example, it is impossible for me to date someone who hates theater. Or who isn't honest. Or has a flat butt. But I'm trying to put more of an emplasis on women who value some of the things I do: family, courtesy, tact.
Sports.
Above all, I'm looking for someone who is nice. I used the phrase "big-hearted" recently - not sure that I've dated someone like that since high school.
I had an encounter a few weeks ago that showed me I'm making some progress.
I'm in Brooklyn on a Friday night, and I passed a beautiful woman with an Afro on her cell phone. I am intrigued. I get to my destination, and as I wait outside I see her again. Still on her phone. She smiles. I smile. She approaches me.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Excuse me, can I ask you a question?
ME: Of course.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Would you mind doing me a favor?
Uh-oh. Alarms bells going off.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: I'm trying not to run into my ex-boyfriend, and I think he may be inside this bar. Would you mind going inside and checking to see if he's there?
Now, obviously, I'm thinking BULLSHIT. Obviously, this woman is just looking for an excuse to talk to me. It's a lame one, but I'm kind of impressed that she came up with something so...so...dumb. And, you know, having a pretty girl make dumb excuses to talk to me is kind of awesome. It makes my ego feel good. So I decide to play along.
ME: Uh...sure.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: He's got dreadlocks. He's really corny-looking.
"Corny-looking"? Really? What the hell does that mean?
ME: Uh...ok.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Oh, thank you. You are so nice!
I go into the bar. It is Buppie central. (Black Urban Professionals, for the uninitiated.) I walk the length of the bar. There is exactly one guy in the place with dreadlocks - and he's the DJ. And, if a girl's ex-boyfriend is a DJ, she's going to say, "Look for the DJ."
Armed with this information, I return to the front, where she is still standing (and still on her cell phone).
ME: The only guy in there with 'locks is the DJ.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Was he real corny-looking?
ME: Uh, I don't know...sure.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Yeah, that's him. You are so nice! Thank you!
We exchange names and chit-chat for a bit, and then she moves off to finish her phone call. My friends arrive (The Flying Squirrel and her friend). We walk through the club, decide that it's not our scene, and head across the street. I see my new friend walking away down the street. Too bad, I think. I had been planning on asking her to join us.
We go to the bar across the street. As we enter, I'm thinking, "She was cute, and she was obviously interested in you. And it's New York, so if you see someone you like, you need to go for it!" I excuse myself and head back out into the street.
No sign of her.
I walk in the direction where I last saw her.
Nope.
I walk around the entire block.
Nothing.
Oh well, I think. I cross the street and prepare to head back to my friends...when I see her coming towards me on the street. Still on her phone. I approach her:
ME: Excuse me, Pretty Woman W/Afro?
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: (to person on phone) Hold on a minute, Darnell. (to me) Yes?
ME: I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to get a drink or coffee sometime.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Hmmm. Well, I don't know. You were acting kind of stuck up back there.
Um, what?
ME: I don't know what you mean. I was waiting for my friends to arrive, and when I turned around you were walking down the street. I was going to ask you to join us.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Hmmm, I don't know. Well...how old are you?
I tell her my age.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Okay, okay, I'm thirty, okay, that works. Well...what do you do?
It is at this point that I seriously consider walking away. These are pointed questions. I feel like I'm being interrogated. But, hey, I am a guy who follows through. In karate, as a kid, the tenth rule was ALWAYS FINISH WHAT YOU START. I must finish this. This is how I roll. So, against my better judgement, I answer:
ME: I'm an actor.
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Okay, okay, so that means you must be creative. You look like someone who can sing.
Um, what?
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: Okay, okay, I could go out with you. Yeah.
ME: Well, how should we do this? Should I take your number, or do you want to give me yours, or can I give you my card...?
PRETTY WOMAN W/AFRO: A card? That's just so impersonal. (to person on phone) Darnell, I'm going to have to call you back.
Yes, that entire conversation took place WHILE SHE WAS ON THE FUCKING PHONE.
We exchange info, I go inside and hang with my friends.
I tell this story twice over the next two days: first, to a group of female friends, who are vehemently opposed to me going out with her. "If she's going to make you jump through all those hoops now and play these games," one friend says, "she's going to do that the whole time, You don't want to mess with that."
The second time was at our annual Mother's Day brunch: my brother, sister-in-law and I drove up to New England to have brunch with Voice & Sandwich, Grandma, my aunt, and my cousins. After the story, my mother looks distressed. "I just don't like this," she says.
ME: So you're saying you don't trust my taste in women?
VOICE: YES!
We all laughed. It was kind of shocking, hearing that from my mother. And eye-opening.
So, of course, I call this woman on Thursday night, as I'm headed out for the evening.
At this point you're probably thinking, where are these changes? This seems like another pursuit of crazy.
Well, yes.
But as the phone was ringing, I found myself hoping that she wouldn't pick up. When she called me back the next evening, I didn't pick up. And a couple of days later, I deleted her number from my phone, without calling her back.
If she treats a stranger like that, is she really the nice girl I'm looking for?
It took me a while to get there, but I consider this progress.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
the welcome home whirlwind
It's amazing how quickly things can change. One minute, you're on top of the world. The next, you feel like life is kicking you in the face. Repeatedly.
With that said, here's the basic timeline of my first 48 hours back in New York.
SUNDAY
appx 3:45pm: Plane touches down at LaGuardia. I briefly consider kissing the tarmac, but remember that I'm back in the city, and decide to pass.
3:50pm: My bag is heavy. My bookbag broke last weekend, so I'm stuck carting around my computer and my other essentials in my gym bag, which was not built to carry heavy stuff. My shoulder hurts.
3:55pm: Luggage arrives.
4:00pm: Get into a cab to take me home. The cab driver is a cheery African who smokes a cigarette and blares loud reggae music. I am so excited to be home that I don't mind.
4:30pm: Home! I open the door to my apartment and am greeted by the sound of my smoke detector. This means I need to buy a battery. My apartment is very dusty, and my bathroom smells funny. I chalk this up to my month-long absence.
4:45pm: Talk to the Brooklyn Squirrel on the phone in front of a drug store. It is a perfect day. There are beautiful people everywhere. I am so happy to be back in my neighborhood.
5:00pm: Equipped with batteries (on sale!) and some frozen yogurt (also on sale!), I return home. I feel like I am floating. There is no tension in my body. I am only slightly anxious about running into my ex-girlfriend. I think to myself, Perhaps this represents a turning point in your life. Perhaps things are going to totally go your way over the next few weeks. Perhaps your life will transform for the better, right now!
In retrospect, I totally jinxed myself.
5:15pm: I investigate the smell in my bathroom. It smells faintly of vanilla. I notice that I have left my vanilla-scented candle jar unscented all month. Maybe the caged-up vanilla smell goes bad when it is trapped in a small space, I think. I open the lid to my toilet. I realize that the candle has nothing to do with the smell: sewage has backed up into my toilet. It is truly disgusting. It will not flush. The only description I will give you: a layer of mold is on the top.
5:20pm: I call the front desk. They tell me that no one is around to fix it, but they will submit a work order. I will have to use the public restrooms in the building. I decide to not worry about it, and turn on the TV to watch some playoff hoops as I dust.
5:22pm: The cable goes out.
5:45pm: After two phone calls to the cable company and several attempts to reboot, I am informed that there is a problem with my cable box, and that technicians will have to come out to fix things. "How is Thursday afternoon?" the cheery cable lady asks. I wish that I could punch her in the face.
6:00pm: I dust. I call my parents. They tell me that things will get better. We talk sports.
8:40pm: I arrive at The Hot Wing's house for dinner - she has agreed to cook for me. Her cat is happy to see me.
8:50pm: I play with the cat. I don't like cats, but I'm a nice guy. We play gentle, then a little rough, then gentle.
9:30pm: We eat. We catch up. The Hot Wing is awesome.
11:30pm: I go home to work on sides for my audition. I only found about it on Friday. I am worried that, even though it is only two pages, I am not prepared enough.
12:30am: I go downstairs to use the bathroom. I feel like an idiot. There is no soap in the bathroom. Or paper towels. I feel gross.
1:30am: Sleep. I am happy to be in my comfortable bed.
MONDAY
9:15am: Rise and shine. I notice that I have bug bites on my right hand and left arm.
11:00am: I arrive for my audition. I endured train trauma, but this is already a long post.
11:10am: I perform my audition. The response is enthusiastic. I am elated.
11:15am: I speak to my temp agent, who has a job for me on Tuesday. I am elated.
12:00pm: I hang out in my building's new workout facility, where my sister-in-law is showing people how to use the equipment. We catch up. My sister-in-law is awesome. I check in with the maintenance guys, and they tell me they will be by at four to fix the toilet.
2:30pm: I buy lunch and go grocery shopping. The bug bites still itch. I put anti-itch cream on them. I check around my bed for spiders and around my ceiling for mosquitoes. I find nothing.
4:00pm: Maintenance doesn't show up.
6:00pm: I meet The Flying Squirrel for coffee. We catch up. The Flying Squirrel is awesome.
7:30pm: We eat dinner at a cool new restaurant. I keep scratching my hand. This bug bite is really bothering me.
9:30pm: Home. I resort to watching games on the internet. My bites are itching like crazy. The cream is not helping.
11:30pm: I try to get myself ready for bed, because I want to work out in the morning before my temp job. I set my alarm for six. I have to go downstairs to use the bathroom. There's still no soap or towels. Fortunately I have brought hand sanitizer. I feel slightly less gross. I search the bed and sheets again for bugs or spiders. I wonder if I was bit at my Heartland apartment.
1:15am: I finally get in bed. My hand and arm itch to the point of pain. I reset the alarm for six fifteen.
3:50am: I wake to my hand throbbing. I look at it and notice that it is swollen to a ridiculous state. I start to panic. I debate going to the hospital, but decide that I am being a wuss.
4:00am: I research spider bites online. I gross myself out.
4:30am: I remember that The Hot Wing's cat, while playing with me, nipped my hand. I wonder if that is the cause of the pain. I put ice on my hand and arm and that helps somewhat.
5:15am: I finally go back to sleep. I scrap my plan to work out at 6:15.
TUESDAY
8:15am: Rise and shine. I am exhausted.
8:30am: My hand is so swollen that I cannot bend my wrist. Under my skin I see a red streak that extends from my wrist to my elbow. The lump on my left arm is now the size of a mini candy bar. This makes getting dressed in my fancy temp clothes difficult.
8:50am: I leave for my temp job. I decide to tell them upon arrival that I will have to go see my doctor. I call my mother, who confirms my decision.
9:30am: I arrive at my temp job. I am told to wait. I sit down on the couch.
9:35am: The other employee from my temp agency arrives. She has been informed that the job has been cancelled.
9:37am: I check my phone. There is a voice mail. It is from my temp agency, telling me to go home because the temp job has been cancelled.
9:45am: I call my doctor's office. They initially tell me that there's no way to see the doctor today, but after I explain my problem they tell me they will call back.
10:00am: I eat breakfast at McDonald's (I didn't want to go all the way home, ok?). I talk to The Hot Wing, who is on a break from jury duty. She is mortified and apologetic. I tell her that it is not her fault. Or her cat's.
10:10am: The phone rings again. It is the doctor's office. My doctor can see me at one.
11:00am: I arrive home. I change out of my fancy temp clothes into my regular Rover clothes. My toilet is still not fixed. I call the maintenance guys. They say they will come up.
11:30am: My temp agent calls to apologize. During her call, the maintenance guys arrive. The toilet is fixed. The maintenance guys are awesome.
12:50pm: I arrive at the doctor's office. My doctor sees me quickly.
1:00pm: I am examined on the table. The red streak now extends from my wrist almost to my armpit. The doctor excuses herself.
1:10pm: The doctor returns. You have an infection from the cat bite, she says. We're going to start you on antibiotics, and I'm going to give you a tetanus shot.
Great, I say. I can still work out while I'm taking this right?
My doctor gives me a withering look.
Um, NO, she says. You have a VERY bad infection. You need to rest for a few days before you start exerting yourself.
My doctor is awesome.
1:50pm: My prescription is filled. This is the fourth time I am on antibiotics in the past seven months. Ironically, I still have four pills left in my pack of probiotics, which, you know, you take after a course of antibiotics. I find this hilarious.
2:15pm: I eat lunch with my brother and his drummer. We make fun of various and sundry things, including: the drummer, for her slow lunch order; the burger joint's soundtrack; internet videos and websites; the sheer size of my antibiotics. We take a picture to document the growth of my stunning man beard. It is a beautiful day. My hand and arm have stopped itching so much. I am drinking an Arnold Palmer. Things are better. My parents were right. They usually are.
With that said, here's the basic timeline of my first 48 hours back in New York.
SUNDAY
appx 3:45pm: Plane touches down at LaGuardia. I briefly consider kissing the tarmac, but remember that I'm back in the city, and decide to pass.
3:50pm: My bag is heavy. My bookbag broke last weekend, so I'm stuck carting around my computer and my other essentials in my gym bag, which was not built to carry heavy stuff. My shoulder hurts.
3:55pm: Luggage arrives.
4:00pm: Get into a cab to take me home. The cab driver is a cheery African who smokes a cigarette and blares loud reggae music. I am so excited to be home that I don't mind.
4:30pm: Home! I open the door to my apartment and am greeted by the sound of my smoke detector. This means I need to buy a battery. My apartment is very dusty, and my bathroom smells funny. I chalk this up to my month-long absence.
4:45pm: Talk to the Brooklyn Squirrel on the phone in front of a drug store. It is a perfect day. There are beautiful people everywhere. I am so happy to be back in my neighborhood.
5:00pm: Equipped with batteries (on sale!) and some frozen yogurt (also on sale!), I return home. I feel like I am floating. There is no tension in my body. I am only slightly anxious about running into my ex-girlfriend. I think to myself, Perhaps this represents a turning point in your life. Perhaps things are going to totally go your way over the next few weeks. Perhaps your life will transform for the better, right now!
In retrospect, I totally jinxed myself.
5:15pm: I investigate the smell in my bathroom. It smells faintly of vanilla. I notice that I have left my vanilla-scented candle jar unscented all month. Maybe the caged-up vanilla smell goes bad when it is trapped in a small space, I think. I open the lid to my toilet. I realize that the candle has nothing to do with the smell: sewage has backed up into my toilet. It is truly disgusting. It will not flush. The only description I will give you: a layer of mold is on the top.
5:20pm: I call the front desk. They tell me that no one is around to fix it, but they will submit a work order. I will have to use the public restrooms in the building. I decide to not worry about it, and turn on the TV to watch some playoff hoops as I dust.
5:22pm: The cable goes out.
5:45pm: After two phone calls to the cable company and several attempts to reboot, I am informed that there is a problem with my cable box, and that technicians will have to come out to fix things. "How is Thursday afternoon?" the cheery cable lady asks. I wish that I could punch her in the face.
6:00pm: I dust. I call my parents. They tell me that things will get better. We talk sports.
8:40pm: I arrive at The Hot Wing's house for dinner - she has agreed to cook for me. Her cat is happy to see me.
8:50pm: I play with the cat. I don't like cats, but I'm a nice guy. We play gentle, then a little rough, then gentle.
9:30pm: We eat. We catch up. The Hot Wing is awesome.
11:30pm: I go home to work on sides for my audition. I only found about it on Friday. I am worried that, even though it is only two pages, I am not prepared enough.
12:30am: I go downstairs to use the bathroom. I feel like an idiot. There is no soap in the bathroom. Or paper towels. I feel gross.
1:30am: Sleep. I am happy to be in my comfortable bed.
MONDAY
9:15am: Rise and shine. I notice that I have bug bites on my right hand and left arm.
11:00am: I arrive for my audition. I endured train trauma, but this is already a long post.
11:10am: I perform my audition. The response is enthusiastic. I am elated.
11:15am: I speak to my temp agent, who has a job for me on Tuesday. I am elated.
12:00pm: I hang out in my building's new workout facility, where my sister-in-law is showing people how to use the equipment. We catch up. My sister-in-law is awesome. I check in with the maintenance guys, and they tell me they will be by at four to fix the toilet.
2:30pm: I buy lunch and go grocery shopping. The bug bites still itch. I put anti-itch cream on them. I check around my bed for spiders and around my ceiling for mosquitoes. I find nothing.
4:00pm: Maintenance doesn't show up.
6:00pm: I meet The Flying Squirrel for coffee. We catch up. The Flying Squirrel is awesome.
7:30pm: We eat dinner at a cool new restaurant. I keep scratching my hand. This bug bite is really bothering me.
9:30pm: Home. I resort to watching games on the internet. My bites are itching like crazy. The cream is not helping.
11:30pm: I try to get myself ready for bed, because I want to work out in the morning before my temp job. I set my alarm for six. I have to go downstairs to use the bathroom. There's still no soap or towels. Fortunately I have brought hand sanitizer. I feel slightly less gross. I search the bed and sheets again for bugs or spiders. I wonder if I was bit at my Heartland apartment.
1:15am: I finally get in bed. My hand and arm itch to the point of pain. I reset the alarm for six fifteen.
3:50am: I wake to my hand throbbing. I look at it and notice that it is swollen to a ridiculous state. I start to panic. I debate going to the hospital, but decide that I am being a wuss.
4:00am: I research spider bites online. I gross myself out.
4:30am: I remember that The Hot Wing's cat, while playing with me, nipped my hand. I wonder if that is the cause of the pain. I put ice on my hand and arm and that helps somewhat.
5:15am: I finally go back to sleep. I scrap my plan to work out at 6:15.
TUESDAY
8:15am: Rise and shine. I am exhausted.
8:30am: My hand is so swollen that I cannot bend my wrist. Under my skin I see a red streak that extends from my wrist to my elbow. The lump on my left arm is now the size of a mini candy bar. This makes getting dressed in my fancy temp clothes difficult.
8:50am: I leave for my temp job. I decide to tell them upon arrival that I will have to go see my doctor. I call my mother, who confirms my decision.
9:30am: I arrive at my temp job. I am told to wait. I sit down on the couch.
9:35am: The other employee from my temp agency arrives. She has been informed that the job has been cancelled.
9:37am: I check my phone. There is a voice mail. It is from my temp agency, telling me to go home because the temp job has been cancelled.
9:45am: I call my doctor's office. They initially tell me that there's no way to see the doctor today, but after I explain my problem they tell me they will call back.
10:00am: I eat breakfast at McDonald's (I didn't want to go all the way home, ok?). I talk to The Hot Wing, who is on a break from jury duty. She is mortified and apologetic. I tell her that it is not her fault. Or her cat's.
10:10am: The phone rings again. It is the doctor's office. My doctor can see me at one.
11:00am: I arrive home. I change out of my fancy temp clothes into my regular Rover clothes. My toilet is still not fixed. I call the maintenance guys. They say they will come up.
11:30am: My temp agent calls to apologize. During her call, the maintenance guys arrive. The toilet is fixed. The maintenance guys are awesome.
12:50pm: I arrive at the doctor's office. My doctor sees me quickly.
1:00pm: I am examined on the table. The red streak now extends from my wrist almost to my armpit. The doctor excuses herself.
1:10pm: The doctor returns. You have an infection from the cat bite, she says. We're going to start you on antibiotics, and I'm going to give you a tetanus shot.
Great, I say. I can still work out while I'm taking this right?
My doctor gives me a withering look.
Um, NO, she says. You have a VERY bad infection. You need to rest for a few days before you start exerting yourself.
My doctor is awesome.
1:50pm: My prescription is filled. This is the fourth time I am on antibiotics in the past seven months. Ironically, I still have four pills left in my pack of probiotics, which, you know, you take after a course of antibiotics. I find this hilarious.
2:15pm: I eat lunch with my brother and his drummer. We make fun of various and sundry things, including: the drummer, for her slow lunch order; the burger joint's soundtrack; internet videos and websites; the sheer size of my antibiotics. We take a picture to document the growth of my stunning man beard. It is a beautiful day. My hand and arm have stopped itching so much. I am drinking an Arnold Palmer. Things are better. My parents were right. They usually are.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
life in the heartland
I've been trying to get this post up for the better part of a week, but free time has been in short supply. I'm playing a pretty big role in the show I'm doing here, so I have to kind of line up my day to make sure that I get enough rest, food, sneak a workout in, etc. This leaves precious little blogging time. But here I am, staying up late for you, dear reader. See? I care about this blog!
Anyway...
I'm currently working at a small Midwestern college, located in an even smaller town in the middle of nowhere. Until my parents came last week, I thought that this town didn't even have chain restaurants. Fortunately, they were staying at the other end of town, where all of the "stuff" is located. So my experience has improved in the last week quite a bit - I'm ashamed to say this, but it's amazing what Starbucks can do for one's psyche.
It's been really lonely here, as I alluded to in the post below. And the work, at times, has been frustrating. Two of the students that I rely the most on in the show have been disasters. One can't learn his lines to save his life; the other has a very laissez-faire attitude. As we've moved closer to opening, they've been better - if you consider "paraphrasing whole swaths of text" and "missing an entrance during dress rehearsal "better. They're very nice, though, so it's really hard to kill them for anything. I keep reminding myself that this is supposed to be a learning experience. To be fair, most of the students have really good work ethics, and the young woman who plays my love interest has been a delight. That helps immensely.
Another strange phenomenon here is the publicity for the show. Basically the top half of the posters they've designed is a big color photo of my now-bearded face, staring intently into the viewer's soul. (Which is kind of hilarious, because when they took the picture I was looking directly into the sun, and my thoughts alternated between, "Can I shut my eyes now?" and "I wonder how much damage this is doing to my retinas?") These posters are EVERYWHERE on campus - the cafeteria, glaring at me as I eat; the gym, watching me on the elliptical; and standing guard at seemingly every building entrance on campus. It's really really freaky. It becomes hilarious when I walk past the poster when someone is nearby - invariably they'll glance back and forth between the photo and me. I really wish I could record people's reactions - they're that entertaining.
Anyway, these posters have kind of made me infamous on campus; everyone seems to know me. Now, very rarely is anyone actually talking to me, but more often than not I'm getting that flicker of recognition when I walk past someone. I guess I know what it's like to be famous. I don't like it.
I know that there have been several inquiries (or assumptions) concerning my current status with the ladies. I'll save that one for the next post...coming this weekend...
Anyway...
I'm currently working at a small Midwestern college, located in an even smaller town in the middle of nowhere. Until my parents came last week, I thought that this town didn't even have chain restaurants. Fortunately, they were staying at the other end of town, where all of the "stuff" is located. So my experience has improved in the last week quite a bit - I'm ashamed to say this, but it's amazing what Starbucks can do for one's psyche.
It's been really lonely here, as I alluded to in the post below. And the work, at times, has been frustrating. Two of the students that I rely the most on in the show have been disasters. One can't learn his lines to save his life; the other has a very laissez-faire attitude. As we've moved closer to opening, they've been better - if you consider "paraphrasing whole swaths of text" and "missing an entrance during dress rehearsal "better. They're very nice, though, so it's really hard to kill them for anything. I keep reminding myself that this is supposed to be a learning experience. To be fair, most of the students have really good work ethics, and the young woman who plays my love interest has been a delight. That helps immensely.
Another strange phenomenon here is the publicity for the show. Basically the top half of the posters they've designed is a big color photo of my now-bearded face, staring intently into the viewer's soul. (Which is kind of hilarious, because when they took the picture I was looking directly into the sun, and my thoughts alternated between, "Can I shut my eyes now?" and "I wonder how much damage this is doing to my retinas?") These posters are EVERYWHERE on campus - the cafeteria, glaring at me as I eat; the gym, watching me on the elliptical; and standing guard at seemingly every building entrance on campus. It's really really freaky. It becomes hilarious when I walk past the poster when someone is nearby - invariably they'll glance back and forth between the photo and me. I really wish I could record people's reactions - they're that entertaining.
Anyway, these posters have kind of made me infamous on campus; everyone seems to know me. Now, very rarely is anyone actually talking to me, but more often than not I'm getting that flicker of recognition when I walk past someone. I guess I know what it's like to be famous. I don't like it.
I know that there have been several inquiries (or assumptions) concerning my current status with the ladies. I'll save that one for the next post...coming this weekend...
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
why am i back?
Interruption my orgy of television shows on Hulu to post - see how dedicated I am to this comeback?
I'm not quite sure why I stopped writing in the first place. It was probably a combination of several factors: burnout from blogging every single day in 2008, depression from the end of my relationship, not having internet at home for a couple of months, being really really sick for three months.
I also think that, when I don't have a whole lot nice to say, I tend not to say anything. And 2009 was really quite horrible for me. A week and a half ago, on my last night in New York, I ran into a close friend of mine from grad school at a bar in Brooklyn. I hadn't seen him in over a year, which is super strange, because he's one of the few guy friends I have in the city. He's a great guy, he's super fun...and yet I couldn't think of a good reason why I hadn't called him. Well, here's the reason: I was just in a funk, and I really didn't want to deal with anybody, save for about a half dozen of my closest, closest friends. This is all fascinating to me in hindsight.
Anyway, part of the reason why I'm writing now is because I'm in a tiny tiny town with no one to talk to. I spend my days doing one of four things: eating, surfing the internet, rehearsing, or working out. Life is simple. It's simple because I really don't have any other options, or ways to complicate my life. I'm working with a bunch of college students, so I can't really hang out with them. My director and producer, while nice, have their own families and are both at least fifteen years old than I am. And the people in this town...well...not to get all racist on you, but they're kind of the definition of "redneck", and I don't feel like I have a lot in common with them. I'm kind of afraid to stroll into the bar by myself, know what I mean? Making matters more difficult is that I'm living in a basement apartment, which means my cell phone service is practically nonexistent. I have a hard line, but I can't make long distance calls.
In a word, I'm isolated. Which I actually think isn't a bad thing for me right now. But it does mean that this blog becomes a window out into the world for me again, and I actually find that kind of exciting.
I have all kinds of things I want to write about: this town, the show I'm working on, the freaky experience of literally seeing your face staring at you every where you go, and (of course) my female situation (which is probably most important to those of you who know me in real life). We'll get to that. For now, I just want to say thanks for sticking with me. More to come...
I'm not quite sure why I stopped writing in the first place. It was probably a combination of several factors: burnout from blogging every single day in 2008, depression from the end of my relationship, not having internet at home for a couple of months, being really really sick for three months.
I also think that, when I don't have a whole lot nice to say, I tend not to say anything. And 2009 was really quite horrible for me. A week and a half ago, on my last night in New York, I ran into a close friend of mine from grad school at a bar in Brooklyn. I hadn't seen him in over a year, which is super strange, because he's one of the few guy friends I have in the city. He's a great guy, he's super fun...and yet I couldn't think of a good reason why I hadn't called him. Well, here's the reason: I was just in a funk, and I really didn't want to deal with anybody, save for about a half dozen of my closest, closest friends. This is all fascinating to me in hindsight.
Anyway, part of the reason why I'm writing now is because I'm in a tiny tiny town with no one to talk to. I spend my days doing one of four things: eating, surfing the internet, rehearsing, or working out. Life is simple. It's simple because I really don't have any other options, or ways to complicate my life. I'm working with a bunch of college students, so I can't really hang out with them. My director and producer, while nice, have their own families and are both at least fifteen years old than I am. And the people in this town...well...not to get all racist on you, but they're kind of the definition of "redneck", and I don't feel like I have a lot in common with them. I'm kind of afraid to stroll into the bar by myself, know what I mean? Making matters more difficult is that I'm living in a basement apartment, which means my cell phone service is practically nonexistent. I have a hard line, but I can't make long distance calls.
In a word, I'm isolated. Which I actually think isn't a bad thing for me right now. But it does mean that this blog becomes a window out into the world for me again, and I actually find that kind of exciting.
I have all kinds of things I want to write about: this town, the show I'm working on, the freaky experience of literally seeing your face staring at you every where you go, and (of course) my female situation (which is probably most important to those of you who know me in real life). We'll get to that. For now, I just want to say thanks for sticking with me. More to come...
Saturday, January 17, 2009
popular
Old Village is like most cities in this country; if you want to go dance to some good music, you have to hit up a gay club. After the show last night, four of my castmates (two guys, who we'll call The Mayor and AC, and two ladies; all of us are black) and I went to get our groove on.
The crowd was more gay than straight, but there seemed to be a large number of straight ladies there. We walked towards the back of the bar, passing the restroom, along with a young lady who gazed hungrily at us as if we were dessert. AC and I sidle up to the bar. I'm standing there for maybe fifteen seconds when a young lady kind of brushes past me and stands leaning on the bar directly next to me. She pulls out her cell, glances at it, then checks me out. "Hi."
"Hey, how's it going?" I'm trying to be good, you know, since I'm so far away from my girlfriend right now, etc., so I try to ignore the fact that she's giving me every signal in the book. I look away. She goes back to the cell phone.
AC, who is one of the friendliest and most gorgeous men I have ever met, then greets her. She kind of steps over to the side and has a brief conversation with him, all the while leaning over my back. At some point, AC introduces me. We do a variant on the usual song-and-dance:
GIRL: So, what are you doing here?
ME: We're actors. We're doing a play in town.
GIRL: Oh my gosh! You're an actor? That's SO cool! I love plays! Can I come see it?
ME: Sure. We may be able to help you out with tickets if you want.
GIRL: I would love to come see it. I have to say that I think you guys are really cute...
She gives me her number. I've been in the club for five minutes. AC said he got two phone numbers from two different people in sixty seconds. As I was leaving the club, a girl was making eyes at me while she was hanging on to her boyfriend.
Now, I'm not going to pretend that I'm getting this attention because I'm insanely gorgeous. I mean, I clean up pretty well, but I'm not that special (unlike AC). We're getting this attention because there are not a lot of black people in Old Village, and in liberal-leaning towns like this, black men get a LOT of attention from women - mostly white women. I guess it's because we're different, or "exotic", or something. I'm not quite sure why this is, but it's been a constant in my travels.
All of which makes it extremely hard to be good. I've gone out three times since I've been in town and have been given four phone numbers.
But I'm trying, Maxine. I'm trying.
The crowd was more gay than straight, but there seemed to be a large number of straight ladies there. We walked towards the back of the bar, passing the restroom, along with a young lady who gazed hungrily at us as if we were dessert. AC and I sidle up to the bar. I'm standing there for maybe fifteen seconds when a young lady kind of brushes past me and stands leaning on the bar directly next to me. She pulls out her cell, glances at it, then checks me out. "Hi."
"Hey, how's it going?" I'm trying to be good, you know, since I'm so far away from my girlfriend right now, etc., so I try to ignore the fact that she's giving me every signal in the book. I look away. She goes back to the cell phone.
AC, who is one of the friendliest and most gorgeous men I have ever met, then greets her. She kind of steps over to the side and has a brief conversation with him, all the while leaning over my back. At some point, AC introduces me. We do a variant on the usual song-and-dance:
GIRL: So, what are you doing here?
ME: We're actors. We're doing a play in town.
GIRL: Oh my gosh! You're an actor? That's SO cool! I love plays! Can I come see it?
ME: Sure. We may be able to help you out with tickets if you want.
GIRL: I would love to come see it. I have to say that I think you guys are really cute...
She gives me her number. I've been in the club for five minutes. AC said he got two phone numbers from two different people in sixty seconds. As I was leaving the club, a girl was making eyes at me while she was hanging on to her boyfriend.
Now, I'm not going to pretend that I'm getting this attention because I'm insanely gorgeous. I mean, I clean up pretty well, but I'm not that special (unlike AC). We're getting this attention because there are not a lot of black people in Old Village, and in liberal-leaning towns like this, black men get a LOT of attention from women - mostly white women. I guess it's because we're different, or "exotic", or something. I'm not quite sure why this is, but it's been a constant in my travels.
All of which makes it extremely hard to be good. I've gone out three times since I've been in town and have been given four phone numbers.
But I'm trying, Maxine. I'm trying.
Monday, December 29, 2008
headshot madness
via e-mail, giving Trouble advice about her headshot outfits
I say stick with the magenta/fuschia/pinky red color.
I say stick with the magenta/fuschia/pinky red color.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
football comes first
via e-mail - turning down a party invite because i can't miss a big Steelers game - pathetic, right?
How goes it, man? Hope that life is treating you well. It doesn't look like I'm going to be able to make the party tomorrow - I have to do something at my brother's [house], and I don't think I can get back before 9:30 or so. Thanks much for the invite, though - hopefully we can catch up at some point and grab a drink or something...
How goes it, man? Hope that life is treating you well. It doesn't look like I'm going to be able to make the party tomorrow - I have to do something at my brother's [house], and I don't think I can get back before 9:30 or so. Thanks much for the invite, though - hopefully we can catch up at some point and grab a drink or something...
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
did you see this story?
Allegedly...a girl from Cleveland was on a class trip and lost her virginity. She got really excited and decided to text her friend. She accidentally sent it to her father.
Story is here. As someone who recently got a touchscreen phone, it's way too easy to send a text to the wrong person. So...the story isn't impossible.
The best part about this? The creativity on the web. Someone decided to create some other "embarrassing" texts - hilarity ensues.
Story is here. As someone who recently got a touchscreen phone, it's way too easy to send a text to the wrong person. So...the story isn't impossible.
The best part about this? The creativity on the web. Someone decided to create some other "embarrassing" texts - hilarity ensues.
Friday, November 21, 2008
my letter to myself
At the camp I work at in Sleepy Hamlet in the summer, we make our students write letters to themselves three months in the future. They're usually writing these letters on the last night, and it provides a nice pick-me-up down the road when they get these great messages from their confident selves.
My kick-ass camp friend and I decided to participate in the exercise as well. Today, my letter arrived. Here's what it said.
[R] -
How's Bluff City? I'm sure that you're having a fun time w/the show, having the ol' crew together. And I'm sure that you're a bit frustrated at only working a little bit each night.
Remember how many people are proud of you.
Remember how much support you have from your friends and family.
Remember how all these students looked up to you.
Remember that you're doing exactly what you want to be doing. Not temping. Not checking IDs. Not sitting at home. YOU'RE AN ACTOR.
Now, save some $, read some books, call your mother and your grandmother, and keep your head up. And keep the faith.
- [The Rover] 8/15 lounge, next to my kick-ass camp friend
ps - only 2 1/2 more months of blogging left! you can do it!
Good advice. It's been a tough couple of days, and that definitely helped.
My kick-ass camp friend and I decided to participate in the exercise as well. Today, my letter arrived. Here's what it said.
[R] -
How's Bluff City? I'm sure that you're having a fun time w/the show, having the ol' crew together. And I'm sure that you're a bit frustrated at only working a little bit each night.
Remember how many people are proud of you.
Remember how much support you have from your friends and family.
Remember how all these students looked up to you.
Remember that you're doing exactly what you want to be doing. Not temping. Not checking IDs. Not sitting at home. YOU'RE AN ACTOR.
Now, save some $, read some books, call your mother and your grandmother, and keep your head up. And keep the faith.
- [The Rover] 8/15 lounge, next to my kick-ass camp friend
ps - only 2 1/2 more months of blogging left! you can do it!
Good advice. It's been a tough couple of days, and that definitely helped.
Friday, November 14, 2008
questions you ask your friends in my line of work
via text message
Hey, did you ever do a show called MANSWERS?
Hey, did you ever do a show called MANSWERS?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
you know what drives me crazy?
When I'm taking a shower, and the water goes from "pleasantly warm" to "scalding" with no warning. I actually jump out of the way. I'm afraid that one of these days I'm going to slip and fall.
I think, however, that may be the only complaint I have about this place. Well, that and my five inch television. Otherwise, it's Kool and the Gang.
I think, however, that may be the only complaint I have about this place. Well, that and my five inch television. Otherwise, it's Kool and the Gang.
Monday, October 13, 2008
ok, we're back
written at a cute coffee shop around the corner from my apartment
I've been SUCH a slacker at getting my posts up lately, and that's probably because I was doing a thousand things. Between working two jobs, and hustling for more jobs, and packing for Bluff City, and packing to move in December, and trying to spend quality time with my friends, and trying to spend some type of quality time with Maxine...well, it's no wonder that I was ready to get out of New York.
But now I'm on the road.
I kind of love being on the road.
First of all, my apartment is AWESOME. It's kind of an old '50s style building, with wood floors and old appliances. It's the perfect sized place for me. The TV could be a little bigger, but otherwise I have no complaints.
Mostly, though, what's nice about coming on the road to do a show is that I can completely focus on what's important, on the task at hand. The only job I have to do is the show. Everything else is secondary. There are no distractions - friends wanting to hang out or make out or whatever. I LOVE that. My life becomes very simple - eat, work out, watch TV, surf the internet, rehearse/do the show, drink, sleep. Rinse, repeat.
Hopefully, for at least the next couple of months, you'll see daily posts actually appearing the day I wrote them. So it's ok to come back here on a daily basis again. ;-)
Happy Monday to all!
I've been SUCH a slacker at getting my posts up lately, and that's probably because I was doing a thousand things. Between working two jobs, and hustling for more jobs, and packing for Bluff City, and packing to move in December, and trying to spend quality time with my friends, and trying to spend some type of quality time with Maxine...well, it's no wonder that I was ready to get out of New York.
But now I'm on the road.
I kind of love being on the road.
First of all, my apartment is AWESOME. It's kind of an old '50s style building, with wood floors and old appliances. It's the perfect sized place for me. The TV could be a little bigger, but otherwise I have no complaints.
Mostly, though, what's nice about coming on the road to do a show is that I can completely focus on what's important, on the task at hand. The only job I have to do is the show. Everything else is secondary. There are no distractions - friends wanting to hang out or make out or whatever. I LOVE that. My life becomes very simple - eat, work out, watch TV, surf the internet, rehearse/do the show, drink, sleep. Rinse, repeat.
Hopefully, for at least the next couple of months, you'll see daily posts actually appearing the day I wrote them. So it's ok to come back here on a daily basis again. ;-)
Happy Monday to all!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
bluff city
I'm here. I'm exhausted, but I'm here.
Seems like a nice place so far. I did see a woman with a full out mustache in the grocery store - like, thicker than what I can grow in a couple of weeks. And, when I went to the deli counter to get a half dozen fried shrimp, the guy working there kept loading them in the container (I think I ended up with ten or so), saying, "I ain't even countin', 'cause that's just how we do things 'round here."
More stories to come, I am sure. Now I'm going watch some Sunday Night Football (it's been a CRAZY day in the NFL so far) and sleep. I totally busted my ass this weekend.
Seems like a nice place so far. I did see a woman with a full out mustache in the grocery store - like, thicker than what I can grow in a couple of weeks. And, when I went to the deli counter to get a half dozen fried shrimp, the guy working there kept loading them in the container (I think I ended up with ten or so), saying, "I ain't even countin', 'cause that's just how we do things 'round here."
More stories to come, I am sure. Now I'm going watch some Sunday Night Football (it's been a CRAZY day in the NFL so far) and sleep. I totally busted my ass this weekend.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
only in new york
I'm walking by Madison Square Park, headed home, and I keep seeing these flashes. At first I think that maybe I'm catching the headlights from an oncoming truck - the flash would be after something passes between me and the light, right? But then I start to realize that they're still coming. Maybe I'm tired from work, from not sleeping enough, from too much stress from packing. Maybe I'm losing my mind.
Then there's one right in front of me. POP! It's dazzling. And I realize that I was right, it was a flash, there is a guy standing on the fucking street corner at 23rd and 5th with a camera and a huge flash thingy, shaped like an umbrella, facing uptown.
And what is he taking a picture of?
I look to my right, across the street, just in time to catch a glimpse of a woman in a trench coat and heels. She's wearing a bikini. Actually, to be more accurate, she's wearing what appears to be bikini bottoms, and a tube top, which she has just pulled up over her breasts.
Yup.
Naked pics. On a busy intersection, at eleven fifteen on a Thursday night, with traffic streaming by and a barrage of cops not even half a block away. Probably watching the whole thing.
It's times like this that I love my weird, wild, crazy city. Going to Bluff City on Sunday sure will be a letdown.
Then there's one right in front of me. POP! It's dazzling. And I realize that I was right, it was a flash, there is a guy standing on the fucking street corner at 23rd and 5th with a camera and a huge flash thingy, shaped like an umbrella, facing uptown.
And what is he taking a picture of?
I look to my right, across the street, just in time to catch a glimpse of a woman in a trench coat and heels. She's wearing a bikini. Actually, to be more accurate, she's wearing what appears to be bikini bottoms, and a tube top, which she has just pulled up over her breasts.
Yup.
Naked pics. On a busy intersection, at eleven fifteen on a Thursday night, with traffic streaming by and a barrage of cops not even half a block away. Probably watching the whole thing.
It's times like this that I love my weird, wild, crazy city. Going to Bluff City on Sunday sure will be a letdown.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
crack heads
Due to overwhelming demand...
I don't live in a "bad" part of Brooklyn, by any means, but it could be said that I border some "questionable" areas. Generally, the biggest problem in my neighborhood is the sheer amount of trash that is everywhere. It drives me crazy.
Lately, though, we have had a number of crackheads patrolling our streets.
For those of you who have not had the pleasure of dealing with someone who is on crack, it is quite an experience. Basically, they're like human zombies. They're totally operating in their own world. They're constantly in search of money for their next high. And a lot of them will do...um...let's say "inappropriate things". For example, one time I was on a subway somewhere in America, and a crackhead was violently scratching her crotch and/or masturbating on the train. For twenty minutes.
It's quite sad.
Anyway, I've had two encounters with crackheads lately. The first was at one of my local cafes. I was ordering something at the counter when a crackhead came in asking for something: money, food, I can't remember. The guy at the counter said no. The crackhead then flipped out, yelling and stomping her feet. She then defiantly walked over to the spot where all of the coffee accessories were laid out, pulled out a bunch of sugar packets, and ran out.
The counterman's response to all of this? "She comes in here every day. And every day it's the same thing."
The second experience was far more disturbing. There's a fast food restaurant on the corner of my block, and I generally cut through the parking lot on my way to the subway to save a minute or two. Occasionally there are people leaned up against the building, or sleeping somewhere next to the restaurant.
HOWEVER:
the other day, as I turned the corner into the parking lot, there was a man laying down, half on the sidewalk, half in the drive-thru lane, slowly rolling from his back to his right side. He was mid-roll when I saw him, and the first thing I noticed was that his pants and underwear were pulled down to about mid thigh. When he started over towards his side, however, I noticed the truly disgusting part - a sticky brown line extending from the pavement to his buttocks.
The man was taking a dump.
Next to the restaurant.
While lying down.
It may have been the grossest thing I've ever seen.
And that, folks, is my neighborhood. No wonder I'm psyched about moving.
I don't live in a "bad" part of Brooklyn, by any means, but it could be said that I border some "questionable" areas. Generally, the biggest problem in my neighborhood is the sheer amount of trash that is everywhere. It drives me crazy.
Lately, though, we have had a number of crackheads patrolling our streets.
For those of you who have not had the pleasure of dealing with someone who is on crack, it is quite an experience. Basically, they're like human zombies. They're totally operating in their own world. They're constantly in search of money for their next high. And a lot of them will do...um...let's say "inappropriate things". For example, one time I was on a subway somewhere in America, and a crackhead was violently scratching her crotch and/or masturbating on the train. For twenty minutes.
It's quite sad.
Anyway, I've had two encounters with crackheads lately. The first was at one of my local cafes. I was ordering something at the counter when a crackhead came in asking for something: money, food, I can't remember. The guy at the counter said no. The crackhead then flipped out, yelling and stomping her feet. She then defiantly walked over to the spot where all of the coffee accessories were laid out, pulled out a bunch of sugar packets, and ran out.
The counterman's response to all of this? "She comes in here every day. And every day it's the same thing."
The second experience was far more disturbing. There's a fast food restaurant on the corner of my block, and I generally cut through the parking lot on my way to the subway to save a minute or two. Occasionally there are people leaned up against the building, or sleeping somewhere next to the restaurant.
HOWEVER:
the other day, as I turned the corner into the parking lot, there was a man laying down, half on the sidewalk, half in the drive-thru lane, slowly rolling from his back to his right side. He was mid-roll when I saw him, and the first thing I noticed was that his pants and underwear were pulled down to about mid thigh. When he started over towards his side, however, I noticed the truly disgusting part - a sticky brown line extending from the pavement to his buttocks.
The man was taking a dump.
Next to the restaurant.
While lying down.
It may have been the grossest thing I've ever seen.
And that, folks, is my neighborhood. No wonder I'm psyched about moving.
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