Let There Be Light

Next To Normal. A new musical with a dark story, but I turned into a musical theatre geek and fell for it. It's about a Mother who believes her dead son is still alive. It is tearing their family apart. So after giving up medication they decide to give her ECT. You're thinking, "What the fuck?"

It's an interesting idea, and a dark comedy. I was a little "What the fuck?" myself when I saw the Electric Shock Therapy scene. Then I realized I was setup to expect this and if this is shit, then what are the truly bad musicals considered *cough*Shrek - The Musical*cough*? Not to mention that Alice Ripley was great. Finally, glad I got to see her in person.

Then today I saw Betty Buckley in concert in Queens today. The performance? Second verse, same as the first...

The rest of my weekend was calm. It involved The Tall Man, which I appreciate. He agreed to going to see RENT with a group of my friends. Which means he wants to participate in my life and meet my friends. That's more than being a sexual object right? I feel foolish asking, but this place is for fears and anxiety. If he follows through, I will count it as something nice.

I then had this other moment. I told a friend that I am focusing not just on the Tall Man because nothing has been announced. So last weekend, untrying, I attracted the attention of a guy. Who I kissed a little on the dance floor. Then when he asked me, "Want to get out of here?" I replied, "Yes, I think I am going to head home. Goodnight."

He wanted to meet again and because I blew him off a night before. Also he was near my apartment. Oh, how the trap had been set and I walked right into it. So when the time came to head home, who but he invited himself over. True, I could have said no the game ends here. I did not because saying No is how adventures never happen.

See it is this attitude that gets me. It's because I'm paranoid that it's happening to me. Sing Alive Ripley, sing! I wish rules would be clearer with that issue. Yet, some friends are jealous in what I've developed with this man. It seems ideal to them. I just don't want a repeat of previous events.

Back to the issue at hand though: So he slept next to me. How do people with bad breath not get told. I mean it's not necessarily my job as kisser to stop and inform him. I see the difficulty. I assume my breath doesn't smell for the fact I have had many a person want to continue kissing me. Point and case. So when we woke up and he wanted to kiss, I said I had to go to the bathroom. When I returned I said, "Time to get up...I've got plans today and you're not in them." He suggested we lay around more and I said, "No...I can't, I need to go to the gym." He did respect my wishes not to have sex.

Subtleness has never been my forte...I admit that wholely.

That's enough for the night to come to an end. Consider yourself informed.

Pretending to be Betty Buckley

"Years from now, when you talk about this—and you will—be kind." —Deborah Kerr

That concludes my tribute to Ms. Kerr. You will be missed.

In an attempt to save money, I am denying myself the trip to Don't Tell Mama's tonight to see Chatterbox featuring Ms. Betty Buckley. I will be seeing her again in February at the Queen's Theatre...hopefully...

Tonight I see Ahrens and Flaherty's new show The Glorious Ones, for that I am one happy faggot. I hear a little baby crying out in the street and more amount of Ms. Buckley's melodic voice and cover up that sound, yet there is always Meadowlark...we shall try to cover up that sound.

Walking through my college is like walking through a land of strange faces. So many races and different people with different goals. I sometimes walk and overhear students discussing classes in Science or Math and I'm completely perplexed. I always did well, but after four years of not thinking about it, I can't imagine what it would be like studying it relentlessly. Yet, I feel they will end up with all the money. I need to nab myself a med student or a scientist.

Ms. Buckley's Meadowlark has successfully drowned out the sound of crying newborns. Take that baby, take that.

My final project in Costume Construction is to make a pillow. Do you think that embroidering this into a pillow will be difficult? In all seriousness though, I would like to dedicate my pillow to Patti, purely because my teacher today said,

"Can we get through one class without..." And I was sure she was going to say talking and that my class jabbered too much. "...mentioning Patti LuPone?" My eyes narrowed and before I knew it, I was sewing right through my pointer finger. In all seriousness though, I am determined to embroider THIS (well at least the head) onto my pillow. This is my initial idea...

It will change over time I am sure. Oh Patti Lu how I cherish you.

The Cyclist has reentered my life but only through phone calls. Since some people out there have deemed me to aggravating to speak to anymore, I am trying to be nicer to others who aren't as kooky or rude.

You know when someone does something that they think isn't rude and you are totally offended? Then you have a moment and say to yourself, "You know what? I just don't care anymore...they consciously made this choice and I am going to consciously make my own decisions." Then suddenly you feel much better about yourself and those that upset just seems to melt away. Life feels better that way.

Last point of the day, Broadwayspace.com and Playbill Radio.com may be my two new favorite sites!

Knowing When To Leave

Go while the going is good

Jill O'Hara sang is very well, but Betty Buckley is redefining it for me right now. In my regular insomnia of cycle that I've been having for weeks now. I'll fall asleep soon I am very sure of it. I skipped the gym today and that was my folly. I wanted to get rest from the early wake up call of Saturday. Yet, it was a sleep filled with nightmares.

Knowing when to leave may be the smartest thing that anyone can learn.

I watched at people got crushed and contorted, yet still remained alive. I watched people I didn't know get tortured and I was helpless to do anything. I just watched. No one specifically in my life really. It could've been the cast of Heroes and I wouldn't have known who they were.

At one point a monstrous wardrobe swallowed two people and the doors slammed shut. I rushed to it to hear their screams as they were slowly being digested on the inside. I wanted to try and crack it open, but I have seen one to many movies and knew that they were lost and even if I got them out, they'd be a mess. So I let them die...

I'm afraid my heart, isn't very smart...

In other news. I am buying a sewing machine tomorrow. Part of my stress has been school and getting all my sewing done. I don't have time to sign up during my free time with everything else. Also, since I enjoy Costume Construction and actually am very interested in it, I don't want to do badly in the class because of my lack of time. With other classes this feeling on inadequacy has made me want to just take a Sabbatical. Find myself. Which leads me to my next topic...

Foolish as it seems, I still have my dreams.

I have been in a horrible mood in the last week. Bad news didn't help. Added with frustration and other things. I have come to the conclusion I am horribly unhappy with myself. I can't clearly articulate the feelings, but it's late and I am going to try...

I am at the point that I feel like a standstill. Change is coming, whether if be forced or not. Idle hands are the Devils playground, I suppose. Yet my idle hands haven't touched that swing set in a while. I am disgusted with people who are older than 25, right now. Why?

So I keep hoping day after day as I wait for the man I mean.

The Gentleman Caller says that I shouldn't feel like an object. HA! Of all the people to say such a thing. He is a friend, I do agree. Yet, I sometimes wonder how long I will be held onto until he solves his issues with himself and meets someone and suddenly I'm just the 21 year old who was.

The phrase that caught me was, "We can do the deed when we're at Busch Gardens." The deed?

Well I don't want to bother you, but since we're sharing the same bed I guess I could oblige you, Sir.

I am glad truly glad you made some guy have the best sex of his life the other day. I truly am. Yet when you said, "Then why doesn't he return back if I was so amazing?" I wanted to just raise my hand. Instead, I gagged in my mouth for a moment, resisting the urge to scream. I have to wait three weeks to have sex with you? Seriously?

Deep down, whoever you are...

Then there is the Cyclist. Who's blatant objectifying me is as obvious as the awful text messages he sends me. He was on a role this Sunday until he blundered it up. I had to cut him off and let him go. Like those fish I caught this summer. Sea Bass truly are the worst fish to catch and must be sent back.

My mother raised something to be proud of, not a Distraction.

The moment came later that night. In a sign that only myself and a few others can appreciate. I will retell the tale though, since it must be told:

I was riding the subway. Biting my lip and trying to read The Golden Compass. Meanwhile, down the train was an adorable gay couple. My age I'd guess, scruffy and in that moment of their relationship where only they felt each other existed. Both very attractive.

I do believe at this point my lip started to bleed.

At every stop I watched them to see if they'd leave, wondering where two adorable guys like that would be heading to. Probably Christopher St or something. Yet they didn't get off. I started to wonder the last time I ever felt that way with a guy. I don't know if I ever have...

No I have, when I was younger, in my teens. When I believed that guys were capable of that type of romance. Then down the train there was proof that it still happens...to others. I had a pure teenager moment when I thought, "They why hasn't it happened to me?"

As I turned to read my book, my gaze was caught instead by something else. I saw myself in the reflection of the Subway window. If there is a reflection you don't want to see yourself in and suddenly have a revelation. It's in a subway window, while two gay guys cuddled only feet away.

Yet I looked at myself.

To add the the moment, Lucy and Jessie started to play on my ipod. A song I knew was soon to be followed with Live, Laugh, Love. This song was just after Losing My Mind played. Let me tell you, never before has three songs in consecutive order EVER made such a moment in my life. I watch the couple as Barbara Cook sings, "Losing my Mind."

You said you loved me...or were you just being kind.

Then I see myself and Lucy and Jessie starts to ring out of Lee Remick's mouth. I just stared at myself. What did I do to deserve this moment? What did I see? I saw someone who I couldn't take seriously. I was wearing a tight fitting shirt that I got from a teenage girl's store and made my body look...well good.

Yet I wondered what do people see when they see me? Do they laugh that I would wear this? Do they seem something frivolous, not worth more than sex? Do they feel intimidated? Something not worth more than a moments glance?

Here comes, Live, Laugh, Love. I can't stop the thoughts now. Things need to change, I see something that other people don't. I don't know what the difference is, but it confuses me. I wish I could see myself through others eyes. So I could get a grasp onto things.

Success is swell, success is sweet...

The train came to my stop. And I saw it coming as the couple got off the train with me. To do what people in love do at 10:30 pm. I can't possibly tell you what anymore. Sleep? Talk about the future together?

Me I like to live! Me I like to love, Me I like...me...love..me...I don't love me...

I think it's time to try that sleeping thing...

Betty Buckley was SEXY.

I don't care what you say...but she was a fox!