For those of you not familiar with the event. Night of 1,000 Stevies is a celebration to the Goddess that is Stevie Nicks. The lead singer of Fleetwood Mac. A women with enough vocal power and talent to have a night dedicated to her once a year, for 19 years and counting. I know Stevie fairly well and I have enjoyed some of her songs immensely, but an event like this has never been something I would find myself drawn to.
Yet, I walked into the doors last night. No one really checked my validity for being there. I told the doorman I had a ticket waiting for me and I told the Box Office window that my friend had left me a ticket. She stamped my wrist affectionately and told me that was my way in and out of the venue. Never saying my name of showing anyone I.D. I had infiltrated the event.
I lied my way into Night of 1,000 Stevies, though I was invited properly. Yet, I felt I'd cleverly snuck into a place I truly didn't belong. I was brought there when the LA Lover reappeared into my weekend. He had an extra ticket and offered it to me, but not before exhausting other possibilities (via facebook). At the time, I thought I was being treated with special behavior.
He was friendly and tipsy when I arrived. Everyone there was friend and in some state of drunkenness. Excluding my one friend who has been sober for 3 years, yet he seemed to be the most intoxicated. On Stevie's voice, perhaps?
It was a very calm attitude and so many gay men! An unlikely mixture. Everyone from Hell's Kitchen Queens to Williamsburg Hipsters are drawn to this woman. I can admit that after last night, I will be too. Stevie, come into my life!
Even my friends are drawn to Stevie Nicks. Why not? She has no ill will to anyone and her songs are like poetry. She casts spells it seems. I enjoyed it immensely! If only I had shown up with my friends and not the LA Lover. I felt a tie binding myself to his company, because he invited me. My friends purchased their tickets.
I figured since I was spending time in his company, I may as well sleep with him tonight. . .
Yes, Virgina, I know that this isn't the right attitude to take. Don't worry in a moment you'll find out how karma got the best of me. So the LA Lover was being his typical LA self, but in a tipsy state. . .
(Never ending Stevie Nicks odes are performed in the background throughout the scene. They are higher up on a stage. The volume is extremely lower than in real life, but the players shout all the same. LA LOVER and IGUANA wear the same black American Apparel Sweater, but IGUANA wears a nice blazer over it. LA LOVER is wearing eyeliner and has a smokey eye as well.)
LA: All these mixed gendered people! Oh it's so magical! Let me buy you a drink! IGUANA: Oh thanks, is that okay? How expensive are the drinks. . . LA: Tonight, money doesn't matter! I know you are being more reserved these days, I want to liquor you up! Take that edge off. . . IGUANA: Okay, then I'll take my drinks three at a time.--(Realizes it's not a joke)--Cran and vodka, thanks.
(LA LOVER flounces off and IGUANA watches the drag queens and Hedwig look-a-likes walk by.)
It was impressive and disappointing at times. This was one of the times it was very successful . . . This is what Taylor Mac does normally:
The night wore on and I stayed out of curiosity and I figured my invitation was also into the arms of the LA Lover. As life would have it, the wheels turn there was never anything in the lies he told me last Christmas. I simply turned for a moment and he was making out with a drunk guy, to which he abandoned me. It was graceless and tacky. I suppose it was my just reward for assuming we would go home together.
As simple as that, I am hardly interesting. A drunk boy who is cuter than me throws himself in your face and hardly a goodbye. I suppose there's some divine law out there that says I deserved that kind of respect. To be left by myself in a space, to be flirted with and then denied.
I left the party shortly afterward, next year I would return on my own terms. With my own friends and not with ex-LA Lovers. I took a cab home out of frustration, so I would feel the wind of the BQE and not have to worry about battling subways at 2:30 AM.
Upon arriving home I went to bed. The dream that followed was insane. It was Alice in Wonderland in it's beginning. I laid down in bed and shortly got up to return to Night of 1,000 Stevies. I had unfinished business. What proceeded was an epic battle filled with sex, fights, flying, Margret Cho and blood. Red blood. It was a terrifying dream and it was epic. Epic in every way!
I awoke thinking I had actually returned to Night of 1,000 Steveies and feeling weary at all the decisions that had been made. It took me all of five minutes to realize it had just been a dream. Yet, I felt like serious decisions had been made. Words were said that could not be taken back.
I felt like weeping, despite the fact none of it happened. It was the necessary ending to an unresolved reality. I was left stranded amongst Stevie Nicks's everywhere! As if I had the eyes of God looking at me from every direction. I want to hang my head in shame, instead I ran home and fell into a world where I create make my own ending.
I spent most of yesterday throwing up. All this talk of Swine flu had me nervous that I had caught it. Turns out it was probably just food poisoning. Hurrah!
I'm seeing Billy Elliot the Musical tomorrow. It's interesting, it's one of those shows I have little interest in. I loved the movie and thought it was sweet. An Elton John score means I may be terribly disappointed, but perhaps I'll be pleasantly surprised. I heard the dancing is superb and that's why I want to see it.
I meant to write more, but I got distracted looking for The Secret Garden to re-listen to. Oh well, it's not like I have anything profound to say these days.
It's an admirable attempt, with such heart. He's a beautiful soul.
I saw a documentary called Cat Dancers tonight. This amazing tale of Ron and Joy Holiday who were dancers and animal trainers. After years working together they took on a third caretaker and things just got more creepy. Ron is a closeted homosexual and it's an amazing study at two incredibly fascinating stories.
It ends in death and desperation!
Liza was incredible. She is a performer. I loved the performance I got.
I'm seeing the The Who's Tommy the musical's 15th Anniversary Concert tonight. This show came out in 1993/94 and was about to close until they performed on the Tony Awards. I wish I could've seen it on Broadway. It's one of my favorite soundtracks...
Two.
In New Orleans. At Pat O'Briens. We discovered Babs Woods. She played the piano, took requests and made darling jokes to her drunken audience members...
So much to not say. So little not to do. Where doth the time fly?
New Orleans, this Thursday. Back on the plane, this time heading towards the gorgeous South! Land of Plastic beads and Tennessee Williams! Oh, perhaps I should reread some 10? I sometimes long for him, I long from that time when I first read his words and felt whole new worlds opening. Beautiful and tragic. The Kingdom of Heaven does not come at an easy price!
Today has been a day of no work. Shame, shame, shame. I did discover Patti LaBelle's version of Miss Otis Regrets that has sent me giggling like a 14-year-old school girl every time I start it! You need to hear it to believe it! She turns it into a harrowing tale.
When she woke up and found that her dream of love was...GOOOOONNNNNE! Madame! She ran, she ran to the man! Who lead her astray!
And from under a black velvet gown! She drew a gun and SHOT her love down...Madame!
Miss Otis Regrets! She's unable, unable, UNABLE! To lunch...TODAY!
When the mob came and got her! And dragged her from the jail! MADAME! They strung her up! Up! UP! On the Willow across the way!
Tonight a boy I have befriended has revealed that he has feelings for me. It was straight-forward and to the point. I appreciated that, and felt warmly happy inside. I responded with, "I am all types of unstable right now. Just be my friend for now." He's young and naive and I feel that if I touched his body it would melt like a freshly fallen snowflake.
I want him to be in my life. As a friend for now. I don't know how I feel about him, but I like his friendship. That's what's important, right? To value the friendships you have before anything else. Perhaps someday I'll be able to feel that same way in return. Of course, then it will be to late and I'll realize how "Julia Roberts" my life has become.
Lastly, I leave you with various pictures of Jennifer Holliday making weird faces at the Tony Awards:
I started season 2 of Oz last night. Despite it being sort of lame (I know it'll get much better as time continues). I can't wait for Keller show show up! I think Miguel is amazing and creepy. Beecher, I hope he calms down a little bit. Biting someone's penis off, is a little much. Lastly, Rita and B.D. Wong, I'm waiting for your solo numbers. The one Beecher did was so amazing and heartbreaking. But Rita, if you perform. I want nothing less than an Oscar-Winning performance with a touch of The Ritz. Go girl!
A Tale of Two Cities sounds like one of those shows that's 20 years to late. I've heard mixed things about the show, but tonight I'll know.
In other news I ran around the campus getting things in order. I had two surreal moments during this running around. First was on campus when I remembered how after 1:30 in the afternoon I won't have to quickly leave class to get on a train to get to work. Or how I'll have time to spend on work. Well, more time than what I've been used to.
Then I walked from my old subway stop to the gym. This means I took a stroll through Park Slope. This was the first real stroll since I've moved a month ago. I was presented with the question of: You lived here for a year? Just the same as when I asked myself if I really lived in Chelsea. I lived in Park Slope for over a year, just a month more, but still over a year.
Remember when a year actually meant something? Maybe I just stopped caring about years. When did I stop caring? It was before I moved to the city. There are those people who hold onto the high school years. Those memories they associate with everyone. They can't accept how the memories have developed into actual people.
People will recall these obscure memories of things I did or said. All I can often conjure up is a vague recollection and then I decide: Just laugh and agree, it must have happened. I still wonder where exactly I was when these memories happened. I wasn't stoned or drugged up. I was sober and aware of everything at that time.
Maybe I was aware of to much, even then , I had to sacrifice pleasure in exchange knowledge? The issues of my childhood/middle school/high school life could be a book of their own. For now I won't go into it.
Seeing Hair in Central Park for the second time. I love Hair more than I can possibly say and the line was wild. It didn't help that everyone had to go wait in Central Park. It's such a solitary experience to go there and wait in line alone. Cold, music blaring in your ears. The comradely you create if you're nice to the people around you. There's the chance you get someone annoying, which I was luckily one group behind. So I watched it happen, but remained safe from this older man's awkwardness.
The tickets were got and I am sure I will love this more realized production starring Christopher J. Hanke. So nice to my eyes, his face is.
I am the undiscovered son of Judy Garland, And I can dance and sing and wear...fancy clothes. And where as my sister, Liza, has to really work for applause, All you have to do is look at me and you weep with standing ovations!
How did I let Passing Strange fly under my radar for so long? Tsk, tsk! Shame on me. I was depressed, so I will allow for it. But this show was stellar, truly amazing! I am so glad Spike Lee is filming it so it won't be lost.
I'm going to test myself. Six days ago I ordered this wonderful pair of headphones. They somehow broke. I am hardly a stranger to broken headphones. No, I am not. Which is why I never go out and buy headphones more that cost more than say $50 and that's the maximum amount. I refuse to believe that a pair of $150 dollar headphones will be any less susceptible to damages than the cheaper pair. Especially, with how randomly the wiring messed up on these.
Now, I panicked because when this happens I need to buy new ones right away. Since iPhones are so clever they have made a jack that only supports iPhone specific headphone plugs. Fuck you Apple, fuck you. Which means you have to basically buy them from an Apple store. Blah blah blah. Seriously? Burden of life, I tell you!
Anyway, I came to realize today that I haven't listened to the world in about four years. I don't know if I'm a rare or common case, but I haven't been on the subway or walked down the street without music playing in my ears for longer than say an hour.
I did it for two purposes. One being that I wanted to drown out the city and possible comments I may hear. The second being, well it's nice to have music.
And you know what. Perhaps I should get used to not having music. Doing things like working in a cubicle may be difficult, but I can do it. Right? I think. We shall see, consider this a test run.
So watching Wall-E I was literally in tears because of the following things I have in common with that adorable robot:
We both are loners — I spent the first 15 years of my life playing by myself. I never had any sleepovers with anyone other than my cousins. No friends. Honestly.
We both grew up surrounded by garbage — My first play area was an abandoned school bus in the garbage dump of the Garage that my dad owned.
We both love musical theater — Um duh.
We both are hopeless romantics — Despite my activities, I still believe in love. It only takes a moment.
I am am not sure if I should sue Disney/Pixar for stealing my story without my permission and finishing the ending. I am sure though, that Wall-E is a Cancer. Since he was technically born on June 27th.
The Tony Nominations came out yesterday and here's my view on it all:
So the top four this year are: Cry Baby, In The Heights, Xanadu and Passing Strange. I've seen three of the four and I know that as justified as it would be that Xanadu would win. A year ago to this day people were laughing at how it would close before it opened. Tsk, tsk on you Broadway.
My pick for Best Musical will be:
In The Heights
Then there is Best Play. I don't even need to begin to say August: Osage County will win for sure. It's between Amy Morton and Deanna Dunagan for best Lead Actress.
My vote goes to:
Deanna Dunagan
Best Musical Revival is a tough one this year. Commercially it will go to either South Pacific or Grease. But if the Tony Committee were made up of one person, and that person was I. It would go to the stunning:
Sunday in the Park With George
As for best actor. I have seen several of them and if we were voting by cuteness. Daniel Evans will win. But since that's not the primary judging criteria. They will vote on talent and another sexy man will win:Paulo Szot
I will end these predictions with the final and hottest category. Best Actress in a Musical. This year is difficult. You have the legendary, against the ingenue, against the dark horse, against the boring, against the British. Of course I know who I want to win:
In a matter of a moment the plans of my summer have been decided and changed so quickly.
I got the internship! I'm interning at playbill.com. This means no summer classes and a reduced pay cut. Yet, it means experience and resume building. So in the end it'll be worth it. That's what I'm telling myself.
It was odd cause the geeky guy who interviewed me was like, "Do you want a few days?" And naturally when someone offers me that I think, "Sure...I'm introspective, of course I'd like a few days..." So I tell him yes, then suddenly he's like, "Well, just so you know we've called everyone else back and told them they didn't get it..." To which I reply, "Sure I'll take it!"
Why offer it if you don't want me to do it? So I take it. I'm excited because it gets me out of this job that's been ruling my life for the last two years. It also makes life a little more new and fresh. It will probably be boring, it will probably not seem like it's worth it. Yet, why not? I need the experience. Besides, life owes me big time so perhaps this is it beginning to pay up.
For the first time in years I'll have a normal 9-5 job. I'll get off while it's still sunny out. I'll be able to enjoy my summer! Not like last year, which was work and sleep, work and sleep.
I get nervous that they'll call and tell me they made a mistake. And I just canceled the summer classes I can't take. Yet, that's not major loss, I'll take them during the winter break. It will somehow get done. It has to get done.
That's my problem: I regret, but this is how life works. Let it take you where you go and see what happens.
It's Sunday, I'm feeling much healthier this morning. My night sweats are proving legendary. I wake up halfway through the night and feel the coolness on my next and body. This is another new sensation I have never felt before. There are no hurried dreams to accompany these sweats. No nightmarish images in my mind when I wake. I simply wake because I am chilled by my own expulsion of fluids.
Upon feeling better this morning. Fire Island was an even more terrific experience (notice I don't say play) than I gave it credit for last night. And while we're on the subject, lets discuss Glory Days the musical written by two 23-year-olds about four 20-year olds!
I'll be the first to admit this twisting I feel in my body is caused by jealousy. That these two guys are really cool and nice in person. That the show just comes off as an awful idea in theory. All these probably true notions aside...
I think this show sounds utterly awful, literally. I just finished listening to some of the songs on myspace and my eardrums ruptured. I also find the mounting of this show incredibly arrogant. My one friend pointed out someone is blowing someone in this little deal.
The fact that this kid believes that his freshman year of college was so life changing and these four friends reunite and learn they're ALL not the same person. Even if it's based on "true events" the storyline points out so many inconsistencies and annoyances. For example, if these four friends were really good friends...were they not E-MAILING each other. These events happened four years ago, there was the internet. Sure you couldn't relay the whole emotional event through IM, but you could say, "Just came out...totally a fag now! Just a heads up so when summer comes it won't be weird."
Another friend of mine put it best when he said, "Everyone feels that in their freshman year of college, but no one WRITES about it." But these two guys did. These two guys did.
Unless between the four of these guys combined they come back from college and all of the following has happened:
One is a homosexual, drug addicted, tranny, escort, homeless, HIV positive, has a dead wife and kids who are hunting him out, dropped out of college, rejoined but under the seminary and has a scat fetish he imposes on the others.
Unless that happens, I will not be emotional moved in the least. However, if that has happened. Then I will eat crow.
Lastly, and this is a hoot for all three of you who've been with me for a while...
The Gentleman Caller has contacted me!
I'll admit it was partially of my doing. I sent out a mass email to all those who STILL HAVEN'T DONATED to the AIDSwalk. I basically addressed it to everyone in my address book.
He served:
I hope you have been doing well these last several months. I don't read your blog anymore but I see you online and your gmail "status" is always interesting (China, etc...). I have been doing pretty well. I got a job back at my old firm, _______, in research and started on March 31st. There's a lot to learn but I needed a challenge again.
Funny enough, I received a notice for "gift renewal" from The New Yorker for your subscription, which reminded me how you've been in your apartment for nearly a year now, which is just crazy. Are you still liking it? I hope you are -- it's such a nice area.
I know that I was a bit of a jerk in October when we stopped talking and there's no need for me to give some lame laundry list of excuses as to why I was acting the way I was then. Suffice it to say, I am sorry for the way I acted.
If you are interested, maybe we could get together for some drinks some time soon. It would be nice to see you (I've actually let my hair grow back out so that it's parted and I also have a beard now...). I'm available pretty much every night next week.
I respond:
You must allow me to be a little spacey, which I know I've always been, in trying to pretend I'm all cool and calm with the sudden email. I'm not mad or upset, just surprised. You blocked me from communicating with you in the main way, which was G-Chat and as ridiculous as that may sound. It's actually a normal form of communication. So I just assumed that I would never heard from you again.
I was pissed off at how you were acting towards me after the trip. I couldn't honestly believe that you forgot about my in these concert tickets when you'd discussed it with me several times before that. Anyway, I appreciate that you're apologizing, when you tell me in person I'll consider it worthy of accepting. Sorry if I'm coming off sounding angry, but to be truthful I am peeved.
That all aside, I would like to meet soon. I have to talk with you about life and how you've been despite my anger and frustration at life. I know I am a creature capable of forgiving and moving on. Plus I'm much more of a stoner than I was before, so most often I'm very calm, but always alert!
I'm just warning you ahead of time, I could cry when we meet. I won't probably since I've called it out ahead of time. I have spring break this coming week so I'm busy Mon-Wed working my 2-10 shift. Thursday or Friday could work, but it wouldn't be enough time I'd like. So I will need a few moments to figure out when exactly. What about your weekends? My new phone number is ________. I'm all Brooklyn now, with my area code. Don't call me until I see you first, just leave it to texts and feel free to G-chat hello I suppose.
Call me a bitch, but that's how I play these days.
I don't expect people to read this blog ever. This will not be my into the world of fame or notoriety. It was warming though to have a friend say, "I was reading your blog and if you ever need someone during a nervous breakdown moment you can call me..." I am thrilled that my nervous breakdowns are going worldwide. No, in all actuality I appreciated his offer. I just found it funny to myself.
Recently the notions of castration have been swimming through my mind. Not feeling any sexual desires sometimes strikes me as a profound idea. Not that without a penis, I wouldn't daydream about fucking, etc. I just find the idea of not feeling lusty or romantic to be somewhat enlightening. All of the sudden at a certain age we are taught to love. Are we born with it? I guess attraction is a natural feeling. Those animal instincts. Worry not, I am not going to take a knife to my groin.
I was reading someone else's blog and weekly they upload albums (to those file sharing websites) and let people download them. I thought that was a cute notion and was considering do that for musicals. They misspell the album and artists so Google searches won't track them down. Maybe I'll do that sometime in the future. I mean who would download them is beyond me, but it's nice to share and I have enough musicals I could do that for years. Stay tuned for more on that.
I'm seeing In The Heights tomorrow. I'm excited for it, it was canceled the first time I saw it. We sat in the theater for an hour before they called the show off. It was the first time I'd ever had that happen to me. At a Broadway show too! Another musical event in my life, it was bound to happen someday.
I thought I had more to write, but I don't. That's okay.
Blogs are just outlet for my eccentricities and logs of my fall into obscurity.
At least once a week I feel introspective and attempt to write about it.
I often fail.
I also like musical theater.
The one that got her the Tony Award:
In The Heights
Deanna Dunagan
Sunday in the Park With George
But since that's not the primary judging criteria. They will vote on talent and another sexy man will win:
Paulo Szot
Madame Rose
