I will not cry, I will not think.

I recently got an audition appointment through the Equity website. If you’re Equity and you’ve dealt with the process, you know this was no easy feat. I swear I get more nervous waiting for noon to strike in the hopes of scoring a time slot than I do for the actual audition.

Anyway, I got a slot. I wasn’t sure about the show, or rather if there was a role for me in the show. And the people behind the table were requesting a monologue along with a song. My monologue canon is very small, very, very small. I know I have to work on that at some point, but in truth it’s rare for musical auditions to ask for one.

Together with the monologue request and not being sure of the possibility of my being in the show, I was hesitant to go. If you really look at it, an audition is an intimate invited performance. And at this point I thought I was too worn out to attempt to perform. 

For my “day job” I work as a cater waiter and it was high season for catering. I would put in forty, fifty hours a week. I can hear those that have a “real” job scoff. For them forty hours is a normal week. But once you subtract the lunch hour, in reality it’s only about a 35 hour work week. In catering we don’t get a lunch hour. We get a 15-20 minute break towards the end of an event if we’re lucky.

Here’s how it works. If an event starts at 6pm, the majority of the catering staff arrives around 3pm or earlier depending on the complexity of the event. Right before the party begins we usually get a minute or two to grab something to eat.We’re on the floor ready for guests at 5:30, 5:45 at the latest. If the event goes until midnight, we’re slatted for a 1am out time. Breaks for the staff start at about 11pm. We work non-stop from 530pm until 11 or 1130pm (depending on which break a waiter is put on). And at no time do we have the luxury of ever sitting down.

During those hours we’re expected to be pleasant, personable, polite, friendly and attentive. Oh and smile, we’re expected to smile. It’s like being on stage for hours and hours, expending tons of energy, just without singing and dancing or the applause.

It’s freaking tiring.

So sometimes when I'm unsure if I could be cast in a show, I choose to not audition. I'd rather sleep or watch TV. It’s not the most productive choice I know. It won’t lead to an actual performing contract. I know that too. It just leads to more catering, which leads to less auditions which leads to more catering. Trust me. I know.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for my job. But there are other things I’m qualified to do to make money. For example, when I was in Germany I taught private musical theatre audition classes. My success rate was huge, something like 96 or 97 percent. Not all of my students got hired for the role they wanted, but they did get hired. 

Recently I had a chance to get back to teaching. I made a discovery as to where a bad habit I share with a former student of mine comes from.

Procida Creative International (PCI) is a theatre school located in Huntington, NY. It’s a brand new school just opening up. Brooke Procida is the owner/founder. A very talented performer herself, Brooke knows the business and is pretty well connected. She was doing a sort of summer camp for child performers, where the focus was on one particular show.

I love kids and I love teaching them, but I haven’t for a while. The last studio owner I worked with left a bad taste in my mouth. She was a bully towards some of the children. I’m all for tough love but telling a student she’s fat and will never work in the business because of it is far over the line of appropriate. Needless to say I quit working for that studio. I know Brooke personally and I know she takes care of the children like they were her own.

At PCI the children are wonderful and everything children should be: energetic, caring, hopeful, friendly and excited. The first day we went around the room and introduced ourselves. We asked the kids why they were here. One little boy said “I just love everything about theatre”.  It was amazing. So when what happened happened, it hit me hard. It resonated throughout my entire psyche.

I decided to go to the audition. The fact that I got an appointment from a submission for the same day as my Equity appointment made the decision easier. I mean I submitted myself to a company essentially telling them I’m right for a role so hire me. I had better at least show up. Since I would have to be warmed up and ready anyway, including the monologue audition into the mix was a no brainer. The difficult part would be navigating the differences between the two auditions.

Based on the product that I bring into the room, I believe it’s best for me to tailor each audition individually. I pick outfits, shoes, songs the whole lot based on the show I’m being seen for. To some this seems excessive. I know talented actors who wear one outfit and sing the same two songs, one ballad one up tempo, for everything. And they work.

For me, two auditions in one day, one in the morning one in the late afternoon, meant going back to Queens. Once back home I would start over from scratch with my pre-audition prep work. One of the more difficult decisions in that prep work, is deciding what to wear. What you have on your body can sometimes literally get you the job.

My roommate in Germany was Tamara, a wonderfully talented performer. She had a big audition coming up. I heard her practicing and preparing. When the day came she was nervous, naturally, but determined to do her best, which I can only assume she did. However she got cut. I knew a lot about the company she was auditioning for, so when I saw her afterward I asked her point blank “Did you wear what you have on?”

She relied “Yes.”

“Then that’s probably one of the reasons why you got cut.”

Then I asked her to recount the entire audition from walking into the room to walking out of the room. From that I discerned another reason. It was actually something I had in common with Tamara. We had both been inadvertently taught a bad habit. It was the same thing I witnessed happening to some of the kids at camp on the second day.

We were in the midst of choreographing a number which featured four soloists. The first of which was given the main direction of the piece and how the blocking was to proceed. The kid was happy and full of fun. The other three were given the same direction, which was tweaked for their circumstances. Still everyone was happy and energetic and full of life. Then we ran the number a couple of times. And each time it happened. The life was sucked out of the first child. The fun had been removed and the pure joy of being there exorcised.

Why? Because of the mirrors.

Every time we ran the number I watched the kid watching and editing themselves. The child retreated into their own mind and was making judgments as to what was right and what was wrong. And what was left on stage was the shell of a vibrant young person that had just been there a minute ago.

And for Tamara and me it was the same.

We both came from dance backgrounds. We were both taught to use the mirrors. Watching ourselves to correct and edit based on what we saw, was in our training. The problem arose when we started doing the same thing during auditions, particularly vocal auditions.

Instead of watching ourselves through a mirror while we sang, we would watch ourselves through a sort of out of body experience. We were basically making a video feed of our vocal auditions, while simultaneously playing them back during the audition. There was maybe a two second delay in performing, watching and judging. This killed any spontaneity, any sense of being present in the room and any connection to the material being performed.

When Tamara told me that this had happened to her at that important audition, I made a suggestion. If she was using a mental video camera to watch her audition, she should mentally create a power source for that camera. When she found herself being mesmerized by the video feed, she could just simply unplug the camera from that source. The feed would go dead and she could get on with the job at hand, capturing the hearts of the people behind the table.

I walked into my second audition of the day. Low and behold the audition requirements had changed. We no longer needed a monologue. The people behind the table provided sides from the show. Great. One obstacle down. I entered the room, and after making small talk, I approached the piano. The accompanist's body posturing said “Look at me. I’m amazing and clearly the best thing in the room. And I'm over it.” I dealt with him as I do all accompanists, pleasantly, and instructed him on the particulars of my music. I walked to the center of the room and away we went.

I don’t know what that man was playing but it certainly wasn’t any of the notes on the pages I handed him.

Catering had left me not fully energized. My fortitude slipped. I started to doubt myself and criticize myself. Clearly it was my fault and my lack of talent. Then immediately it happened. The video feed started up and snatched me out of the moment even more. I found myself in the viewing room chair sitting in judgment. It was just like what I had witnessed the children doing to themselves during rehearsal.

The children’s actual performance was great. So alive and vibrant, full of joy. They overcame their self-editing. But children are resilient if given half a chance. As for us adults...

A week after her initial audition, Tamara traveled to another city and auditioned again for the same company. She was armed with our new technique and a brand new outfit more fitting to the company’s ideals. She got called back. Then she booked the job. Eventually she ended up being a director for the company.

As for me, I yanked that plug out of the wall and resumed the second of two intimate invited performances for the day. Eventually the accompanist and I got in sync. But it didn't matter either way. After unplugging, I performed with confidence and never outwardly let on that anything was amiss. After singing I was asked to read the sides. The director of the piece said “I was buying that”, meaning she believed me and was invested in what I was doing.

I didn’t book the gig. So back to catering. After the great experience I had with PCI and Brooke, maybe I'll even teach again. As for the show, if you remember, I wasn't even sure if I was right for it in the first place. And the outcome kind of confirmed my suspicions. Besides it was just one job out of a possible million jobs that I’ll audition for in my life time. However what I practiced was something that will help me book down the line: how to live and thrive and audition in the moment.

And that's what the people behind the tables want in front of them: a living breathing human being giving an invited intimate performance. No one wants to see me, or anyone else for that matter, sitting alone in a mental viewing room watching...

“...The movie in my mind”.

Watch the juice begin to flow

So it's about this time of year where I run out of things to write about, or rather run out of time to work on things to write about. And so that means indexing time!

 I've made an index of all of the past blog posts. Each post has it's own link (the black lettering). And to make it easier to reference, each of those links has a little caption that sums up what the post is about.

Since some people didn't realize that every post is different, this is the perfect opportunity to go back and read the posts that may have been missed. Or, if you kept up to date, re-read ones you found interesting or could help answer whatever question(s) that have come up recently.

All you gotta do is...

"...push da button, push da button!"


Now I know...

...my introduction

To pee or not to pee...

...Equity or non-Equity

Baby you can drive my car...

...knowing your product

Look out for yourself...

...the actor and the internet

The Dingo ate my baby...

...professional integrity

Colour my world...

...creative casting

Just a little touch of star quality...

...dressing for auditions

You begin with do re mi...

...music for auditions

La a note to follow so...

...follow up to music for auditions

The winner takes it all...

...paying your dues

Who am I anyway...

...resumes

The spark of creation...

...impressing casting people

The trouble with the world today it seems to me...

...performer etiquette

With a bit of a mind flip you're into a time slip...

...personal alliances and time limits

He did the monster mash...

...headshots

You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both...

...life choices

Tomorrow morning you'll wake up with the white noise
...why TV is strangling your career

You're no exception to the rule
...everyone has an opinion and advice

These are little known facts that now you know
...what you should learn at school and everyday of your life

Shot her lover down. Madam
...forgotten social nuances of business

I'll boost you up yours
...working together to create

Ice ice baby
...the true key to acting

Wouldn't you like to know what's going on in my mind
...leave it all behind

Running like an engine that's just been freshly oiled
...let it all go

He'd come'n tell me everything's alright
...finding people who inspire you

When beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drum
...working with sheet music and accompanists

If you want your sun to shine
...realizing what you bring to the table

No more curses you cant undo
...help with agents

Every love affair went wrong
...reinvention and relevance

The world in which you dwells no paradise
...dealing with emotional aspect of social media

Threat of hell
...importance of doing homework

You will get what you are due
...patience

Logs on fire
...if you want it work for it

I feel the snow I feel the cold
...validation

I think I'd better think it out again
...the high cost of pay to play

A very strange reaction
...warming up

Another chance to disapprove another
...actual love and support

In rich mans world
...how much does acting cost

Whose head is crowned with flames
...the ten commandments of theatre

Slinging hash feeling so rejected
...unpredictability

Without a song or dance what are we
...why art is important

There's a lot I am not certain of
...surviving the holidays

I'm gonna get there at any price
...knowing what you need

It's waste of time there's no use trying
...putting you to work for you

history is happening in manhattan
...showing up regardless

I got one less problem
...finding your tribe

I fortunately know a little magic
...getting seen at auditions

Up steep and very narrow
...professional etiquette

Don't single me out then forget me
...taking care of the insides

Fight and sing fortissimo
...finding the fortitude

More than you could ever know
...importance of planning

So I've got nothing to share
...the reason for art

Shuffle off to buffalo
...carrying what you need

Helene is slut Anatole is hot Natasha is young
...headshots

Helene is a slut, Anatole is hot...Natasha is young

Recently a colleague of mine posted a query on Facebook:

I’m getting new headshots done and I’m trying to decide on a shirt. A casting direct I love and respect(whose cast me before) is saying red (that headshots should stand out) but EVERYONE ELSE has says white. This is a general everyday theatre- film- tv - type headshot. Also still on the fence about red lipstick. What do you think and why?

This got me thinking about my own quest to get the perfect shot.

Growing up in a small suburban community (which you should know by now because I’ve said it like nine thousand times) had its advantages and its disadvantages.

Its advantages include:

A small theatre community

Everyone either knows you or knows someone who does

Everyone has seen your work or heard about your work

and

Your reputation precedes you

Its disadvantages include:

*See above

For better and for worse, the list is exactly the same. Either you hate it or you love it. You thrive in it or you long for better. I longed for better. So I left the area and moved on to bigger and better things, which is to say I perceived them to be bigger and better. But it’s basically the same thing anywhere you go: The theatre community is small. You run into people you know or people who your colleagues know and if you’re lucky people have seen your work or know about your work.

The biggest difference between small town theatre and big town theatre is the ratio of actors to jobs.

In small town theatre actors relay on the advantages, so much so that pictures and resumes aren’t really used. In fact I never needed a picture or resume when auditioning at home. The people behind the tables usually had some sort of form to fill out where I listed my credits and contact information. They didn’t need a picture because I was live and in person. The casting pool was small enough where they could remember exactly who I was without visual aids.

If I’m being honest, I really didn’t know that pictures and resumes existed until my senior year of University, when I ventured outside of my area to look for work. Even then I just needed to list my experience and attach a snapshot to my NETC (New England Theatre Conference) application.

Easy Peasy.

It wasn’t until I got a job from the NETC and wanted to go to my first audition in New York City that I realized I was missing something. Luckily for me there were a plethora of more experienced people in my cast who guided me toward what I needed most: a headshot.

Peter was a budding headshot photographer. He agreed to take people’s pictures for a modest fee of $75. Now I’m sure you’re thinking “Oh my god that is so cheap”. But considering I was only making $65 dollars a week, it was a large sum of money.

Sheri was an expert in makeup. We saw her handiwork every day. She’d wake up looking like a truck driver in her light turquoise footed onesie and glasses. She’d have her coffee then disappear for a bit and come back looking stunning. She was a pageant girl.  She was runner up for Miss New Jersey or something, so we knew she knew her stuff.

Francesca was the queen of costumes. She had a car full of clothing. She helped the designer make decisions about costumes and she took care of maintenance for the wardrobe. Francesca would constantly tell me “Stop wearing brown. No one looks good in doo doo brown”.

With my makeup artist, wardrobe consultant and photographer lined up, I got my first head shot taken:

I used that picture. In fact that picture got me two solid years of work.

That picture makes me want to barf now. I look like a preppy vampire. Sheri and her makeup skills, Francesca and her wardrobe expertise and Peter and his artistic eye all decided the outcome.

My colleague on Facebook was bombarded with opinions for her shots.

When I was leaving off of Central Park West (with a washer and dryer in my apartment) I found a headshot photographer in the back of Backstage. She lived just on the other side of the park and only cost $150. At this point I felt I was knowledgeable enough to take care of my own hair, makeup and wardrobe.

Everyone was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans jacket in their headshots. So that’s what I wore. I was rocking curly hair at the time so naturally that’s what I wanted to have. Someone made some unkind remarks about the makeup I had previously used so I decided to opt for not using any, no base, no powder, nothing.

Et viola:

I barely used that picture. I didn’t like it. It just wasn’t me.

Facebook told my colleague to wear “Red! Trust me!”

I thought the third time would be the charm. This time I would go for more extremes in dress and hair with some light make up:

While the shots themselves aren’t bad, I have to ask myself what that hell was I thinking taking pictures in a full tux. And the long straight hair? There was no way I could maintain that for any length of time. Despite that the pictures lasted for about two years.

Facebook people also said you wear the color red for “legit” photos and white for “commercial” photos.

The next round were taken by Kreigsmann. They were the “it” place to get your headshots done in New York City. Everyone was getting their shots done by them. The pictures cost a couple hundred dollars. For the first time they were close to who I was, which is ironic since my first name comes from the designer of the light colored shirt in the second photo.

These shots lasted a couple years until I changed my look. I went back to Kreigsmann to capture the new me. I also decided to do some character/commercial shots. Back then that meant wearing glasses. I also went back to wearing what everyone else wore in their shots:

I was doing a regional show at the time of those shots and brought the contact sheets to the cast. I asked them to pick their favorite picture. The second pic is the one that everyone said I was stupid if I didn’t get it. I didn’t want to be stupid so I got it. It was a good picture. Not sure it was me but I used it. In fact it helped get me cast in the German premiere of Miss Saigon.

While In Germany, the company I worked for hired a photographer to take headshots for the program. The format and feeling of a headshot is completely different over there. But I thought “when in Rome...” So this is the shot I used for my time in Europe:

Once while visiting the States, I went back to Kriegsmann for new headshots.

I don’t think I ever used this picture. I was still overseas so I stuck to the format they used. The studio shot with a backdrop was falling out of favor, as was wearing denim. Men wearing makeup in headshots was now frowned upon. Also shortly after this photo session I had gotten braces which changed the structure of my face. All this made the picture null and void and basically unusable. It just didn’t look or feel like me.

When I officially returned to New York City, I searched relentlessly for a new headshot photographer. Kreigsmann and that type of shot was no longer in vogue. Location shots with natural lighting became the rage. I also wanted pictures with facial hair, as I felt that changed my look a lot.

I peeked at every headshot I could at auditions. If I saw something I liked I asked who took the photo. I’d investigate the photographer to see if the cost fit my budget. Now headshot sessions were pushing $500 or $600 dollars. If I could afford the session, I went to meet with them to see if we clicked on a personal level. If that happened I checked out their portfolio to see what the majority of their pictures looked like. If all the pictures had an individual feel to them (for example not all shot on the same location, with the same head tilt) that photographer would be put into consideration. The one who took the best photos of people who looked like me, with skin tones and hair type similar to me, won. These were done by Tim Schultheis:

The goatee picture I rarely used. But the other shot I loved. There was no makeup, no heavy retouching, I picked my outfit based on what I liked to wear and was comfortable in. I felt like the headshot was me. I felt like I could walk into the room and effortlessly be that person because I was that person.

I used that headshot until I couldn’t use it anymore. That point basically came when people started to think that it had been retouched or that I was wearing a massive amount makeup. Most importantly my braces had finally come off.

The process to find a new photographer started all over again. This time I knew what I wanted. Color photos came into play, along with natural light and non-studio settings. Most importantly headshot photography was now digital. Technology was new and expensive. Headshots could run about $1000 for the session. I had to find someone who was in on the “cutting edge” of this new movement who I could afford.  And I did.

The job went to Jeremy Folmer. We picked my outfits together, keeping in mind what I was comfortable in and who I was. We used no makeup and kept the hair natural. We selected the target audience for the headshot and away we went, off into the digital world.

I used the headshot with the blue shirt for ten years. In fact it’s my current headshot. Recently I’ve been feeling like I don’t look like that. Maybe it’s because I know how old it is. Or maybe it’s the fact that someone said it looks like a retouched version of me. Either way, I felt it was time to update.

So the process began all over again. Except this time I know a lot of pertinent information about getting headshots done. I shared some of this information with my Facebook colleague:

Forgo the red lipstick. Go for something a bit more neutral and classic (that doesn’t mean boring). You’ll get more mileage out of your shots that way.

As for shirt colors, go with a color you love that everyone compliments you on when you wear it. If it’s red, wear red. It it’s something else wear that. But it should be a color you love because that energy comes out in photos.

PS never wear white for a photo shoot. The brightness bounces off of your chin and neck and sometimes gives the illusion of you being bigger than you are. Besides most peeps don’t know how to adequately handle shooting the “color” white.

You seem like a purple girl to me.

High on my list of shows to see is Natasha. Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812. I’ve seen the advertisements. I’ve seen clips of it on TV. I’ve also seen a song performed live last summer at Broadway in Bryant Park. With the Tony Awards quickly approaching, I see things for it everywhere especially the opening number.

“The Prologue” from Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 tells the audience everything they need to know about the characters in the show they’re about to watch. They sing about it being complicated. Then they set the show up for success. They break each character down into one or two catch words. Those words quickly convey to the audience exactly who these people are and what type of behavior to expect from them.

That’s what your headshot has to do for the people behind the table. It has to tell them succinctly who you are, what you can do and who they’ll have the pleasure of working with. And above all else, it must remind them of who you are once you’re no longer physically in front of them.

Yes, a lot rests on a single picture.

My Facebook colleague had a makeup artist do her hair and makeup for the shoot. Whether they bring their own or use the photographers, women always need to have a stylist on hand. Men not so much. She ultimately decided to wear a purple top. No word on the lipstick though. I can’t wait to see what her shots look like.

As for me, after nearly eight months of deliberation, search and turmoil I found a photographer. His name is Matt Simpkins. He had done shots for a couple friends of mine. I love their shots. They were full of personality. They look exactly like the people I know and love. And it's affordable.

I booked my session. I shopped for clothes. I drank tons of water weeks before hand and avoided alcohol. I got as much rest as I could. I agonized over which four looks I would choose. The night before I ironed everything I needed. I wanted everything to go smoothly. I even took a taxi to the shoot, hoping to avoid the stress of riding the subway. I didn’t want anything to ruin my mood, my hair or make me frown. I didn’t want to carry that energy into the shoot with me.

Before we began Matt asked me who I was professionally and what kind of roles I got cast in. I presented my situation to him, informed him what type of shot I was looking for and displayed my clothing options.

Then off we went.

That’s me. No makeup (save powder for shine). No heavy retouching. No pretense. No trying to portray something I’m not. And that’s all I need.

That’s all anyone needs in terms of a headshot.

Your picture has to look like you look right now. It has to have the same hair color, the same haircut, the same wrinkles and freckles that you have. Right. Now.

My new headshots are targeted for the roles I want. But it won’t be as easy for me to get cast like those who live in small city markets. The ratio of jobs to actors is extremely different and their reputations and familiarity precedes them. That's something a big city actor has to constantly work towards and one day dreams of having.

In a big city market, whether it’s walking into the room or emailing a submission, your picture is the very first shot fired in the battle for a gig. And with so very many actors vying for so very few jobs, it's a constant fight.

Theatre is fun, and life changing and uplifting and thought provoking and all those other magical things. But there are practical things behind the magic, tactical moves that need to be made in order to get the job. A good headshot sets you up to win that battle.

So get one. Go get a headshot that looks like you right now. It'll provide the best offense and defense for the...

“...war going on out there.”

Shuffle off to Buffalo...

I’ve had a milk chocolate Tenba Pro Digital messenger bag for the last seven years. I carry it with me almost everywhere I go. It baffles my friends as to why.

“Where you going?”

“Got plans for later?”

“What do you need a bag for?”

Well, you see, it all started when I was a little boy...

My parents picked the perfect house. At the end of the block was a candy store, a dairy and a bar. Two blocks from there was a park. At the other end of the block was an elementary school. Two blocks up from that was the hospital and a block away from the hospital was the fire station. And just passed the fire station was the grocery store.

Everything was convenient.

When I started school I went to the one up the block, which was named after the street that I lived on. At five I was allowed to walk there myself. You have to understand this was a different time. All the families on the block were friends, and their extended families were friends. I couldn’t go more than two feet without two eyes on me.

Granted the school was across the street, but there was always a crossing guard posted there. And she safely guided the children. At lunch time we were allowed to go home, eat lunch and come back. All thanks to the crossing guard.

If we ever forgot or needed something, my mom could walk up the street and drop it off. For two years life was simple.

Then someone in the city government decided that it would be better for the children (and the budget) to close all the neighborhood schools and open one giant elementary school in the middle of the city. Which they did.

Our idyllic close knit neighborhood was on the south side of town. The new school was built about fifteen blocks from the grocery store, and that was four blocks from our house. There was no more walking to school.

The school itself was state of the art, even equipped with an Olympic sized swimming pool. The third grade was when physical education switched from playing outside on one of the five brand new playgrounds, to formal structured lessons.

In one semester we would have gym twice a week and swimming once a week. The next semester the classes would flip and we’d have swimming twice and gym once. Every class we had to be prepared with the appropriate uniform. For gym that was sneakers, sweat socks, a t-shirt, shorts and a towel for showering. For swimming it was a towel and a bathing suit... sometimes (we were required at times to not wear a bathing suit for swimming. But that’s another story). This new school didn’t have lockers, so we had to bring everything with us from home every day. No more mom walking over to drop something off.

Being the ever so thoughtful mom that she was, she bought each of her children a bag to carry our things in. It was called our “gym bag”. Every morning my brothers and sisters and I packed our gym bag full of the stuff needed for that day. We would sling it over our shoulders, pile in the car. Every morning we’d be driven to school. And once we were there, we stayed there.

The bag ritual continued on for my entire elementary, junior high, and high school career. The only difference was that for junior high and high school I was once again allowed to walk to school. The city government had decided to keep separate junior high and high schools. So I was back in the neighborhood. Although we were still not allowed to go home for lunch, until senior year.

In University the “gym bag” switched to a “dance bag”. In it I carried my rehearsal clothes, dance clothes and shoes. The only books I carried in it were the ones I didn’t have time to go back to my dorm room to get before class. In sophomore year our day started at 8 am and went right through until 7pm. There was only a half hour break for lunch at 4pm. Thank god for my dance bag.

When I first came to NYC, I stayed with a friend. His apartment was practically in the Bronx. There were no metro cards back then. Every time you got on the subway you had to pay. I was on scholarship at a dance studio. My budget could not afford any frivolous expense. So whenever I left the apartment, I left for the entire day, just like school. And just like school I carried a bag with me.

I still called it my dance bag, because most of the stuff I carried in it was dance related. I also carried a datebook and a bunch of seemingly random other things. After officially moving to the City I kept the tradition of carrying a bag with me. Although now it was called a man bag, or a “murse” (man-purse).

Auditions can pop up at any time, especially if you have an agent who is pushing hard for you. Getting to the Bronx from midtown, pick up your things, and get back to 520 Eighth Avenue in 45 minutes can be done. But it would take no less than an act of God.

In order to be prepared and appear professional and on top of things, I learned quickly what I needed to carry with me. At times I felt like Mary Poppins. I would reach into my bag and pull out whatever was needed: stapler, scissors, chap stick, you name it.

Today the contents of my bag have changed slightly. The change is mainly due to technological advances and the fact that rehearsal studios now have things like staplers and scissors. At any rate, I’ve conceived a list of things an artist needs to have with him or her, to survive and thrive in a city like New York.

At the top of the list, of course, is a sturdy bag to carry your day to day things. My choice was my chocolate Tenba. Packed inside it:

A smart phone (with unlimited data)

Sheet music for a song (that I can sing on your death bed)

An Mp3 of that song

An mp3 player (with a standard earphone jack)

Earphones

I think the MP3, MP3 player, sheet music and earphones are be self-explanatory. They’re really only need if you’re in Musical Theatre. But all actors need: 

A copy of a monologue (that you can recite on your death bed)

A pen/pencil

A date book

A lot of regional theatres ask that you fill out an information card for their files. With upwards of 200, 300 people (especially when there are women involved with an audition) one of them is bound to be sick or getting sick. Why chance your good health on using some random writing utensil that Typhoid Mary has touched? Just bring your own.

Some of these things listed can be combined. Smart phones play music. They have apps that can be used to store sheet music and monologues. There are also apps that mimic a piano or a pitch pipe. Apps that allow you to take notes. Your phone can also be used in place of a paper date book. And most phones have an external head phone jack.

But what happens if all of that is on your phone and your phone dies or gets a virus or simply runs out of juice? Not everywhere you go in NYC has a free outlet to charge your phone (free as in available and you don’t have to make a purchase). Only recently is NYC getting a few outdoor charging stations. A dead phone takes a lot of power to start up again. Then even more juice to open a bunch of apps. So add to the list:

A portable charger (that is fully charged)

One of the most important things I was taught, was to always carry:

Pictures

Resumes

with you wherever you go. Be creative on how you do it, but do it. You can never know where you’ll end up and who will be there. Anyone you meet could have a connection to a project, a new show, or a theatre. It’s better to whip out a picture and resume then to ask for someone’s email to send them a copy. Chances are that person will have forgotten you by the time you get back to your apartment, in the Bronx, to send that email.

Sure you could give them a business card. That card needs to have your picture on it as a visual reminder of who you are. Most people have two, maybe three, different headshots with different looks. Printing up business cards with each of these looks is expensive. Besides, there’s already a ton of stuff to be carried without the extra weight of several different business cards.

I do however carry a business card as well. I also have:

GPS

Water

I have no sense of direction(although it’s gotten better by playing World of Warcraft). So that’s another app on my smartphone. And I drink so much water it gets expensive. A couple of other important things include:

A folding umbrella

Mints/gum

The weather is unpredictable. It can be bright and sunny when you get on the subway in the Bronx and by the time you come out from underground in midtown, a torrential down pour. Nothing wreaks havoc with your preparation or ruins your state of mind like walking into an audition literally dripping wet. Trust me I know. I've done it.

Do I really have to say why you should carry mints and or gum?

There are other must haves for a performer. Things not necessarily carried around:

A computer

Membership to audition sites

A printer

In today’s market, an actor cannot begin to work without being hyper electronically connected. From audition sites to find auditions, to printing sides and music, it’s imperative to have 24/7 access to these essential tools.  A laptop is the best option for a computer because of mobility. I’m told that schools sometimes provide them.

One other electronic device that isn’t essential, but is gaining popularity fast:

A reader

is a portable electronic device (like a Kindle for example) that can store scripts and sheet music. It’s big enough for a pianist, or any instrumentalist, to comfortably read from and turn pages. You can also use it to read sides or even whole scripts for the myriad of table reads and staged readings that you’ll be lucky enough to be cast in. It cuts down on the amount of paper and ink used. So it saves money in the long run. Not to mention a reader cuts down on the amount of bulk an actor carries on a day to day basis.

When you start auditioning you’ll need:

One nice audition outfit (including shoes that are not character shoes)

Your book of music

Your book of monologues

Pictures and resumes

and if you dance:

Sweat pants/tights

T shirt/leotard

Dance shoes (tap, jazz, ballet)

Towel

Then once you’re cast in a show, you’ll need:

An opening night outfit (including shoes that are not character shoes)

On opening night there may be press there. There may be a party. In any case there will always be pictures taken. An actor should look cleaned and pressed, ready to go viral for all the right reasons. The opening night outfit can be the same as your audition outfit. No one will be the wiser. Very few people from behind the table actually remember what an actor wore at his or her audition.

All these things to get cast in a show and most of which you carry around with you in a bag on a day to day basis.

My milk chocolate brown Tenba Pro Digital messenger bag was the best bag I had ever purchased. My mom would have been proud of that bag.  It, however, has carried its last load of stuff on its last cross city, all day journey, yesterday.

After seven long years the metal D-ring, which is used to attach the shoulder strap to the bag, had worn through the metal clip to the shoulder strap. While I was at the accountant’s office picking up my prepared taxes, it snapped. Unfortunately the bag is no longer in production. I have to find a new type of bag to use.

Carrying a bag is essential to my survival and sanity. Having the list of things I provided is essential for yours. So before we both set out on the adventure of finding work in the Theatre in New York City, I’ll need to find another bag and you’ll need to...

"...go get your these and thoses and away we’ll go".

So I've got nothing to share...

I traditionally think of January as a transition month. We start out with New Year’s Day, which for most people is a day of recovery. For me it’s a day to hang out with my friends. I think there’s no better way to start off a year than with a group of people who make me laugh and love me for just being me.

Then comes The Epiphany. It's not a revelation, but the day that is traditionally celebrated to mark the three kings’ arrival to Bethlehem. For those of you familiar with the song, it’s the twelfth day of Christmas. One of the gifts I gave myself this year was a full priced ticket to see a show.

It’s after Epiphany that the holiday decorations come down. This year the weather got worse (and then better and then worse again) all the while we actors start to gear up for auditions. There was a change in the way auditions are being allocated. It’s good. It’s bad. And it gets ugly.

A new person was inaugurated into the seat of the presidency of the United States of America.

I recently did a blog about the hierarchy of auditions and how to go about getting them. (I fortunately know little magic) Shortly after that post went live the procedures for signing up for the ECC (Equity Chorus Call) changed. I updated the blog to reflect the changes. Now the EPA (Equity Principal Audition) procedures have changed.

I won’t update that blog but I will share the new set of rules here:

I went to my first EPA of the year on January 18. My appointment was at 4:20pm so I needed to be there by 4:10pm. I left my apartment an hour before I had to check in with the monitor. It’s typically a 20-30 minute trip. Due to no fault of my own (thank you MTA subway system) I arrived at the audition site at 4:12pm and was marked late. After a couple of days I received a warning email. It basically said that was strike one.

Recently I connected with an old high school friend. Back in the day we were besties. We were in the Drama Club together. We had the same sense of humor and we liked to do a lot of the same things. He was really into baseball, but outside of his practice and games, we were together all of the time. We had a blast. He was a few years younger than I was, but even after I left high school to attend University, we kept in touch.

Things changed for me at college though. A lot of things. The summer after I graduated I got my first paying gig outside of my hometown. After I had left for that job I contacted my friend. There were some things I needed to tell him. The most pressing thing was about my sexuality.

I was almost a thousand miles away so I had no choice. I came out to him over the phone. After that conversation we didn’t speak again. Ever. I should have known better than to get in touch with him via Facebook, especially with all the political turmoil happening.

Since we are new Facebook friends, I tend to regularly see posts from that baseball loving guy on my news feed. One day my old high school “friend” posted something that irritated me to no end:

I could not believe that a former thespian, someone who acted all through school, could have an opinion like this. And more shocking is that his friends echoed his sentiments. I don’t know why I find this shocking, but I do. His brother, who is older than me and also a high school friend, did not concur with his little brother's sentiments:

In general I try to stay out of political discussions. But every so often something comes up and I just cannot hold my tongue. This was one of those things.

I sat for two hours at the audition on January 18, with my name on the alternate list in hopes of being seen. It didn’t happen. Not only did I miss my appointment to audition, which is bad enough, I wasn’t able to ply my wares in front of potential clients. The cherry on the ever-melting Sunday is that I’m now being watched to see if I’m late again. I cannot be late in the next 12 month period or I’ll be banned from on line sign ups.

Now I can understand if an actor just doesn’t show up for his or her appointment, and I can understand an excessive amount of tardiness. However New York City transit can be difficult and unreliable to say the least, which is why I left an hour before I had to sign in. But to tell someone you can never be late is unrealistic. And if you are late, twice within a year, you lose the “privilege” of online sign ups.

I may not know much about sports but I do know that even in baseball you get three strikes before you’re out.

Obviously this lateness rule was made by a person(s) who doesn’t attend EPAs because they have an agent. Or if they do attend EPAs, they have the luxury of living within walking distance to the audition sites.

Either way, it shows how out of touch people of power can be with every day realities, the struggles of trying to make a better life for oneself. If the people in power were more connected to what is happening in the world, perhaps instead of banning some from doing what they need to do to survive, they could differentiate between the ones who offend the rules and cause problems, and the ones who are merely victims of something they have no control over.

I plan on writing a letter to Equity expressing just such an opinion, which as a member of the community is my right.

I have an opinion. You have an opinion. Every person has an opinion and conclusion about what is right and just, and what is wrong. And we all know “opinions are like buttholes...everyone has one and everyone thinks everyone else’s stinks”. Everyone is allowed to express their opinion. But “shut up and sing”? Come on. Artists are people as well. The only difference between the well-known high profile ones and normal Joe Schmos is that they have a large scale platform to address the issues that concern them.

The show I treated myself to was Dear Evan Hansen. Those of you who know me personally, know that I'm a hard critic when it comes to performances and shows. This was an incredible production, worth every penny I spent on my ticket. It's everything that a show on Broadway should be, not literally but figuratively. I was ready to stand up and cheer at the curtain call.

The final number ended. The actors walked off stage and the house lights came up. And nothing. The actors didn't come back out to take a bow.

I turned to my friend Rhett, who came with me, and said "There's no curtain call?"

Rhett's reply was "This is only intermission."

Art isn’t just for entertainment. Art at its very basic definition needs to make people laugh and cry and feel. And think. Yes think; about love, loss, patriotism, extremism and every aspect of Life possible. Watching Dear Evan Hansen, I was thoroughly moved from laughter to tears to pensivity. My "small heart grew three sizes that day."

If you’re doing Art for any reason other than setting the heart, the mind and the soul on fire, inciting revolutions of ideas, you’ve disconnected yourself not only from the thing you love, but from the world. Instead of being involved you’ve isolated yourself. You're outside...

“...Waving through a window.”

More than you could ever know...

For my family, Christmas time started soon after we finished eating all of our Halloween candy (which was usually the day after). This may sound early to some, but considering the fact that we spent many a Halloween in snow boots and parkas it seems fitting. Besides, there were five kids in my family. We had to get our letters to Santa early because this was a big stop for him.

After the sugar high settle from our ghoulish festivities, our attention turned to the TV. You see back in the “olden days” we didn’t have Roku and Apple TV and DVRs. We had no choice but the watch commercials. Which was a good thing because they provided us with a plethora of Christmas gift ideas to add to our letters to Santa.

Growing up our parents taught us to be independent and to develop our own interests. And nowhere was it as apparent as in our Christmas lists. There were five of us, and our age difference spanned more than twenty years.

By the time I was forming memories, my oldest brother was already graduating from college. I have no idea what his list looked like.

My oldest sister had all the big ticket items on her list, like 35mm cameras and equipment, and jewelry.

My youngest brother had all the nerdy stuff covered, microscopes, computer games, chemistry sets.

My youngest sister had the longest list. Whatever she saw she wanted. Her list at times was three pages long.

I was the artsy crafty one. I got paint sets and art crates and macramé projects. And clothes. I always got clothes. We all got the basics for Christmas: underwear, socks, t-shirts, pajamas, sweaters. But my clothing haul was always bigger than everyone else’s. And I loved it cause I love clothes.

Somethings never change.

On Christmas morning, our house looked like a department store exploded and all the wrapped presents landed under our 9 foot Christmas tree in the living room. My Dad had the exhausting pleasure of handing out gifts and then taking out big black garbage bag after garbage bag full of used wrapping paper and boxes.

As we got older we graduated from seeing our potential gifts from Santa on TV, to seeing them in the Sears catalog. (For those of you who don’t know what the Sears catalog is, ask your parents). This opened a whole wonderful word for writing our Christmas lists. Here things weren’t limited to what was popularly merchandised and commercialized. In this book was everything anyone could ever imagine, or so we thought.

Picking what Santa would leave us under the tree somehow got more difficult with this book. There were so many options. Soon we clued in on something that would help. Santa used a formula. If you didn’t follow the formula, your Christmas could be disappointing.

First there was always one big ticket item per child. For example, my youngest brother asked for and got a computer. Then we would each get two or three mid range items and several educational gifts, like books and puzzles. There was always tons of family friendly things, games and activities we could all do together throughout the year. Always got the undies. There was always a bunch of other things we got that was fun filler. We gave each other gifts, which could be from the list or totally off the grid. I usually went off the grid. And Santa did as well.

Every year Santa left each of us a gift or two not on our list, specifically tailored to each individual personality. Those gifts were special. It meant that Santa was truly watching us. One year I got a Game Boy and cartridges, and another year Dungeon and Dragons books. Both of which I still have today.

And that was pretty much how the system worked until we became young adults.

As we grew up our lists got shorter and shorter, except for my youngest sister. Her list seemed to get longer each year. And each gift on the list got more and more expensive. Some of the last presents I got from “Santa” included a sofa and a microwave. And of course underwear. At this point I made the deduction that my oldest brother had probably been on this sort of “present plan” since I was a toddler.

Then one year after we had all entered adulthood it stopped. Instead of presents we were each handed an envelope. We were told to use the money to buy whatever we wanted for Christmas. The only thing we had to do is to let our parents know what we bought. And in one fell swoop the Christmas list was killed off. Instead of our parents picking and choosing and shopping, each of us had the autonomy to pick and choose and shop. If I saw it and wanted it, I bought it. Merry Christmas.

No list required. No pre-thought needed. No sticking to the formula. No undies.

I didn’t have to think about what I wanted every year. I had no planning to do. I could just go with the flow. It may sound silly but that’s when things started to fall apart. Not having to write a Christmas list every year, not having to sit down and think about what I wanted bled into other aspects of my life.

I’m an organizer. I make lists and plan and deduce and execute. But here I was learning that I didn’t need to do that. I mean Christmas still came without a list. I still celebrated without a list. So life could go on without making lists.

For several years I’ve been going with the flow, doing whatever jobs come my way. I’ve been letting other people dictate what is happening in my career, both on stage and off. And what has happened is I’ve been in a string of less than good artistic situations. That’s not to say they have been lacking of talent and vision, for the most part, but that they’ve been at best lateral moves and at worse giant steps back for me. (If you’ve been reading the blog, you’ve read about some of them).

I’m not where I want to be and not having a plan is why. I’ve not sat down and definitively said what it is that I’ve wanted to do, where I’ve wanted to go. I’ve not done it for quite some time now and it’s taking its toll on me mentally, physically, and emotionally. I’ve only just realized that failing to make a list, in terms of career advancement, is failing for me. 

So this New Year’s Eve I’m going to sit down and write out what I want to do with my career, where I want to be and how I’m going to get there. I’m going to write a list, a Christmas list, if you will, filled with all the presents I’m going to give myself in 2017. It’s the only way to get what I desire: plan.

My siblings and I are full grown adults now. The family has exploded exponentially with wives and children and grandchildren. We live in different places. We no longer exchange presents unless we are physically together celebrating Christmas. Otherwise it’s just too expensive and exhausting. Yet when we do celebrate the holiday together guess what we do. We make lists. How else are we to edit the myriad of things available to give each other as adults?

The principle is the same in a career. How can you decide the best course of action in getting what you want without actually knowing what that is?

I encourage you to join me in list making. Sit in a quiet space. Think about where you want to go in your career and your Life. Decide where you realistically want to be in five or ten years and make a plan to get there. Work backwards from that point in the future, from that Tony award in ten years, to today. Write down what you need to do every year, every month, every week, and every day to make that goal happen.

And then do it.

That’s what I’m going to do before this holiday season ends and throughout the new year. Then next year at this time I’ll be my own Santa. I'll check that list. I'll see that I followed the plan. And I'll have given myself the present I wanted: a career on track to achieve my goals. Then after I buy myself some new underwear, I'll truly be able to say I got...

"All I want for Christmas..."

Fight and sing fortissimo...

It’s that time of year again. The leaves are changing, or changed depending on where you live. Mother Nature is decked out in her most fabulous colors. The air is crisp and the sun, while still as bright, does little to warm us. We begin a myriad of celebrations and holidays here in the States and throughout the world.

This is traditionally for me one of the busiest times of the year. And it all began back in high school. Ok not really. I guess I’ve always been a person who does projects. So much so that my mom, whom you've all met or at least read a little about through my blog, nicknamed me.

When I was little I was always doing something, so I’m told. Truth is I have no recollection of my younger enterprising self. Apparently I couldn’t keep still. One reason for this could have been my intense desire to leave my home town. The only memory I have is from when I was about five years old. It was summer. I was in the back yard playing. My dad was barbecuing. As I sat in the grass I looked up at my dad and said “I want to be an archaeologist when I grow up”. Apparently being an archaeologist was the most amazing thing there was. They got to discover mummies. And mummies lived in Egypt. And Egypt was far from the suburbs of Buffalo.

At any rate my mom nicknamed me “Stevie Bee” because I was always busy, like the proverbial bee. And my name was Steven back then.

It was this time of year that I joined the Drama Club in high school, at the request of my mother. She didn’t specifically say “join the drama club”. But in the tenth grade she did force me to join a club, any club, for my college applications. I had put it off until finally the Drama Club was the only club looking for new members.

My mom was always looking forward. I guess she had forgotten about all the other clubs and organizations I was in or had been in. The list includes the Boy Scouts, the Junior Achievers, the Lions Club, the Honor Society, and the Yorkers, which was a club that studied the history of New York State. The Yorkers worked year round on a historical project that was relevant to their particular area of the state. It was presented at a yearly convention. The host city of the convention changed every year, so every fall I was off to another New York State city and away from home.

Don’t get me wrong, my home life was pretty sweet. The only thing I had to do was get good grades, a few household chores (which I was given an allowance to do) and be a kid. In my parents’ house being a kid meant you did what you were told, obeyed the rules or you would be punished. Plain and simple. And my dad always said “If you don’t like it leave your key on the kitchen table, take the clothes on your back and say good bye.”

My dad and I never really got along. We were two very different people. To hear my mom tell it, we didn’t get along because we were the same person. I always scoffed when she said that.

You see I loved theatre and my dad hated theatre, well musical theatre anyway.  And musical theatre was where my passion would eventually lay. I can still remember when that passion was solidified.  I had joined the Drama Club. I volunteered to be an usher for the fall musical. I stood in the balcony waiting for the show to begin, not really knowing what to expect. As the curtain rose I became riveted to the stage and what was happening to the characters. I had seen the movie about a hundred times, much to my dad’s chagrin. But nothing could compare to seeing The Sound of Music live.

This is also the time I had my first real crush on a girl: Raffaela Pullo. She played the “Baroness Else von Schraeder”. I thought there was no one more beautiful or strong willed or talented than she was.

I knew then that I had found my place, my “home”. Unfortunately the real life home was none too thrilled. I bucked every tradition my family had, from eating every dinner together, to finishing homework far in advance, to just basically not being around, not even to help with the chores. My mom was unhappy with the situation and my dad down right hated it. In fact he and I didn’t speak to each other for a long time because of it.

I don’t remember exactly when, but my mom finally came around to the idea of me being in theatre. We made compromises that kept both of us happy. For instance I could miss eating family dinners because of rehearsal during the week, but I had to be home for Sunday dinner every Sunday, no questions asked. No get out of jail free card. She and my Grammie came to see every show I was in.

My dad on the other hand, only came to see one of my shows in high school. My senior year he came to see A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. It was only because my younger brother was also cast in it. I went through four years of university with him never coming to see one production I was in. And I graduated with the second longest bio of my class. (Still keeping busy). To me it seemed he wanted to squash my dreams just like he did when I wanted to go to art school, but that’s another story.

After University I moved to New York to pursue theatre. It was after the holiday season much like this one and after I had turned down a job that would have had me performing in Buffalo. My mom was against me leaving town. I thought my dad didn’t care either way. Before I left he gave me a sort of warning:

“The world isn’t like home. They’ll see you as something different. Opportunities for men like you are far and few between”.

When I was joining Actors Equity, I found out I had to change my name. I asked both of my parents for help in picking a new name. None of those family names seemed to feel right. I finally settled on Evan Edwards and started using it immediately.

My mom was really sick as I was traipsing around the country doing shows as Evan Edwards. So I would call home every week. I made a point to talk to both my parents. And they both only had “parent-y” things to say. You know what I mean. I’d ask what’s new and the answer was always “Nothing.” They talked about inane things like the weather and the other things small town folk talk about. It was during one of these pedestrian conversations with my dad that I got the shock of my life.

“Boy, I’m upset with you”.

“What happened?” I was scared. I had never told my parents about my sexuality. They had known about my first crush, Raffaella. It and others turned out to be more of the “talent” kind than of the “physical” kind. I guess someone had let the cat out of the bag. “What did I do, or not do as the case may be?”

“How am I supposed to tell my friends about all the fantastic things you’re doing? They’ll never believe me and I can’t prove it. I can’t even point to your name in the program and say that’s my son”.

I promised him from that day forward I would always put my real name in every bio of every program.

As I climb up the ladder and build a career for myself I see dad was right. Opportunities for men like me are far and few between. Don’t get me wrong. They exist. It just takes a lot more effort to find those people behind the table who are willing to provide those opportunities. But true to my nickname “Stevie Bee”, I keep busy.

In the last couple of months I’ve produced a concept album of a new musical theatre piece. I wrote the book and the lyrics. I also sing on it. This was my first time in the recording studio as a solo artist. The project consumed my every waking moment.

I read a role in a public table read of a new play. The show is great. It’s about an Italian-American family. The role I read is that of the son/brother. It’s fun and very me.  I’d love to play it.

I assisted the producer and founder of New Camerata Opera on their inaugural production. It was The Count of Luxembourg. The company doesn’t have a space so it was performed in a rehearsal studio. They rented costumes and had musicians and even provided subtitles (the libretto is in German). My job title was associate producer.  In reality I just ran around the city like a mad man trying to pick up the little things that no one had time to do. All the singers in the show were also producing the show, doing all the backstage tech work and publicity. It was a huge endeavor because none of them had previous experience doing any of it.

I’ve been writing a new non-musical play. It’s been in the works for about ten months now. It’s a huge time commitment to just sit down and write. I have to filter out all the distractions and be in a quiet place both mentally and physically. That’s not easy with the holidays.

During this magical time of year, something happened that threw much of the country into a depression. We had our presidential election. Not only that but we proceeded to elect a man who is a liar, a thief, a letch, a misogynist, a homophobe, and a racist.

A friend of mine posted this on her wall on Facebook in response to a video connecting racists to the president-elect:

“...half [of] white America is so mad. Y’all had no idea this was the country you live in & are outraged (as you should be). But to be clear, this video is not all that surprising and your new outrage is my “good morning time to brush your teeth” RACISM HAS NEVER BEEN COVERT TO ME. It’s just a little less so now. People now get that a portion of this country sees me and all my ancestors (the unpaid ones included) as worthless no-contribuers. [Sic] Enough so that many folk are standing up, taking notice & getting angry...”

Things are happening in in our country. Some are good, some bad. And things were happening in my life as well.

The concept album arrived six days ago. After long delays, scheduling snafus and completely unreadable CD artwork it is finished. It looks and sounds great.

Money people are talking. A production of the play about the Italian-American family could be in the works. When it does get produced I’m doubtful I’ll be cast...hopeful but skeptical.

My new non-musical play, about a group of gay friends and their relationships is about three quarters written. I’ll have a first draft done by year’s end.

I warned New Camerata Opera’s “artistic director” about what could happen. She didn’t want to hear it. And what could happen did happen. Their first production was a mess. There was a blatant lack of direction, vision, follow through and general professionalism on the part of virtually everyone involved. This was a project I should not have been involved with. I knew it and I did it anyway. I mean I had to keep busy. So I threw my reason out the window. And I paid the price for it.

When I read the program I noticed my bio had been edited. There was no need to edit it since there was plenty of unused space. Someone somewhere decided that what they didn’t understand or deem important needed to be cut. It was a hack job extraordinaire. But what infuriated me was the fact that it was done without my approval or my knowledge. For the first time in twenty odd years my real name, Steven Hamilton, was absent from the text. My promise to my dad was broken. 

Soon after I was privy to witnessing families on stage. I saw two Broadway shows. Both deal with family dynamics. Both shows center at a festive occasion. They both reminded me that the relationships within a family are tricky to say the least.

The Humans takes place during a Thanksgiving dinner. It centers on the things families have to deal with, both secrets and the protection from them. Falsettos centers on a young boy’s bar mitzvah and a family dealing with the father’s not so secret homosexuality.

Being in theatre I was the black sheep of my family. It made me afraid of telling my parents I was gay. I mean they had gotten used to the theatre thing but being gay was different. It was something I didn’t think they would deal with well. It wasn’t about them cutting me off monetarily. When I left for New York City I had vowed not to ask for money from them. I had to prove I could make it on my own. Only once did I have to ask. I was on tour. I was broke and our paychecks were delayed. My parents were so proud I hadn’t needed their help before then. They were more than happy to give it.

In my head being gay was strike three. It meant I was too different from them. I would be disowned. I’d no longer be a part of the family. So I never told them. But it seemed they suspected it. My mom would drop not so subtle hints about guys she knew who were gay, I guess she was hoping to open a conversation. Whenever I did or said something that was considered questionable, my dad, ever the jokester, would laugh and say “Is there something you want to tell us sport?” Much later I found out that my parents had discussed the question of my sexuality with my older brother.

Neither The Humans nor Falsettos have a truly happy ending. But when you think about it neither do we. We all die. And sometimes that death has nothing to do with the physical being.

The results of this year’s election scared me. I mean I was literally afraid of going outside, of walking the street, of being out after dark. The media, both social and otherwise, was full of the unleashed hatred of people who were losing their grip on dominance, decorum and sanity. I was a prisoner of my fear and a captive in my own home. One day I re-read my friend’s Facebook post about the outcome of the election. I paid particular attention to the last line:

“...half [of] white America is so mad. Y’all had no idea this was the country you live in & are outraged (as you should be). But to be clear, this video is not all that surprising and your new outrage is my “good morning time to brush your teeth” RACISM HAS NEVER BEEN COVERT TO ME. It’s just a little less so now. People now get that a portion of this country sees me and all my ancestors (the unpaid ones included) as worthless no-contribuers. [Sic] Enough so that many folk are standing up, taking notice & getting angry. But my life is no different than it was last month. This ain’t new. My feelings just have some company now is all...”

Her truth is that the election hasn’t really affected her on a day to day basis. And when I thought about it, truly sit down and pondered the situation, other than my self-imposed exile, it wasn’t affecting me either. I remembered the words of my dad: “The world isn’t like home”.

At home I was “Stevie Bee”, always trying to stay busy with projects. I was always doing something I loved to do.

At home I ate slept and breathed theatre. I loved performing and creating something from nothing.

At home I was respected. My opinions were valid, and listened to, as long as I could back them up with fact.

At home everyone knew about me being gay. And they still loved me.

I had always wanted to leave home and my family, even back when I was five dreaming of being an archaeologist. To me it seemed as if the world was a beautiful place. And its beauty was just for me. Now I know that “home” is something you take with you wherever you go. And my dad, in his own way, tried to give me advice and fortitude. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s just how the world works.”

Dad was right but screw that.

Screw those people behind the tables who won’t hire me because of their prejudices. I’m gonna show up at auditions anyway. You don’t hire me? Your loss.

Screw the people who want to take away my right to equality. You may be able to keep me down but you can’t keep me quiet. And no matter what you believe you can’t stop me from loving who I love.

And screw the people who say I can’t do something. Because you know what? I can. And will.

Both my parents are dead now. I miss them terribly but understand that death is the ultimate part, the inevitable part, of Life. Death is the one part of living that no one escapes regardless of who wins a Tony, who gets married and who is president.  The entire country could benefit from realizing that.

In truth, most of the world could benefit from what my parents are still trying to teach me about my passion, be it men or theatre. 

We all need to keep...

“...learning love is not a crime.

It’s about time. Don’t ya think?”