Thursday, April 10, 2014

The REAL Why Every Straight Man Needs a Gay Best Friend.

 My STRAIGHT Best Friend, Tommy McDowell, posted this link on my facebook:

Why Every Straight Man Needs a Gay Best Friend

First off, I feel like that implies you have a "Straight" best friend.  And possibly a "Black" best friend or "Woman" best friend.  I think we should all have a meeting like a League of Best Friends. 

Alas, Tommy knows that this is real list as we know it. 

TOP 10 Reasons Why This List is WRONG according to a GAY MAN-

1. Your gay best friend (GBF) can introduce you to tons of nice single ladies.

-More likely to introduce you to the Single Ladies choreography.  All the single ladies in his life want to marry him more than his SBF.

2. Your gay best friend may become your wife's friend too.

-Or her worst enemy!  She will be the target of eternal bitterness and jealously because she gets to have you in a way we never can just because she has boobs.  

3. Your gay best friend can be a great listener and social support as many gay people lived through bullying in their youth and became sensitive, caring, and loving people as adults. Yes, you can cry and open up with your new gay best friend.

-Not everyone gay man was bullied in high school.  Some lived like Queens and some grow up to be horrible hateful adults.  But sure, you can cry on my shoulder- any opportunity to play Oprah is a win in my book.  

4. Your gay best friend can help you outfit your wardrobe and you'll be out of the store on time and on budget.

-LIES LIES LIES. What the fuck does “on time” entail?  Shopping with a “budget”?!?!  You might as well stay home.  But if you want me help you pick out the 100th flannel shirt and not-so-skinny jeans that make you look feel confident enough to not gay bash me- so be it.

5. Your gay best friend can make a great gym and fitness buddy. 

-You as a SBF are being used in this situation.  You are there to make all the other gay gym rats jealous by association.  Tomorrow, I will return and they all will inquire where my “boyfriend” is and I will respond “what boyfriend?”.  No one will be lying.  No one will go home alone.    

6. Your gay best friend will be there for you if you ever need a hug. Hugging is the universal gay greeting. 

-The universal gay greeting is “hey gurl hey”.  The hug is only implied.  You stand corrected.   

7. Your gay best friend would probably be a good ego boost to your self-esteem and self-confidence when you need emotional support. This can help you overcome any rejection you experience from the women in your life.

-We’re always there to pick up the pieces.  So yes.  But sometimes emotional support comes in the form of a back handed compliment, a bit of too honest shade, or a tall stiff martini.  But where women will come and go, you GBF will sit pining from the sidelines….with more martinis.  

8. Your gay best friend would probably be a great person to talk to about sex, sexuality, and relationships.

-Yes.  A great person who will talk about THEIR sex, sexuality, and relationships.  I think with my SBF we’re at a 10 to 1 ratio in sex stories.  

9. You can crash at your gay best friend's place when the need arises.

-Addendum is likeliness that your GBF has many many many decorative pillows on his bed.  Instant “no homo” sleep barrier.  In gay man’s terms- Les Miz Pillow Barricade where no one is getting shot at tonight.  

10. Last and most importantly, your gay best friend will be a loyal, committed, and trusted friend because for many gay people, their friends are their family. 

-No argument here.  Yes, many gay people find their family amongst their friends.  They will be loyal until the very end.  Your GBF will even spend 30 minutes writing their own list to (a) show how funny they think themselves and (b) to tell you how much they love you for being their SBF.  

But I really think that the #10 reason every straight man should have a gay best friend-  The BJ’s.  So many BJ’s.

Tweet @kelvinmoonloh . Blog

Saturday, February 8, 2014

I GOT MUGGED AGAIN....of my SLEEP. Everyday for the last MONTH.

I must preface, that I have lived in NYC for 12 years and I understand noise and apartment living; it is a fact of life with box-attached-to-box urban dwelling and I happen to love it.

A few months ago, we received a new neighbor upstairs.  I can only assume it’s one woman and her child (of whom I immediately empathized with single motherhood) living in the same square footage of our larger than average Harlem three-bedroom. 

Several mornings passed, every other day in recent weeks (probably a Christmas gift), where I’ve been kept up from noise starting at 5:45am until about 11am.  So instead of writing a passive aggressive letter or banging on the walls, I decided to do what I believed an adult should- wait until a decent hour, knock on their door, introduce myself, and have a sensible conversation about how we can help each other co-habitate.  No plan, no agenda, no advice, no “shut the eff up”s- but a conversation.  

Attempt #1: I rang the doorbell and I heard the child clawing for the door and calling out “mama!”  No one opened the door after two attempts at ringing the door bell.  Even though she spied through the peephole a few time and pried her child from the door, I assumed she wasn’t ready to take in a visitor.  I, too, sometimes have troubles finding my best dressing robe to take on early morning visitors.  Still I was not leaving her a note- I’m no longer in college.  We are both of child bearing age….oy.

Attempt #2:  At a more reasonable 6pm hour the next day-  SHE WAS NOT HAVING ME!  As if the three knocks on her door and a doorbell ring had eliminated dozens of hours of sleep from HER life.  I have never seen her face, as she never opened the door, and chose to say, “it’s must be my 2 year old. He’s playing.”  I bit my tongue and my “duh” and asked if we could talk about just that.  She declined.  That’s where I left it.  I decided it was time to call the landlord and asked if carpeting would be an option or at least a mediated conversation. 

I thought to myself, “Kelvin, a mediated conversation?  Facilitated by our landlord? I have a better chance at winning the lottery.”  I promptly made that phone call and went to buy a scratch off ticket.  I won that dollar back but I doubt the same for the ten minutes on the phone with the landlord’s secretary. 

Now, here’s HER letter she taped to OUR door the next day: 

“Dear 1A- Colin, Please address management with all of your issues!  Please refrain from coming to 2A with complaints!  Thank you 2A”

A. Whose Colin, Ms. 2A?  Did you hear my name wrong or are you the one hoarding my roommate’s subscription of New York Magazine?  That’s my job!

B. All of my issues?  I don’t think they want to know about my recent battle with gout and minor seasonal depression.  I don’t think they want to hear about my lack of ability to finish anything due to adult ADHD and fear of commitment and sobriety.  I don’t think they want to hear about my hot pink comfort item, a Hot Topic tutu.  So, maybe I’ll just address the one issue- this ONE sound that comes her apartment.


Dear Management:

I would like to report an environmental complaint.  I hesitate to call it a noise complaint because I have not been sensitive to noise while living in this apartment for the past four years.  The reality is when I accepted the lease to this apartment in Harlem, on the first floor, I agreed to a social contract with the denizens of 10026.  I can accept the midnight brawls and breakups outside my window, siren and dumpster trucks, the usage of my air conditioner as a convenient coaster for Four Loco and the teeniest bottles of Barcadi.  I can accept watching the TV mounted to our wall as you pass my window on the street and cheering along to American Idol with me on the couch. 

Prepared I was to deal with the first three years of my upstairs neighbors having a French bull dog who used the hallway as his own personal dog run.  I welcome the idea that my new neighbor has laid a similar track for her 2 year-old Olympic sprinter in training.  Go Team USA!!!

I have no complaints of parenting.  I’m not going to complain about parenting a two year old; not the crying, not the running, not the yelling after a child- this is a fact of life and uncontrollable.  Again this is “noise” and I accept her child’s wails as they have graciously accepted my wails a.k.a. my personal weekly Youtube Broadway Karaoke Hour.

No, this complaint is environmental.  No set of earplugs or sleep machine is a solution for the physical vibration that happens repeatedly over a 4 by 7 patch of space that exists 10 feet above the headboard of my bed.  Pulling my bed away from the wall has not dampened the early morning rolling thunder that has prevented my sleep. 

I understand not coming to the door, as I am a stranger, but we have connected before in the building as we have checked our mailboxes located next to each other while exchanging pleasantries.  I have reached out twice, with no avail, to my neighbor to inquire what this new contraption is.  She has asked me to contact you and I do so with a certain amount of trepidation and suspicion as she refuses to speak with me eye to eye.  I speculate that she either:

a.  Installed a Bowling Alley for Babies.  As this issue has only arisen for the past 56 days, I can assume it was an unwise Christmas gift.  There, I can fault a distant relative who is a glutton for other people’s misery.  I’ll gladly supply the $100 gift card to Toy R’ Us for a replacement anything.

b.  Has a case of OCD and owns a Dyson’s Super Ultra Megatron Vacuum cleaner that she uses to maintain this aforementioned four by seven foot of space.  Three words: Replaceable Carpet Squares.  I’ve seen them on Love it or List it! 

c.  Inherited Gutenberg’s Printing Press.  And hopefully she is foiling local thieves and resolving the building’s ongoing Sunday Times burglaries by making copies free for all one thousand tenants.  Awesomesauce! You’re Printin’ Hood.  Get it?!

d.  Installed an exercise rower for herself.  But by the frequency of this activity and the unchanging weight of her own footsteps, this seems like the least probable answer.  But if so, good on you, gurl! But I have an extra order of Pad Thai, Seamless on speed dial, and an extra spot on the couch to watch The Biggest Loser- let it go....enjoy some mommy, binge eating and vino with the new neighbor time.  On me!

Thank you for your attention to this matter.  I know this may not be anywhere near the top of your priority list but I feel as if there have been enough suicide attempts off the Brooklyn Bridge in 2014.  I’m not the splashy type.  Hah!

I apologize for the drama.  You don’t know me, but alas, I would never go to Brooklyn.  My next serious course of action is to file for joint custody with Ms. 2A. 

Mme. 1A, Mr. 1A, & Miss 1A.
(Kelvin, Colin & Enrico respectively)


PS- Since unspecified, I have forwarded this letter to both the management of our building and the management of life in NYC, the NYPD (via 311, of course).  I was confused to which “management” she was talking about; or is it because- nope nope, it’s because I’m a dick and I want my life back. 

PSS- I have also attached a thank you note for imposing hours and hours of catching up with my writing.  Even if it has been at the heinous hour of before-noon-o’clock. 

PSSS- Seriously, we have filed a formal complaint to the landlords and next will be the police. 

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Yes, It's All About Talent-

Sincerely, it's ALL about being talented but not in the way you might think...

Talent is defined by google as both a group of useful aptitudes and an ancient Greek system of measurement for mass.  Only one can be quantified; the latter.  The other only qualified.  Some will tell you, "talent is something you're born with".  Some will argue, "talent is acquired!".  Colleges and institutions will say, "talent doesn't exist.  Only you do!"  They are all right.   They are all wrong.  Major problem is that they have misidentified / improperly defined the one necessity it takes to book a job in the entertainment industry as "talented". 

But as the business requires us to use this umbrella term- so be it.  If you will please indulge me, I'll share with you my interpretation of this broad misnomer of "talent".


It takes a approximately four auditions to book anything.  I highly recommend you all watch America's Got Talent.  Because there is a key to success on this show.  It's a very calculated step ladder to winning on this show over your series of auditions.

1.  Make a strong first impression
2.  Show them versatility/variety
3.  Embellish on you first impression but show them your backstory
4.  Pull out the showstopper

You can't skip any step.  You can't change the order.  If you pull out your showstopper first, you'll blow your wad too soon and nothing will amount after.  If you show versatility first, they won't be able to figure you out to make a solid enough impression to put you in the consideration pile.  If you embellish but forget to show them who you are as a person, they're not going to invite you to their lunch table in the green room.  

The key is in the build up.  This is vulgar but you can think of auditioning in terms of trying to have sex with someone.  Fine.  In terms of wanting to court someone?  Here-

1.  Be striking when you walk into the bar.  Whether it be your charm and/or your beauty.  But don't go home with him. 
2.  Meet him somewhere else.  Take him rock climbing.  Show him something he hasn't already seen. Still don't sleep with him.
3.  Meet him for another drink, this time maybe with his friends.  This time embellish the evening with a little more affection, kisses.  Put him in a situation where he will remember why he liked you in the first place.  But don't forget to give him more clues into who you are as a person.  I dare you to even get to know him better.  
4.  Here's where you show him the goods.  Vulgar or not- your choice. 

If I were the guy, you would get a solid 6-month relationship out of me minimum.  If you can translate this into terms of auditioning, for the right casting situation (bar=audition, him=director, his friends=the rest of the creative team, drink=song) maybe a 6-month contract. 


"Stop preaching at me, Kelvin.  I already know this.  I already do this." 

Right.... I apologize for the tangent.  Only I believe the BUILD UP is incredibly important to this re-definition of talent.  Here we go-

You may be the best singer in the room.  You may be the best dancer, the best actor, the best anything.  Congratulations.  You have the SKILL of singing.  The skill of dancing, skill of acting, skill of anything.  You can even have the conglomeration of skills necessary to do musical theater. 

These things we have misidentified as talent is actually skill. 

"What the hell is it, Kelvin?!  What is talent?!?!?! TELL ME NOW ASSHOLE!!!!"

I'm only demonstrating the power of build up.  The one true talent you can possess is the talent to be memorable.  Talent equals memorability. And your success through utilizing talent is truly limitless.  You are born with some natural talents, you acquire others, talent as you've known it does not exist, only you.  They were all wrong and all right.

I had this battle walking into a room knowing that I sang my audition song perfectly and not booking a job.  More perfectly than I could imagine.  Only problem was, the creative team wasn't looking for perfection (also, there were 100 other guys who just sang "perfectly"). And if perfection was desired, it was actually a desire for memorability. 

Every writer/director wants someone who will cause a stir.  Someone the critics can't ignore.  Someone who the audiences won't stop buzzing about how perfect or imperfect they were in the show. 

NATURAL TALENTS (MEMORABILITY) *congrats for doing nothing!*
-Sex appeal

-Ability to ride a unicycle
-Carefree banter
-Sex appeal (appears twice I see...)

***Assignment:  What is your unique memorability factor?  How can you make it appropriate to incorporate into your next audition?  How will it grow and embellish?***

I share this with you because what has been prescribed to the aspiring musical theater artists is that the highest note is best.  The girl who can spin the most is best.  Sure- these things can be memorable.  But if you're like me- a guy who actively tries not to sing above an F and hasn't taken a dance class beyond the emergency "oh fuck, they want me to tap tomorrow?" class at BDC-  you have to decide what your TALENT/MEMORABILITY factor is. 

You are enough.  This is completely true.  But are YOU being overshadowed by your presentation of skills alone? 


Next Chapter:  Memorability's Sex Life with Artistry and it's Affair with Gimmick. 

Thursday, April 4, 2013

How to Walk Downstage....

You see-

My path to the stage was neither long nor short
I was not plucked from obscurity
I never had that big break or found a lack of a small one

My path to the stage was neither celebrated nor forgotten
I consider myself a J-list celebrity amongst my peers
I never went to that fancy school or lacked training

My path to the stage was neither simple nor complicated
I was not breed to be any "business" type
I never trusted my gut or quieted my values

You see-

My path to the stage is always mine and mine alone
I am the only one who qualifies and justifies
I forever own that I know how to walk or when to charge

straight lines, linear, non- I got you. 

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Let's See Where This Goes-

It has been prescribed that for every breakup of a relationship, you need double that amount of time to heal.

Three months of sixteen and I keep telling people, "yea, I just got off of tour". 

My heart aches not being onstage in a show I love everyday.  Yes, I am working on other projects.  Yes, I keep in contact with most all the Idiots.  Yes, I like having DVR. 

Thank goodness, I didn't take a day for granted while touring the country.  Carpe fucking diem'ed. 


This week.  I'm working on three major projects for me.  And if you couldn't already tell, I'm sleepless and trying to lull myself to sleep with Red Label. 


And I'm smiling.  Because, I love the theater.  And I love the theater with theater professionals with an attitude of "can do".  Because at the end of the day- well, what else is more rewarding?

I've been recently feeling as if I needed something else.  Something that wasn't so volatile as being an artist for a living.  I wanted more control.  I wanted more money.  I wanted more stability.

NEWS FLASH:  Stability doesn't exist, y'all!!!

But love does.  If you do what you love and treat others with respect while you're doing it-  you only attract more of what you project. 

Take what you want from this.  It's full of generalizations.  But generally what I'm saying is- everything is worth it.  And when it drives you to tears, you can thank God that something still can. 

Friday, August 3, 2012

Hashtag Nightingale (I Love Prison)

In regards recent Nightingale "controversy":  The Asian American theatrical community has many feelings.  The creatives have expressed they too have many feelings.  It seems like the entirety of the Broadway community has arisen with their own commentary, opinions and feelings.

I have one.  One instinctual feeling.

You may suspect it is a feeling of dismay; but it is not.  Saddened?  No.  Disappointed, heartbroken, wronged?  No, no, no.

Rather it is of pure ELATION.

For the theater to bring to host this conversation is incredible.

Let me clarify that I am not elated because someone finally "stuck it to the man".  I am elated because for the first time in my professional career, I believe that the entirety of a community I was born into has raised one collective voice to say, "We are here."

For those of you who need to be filled in of the goings on of # nightingale:
Playbill Article : Facing Criticism for Lack of Asian
Video of Panel Discussion : LaJolla Nightingale

Some of our Asian American theater veterans may proclaim that this is history repeating itself.  It seems like a twenty year cycle.

A little over twenty years ago, we experienced the infamous Jonathan Pryce scandal of Miss Saigon.  David Henry Hwang brilliantly dramatized the events in his play Yellowface nearly a decade and a half later.  Because of the open protestation of Pryce's casting, never again was the coveted role of the Engineer played by someone not of Asian descent on Broadway.

Miss Saigon was the first time Asian Americans have experienced yellowface in such a high caliber theater setting.  Right?

Actually, twenty years prior to that in 1970,  the Asian cast members of Broadway's Lovely Ladies, Kind Gentleman protested outside their own show because of denial of access for Asian performers to audition for the coveted role of Sakini in their own show.  These pioneer Asian actors went as far as to distribute brochures with headshots and contacts of dozens of Asian performers to casting directors to say "we are here".  The show closed on Broadway to eventually tour but the costumes of Sakini were never worn by an Asian man.

Will we look back in 2030 and be quick to forget the conversation that has been spurred by The Nightingale ?

Only time will tell but what we all can learn from history is "change is slow".  No, this isn't the first time this conversation has been had and it certainly will not be the last.  But this is the moment for this generation of Asian performers to make their mark for the betterment of the theatrical community;  this American theatrical community that we are very much a part of.

Specifically, in addressing my thoughts about The Nightingale.  I've heard both sides of the table.  Even then, I lack the ability to see the content of the show for myself, I lack the ability to validate either side's arguments, and I lack the ability to sort out for myself what is right and wrong/hypocritical or not in terms of the implementation of a multi-ethnic cast.

I can't say that any Asian actor was denied Asian appropriate roles as I have no hand in the artistic creative process.

Through much meditation about the subject, I became keenly aware that my issue was not with this production at all.  I began examining my existence as an Asian actor in the theater business of 2012 and I came up with the question:  "Am I not American enough to be considered for your multi-ethnic project?"  This notion stings.

Post the panel discussion, I felt satisfied that I had tweeted some thoughts (you can find by searching # nightingale) and I was prepping for the windfall of discussions I was sure to encounter in the coming weeks.  This blogpost never wanted to be written.

Alas, my impetus for writing tonight:  I saw an All-Asian production at this year's New York Musical Theater Festival called Prison Dancer  (  I've seen my share of NYMF productions in the past, but this afternoon's performance was truly inspiring.

I have worked with many of the faces on that stage.  This was a story told by Filipinos about a prison in the Philippines.  But, it did not matter to me that I was not Filipino, nor was a majority of the audience. I found myself in awe of what I was seeing, hearing....feeling.  I forgot that those were my friends and colleagues on that stage.  Instead, I was enamored by each one of them as artists who were all masters of their craft.  The craft of conveying a human story that is a identifiable to all who sat opened-hearted in front of them.

What I saw today was a new unique American (or Western as it hails from Canada!) story that could be told by none other-  a brilliant cast of Asian-Americans.   *Might I also add, a ridiculously beautiful cast*

Because with the focus so strongly on The Nightingale, I hope that we do not forget to celebrate the triumphs that we are achieving together;  Asian American performers and supporters alike.  To name a few on this ever growing list :

-The entirety of the production team, creatives, supporters and the cast of Prison Dancer.  Marcus Calderon, Marc DelaCruz, Andrew Eisenman, Albert Guerzon, Jose Llana, Jeigh Madjus, Nathan Ramos, Catherine Ricafort, Enrico Rodriguez, Moses Villarama, Liz Cassasola, Brian Jose and more! 

-Baayork Lee, Steven Eng, Zoie Lam and their National Asian Artists Project's continued education program for school aged children and exploration of classic works with All-Asian professional performers.

-The continued success of organizations like East West Players, Pan Asian Rep, Ma-Yi Theater Co., NAATCO, and Leviathan Lab for dedicating it's existence to explore theatrical work to exemplify the Asian and Asian-American experience.

-Upcoming new musical productions of predominantly Asian casts Allegiance and Here Lies Love fully produced in major theatrical centers (Old Globe and Williamstown/The Public, respectively).

-Asian performers that consistently represent on the Broadway stage in non-ethnic specific roles including Paolo Montaloban, Aaron Albano, Ray Lee,  Olivia Oguma, Telly Leung, and J Elaine Marcos amongst many others.

-Active diverse casting advocates for Asian Americans: Nikole Vallins and Michael Cassara.

I name these artists as my friends of whom we'll look back in twenty years and claim that it was not in vain. I name these artists as my colleagues of whom I constantly feel i am in a cast with regardless of whether we have ever even done a show together.  I name these artists as my heroes as they will forge an even broader path for future Asian artists to emerge.

We must take a moment to think of how far we have come as ONE community.  Even as fragmented as we may be under this large umbrella that is "Asian", we have formed such a strong brotherhood; this collective entity that can no longer be less visible than others.

I applaud La Jolla's artistic director and it's staff for initiating a public forum on the issue.  As a huge fan of Moises Kaufman and his LGBTQ work, I wholeheartedly thank him in his participation and acknowledgement that this is a momentous discussion in American theatre.  

And so I celebrate all of you, Asian or not, who have joined us in this conversation that continues to fuel the momentum of change (despite how dilatory it wants to be).

With a lack of Asian role models on television, in movies or on the stage, I spent much of my youth wondering, "what's wrong with me?  Why did I have the misfortune of being born Asian?"  This ideology has only recently shifted for me. My elation now comes with the idea that we are here at another crossroads.  I feel my words and my continued loving dedication towards this craft is now important beyond getting that next hit Broadway show.

I am here so that Asian-American kids will look back in twenty years and say, "Everything's fine. What was all the fuss about?"  So I can get mad at them for not knowing....

And until then, I lead with love.  Love of this battle while standing with you.


I take it all back.  My gut feeling is that this is only the beginning.  I feel HOPEFUL.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Day Number WhoTheEffCare: 'Cause It's Over

*Note:  I started this nearly a week ago, but reflection takes time!!!*

Chapter One: Final Destination

Here is where you would expect me to recap the tour and telling you how wonderful my experience was. Here is where you would like me to post all the wonderful photos of times I'll miss most. Here is where you would expect me to embrace the wonderful adventures that await me. One wonderful door closes and then another wonderful one opens.

But no.

Imagine this. This wonderful "tour door" closes. There is no denying that it once opened to awesomeness. Knowing this notion, I stare blankly for a day denying that it has closed. I grab a beer and stare at it some more and I try the handle. It's certainly locked. I take a piss and peruse the other doors and they all seem alright at best. Some familiar, some callously ajar. None look appealing. I have another beer and go back to the wonderful door. This time, I am frantically trying to put my fist through it. Then my head. Bang, bang, bang. Imagine my back leaned up against it. Holding my knees in, face buried like a cowardly ostrich. For this door to have closed is no celebration- It is a funeral.


Chapter Two: The Prodigal Whatshisface

As expected, I returned home and instantly my ICalender was immediately filled with lunch dates and dinner parties. Knowing myself, I hesitated to talk about tour to not be annoying. Knowing my friends, they are lovely and want to know everything that was the last year of my life. There was an onslaught of "what's next" which I politely obliged by half-joking and half-knowing, "nothing".

I was expecting to sparkle from this high of being with an amazing show. The "prodigal punk rocker" has returned says my friend Patrick. And yet, I feel as fun as dead cat on a leash. I wake up and drag my feet. I feel this overwhelming sensation of uneasiness in my stomach like after a night of drinking but all I had was water. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I make it to the gym and I feel drained. Even in my full face, I can see it has sunken in with grief.

I loved my job. I loved my life. And I feel robbed. Enjoy the UK, kids.

Walking through the upper west side with cast mate Tommy, he casually mentioned that I haven't had a moment of musical tourettes (where I'll bust into a song lyric that happens to reflect my current state of emotion; usually musical theater) in a while. I deny to Tommy that I even know that I have musical tourettes although I know it to be true from others.

So, I identify that this lack of song all of a sudden is an involuntary reaction to feeling utterly empty. This is the life of an actor. This is the "glamor" no one tells you about as you take a one hour shower, staring at the tile because you have no where you NEED to be.


Chapter Three: Step One, Get Off The Couch

My adult self reminds me that it has been 5 days. This is all part of the 7 steps of grief. But my Aquarian mind wants me to hit rock bottom before I can really appreciate the next summit. I want to push the fast forward button.

Meanwhile, the chorus of: "This is a game changer on your resume" "Are you going in for Wicked/Bare/BookOfMormon/Glee next week?" "Happy to be home?" "Nothing has changed since you've been gone."

And that's the worst. "Nothing has changed". Because it's a lie. Everything's changed. All who have stayed home changed immensely and I refuse to think that I haven't. For better or for worse is still up for debate but.... I guess what it all boils down to is I've feel like I've lost everything. I've lost an outlet for me to do what I was born to do. I've lost the family, where it was bittersweet to work, live and play with 24/7. "Nobody Likes You. Everyone Left You. They're All Out Without You Having Fun." I've always understood this lyric. I've always been able to access this lyric on the stage. I just don't want to live it in my real life.


Chapter Four: Empty Threats at Empty Tables

If a kitten died every time an actor threatened to leave the business, there would be a whole lotta dead kittens. And who are you threatening that you're leaving? If Stephen Sondheim threatened to never write another song, people would boo and hiss but the next day, they'd holler "next!"

If Ms. LuPone said fuck it she's done, no one would bat an eyelash and roll in the next diva. This is a business that loves to forget. Even legends. And I am just a blonde streaked guppie in this big pond!

Do you know who David Merrick is? I didn't think so.....

Then why work so hard in a business that has your replacement dressed and ready in the wings?

Well, it comes down to the lottery question: "If you won 10 million dollars tonight, what would you do?" My answer: I would pay off my parents house and send them on permanent vacation. Buy my brother a nice car and a house. And I would build a theater in state that needed it and run it and try to do good work.

A long time ago, I determined there were two different kind of theater artists: Those who wanted to be in theater and those who needed to be in theater. I need it like a heroine addict. And I refuse to quit it. I've tried- I've killed many kittens.


 Chapter Five: Audition Halls of Broken Dreams 

 I happened to stop by the Actor's Equity Building (only to pee) where I passed a couple dozen actors waiting outside in the hall. I wanted to shout, "if you can turn away, not look and run, do it!" But there's no fighting it. Us theater actors, we're idiots. We don't know we're the new vaudeville. Either that or we just don't care. Trying to stay relevant at time where there is no way possible that we can keep up with the distribution of movies and television.

And the internet- We live in a world where a cat playing a keyboard has been viewed by over two dozen million people. Where Justin Bieber can tweet and it can be read by the same amount of people. All for free.

Economy Lesson: Youtube Video = $0 Production Value/5 Minutes Shooting 10 minutes uploading = Free Tickets = Instant Reviews/Free Advertising through commenting and sharing. Broadway Show = Millions$$$/Years of Development/Years More = $100+ tickets = What's Theater?

The theater is pushing the limits of being obsolete, right?


Chapter Six: Biggest Fangirl Ever 

 I find myself walking through Times Square and unlike the other jaded New Yorkers, I don't wish everyone would drop dead. Instead, I wish everyone would just stop talking. I wish everyone would just put down their phones. I wish every Asian tourist would put down their cameras and look at this city without a lens, the German ones too. Shut up, Look up, and Listen.

Now as an exercise, I wish we would all stop, look a complete stranger in the eye and take a mental image. This person's face is worth a million times more than the millionth picture of who cares. Because it lives and breaths. If you are suddenly compelled to communicate, he/she can communicate back.

And isn't that what theater is all about?

It's a truly unique experience; that moment of silence when a room full of people voluntarily gather. They turn off their cell phones (for the most part) and wait for a the voices of real people.  Unfiltered.  The scene is only edited by the speed at which you choose to blink.

And alas, that is why I do it.  Whenever I go to the theater, whether it is onstage or not, I never feel like I'm at work.  I feel like I'm at home.  So NYC is awesome and sweet but not coming to the theater everyday, I feel only like a visitor again.

Despite the heartache of leaving the show, I think of what every friend has advised me at the end of any relationship:  "Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

Because love to me is a learned behavior.  And the more I exercise my heart muscles, the more powerful I can live with love, share my love, radiate in love.

[Btw, so does hate.  Don't work those muscles.  Keep that muscle small like the dicks of those who choose to lead with hate.]


3 Final Parting Thoughts

1.  I love the Idiot fans.  I am confident that on many nights they elevated the crowd that sat behind from being good to being awesome.

2. If I end up adopting a dog, I'll probably name her Whatshername.  If it's a boy, I'll name him Cocksucker.

3. One day when I have kids, I'll have video evidence that once in my life I was so fucking cool.  And so was everyone else riding in that badass car that was Idiot on tour.

Thank you for coming on the ride.  This is just another pit stop.  Take a piss, grab a bag of Cheetos and I hope you'll join me on next leg of the Amazing Life.