I am going to continue with the blog – the lack of updates has less to do with a desire to stop writing, but a promotion at work! Which has left me with little to no time to do anything else. Mind you, that is no complaint at all, but up until the past two weeks, I am not entirely sure I understood the full meaning of the word busy.
I saw the film Julie and Julia last night – I’d read the book year or so ago and hated it. Julie Powell is without a smidgen of doubt the most unlikable woman; no I’ll say it, the most unlikable bitch in the literary world. Julie and Julia, the book, is an obnoxious look into the psychology of one woman’s self-pitying hatred. Powell is incapable of being grateful for her truly amazing husband, and cannot understand why after taking no initiative whatsoever, her acting career and life have never “taken off.” Her poorly written book and blog achieved success due largely to the context of the time in which she was writing. Blogs were new and unique in 2002 – it was much easier to achieve success in that time than now.
Yes, there is something about me that is jealous towards her success. I mean, what did she do that is any different than what I do at this very moment in time? And while I am by no means a “Pollyanna,” I did not know human beings could be so depressed and self-pitying until I read her book.
Julie and Julia is not worth reading, but the film is worth taking a glance at. The Julia Child portions are quite satisfying, thanks to another captivating and nuanced performance by Meryl Streep. And who doesn’t think that Julia Child was a fascinating woman worthy of a movie?
Oh, and, despite playing a despicable woman, Amy Adams is adorable, lovely, enchanting and talented…as always.
The question is when “Made in India” is finally purchased by Focus Features, which celebrity will have the gratifying challenge of taking on me?!?!? Share your casting suggestions, please!
Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
KISS: Keep It Simple, Stupid
I am not entirely sure anyone is reading my blog, so I am considering no longer writing it. Of course, the practice of writing is good for me, so in some sense, it should not matter whether people are reading. Hmmmm…if you do the read, let me know and I’ll continue. If not, I may stop.
Tuesday night’s yoga class was themed around the concept of simplification. My teacher and her husband have been living in New York City for many years now, and have initiated discussions about leaving the city. My teacher said she’s been having difficulty wrapping herself around the idea of leaving Manhattan. Her husband’s sage wisdom…
“Baby, it’s all about simplification.”
His words provided the foundation for both the class that night, and for me. The new mantra is: Simplify!
The question is how? This is my current project – what in life can I eliminate in order to simplify with the intention of finding peace?
I do not really know the answer, but I have cancelled my netflix account, plan to eliminate facebook from my life and, as previously mentioned, may no longer be a contributing writer to Made in India.
In appreciating the simpler things in life, we can eliminate the unnecessary stresses and find greater purpose and meaning. I am going to try it, and would love for you to join in my the journey as well!
Om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Tuesday night’s yoga class was themed around the concept of simplification. My teacher and her husband have been living in New York City for many years now, and have initiated discussions about leaving the city. My teacher said she’s been having difficulty wrapping herself around the idea of leaving Manhattan. Her husband’s sage wisdom…
“Baby, it’s all about simplification.”
His words provided the foundation for both the class that night, and for me. The new mantra is: Simplify!
The question is how? This is my current project – what in life can I eliminate in order to simplify with the intention of finding peace?
I do not really know the answer, but I have cancelled my netflix account, plan to eliminate facebook from my life and, as previously mentioned, may no longer be a contributing writer to Made in India.
In appreciating the simpler things in life, we can eliminate the unnecessary stresses and find greater purpose and meaning. I am going to try it, and would love for you to join in my the journey as well!
Om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Great Expections & Memory Lane...
I recently spent a weekend in Maine, and essentially did nothing for two whole days…sat out in the sun, reading at a sidewalk coffee shop; a cherished pastime for me.
Many of you know that my family moved from one small town in Maine to another when I was in high school. The two towns are next to each other and share the same high school, so the move was not terribly life altering.
However, having sent a good 15 years in Eliot, Maine, following the move, I have had very little opportunity to go there, despite passing through on my way to South Berwick.
It was during a conversation with my family over birthday dinner that I was reminded of all the places and things in Eliot I used to go to and partake of in my childhood: Dead Duck End, t-ball, etc…
During my two days of nothingness, I took the opportunity to take a drive through Eliot and revisit all the places of my youth. It is said so often that it has become a cliché, “you can never go back.”
The reality is there is both true and falsity in the saying. Driving and walking by the houses and places of my youth, I find myself transported to a different time of my life. Memories and feelings I have long since forgotten were awakened: Halloween parties, the “chair” story, tree tag, playing Jurassic Park, etc… It was bizarre. I had the happiest of childhoods, truly. And I could not help but wish I were living back in those simpler times.
I have always had wild ambitions – I remember taking a French class in elementary school after school, it must have been second- or third-grade, dreaming of the day I would go visit or perhaps even live in Paris. I recall watching “The Vicar of Dibley” knowing full well I would at some point live in London.
Many of the dreams and secrets I harbored in my youth have, in fact, come true. What is so strange is the visions I had in my head differ so much with the realities of life. My time in London was decidedly not what I had been daydreaming about in high school. I know this seems a base and silly observation, but what I am having trouble reconciling my London daydreams with my actual experiences.
I cannot decide if it is sad that I did not live in small thatched cottage drinking tea with fiancée Kate Beckinsale, or fabulous that I did live in Posh West London, became addicted to Strongbow and made out with a Jake Gyllenhaal lookalike.
Memory lane is a strange and wondrous place.
I am in the midst of re-reading Great Expectations – a truly brilliant, brilliant, brilliant piece of literature. I see so many echos of myself in the protagonist Pip. Pip comes from the humblest background, is raised by his brother-in-law, a black smith, and is content with his future as apprentice to the black smith until he starts visiting Miss Havisham and Estella.
Once he enters into the world of the aristocracy, his dreams and ambitions grow. He desperately wants to become a gentleman, accumulate wealth and intelligence to win over the haughty Estella.
I cannot help but remember a time when my dreams were relatively simple. Become the President of Strawbery Banke…have a darling 18-century home in Portsmouth…that has since been replaced with dreams of Oscar gold, a house in The Hamptons and being hounded by the Paparazzi.
And I also cannot help but wish, at times, that I still held tight to those simple dreams, sincerely and wholeheartedly – I think I would feel so much more fulfilled and content. We, with stars in our eyes, set ourselves up for a great deal of disappointment.
Well, I have given myself till 34 for the Oscar, so there is a bit more time for me. I need not declare myself a failure yet. These memories have made me long for a REUNION of sorts – I haven’t seen friends from high in AGEEEESS and would love to get together with you all in the near future. Soooo…FACEBOOK ME, and let’s get together.
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Many of you know that my family moved from one small town in Maine to another when I was in high school. The two towns are next to each other and share the same high school, so the move was not terribly life altering.
However, having sent a good 15 years in Eliot, Maine, following the move, I have had very little opportunity to go there, despite passing through on my way to South Berwick.
It was during a conversation with my family over birthday dinner that I was reminded of all the places and things in Eliot I used to go to and partake of in my childhood: Dead Duck End, t-ball, etc…
During my two days of nothingness, I took the opportunity to take a drive through Eliot and revisit all the places of my youth. It is said so often that it has become a cliché, “you can never go back.”
The reality is there is both true and falsity in the saying. Driving and walking by the houses and places of my youth, I find myself transported to a different time of my life. Memories and feelings I have long since forgotten were awakened: Halloween parties, the “chair” story, tree tag, playing Jurassic Park, etc… It was bizarre. I had the happiest of childhoods, truly. And I could not help but wish I were living back in those simpler times.
I have always had wild ambitions – I remember taking a French class in elementary school after school, it must have been second- or third-grade, dreaming of the day I would go visit or perhaps even live in Paris. I recall watching “The Vicar of Dibley” knowing full well I would at some point live in London.
Many of the dreams and secrets I harbored in my youth have, in fact, come true. What is so strange is the visions I had in my head differ so much with the realities of life. My time in London was decidedly not what I had been daydreaming about in high school. I know this seems a base and silly observation, but what I am having trouble reconciling my London daydreams with my actual experiences.
I cannot decide if it is sad that I did not live in small thatched cottage drinking tea with fiancée Kate Beckinsale, or fabulous that I did live in Posh West London, became addicted to Strongbow and made out with a Jake Gyllenhaal lookalike.
Memory lane is a strange and wondrous place.
I am in the midst of re-reading Great Expectations – a truly brilliant, brilliant, brilliant piece of literature. I see so many echos of myself in the protagonist Pip. Pip comes from the humblest background, is raised by his brother-in-law, a black smith, and is content with his future as apprentice to the black smith until he starts visiting Miss Havisham and Estella.
Once he enters into the world of the aristocracy, his dreams and ambitions grow. He desperately wants to become a gentleman, accumulate wealth and intelligence to win over the haughty Estella.
I cannot help but remember a time when my dreams were relatively simple. Become the President of Strawbery Banke…have a darling 18-century home in Portsmouth…that has since been replaced with dreams of Oscar gold, a house in The Hamptons and being hounded by the Paparazzi.
And I also cannot help but wish, at times, that I still held tight to those simple dreams, sincerely and wholeheartedly – I think I would feel so much more fulfilled and content. We, with stars in our eyes, set ourselves up for a great deal of disappointment.
Well, I have given myself till 34 for the Oscar, so there is a bit more time for me. I need not declare myself a failure yet. These memories have made me long for a REUNION of sorts – I haven’t seen friends from high in AGEEEESS and would love to get together with you all in the near future. Soooo…FACEBOOK ME, and let’s get together.
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
It is the Truth Universally Acknowledged that a single gay yogi in possession of heart must be in want of a yoga class crush...
After a week of essentially non-stop celebrating, I am in the midst of what can only be described as post-celebration blues. Or the “mean reds” as dubbed by Holly Golightly. There is no particular reason for the mean reds. I suppose my feelings are natural. Last week was, of course, all about me, darling. And well, this week is just this week.
The trouble with my birthday this year is that it was, in fact, my twenty-fifth birthday; and no matter what anyone tells me, twenty-five feels old. I never pictured myself at twenty-five, but I suppose if I had, it would not have appeared as it is.
The milestone means it is time to take some initiative and make some changes – move forward. I certainly did so in the past year, so there is no point in becoming stagnant now. Any suggestions on what form that initiative should take???
I have been a compulsive reader of late – more so than usual. Just wrapped up Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which despite the oddity of the concept, was quite fun: the perfect summer read. I do not necessarily think this should become a whole series of books (Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters was just announced), but I certainly enjoyed and appreciated the silliness of this novel.
I have to say, the experience only reinforced how clever and brilliant a writer Jane Austen was. She created the most interesting and human characters in her work. I have always harbored a strong desire to live in a Jane Austen novel; in some pastoral English setting, oblivious to the state of world, completely absorbed by the relationships and gossip of my small community. Although, one could argue that is what I had in Maine, and I am the first to admit how much I did not like it. But the citizens of South Berwick are not nearly as interesting or clever as the Woodhouses or Bennets or Dashwoods!
How lovely would it be to relocate to a charming English village in a comfortable home and read and gossip and look for husbands all day?!
I saw my yoga class crush this morning at New World Plaza while I read before work. Sigh…this is the boy who never smiled back. He hasn’t been to yoga in a while. I am pretty sure I’ve never seen any human being more cute and attractive in my whole life.
I give you all love…om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
The trouble with my birthday this year is that it was, in fact, my twenty-fifth birthday; and no matter what anyone tells me, twenty-five feels old. I never pictured myself at twenty-five, but I suppose if I had, it would not have appeared as it is.
The milestone means it is time to take some initiative and make some changes – move forward. I certainly did so in the past year, so there is no point in becoming stagnant now. Any suggestions on what form that initiative should take???
I have been a compulsive reader of late – more so than usual. Just wrapped up Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which despite the oddity of the concept, was quite fun: the perfect summer read. I do not necessarily think this should become a whole series of books (Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters was just announced), but I certainly enjoyed and appreciated the silliness of this novel.
I have to say, the experience only reinforced how clever and brilliant a writer Jane Austen was. She created the most interesting and human characters in her work. I have always harbored a strong desire to live in a Jane Austen novel; in some pastoral English setting, oblivious to the state of world, completely absorbed by the relationships and gossip of my small community. Although, one could argue that is what I had in Maine, and I am the first to admit how much I did not like it. But the citizens of South Berwick are not nearly as interesting or clever as the Woodhouses or Bennets or Dashwoods!
How lovely would it be to relocate to a charming English village in a comfortable home and read and gossip and look for husbands all day?!
I saw my yoga class crush this morning at New World Plaza while I read before work. Sigh…this is the boy who never smiled back. He hasn’t been to yoga in a while. I am pretty sure I’ve never seen any human being more cute and attractive in my whole life.
I give you all love…om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Twelfth Night...
Time manages to escape me yet again.
It has been a celebratory week to be sure! Thursday was Richard’s birthday; as such, there was a night of celebrating. Saturday night was the party of the year at my friend Marisa’s apartment. And holy crap, when I say it is the party of the year, I mean it sincerely – we are talking 80 people, likely more. And yesterday marked the start of my birthday celebrations!
Cory Pride Week is here!
Last night was ridiculously amazing. Many people came out to celebrate at Blockheads. We had fun; we drank ritas! It was, undoubtedly, the best birthday party I have had on record. For those of you who could make it, THANK YOU!!! YOU ARE ALL AMAZING!!!
Tonight, I head up to Maine where celebrations will continue there as well as in Boston.
I have been meaning to share with you all my thoughts on The Public Theater’s production of Twelfth Night in Central Park starring Anne Hathaway, Audra McDonald, Julie White and Raul Esparza.
Unfortunately, my review is ill timed, since the production closed on Sunday. Although, The Public certainly needs no words of praise from me in order to boost attendance. This production was a resounding success with both audiences and critics. And with good reason. Twelfth Night was one of the most magical and transformative nights I have experienced in theatre.
Up until very recently, Shakespeare has always intimidated me. I was scared of the language; I would get lost in it. But with the passing of time and growth intellect, I think, I’ve come to really love and appreciate the work. Shakespeare knew his shit. The characters, plots and stories are complex, interesting and more often than not surprisingly timeless and contemporary; proving in some sense, how much people really are fundamentally the same.
The language that used to frighten me so is now the primary reason why I love his work. You have to pay clear attention, and because there is such a contrast between the English spoken today with Elizabethan English. The language requires, for me, a greater suspension of disbelief. When I see a Shakespeare play I am transported into a completely new world and can find myself lost in the story. This feeling is rare in theatre, and so extraordinary.
The entire cast was brilliant. Anne Hathaway really excelled and shined in the role of Viola, performing with confidence and pizzazz. Her performance won me over completely. I entirely entranced by her now and look forward to future work, both on stage and screen.
There really is nothing like watching one of Shakespeare’s sweetest and funniest romantic comedies under the stars. I look forward to seeing Boston’s Shakespeare in the Commons in a couple of weeks – this year is The Comedy of Errors. The only possible negative comment I can make on the subject is that due to the show’s popularity and free admission charge, I did not manage to get in to see Twelfth Night more.
Till we meet again, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
It has been a celebratory week to be sure! Thursday was Richard’s birthday; as such, there was a night of celebrating. Saturday night was the party of the year at my friend Marisa’s apartment. And holy crap, when I say it is the party of the year, I mean it sincerely – we are talking 80 people, likely more. And yesterday marked the start of my birthday celebrations!
Cory Pride Week is here!
Last night was ridiculously amazing. Many people came out to celebrate at Blockheads. We had fun; we drank ritas! It was, undoubtedly, the best birthday party I have had on record. For those of you who could make it, THANK YOU!!! YOU ARE ALL AMAZING!!!
Tonight, I head up to Maine where celebrations will continue there as well as in Boston.
I have been meaning to share with you all my thoughts on The Public Theater’s production of Twelfth Night in Central Park starring Anne Hathaway, Audra McDonald, Julie White and Raul Esparza.
Unfortunately, my review is ill timed, since the production closed on Sunday. Although, The Public certainly needs no words of praise from me in order to boost attendance. This production was a resounding success with both audiences and critics. And with good reason. Twelfth Night was one of the most magical and transformative nights I have experienced in theatre.
Up until very recently, Shakespeare has always intimidated me. I was scared of the language; I would get lost in it. But with the passing of time and growth intellect, I think, I’ve come to really love and appreciate the work. Shakespeare knew his shit. The characters, plots and stories are complex, interesting and more often than not surprisingly timeless and contemporary; proving in some sense, how much people really are fundamentally the same.
The language that used to frighten me so is now the primary reason why I love his work. You have to pay clear attention, and because there is such a contrast between the English spoken today with Elizabethan English. The language requires, for me, a greater suspension of disbelief. When I see a Shakespeare play I am transported into a completely new world and can find myself lost in the story. This feeling is rare in theatre, and so extraordinary.
The entire cast was brilliant. Anne Hathaway really excelled and shined in the role of Viola, performing with confidence and pizzazz. Her performance won me over completely. I entirely entranced by her now and look forward to future work, both on stage and screen.
There really is nothing like watching one of Shakespeare’s sweetest and funniest romantic comedies under the stars. I look forward to seeing Boston’s Shakespeare in the Commons in a couple of weeks – this year is The Comedy of Errors. The only possible negative comment I can make on the subject is that due to the show’s popularity and free admission charge, I did not manage to get in to see Twelfth Night more.
Till we meet again, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
How many of you have seen The Hangover?
Holy crap – the movie changed my life. From here on out, whenever I relate an event of my past, it’ll be defined as pre- and post-The Hangover.
Who knew?
This past weekend was the most lovely I have had in memory: completely enjoyable and relaxing. Went to yoga and ran each day, bumped into people all over, saw my new favorite movie (tied with Vicky Cristina Barcelona), finished Olive Kitteridge and started Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which is completely silly and entertaining. No complaints from me!
I never would have guessed that I would love The Hangover as much as I did. The film is brilliantly written and acted. The script it clever and outrageous, and the actors, particularly Zach Galifianakis, have impeccable comic timing. The camaraderie and chemistry between the four friends is so genuine – this is a silly, offensive comedy to be sure, but it has a real heart thanks to that chemistry. The friendship feels real and palpable.
No movie in memory has left me with more quotes or ever made me laugh out loud so hard – it’s ridiculous, intense, amazing. GO SEE IT.
And, oh, Bradley Cooper – how much are we all madly in love with Bradley Cooper? Always playing the dick – in this and He’s Just Not That Into You– but you love him anyway. So charming, so handsome and so talented! I want to see more of him!
Apparently, he auditioned and desperately wanted the James Franco role in Milk. What a mistake those filmmakers made not casting him – he would have sooo fantastic. I’d love to see him in a more serious piece now.
Tomorrow will likely be a day filled with anxiety and existential crisis, merely because I am seeing Waiting for Godot tonight – I am quite interested to see how this revival is.
What was your favorite quote from The Hangover? Mine:
“Do you have park so close? I’m not suppose to be within a 200 yards of a school…or a Chuck E. Cheese.”
AND
Alan Garner: “Okay, well maybe we should tell that to Rain Man, because he practically bankrupted a casino, and he was a ruh-tard.”
Stu Price: “A what?”
Alan Garner: “He was a ruh-tard.”
I’ll also leave you with a clip from the film – ENJOY! Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Holy crap – the movie changed my life. From here on out, whenever I relate an event of my past, it’ll be defined as pre- and post-The Hangover.
Who knew?
This past weekend was the most lovely I have had in memory: completely enjoyable and relaxing. Went to yoga and ran each day, bumped into people all over, saw my new favorite movie (tied with Vicky Cristina Barcelona), finished Olive Kitteridge and started Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which is completely silly and entertaining. No complaints from me!
I never would have guessed that I would love The Hangover as much as I did. The film is brilliantly written and acted. The script it clever and outrageous, and the actors, particularly Zach Galifianakis, have impeccable comic timing. The camaraderie and chemistry between the four friends is so genuine – this is a silly, offensive comedy to be sure, but it has a real heart thanks to that chemistry. The friendship feels real and palpable.
No movie in memory has left me with more quotes or ever made me laugh out loud so hard – it’s ridiculous, intense, amazing. GO SEE IT.
And, oh, Bradley Cooper – how much are we all madly in love with Bradley Cooper? Always playing the dick – in this and He’s Just Not That Into You– but you love him anyway. So charming, so handsome and so talented! I want to see more of him!
Apparently, he auditioned and desperately wanted the James Franco role in Milk. What a mistake those filmmakers made not casting him – he would have sooo fantastic. I’d love to see him in a more serious piece now.
Tomorrow will likely be a day filled with anxiety and existential crisis, merely because I am seeing Waiting for Godot tonight – I am quite interested to see how this revival is.
What was your favorite quote from The Hangover? Mine:
“Do you have park so close? I’m not suppose to be within a 200 yards of a school…or a Chuck E. Cheese.”
AND
Alan Garner: “Okay, well maybe we should tell that to Rain Man, because he practically bankrupted a casino, and he was a ruh-tard.”
Stu Price: “A what?”
Alan Garner: “He was a ruh-tard.”
I’ll also leave you with a clip from the film – ENJOY! Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Baristas & Best Friends
I am nearly finished reading this year’s Pulitzer Prize winner for Literature, Olive Kitteridge. The book is brilliant – one the most poignant and affecting novels I have read in some time. Essentially, the piece is a collection of short stories, all set in the small town of Crosby, Maine. Olive Kitteridge is connected to each story in some way, although she is no way the protagonist in every story and often has minor involvement.
While reading a story about Olive’s son’s wedding, one quote immediately jumped off the page.
“Loneliness can kill people – in different ways can actually make you die. Olive’s private view is that life depends on what she thinks of as ‘big bursts’ and ‘little bursts.’ Big bursts are things like marriage or children, intimacies that keep you afloat, but these big bursts hold dangerous, unseen currents. Which is why you need the little bursts as well: the waitress at Dunkin Donuts’ who knows how you like your coffee.”
I love that quote – this idea has been on my mind for some time now. Each and every morning before work, I go to my neighborhood Starbucks and read for a half-hour or so. After a few months of habitual visits, the girls who work the morning shift have come to know me and my drink.
The girls will see me walking on the street through the window and will more often than not have my iced vanilla coffee with soymilk ready before I’ve even entered the store – let alone the register! It’s a quick moment, nothing more than a few words of conversation between us, but the Starbucks girls are just as important to me as any of closest friends.
With just a few words, they have the ability to make my day. This morning for example, one chased me down to make sure I’d received my receipt – today starts the summer tradition of $2 grande beverages after 2 p.m. with your morning’s receipt. This tiny gesture of human kindness is enough to lift my spirits for the rest of the day, and is enough to prove that I am not alone.
Olive Kitteridge understood that small and simple connections with others are essential to make us feel human. I believe that people are fundamentally good; that we care about other people, simply because they are people. We do not need to have a deep, intimate connection with someone in order to value and appreciate another life. Most importantly, in order to feel connected and valued, we must recognize and treasure these small moments and the people we meet along the way – baristas, laundry ladies, yoga teachers… For they too make life worth living – just as much as our besties, boyfriends and brothers.
Till next time when I review Twelfth Night in the Park, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
While reading a story about Olive’s son’s wedding, one quote immediately jumped off the page.
“Loneliness can kill people – in different ways can actually make you die. Olive’s private view is that life depends on what she thinks of as ‘big bursts’ and ‘little bursts.’ Big bursts are things like marriage or children, intimacies that keep you afloat, but these big bursts hold dangerous, unseen currents. Which is why you need the little bursts as well: the waitress at Dunkin Donuts’ who knows how you like your coffee.”
I love that quote – this idea has been on my mind for some time now. Each and every morning before work, I go to my neighborhood Starbucks and read for a half-hour or so. After a few months of habitual visits, the girls who work the morning shift have come to know me and my drink.
The girls will see me walking on the street through the window and will more often than not have my iced vanilla coffee with soymilk ready before I’ve even entered the store – let alone the register! It’s a quick moment, nothing more than a few words of conversation between us, but the Starbucks girls are just as important to me as any of closest friends.
With just a few words, they have the ability to make my day. This morning for example, one chased me down to make sure I’d received my receipt – today starts the summer tradition of $2 grande beverages after 2 p.m. with your morning’s receipt. This tiny gesture of human kindness is enough to lift my spirits for the rest of the day, and is enough to prove that I am not alone.
Olive Kitteridge understood that small and simple connections with others are essential to make us feel human. I believe that people are fundamentally good; that we care about other people, simply because they are people. We do not need to have a deep, intimate connection with someone in order to value and appreciate another life. Most importantly, in order to feel connected and valued, we must recognize and treasure these small moments and the people we meet along the way – baristas, laundry ladies, yoga teachers… For they too make life worth living – just as much as our besties, boyfriends and brothers.
Till next time when I review Twelfth Night in the Park, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Five Reasons Why the Fall Broadway Season Will Be Brilliant...
1. Sienna Miller makes her Broadway debut in Patrick Marber's After Miss Julie...and I get to go the Opening Night show and party.
2. Jude Law is Hamlet.
3. Bye Bye Birdie will be revived on Broadway for the FIRST TIME in over 40 years!!!
4. RAGTIME
5. Okay, so this is technically early 2009, but still...ANGELA LANSBURY wins her FIFTH TONY AWARD in a brilliant, brilliant production of Noel Coward's Blithe Spirit.
Thoughts please.
Om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
2. Jude Law is Hamlet.
3. Bye Bye Birdie will be revived on Broadway for the FIRST TIME in over 40 years!!!
4. RAGTIME
5. Okay, so this is technically early 2009, but still...ANGELA LANSBURY wins her FIFTH TONY AWARD in a brilliant, brilliant production of Noel Coward's Blithe Spirit.
Thoughts please.
Om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Quarter of a Century
July arrives tomorrow – we’re finally in the midst of summer, and the rain has ceased!
July also marks the end of another year for me – and this year may be more than I can handle…25!!!
Twenty-five is an age you visualize when you are younger. Where you will be…what kind of car you will drive…what kind of career you will have; because, of course, as a child you positively know that by 25, you won’t just have a job, you’ll have a career…
If only an older version of myself could have let me know the truth…25 is NOT what you think it will be.
Money will be tight…you will still not know what you want to be when you grow up…and you will decidedly NOT feel like a mature adult.
UGH!!! Twenty-five years is OLD!
Twenty-four has certainly been a year of personal growth. I’ve got one year of my first “real” job under my belt. One year in New York City is complete. There have been countless of brilliant and not-so brilliant shows. Many celebrity sightings. And even managed a few dates along the way.
Here’s to hoping that 25 continues towards life satisfaction and all it brings.
Last marked a turning point for me. Sunday was New York City’s Gay Pride Day – so we all know how stressed about that I was.
Apparently, more of you read my blog than I was aware of, and had rather strong reactions to my recent postings. I spent the majority of last week debating and fighting with MANY others about my opinions. It was exhausting – having the same argument, seven or so times with as many individuals in the course of two days.
Finally, I reached the point where I understood that my opinions on gay culture and marriage stem from my feelings of insecurity and self-dislike. I do not know where these feelings have come from: lots of rejection perhaps, a few unsupportive friends, homophobia in main stream culture…
I allowed my insecurities to form a judgment on an entire population. In retrospect, it seems so silly. I’ve come to recognize there are friends in my life – albeit just a few – who are unconsciously homophobic. I allowed their thoughts and comments to cloud my own self-image. I need to distance myself from those comments and truly feel proud of who I am.
I did not attend the parade on Sunday, but I did walk around the West Village in the afternoon and later had drinks in the area with a truly supportive friend. I observed the boys running around – boys AND GIRLS, I should say, from all walks of life – celebrating themselves.
Yes, I felt unsurprisingly anxious, but also a bit proud – both of myself and those around me. I am no different from rest the community. I am not uglier or dumber. I am not some sort of gay leper, and do deserve all that I have felt I have been denied.
The shift in attitude was not much, but still a step in the right direction. I can only hope the confidence will continue to build and affect greater change to the rest of my life.
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
July also marks the end of another year for me – and this year may be more than I can handle…25!!!
Twenty-five is an age you visualize when you are younger. Where you will be…what kind of car you will drive…what kind of career you will have; because, of course, as a child you positively know that by 25, you won’t just have a job, you’ll have a career…
If only an older version of myself could have let me know the truth…25 is NOT what you think it will be.
Money will be tight…you will still not know what you want to be when you grow up…and you will decidedly NOT feel like a mature adult.
UGH!!! Twenty-five years is OLD!
Twenty-four has certainly been a year of personal growth. I’ve got one year of my first “real” job under my belt. One year in New York City is complete. There have been countless of brilliant and not-so brilliant shows. Many celebrity sightings. And even managed a few dates along the way.
Here’s to hoping that 25 continues towards life satisfaction and all it brings.
Last marked a turning point for me. Sunday was New York City’s Gay Pride Day – so we all know how stressed about that I was.
Apparently, more of you read my blog than I was aware of, and had rather strong reactions to my recent postings. I spent the majority of last week debating and fighting with MANY others about my opinions. It was exhausting – having the same argument, seven or so times with as many individuals in the course of two days.
Finally, I reached the point where I understood that my opinions on gay culture and marriage stem from my feelings of insecurity and self-dislike. I do not know where these feelings have come from: lots of rejection perhaps, a few unsupportive friends, homophobia in main stream culture…
I allowed my insecurities to form a judgment on an entire population. In retrospect, it seems so silly. I’ve come to recognize there are friends in my life – albeit just a few – who are unconsciously homophobic. I allowed their thoughts and comments to cloud my own self-image. I need to distance myself from those comments and truly feel proud of who I am.
I did not attend the parade on Sunday, but I did walk around the West Village in the afternoon and later had drinks in the area with a truly supportive friend. I observed the boys running around – boys AND GIRLS, I should say, from all walks of life – celebrating themselves.
Yes, I felt unsurprisingly anxious, but also a bit proud – both of myself and those around me. I am no different from rest the community. I am not uglier or dumber. I am not some sort of gay leper, and do deserve all that I have felt I have been denied.
The shift in attitude was not much, but still a step in the right direction. I can only hope the confidence will continue to build and affect greater change to the rest of my life.
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Monday, June 22, 2009
UGH!!!!
I just had to delete a friend from Facebook, because he recently friended a boy I used to date and WILL NEVER, EVER, NEVER GET OVER!!!
And if they get married, I will go postal!!!
Facebook is bad...
In other news...Rock of Ages is GOOOOOOOOOD!
And if they get married, I will go postal!!!
Facebook is bad...
In other news...Rock of Ages is GOOOOOOOOOD!
"I am not what I am." -Twelfth Night
OMG! Who else is freaking out over the coming adaptation of Alice in Wonderland directed by Tim Burton with Johnny Depp, Anne Hathaway, Helena Bonham Carter, etc...
Click on the link below to see more images - it's gonna be twisted, dark and fierce.
On the subject of Anne Hathaway, I attempted to see Twelfth Night in Central Park last week - I came so close; a hair's breadth. But alas, no tickets. Weather permitting, I am trying again this week!
Many of you know that I have often referred to the aforementioned actress as "Fugly Face" Hathaway...despite a good performance in Brokeback Mountain. I thought her performance in Rachel Getting Married to be artificial and grating. However, after a few recent interviews, public appearances and her Shakespearean professional stage debut, I am beginning to revise my opinion.
I think her "Oh shucks, I am just a normal girl who got her into something big by accident" thing may actually be genuine after all. And IF she proves herself to be charming in Shakespeare in the Park, I may be able to come to adore her.
I am sort of rooting for that - I've reached a point where I do, in fact, want to like her, love her even. What do you all think of Anne Hathaway? One things for sure - the girl can sing!
Pictures of an accidental sex tape with Dustin Lance Black have found their way online...I am devastated. Granted they are from two-and-a-half years ago, but he's suppose to marry and be with ME! JUST ME! NOOO ONE ELSE!
:-(
Give me your thoughts on Anne Hathaway and help cheer my broken heart! Oh, and here's the link to more Alice in Wonderland pics!
http://www.comingsoon.net/news/movienews.php?id=56475
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
There was no point and purpose in buying the flowers myself...
As many of you know, I recently finished the novel Mrs. Dalloway – the story follows the middle-aged title character through the course of one day a she plans a party. Mrs. Dalloway throws parties; she entertains. It is her art, her passion, and her purpose as it were. If the party is not a resounding success, her world and mortality will come crushing in around her.
Virginia Woolf originally intended for her heroine to commit suicide at the end of the novel. Those who are familiar with the book know that the ending is decidedly not quite so morbid. Dalloway believes that her parties directly connect to the deeper fiber of her being. Being a successful hostess is what makes her tick.
It may seem trivial to think that the assembling of acquaintances in one beautifully decorated and well-orchestrated evening should be so important to an individual’s sanity and mortality. But entertaining others is her means of creatively expressing her feelings and celebrating the joy of life. If her party is a failure, her existence then loses its sense of meaning and purpose.
I understand Mrs. Dalloway.
This weekend I too decided to go out, buy the flowers myself and throw together a party of my own. It was not a success. Of the 65 people invited, three managed to attend.
An hour-and-a-half into the party, with no guests to distract myself, I certainly struggled to answer many of the questions I imagined likely circled in Mrs. Dalloway’s head.
It is almost inconceivable to imagine that I have left no impression upon the world around me – I suppose such a statement could be considered narcissistic, but don’t we all want to be liked and have friends?
Three darling friends of mine came, and I do hold those three quite dear to my heart (plus, of course, my fabulous co-host, that made five of us). We five had interesting conversations, and I value their friendships deeeeeeply but…
1. I was embarrassed by the obvious and apparent failure of the night.
2. I find still hurt to think that I mean nothing to many of the others invited.
Okay, I know there were a few sincere friends, who in advance let know that they couldn’t make it. But the night got me wondering. Do we ever manage to move beyond the person we were in high school? I was a bit of loner, a dork really back then, and it seems as if I haven’t moved beyond that. We all have our excuses and busy lives, but how can one not help but hurt to discover that he is just a small blip on the radar. It seems as if my year in New York has not affected the lives of others as much as I would have hoped. That certainly is one strike against staying in the Big Apple.
I hate fake people – don’t apologize if you don’t mean it or tell me you’re sorry you missed out when you never intended to come. I am trying to reevaluate and accept that many I considered to be friends were merely bumps on the road and re-consider who it is I really am. I guess bottom line, I was sad and humiliated Saturday. I’m certainly revising my plans for my birthday – ha ha!
To you four who were there Saturday - thanks for coming! You're all fab - until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste
Virginia Woolf originally intended for her heroine to commit suicide at the end of the novel. Those who are familiar with the book know that the ending is decidedly not quite so morbid. Dalloway believes that her parties directly connect to the deeper fiber of her being. Being a successful hostess is what makes her tick.
It may seem trivial to think that the assembling of acquaintances in one beautifully decorated and well-orchestrated evening should be so important to an individual’s sanity and mortality. But entertaining others is her means of creatively expressing her feelings and celebrating the joy of life. If her party is a failure, her existence then loses its sense of meaning and purpose.
I understand Mrs. Dalloway.
This weekend I too decided to go out, buy the flowers myself and throw together a party of my own. It was not a success. Of the 65 people invited, three managed to attend.
An hour-and-a-half into the party, with no guests to distract myself, I certainly struggled to answer many of the questions I imagined likely circled in Mrs. Dalloway’s head.
It is almost inconceivable to imagine that I have left no impression upon the world around me – I suppose such a statement could be considered narcissistic, but don’t we all want to be liked and have friends?
Three darling friends of mine came, and I do hold those three quite dear to my heart (plus, of course, my fabulous co-host, that made five of us). We five had interesting conversations, and I value their friendships deeeeeeply but…
1. I was embarrassed by the obvious and apparent failure of the night.
2. I find still hurt to think that I mean nothing to many of the others invited.
Okay, I know there were a few sincere friends, who in advance let know that they couldn’t make it. But the night got me wondering. Do we ever manage to move beyond the person we were in high school? I was a bit of loner, a dork really back then, and it seems as if I haven’t moved beyond that. We all have our excuses and busy lives, but how can one not help but hurt to discover that he is just a small blip on the radar. It seems as if my year in New York has not affected the lives of others as much as I would have hoped. That certainly is one strike against staying in the Big Apple.
I hate fake people – don’t apologize if you don’t mean it or tell me you’re sorry you missed out when you never intended to come. I am trying to reevaluate and accept that many I considered to be friends were merely bumps on the road and re-consider who it is I really am. I guess bottom line, I was sad and humiliated Saturday. I’m certainly revising my plans for my birthday – ha ha!
To you four who were there Saturday - thanks for coming! You're all fab - until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Another week, another entry!
Hey Readers!
Sorry, I have been so uninspired of late! I have just been content and living it, so there has not been much to write about.
The exciting news of the week! I am officially going to the opening and after party of After Miss Julie starring Sienna! And you all know by now how I feel about her!!! Yup – I am freaking out about that, and am already planning an outfit; despite the fact the opening is not until October.
Also, Shakespeare in the Park starts this week. This year is Twelfth Night with Anne Hathaway, Audra McDonald and Raul Esparza…yup, that’s gonna be goooood. I have never been to Shakespeare in the Park before, but I love the idea of it and, let’s face it, Shakespeare knew his shit.
AND! I am seeing Angela Lansbury in Blithe Spirit for the third time on Thursday! YESSS!
Good week, see.
Oh, but Guys and Dolls is closing this weekend, and I do find that terribly sad.
I’m also reading The Hours now – beyond brilliant, so I am leaving you with this fantastic quote:
“It seemed like the beginning of happiness, and Clarissa is still sometimes shocked, more than thirty years later, to realize that it was happiness; that the entire experience lay in a kiss and walk, the anticipation and a book…There is still that singular perfection, and it’s perfect in part because it seemed, at the time, so clearly to promise more. Now she knows: That was the moment, right then.”
Leave comments and till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste!
Sorry, I have been so uninspired of late! I have just been content and living it, so there has not been much to write about.
The exciting news of the week! I am officially going to the opening and after party of After Miss Julie starring Sienna! And you all know by now how I feel about her!!! Yup – I am freaking out about that, and am already planning an outfit; despite the fact the opening is not until October.
Also, Shakespeare in the Park starts this week. This year is Twelfth Night with Anne Hathaway, Audra McDonald and Raul Esparza…yup, that’s gonna be goooood. I have never been to Shakespeare in the Park before, but I love the idea of it and, let’s face it, Shakespeare knew his shit.
AND! I am seeing Angela Lansbury in Blithe Spirit for the third time on Thursday! YESSS!
Good week, see.
Oh, but Guys and Dolls is closing this weekend, and I do find that terribly sad.
I’m also reading The Hours now – beyond brilliant, so I am leaving you with this fantastic quote:
“It seemed like the beginning of happiness, and Clarissa is still sometimes shocked, more than thirty years later, to realize that it was happiness; that the entire experience lay in a kiss and walk, the anticipation and a book…There is still that singular perfection, and it’s perfect in part because it seemed, at the time, so clearly to promise more. Now she knows: That was the moment, right then.”
Leave comments and till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Greyhound Bus #71784 - A One Way Ticket to an Existential Crisis
It’s been over a week – this is the longest I have gone without writing and I am so apologetic. This week has been craaaaazy!
Many of you have been asking about the Greyhound existential crisis, so we’ll delve into that today – I think my crisis was something that we all face, and I am curious for your thoughts.
My sister is performing as Marvel Ann in a production of Psycho Beach Party in Boston right now (thanks for the shout-out in the program, Kristina!), and this Sunday is the birthday of my dearest, most darlingest friend of all, Kerry, so I have been spending some quality time up in the Boston/Maine area.
Whenever I go home, I face the same fundamental dilemma – what do I want? What is important to me? And where will I find the greatest sense of fulfillment and satisfaction?
New York City is expensive – it’s tough to live in. There is a reason why Frank says “if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.” I have found in the small amount of time that I have been in New York City that we all come to the Big Apple for a reason.
Within each of us transplants is a specific kind of dream we aspire to accomplish – a kind of success that is not really possible anywhere else in the world. Why else it would we put up with the high rents, crowded subways, and heat and smell of this God forsaken island?
We dream of Tonys, Pulitzers, our name in lights… Nowhere else in the world can one really find that sense of promise and opportunity than in New York. That’s certainly why I am here and “live the so-called dream” on a limited budget every month.
But when I head up to Boston or the coast of New England, I am reminded of an easier time in my life when I had more money in the bank, drove a nice car and bought expensive designer clothing as if it were no bigger deal than buying a packet of Orbitz gum.
Were I to move to Boston, it would be a cheaper lifestyle…rent would be a little bit cheaper…my monthly yoga pass would be a little bit cheaper…travel costs to visit my parents would be muuuuch cheaper…laundry would be cheaper…all of these little things would add up – allowing for a much cheaper and, subsequently, nicer lifestyle.
I could get a job with the Huntington Theatre Company or WGBH to fulfill my creative needs. I could have what my friend Richard calls a “better quality of life,” outside of New York.
Sounds like a no-brainer, right?
I lived in Boston, I lived in Maine and was happy, BUT…there was an itch, a desire to go somewhere big and be someone BIG. That itch, those lofty dreams won’t disappear if I make a return to New England. And an expensive new sweater or joy ride in my parents’ new Volvo can only soften the disappointment so much.
These are the thoughts that consistently run through my head on the four-hour bus ride between New York and Boston. What is it about a Greyhound bus coasting along route 84 in Connecticut that awakens this existential crisis in me?
Bottom line: I am too young, too idealistic and too hopeful to abandon the New York dream yet. I still have stars in my eyes, and need to keep heading down the path with the hopes of finding awards, fame, and glory along the way.
But! God life sure as hell is difficult doing the struggling New York thing, especially when you think about that cheaper apartment in Boston with stainless steel appliances.
Okay, I really want everyone’s thoughts on this; so let me know what you think about the ever-important existential crisis! Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
P.S. I am leaving you with a youtube clip of singularly the funniest thing I have ever seen in, maybe, my entire history on this planet! Enjoy!
Many of you have been asking about the Greyhound existential crisis, so we’ll delve into that today – I think my crisis was something that we all face, and I am curious for your thoughts.
My sister is performing as Marvel Ann in a production of Psycho Beach Party in Boston right now (thanks for the shout-out in the program, Kristina!), and this Sunday is the birthday of my dearest, most darlingest friend of all, Kerry, so I have been spending some quality time up in the Boston/Maine area.
Whenever I go home, I face the same fundamental dilemma – what do I want? What is important to me? And where will I find the greatest sense of fulfillment and satisfaction?
New York City is expensive – it’s tough to live in. There is a reason why Frank says “if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.” I have found in the small amount of time that I have been in New York City that we all come to the Big Apple for a reason.
Within each of us transplants is a specific kind of dream we aspire to accomplish – a kind of success that is not really possible anywhere else in the world. Why else it would we put up with the high rents, crowded subways, and heat and smell of this God forsaken island?
We dream of Tonys, Pulitzers, our name in lights… Nowhere else in the world can one really find that sense of promise and opportunity than in New York. That’s certainly why I am here and “live the so-called dream” on a limited budget every month.
But when I head up to Boston or the coast of New England, I am reminded of an easier time in my life when I had more money in the bank, drove a nice car and bought expensive designer clothing as if it were no bigger deal than buying a packet of Orbitz gum.
Were I to move to Boston, it would be a cheaper lifestyle…rent would be a little bit cheaper…my monthly yoga pass would be a little bit cheaper…travel costs to visit my parents would be muuuuch cheaper…laundry would be cheaper…all of these little things would add up – allowing for a much cheaper and, subsequently, nicer lifestyle.
I could get a job with the Huntington Theatre Company or WGBH to fulfill my creative needs. I could have what my friend Richard calls a “better quality of life,” outside of New York.
Sounds like a no-brainer, right?
I lived in Boston, I lived in Maine and was happy, BUT…there was an itch, a desire to go somewhere big and be someone BIG. That itch, those lofty dreams won’t disappear if I make a return to New England. And an expensive new sweater or joy ride in my parents’ new Volvo can only soften the disappointment so much.
These are the thoughts that consistently run through my head on the four-hour bus ride between New York and Boston. What is it about a Greyhound bus coasting along route 84 in Connecticut that awakens this existential crisis in me?
Bottom line: I am too young, too idealistic and too hopeful to abandon the New York dream yet. I still have stars in my eyes, and need to keep heading down the path with the hopes of finding awards, fame, and glory along the way.
But! God life sure as hell is difficult doing the struggling New York thing, especially when you think about that cheaper apartment in Boston with stainless steel appliances.
Okay, I really want everyone’s thoughts on this; so let me know what you think about the ever-important existential crisis! Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
P.S. I am leaving you with a youtube clip of singularly the funniest thing I have ever seen in, maybe, my entire history on this planet! Enjoy!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Mad About Biel
Two entries, two days in a row? It seems too much of a dream, right? Well, believe it, kids - I am here!
A friend from Boston visited for the long Memorial Day weekend, which weather wise turned out to be quite beautiful! Highlights of the weekend included spending five-hours Saturday night at Blockeads – only the best place in the world, Hello! $4 flavored margaritas; a first-time trip for us both to the Guggenheim to see the special Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit; and a marathon of “The Golden Girls” on WE, which made it rather difficult for us to leave the house Monday.
Perhaps the top highlight of the weekend was a trip to the cinema to see Easy Virtue, the new film based on the Noel Coward play starring Colin Firth, Kristin Scott Thomas and…Jessica Biel!!!
Mary Camden??? Playing the lead role in a British period film (the action takes place during the 1930s)??? For real???
I’ll admit I had reservations about the former teen star tackling Coward opposite two of Britain’s top thesps. But after reading stellar reviews of her performance in Variety, The Hollywood Report, The New York Observer and Rolling Stone, I was quite intrigued.
I must say, I think Jessica Biel does dazzle. Colin Firth and Kristen Scott Thomas give their usual first-rate performances, but there was something so refreshing to see Jessica Biel hold her own. She’s quite funny, quick-witted and also moving in the role of an American socialite. It’s a fairly light and trivial film, beautiful costumes and fantastic music. Jessica even sings the opening number Mad About the Boy and does so beautifully. This girl has some serious singing skills to boot. Side note: she’s playing Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls at The Hollywood Bowl this summer – I’d kill to see that!
Between this film and another good performance in The Illusionist, I am surprised to say that I am a Jessica Biel fan, and look forward to more interesting performances from her in future.
Don’t believe me? Go see the film, and discover her talent for yourself! Attached is a clip of her singing that opening number – have a listen. Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
If I Were a Bell
It’s been nearly a week since we last met – the weather and long weekend were too perfect to spend inside on a computer. Let’s catch up! It’s been a busy few days, and we’ve got much to discuss!
Thursday night, I saw Guys and Dolls on Broadway – this was my second time seeing this production. Despite the negative reviews the show’s received, you’re seeing Guys and Dolls on Broadway – without a smidgen of doubt, one of the best musicals ever written! Period – tied only with Bye Bye Birdie and Sweeney Todd. I was lucky enough to see The Donmar Warehouse production in London four times, which was beyond brilliant. If you have the opportunity to see the current Broadway revival, go for it! Again, I reiterate, it’s Guys and Dolls on Broadway!!! There is certainly something special about that experience.
The end of Act I never fails to make me well up and cry – each and every time I see the show, I nearly lose it when Sky Masterson asks Sarah Brown what kind of doll she is?
“A mission doll,” she replies and slams the door of the Save-a-Soul Mission.
Queue end of Act I music…ahhh…it’s so romantic and melodramatic. It gets me every time.
For most people, Miss Adelaide is the showstopper – her subplot with Nathan Detroit often overshadows that of Sky and Sarah’s love story. Of all the characters in Guys and Dolls, Sarah Brown is generally considered to be the blandest. However, I’ve always thought her the most interesting character. Her journey resonates the most with me, and her happy ending excites in me the greatest joy.
I spent the greater part of Thursday night and Friday wondering why this show and Sister Sarah Brown appeal to me so deeply.
Friday night, I met a friend for drinks – I had not seen him in a while, so the greater portion of the start of the evening was spent catching up and making small talk. After a couple of rounds, we jumped into the ever-juicy topic of marriage and relationships. I do not know if it was mere coincidence or whether he is a regular blog reader, but my friend asked my opinion regarding marriage and open-relationships.
We did not see eye to eye on the subject; only on one point did we manage to agree. My romanticism, idealism and strict moral values are strongly aligned with that of Sarah Brown’s.
I am her and she is me.
Sarah Brown’s moral backbone and character arc are close to my own. Through the course of the show, she changes. Meeting Sky Masterson is the catalyst that awakens a side in her that has been deeply buried. I love Sarah Brown, because she loosens up, she let’s her hair down and recognizes that the world is not black-and-white. But in doing so, she does not abandon all that she believes in. Sarah reconciles her idealism and romanticism with the world as it is.
I think anyone who knows me well will agree I have changed greatly in the past six years. When I moved to Boston, I was far more reserved, uptight and close-minded. But with time and a few dulce-de-leches mixed in along the way, I too have loosened up and let my own hair down – sometimes with the help of a flat iron. Like Sarah, I refuse to abandon my idealistic core and hope to reconcile my romantic dreams with the world as it is.
At my friend’s suggestion, I am going to apply the principles of The Secret to my own life. He’s insistent it worked for him. I started reading the book this morning. I’ll admit much of it is hard to swallow and easy to dismiss as ridiculous. However, I do believe in the importance of eliminating negative energy and thoughts from the mind. And I also believe that with positive thoughts come positive results.
Over the course of the next few weeks, I’m going to try to radically change my way of thinking in favor of The Secret – and perhaps; my heart’s desires will manifest this summer.
How many of you also love and adore Guys and Dolls? Have any of you tried The Secret and found it successful? And who would have thought that Jessica Biel would prove herself a dazzling and gifted actress? More on that third question later!
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Thursday night, I saw Guys and Dolls on Broadway – this was my second time seeing this production. Despite the negative reviews the show’s received, you’re seeing Guys and Dolls on Broadway – without a smidgen of doubt, one of the best musicals ever written! Period – tied only with Bye Bye Birdie and Sweeney Todd. I was lucky enough to see The Donmar Warehouse production in London four times, which was beyond brilliant. If you have the opportunity to see the current Broadway revival, go for it! Again, I reiterate, it’s Guys and Dolls on Broadway!!! There is certainly something special about that experience.
The end of Act I never fails to make me well up and cry – each and every time I see the show, I nearly lose it when Sky Masterson asks Sarah Brown what kind of doll she is?
“A mission doll,” she replies and slams the door of the Save-a-Soul Mission.
Queue end of Act I music…ahhh…it’s so romantic and melodramatic. It gets me every time.
For most people, Miss Adelaide is the showstopper – her subplot with Nathan Detroit often overshadows that of Sky and Sarah’s love story. Of all the characters in Guys and Dolls, Sarah Brown is generally considered to be the blandest. However, I’ve always thought her the most interesting character. Her journey resonates the most with me, and her happy ending excites in me the greatest joy.
I spent the greater part of Thursday night and Friday wondering why this show and Sister Sarah Brown appeal to me so deeply.
Friday night, I met a friend for drinks – I had not seen him in a while, so the greater portion of the start of the evening was spent catching up and making small talk. After a couple of rounds, we jumped into the ever-juicy topic of marriage and relationships. I do not know if it was mere coincidence or whether he is a regular blog reader, but my friend asked my opinion regarding marriage and open-relationships.
We did not see eye to eye on the subject; only on one point did we manage to agree. My romanticism, idealism and strict moral values are strongly aligned with that of Sarah Brown’s.
I am her and she is me.
Sarah Brown’s moral backbone and character arc are close to my own. Through the course of the show, she changes. Meeting Sky Masterson is the catalyst that awakens a side in her that has been deeply buried. I love Sarah Brown, because she loosens up, she let’s her hair down and recognizes that the world is not black-and-white. But in doing so, she does not abandon all that she believes in. Sarah reconciles her idealism and romanticism with the world as it is.
I think anyone who knows me well will agree I have changed greatly in the past six years. When I moved to Boston, I was far more reserved, uptight and close-minded. But with time and a few dulce-de-leches mixed in along the way, I too have loosened up and let my own hair down – sometimes with the help of a flat iron. Like Sarah, I refuse to abandon my idealistic core and hope to reconcile my romantic dreams with the world as it is.
At my friend’s suggestion, I am going to apply the principles of The Secret to my own life. He’s insistent it worked for him. I started reading the book this morning. I’ll admit much of it is hard to swallow and easy to dismiss as ridiculous. However, I do believe in the importance of eliminating negative energy and thoughts from the mind. And I also believe that with positive thoughts come positive results.
Over the course of the next few weeks, I’m going to try to radically change my way of thinking in favor of The Secret – and perhaps; my heart’s desires will manifest this summer.
How many of you also love and adore Guys and Dolls? Have any of you tried The Secret and found it successful? And who would have thought that Jessica Biel would prove herself a dazzling and gifted actress? More on that third question later!
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Until Death Due Us Part...or Until the Next Hott Boy Comes Along, At Least...
There has been an alarming lack of comments lately; I am sensing a consistent pattern. Whenever an entry is angst-ridden, depressing or slightly controversial I hear from you. The more cheerful and review-driven ones do not elicit a strong reaction…or rather any reaction. An obvious observation – I wonder what it says about humanity?
I suppose drawing major conclusions on mankind based upon the blog comments I receive is digging deep, but dare I say, we as people are drawn to drama? We like conflict. We respond to it.
And since I so desperately want to hear from you all, today’s entry is topical and opinionated. The subject: gay marriage. For those of you not intimately familiar with my inner-workings and turbulence, my opinion on the subject may surprise you.
To ask me whether I support marriage equality is to ask a complex question with no simple answer.
This past Sunday Broadway stars combined efforts to support gay marriage at a rally in Times Square. Despite the urgings of a few friends, I chose not to attend. Partly, because I had dinner plans with another friend. Partly, because I do not like standing among large noisy crowds. And also partly due to the fact that I am not huge proponent for marriage equality.
To say that any minority group must be denied a fundamental human right is outrageous. To believe that women or blacks or Hispanics should not be allowed to vote, should have their voices silenced, is ludicrous. No singular group of people should be discriminated against.
In this sense, of course, I theoretically support marriage equality. Were it a biracial couple being denied the right, I would not hesitate to show strong signs of support. But as is so often the case, the world as it should be, is different from the world as it is. My opinions are no different. I can admit on a theoretical level that gay marriage is fundamentally right; however, at the end of the day, as a “homo” strutting the streets of the Big Apple, something about marriage between two men does not sit well with me.
Do I believe homosexuality is wrong? A sin? No, of course not – although, for reasons galore, I will probably see many of you in Hell! There is nothing unnatural about who I am or the way I feel. Would I like to get married someday? Yes, I think I might.
So, where does the hesitation stem from?
As I much as I feel that no minority should be denied certain inalienable rights, I also believe that many legal rights should be earned; there are very few things humans are simple entitled to. I’m not sure I believe marriage is one of those things.
I do not believe the gay community, as a general whole, has earned the right to marriage. The community has not demonstrated an ability to be monogamous and faithful – two things that are necessary for successful marriage. When a couple takes vows, they are making a commitment to one another. That commitment is not: “In sickness and in health, in threesomes and in orgies.”
Here’s the thing – I do not know any long-term, monogamous gay male couples. Not one. I do know many couples with “house boys,” that engage in threesomes and sex parties, and go through relationships every two years or so. Couples who believe anything outside their own bedroom is fair game, and what happens in Ogunquit stays in Ogunquit. To say you love your partner in this situation is fucking laughable.
In the time, I have been “out-of-the-closet,” I have found the gay culture to be overtly sexual, shallow and just plain cruel. The process of coming out is overwhelmingly frightening. The anticipation of friends’ and family members’ reactions is terrifying. We do live in a world where homosexuality is not universally embraced.
Which is why I am completely baffled by the way gays treat other gays. We are horrible to one other – the number of insults and names I have endured from those I most need respect from outnumbers any taunting I experienced in school.
Before I came out, I had a fairly high opinion of myself. Since the first experience, my self-esteem has taken hit after hit after hit. Happiness and confidence come from within, they say – to a certain extent, that is true. But how many times can one be rejected by those he makes himself most vulnerable to without their being some permanent emotional scarring? The insults, rejections and lies are decimating my sense of self-worth.
I do not think myself attractive, worthwhile, “cool” or dateable anymore – and I’m sorry, but these feelings result from the goddamn pricks I’ve met that consistently treat me like shit. I went to therapy in college to discuss my issues (coincidentally with a ridiculously cute, intelligent gay therapist). I’ve made some progress with my issues, but relating back to the point…why should a community noted for its sexual promiscuity, cruel behavior and inability to sustain long meaningful relationships have the right to get married? So that they may raise the incidence of infidelity and divorce?
If a straight man cheats – say Elliot Spitzer or John Edwards – he’s vile, disgusting, an asshole crucified by his peers. If a gay man cheats, well, hey it’s just another normal day in the Gay Ghetto (my Richard coined that brilliant phrase). For proof of this, look no further than my own experiences.
During my time in Ogunquit, there were several individuals who laughed at my belief in monogamous relationships. I was once told, with more than a hint of sarcasm, “Good luck.” There were even individuals who on more than one occasion reduced me to tears with insults and unkind words.
“Why?” I asked.
“To prepare and toughen you up for the gay world, kid.”
No joke.
In my life, I have met one gay male who proved himself to be genuine; not a prick. I am nearly positive he reads this as he’s left comments before. I do recognize him to be the hopeful exception to the rule. And I myself have never cheated, nor could I ever allow myself to form a relationship in such a sick environment, but I need more than one person to look to as a symbol of hope for the future.
In order to support marriage equality, I need to see that it is a real possibility for two men to commit to each other. I have never seen that, and until I do, I won’t be at the next rally waving my rainbow flag. Until the insults and cruel forms of rejection end, I will never quite feel comfortable in the gay world.
Okay, so finally leave me some comments!!! And I want to leave you on a much lighter note, please watch the Sherlock Holmes preview below – I cannot wait for this movie!!! Until we meet again, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
I suppose drawing major conclusions on mankind based upon the blog comments I receive is digging deep, but dare I say, we as people are drawn to drama? We like conflict. We respond to it.
And since I so desperately want to hear from you all, today’s entry is topical and opinionated. The subject: gay marriage. For those of you not intimately familiar with my inner-workings and turbulence, my opinion on the subject may surprise you.
To ask me whether I support marriage equality is to ask a complex question with no simple answer.
This past Sunday Broadway stars combined efforts to support gay marriage at a rally in Times Square. Despite the urgings of a few friends, I chose not to attend. Partly, because I had dinner plans with another friend. Partly, because I do not like standing among large noisy crowds. And also partly due to the fact that I am not huge proponent for marriage equality.
To say that any minority group must be denied a fundamental human right is outrageous. To believe that women or blacks or Hispanics should not be allowed to vote, should have their voices silenced, is ludicrous. No singular group of people should be discriminated against.
In this sense, of course, I theoretically support marriage equality. Were it a biracial couple being denied the right, I would not hesitate to show strong signs of support. But as is so often the case, the world as it should be, is different from the world as it is. My opinions are no different. I can admit on a theoretical level that gay marriage is fundamentally right; however, at the end of the day, as a “homo” strutting the streets of the Big Apple, something about marriage between two men does not sit well with me.
Do I believe homosexuality is wrong? A sin? No, of course not – although, for reasons galore, I will probably see many of you in Hell! There is nothing unnatural about who I am or the way I feel. Would I like to get married someday? Yes, I think I might.
So, where does the hesitation stem from?
As I much as I feel that no minority should be denied certain inalienable rights, I also believe that many legal rights should be earned; there are very few things humans are simple entitled to. I’m not sure I believe marriage is one of those things.
I do not believe the gay community, as a general whole, has earned the right to marriage. The community has not demonstrated an ability to be monogamous and faithful – two things that are necessary for successful marriage. When a couple takes vows, they are making a commitment to one another. That commitment is not: “In sickness and in health, in threesomes and in orgies.”
Here’s the thing – I do not know any long-term, monogamous gay male couples. Not one. I do know many couples with “house boys,” that engage in threesomes and sex parties, and go through relationships every two years or so. Couples who believe anything outside their own bedroom is fair game, and what happens in Ogunquit stays in Ogunquit. To say you love your partner in this situation is fucking laughable.
In the time, I have been “out-of-the-closet,” I have found the gay culture to be overtly sexual, shallow and just plain cruel. The process of coming out is overwhelmingly frightening. The anticipation of friends’ and family members’ reactions is terrifying. We do live in a world where homosexuality is not universally embraced.
Which is why I am completely baffled by the way gays treat other gays. We are horrible to one other – the number of insults and names I have endured from those I most need respect from outnumbers any taunting I experienced in school.
Before I came out, I had a fairly high opinion of myself. Since the first experience, my self-esteem has taken hit after hit after hit. Happiness and confidence come from within, they say – to a certain extent, that is true. But how many times can one be rejected by those he makes himself most vulnerable to without their being some permanent emotional scarring? The insults, rejections and lies are decimating my sense of self-worth.
I do not think myself attractive, worthwhile, “cool” or dateable anymore – and I’m sorry, but these feelings result from the goddamn pricks I’ve met that consistently treat me like shit. I went to therapy in college to discuss my issues (coincidentally with a ridiculously cute, intelligent gay therapist). I’ve made some progress with my issues, but relating back to the point…why should a community noted for its sexual promiscuity, cruel behavior and inability to sustain long meaningful relationships have the right to get married? So that they may raise the incidence of infidelity and divorce?
If a straight man cheats – say Elliot Spitzer or John Edwards – he’s vile, disgusting, an asshole crucified by his peers. If a gay man cheats, well, hey it’s just another normal day in the Gay Ghetto (my Richard coined that brilliant phrase). For proof of this, look no further than my own experiences.
During my time in Ogunquit, there were several individuals who laughed at my belief in monogamous relationships. I was once told, with more than a hint of sarcasm, “Good luck.” There were even individuals who on more than one occasion reduced me to tears with insults and unkind words.
“Why?” I asked.
“To prepare and toughen you up for the gay world, kid.”
No joke.
In my life, I have met one gay male who proved himself to be genuine; not a prick. I am nearly positive he reads this as he’s left comments before. I do recognize him to be the hopeful exception to the rule. And I myself have never cheated, nor could I ever allow myself to form a relationship in such a sick environment, but I need more than one person to look to as a symbol of hope for the future.
In order to support marriage equality, I need to see that it is a real possibility for two men to commit to each other. I have never seen that, and until I do, I won’t be at the next rally waving my rainbow flag. Until the insults and cruel forms of rejection end, I will never quite feel comfortable in the gay world.
Okay, so finally leave me some comments!!! And I want to leave you on a much lighter note, please watch the Sherlock Holmes preview below – I cannot wait for this movie!!! Until we meet again, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Friday, May 15, 2009
She Used to be EVERYWHERE, now she's NOWHERE!
I’m sitting here at work, listening to Michelle Branch, silently mouthing/“belting” “Breathe,” wondering if there is anything in life that brings a greater sense of fulfillment and satisfaction than silently “belting” a Michelle Branch song.
On that note – where the hell did she go??? Why is she no longer on the radar? Seriously – if there ever was a true voice for the 21st century angsty 20-something, it’s Michelle Branch. She feels my pain. She experiences my woe. And she does so with some seriously fierce hair.
On the rare and miraculous chance that Michelle Branch reads this blog, please know:
You have changed my life for the better, and I need you to come back on the scene.
I will not go into a ridiculously long and detailed review (as I normally do), but last night I finally had the opportunity to see In the Heights. You know, I’ve only been trying to get to it for a year…
Any and all hype you’ve heard regarding the show is deserved. In the Heights is poignant, funny and hopeful. One of the most interesting aspects of the show to me was the exploration of the effects of gentrification on the people whom it displaces – gentrification is, of course, a favorite topic of mine. Despite a very specific setting in a very specific culture, the show’s overarching themes transcend. I was completely captivated and moved; I think this is a show everyone should be required to see. And I'm head over heels for Robin de Jesús.
I’m sort of alarmed by the lack of comments for my last entry, subject: Sienna Miller. I think the talent and beauty that is Sienna Miller should warrant a few, if not several comments.
OH! And the preview for the movie musical Nine is online – watch it below! I have never seen this show and do not know the music, but I am SO LOOKING forward to it. It has a ridiculous cast, and the trailer is utterly gorgeous. Penélope Cruz rocks my socks off and just needs her second Oscar handed to her now. Girl is FIERCE!
The weekend is here…the weather is beautiful…I am going to Blockheads tonight…sigh…
Seriously, does it get better than that?
Give me some comments, folks, and until my next entry or Michelle Branch’s return to the top of the pop charts, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
On that note – where the hell did she go??? Why is she no longer on the radar? Seriously – if there ever was a true voice for the 21st century angsty 20-something, it’s Michelle Branch. She feels my pain. She experiences my woe. And she does so with some seriously fierce hair.
On the rare and miraculous chance that Michelle Branch reads this blog, please know:
You have changed my life for the better, and I need you to come back on the scene.
I will not go into a ridiculously long and detailed review (as I normally do), but last night I finally had the opportunity to see In the Heights. You know, I’ve only been trying to get to it for a year…
Any and all hype you’ve heard regarding the show is deserved. In the Heights is poignant, funny and hopeful. One of the most interesting aspects of the show to me was the exploration of the effects of gentrification on the people whom it displaces – gentrification is, of course, a favorite topic of mine. Despite a very specific setting in a very specific culture, the show’s overarching themes transcend. I was completely captivated and moved; I think this is a show everyone should be required to see. And I'm head over heels for Robin de Jesús.
I’m sort of alarmed by the lack of comments for my last entry, subject: Sienna Miller. I think the talent and beauty that is Sienna Miller should warrant a few, if not several comments.
OH! And the preview for the movie musical Nine is online – watch it below! I have never seen this show and do not know the music, but I am SO LOOKING forward to it. It has a ridiculous cast, and the trailer is utterly gorgeous. Penélope Cruz rocks my socks off and just needs her second Oscar handed to her now. Girl is FIERCE!
The weekend is here…the weather is beautiful…I am going to Blockheads tonight…sigh…
Seriously, does it get better than that?
Give me some comments, folks, and until my next entry or Michelle Branch’s return to the top of the pop charts, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Sex, Class and Rock'n'Roll
Okay, so for the past few months, I have dedicated one portion of my brain to obsess over the upcoming Roundabout Theatre Company production of After Miss Julie starring Sienna Miller – marking her Broadway debut!
Since the initial announcement, I have thought about After Miss Julie at least once a day. When the day finally comes that I head over to the American Airlines Theatre to see Patrick Marber’s take on Strindberg’s classic, I will shit myself – guaranteed.
Let’s back up a bit…Miss Julie was written by August Strindberg in 1888 – it’s a play about class and sex – two of my absolute favorite things. It’s a three-person play: Miss Julie and two servants: one male and one female. I really do not want to give too much away, but suffice it to say, were Miss Julie and Hedda Gabler locked in a room to duke it out until death, it would be a toss up who’d walk away unscathed.
Miss Julie is strong-willed, brilliant and manipulative. In short, she is one fierce bitch. This is one powerhouse role for an actress – subsequently, Miss Julie is one of my dream roles.
In 2003, Patrick Marber (of Closer and Notes on a Scandal fame) wrote his take on the classic drama, After Miss Julie - moving the setting of the piece to an English manor on the night of the 1945 landslide victory of the British Labour Party.
I know nothing of the history of Britain’s Labour Party or their 1945 landslide victory, but I do know that following the end of World War II, the rigid British class system started to disintegrate. The shift in Miss Julie’s own power within her household is an ideal metaphor for the systematic collapse.
In short, Patrick Marber’s play sounds ridiculously riveting. To top it off, the show will star SIENNA MILLER. Sienna Miller, whose name has been unfairly run through the mud since she first came on the scene, is an actress of untapped potential. This girl is brilliantly talented – believe me – she’s not yet had the opportunity to show us the full range of her abilities.
Those who doubt me…go rent Alfie. She had a small role in the film as a bi-polar party girl, but my God, the promise she demonstrated was quite exciting. Sienna really bared her soul in that role.
The play has the potential to be completely exhilarating and fascinating. I’m freaking the “F” out, and will be first in line when tickets go on sale. I think you should be second. Side note - the amazingly wonderful Roundabout Theatre Company is also producing the first Broadway revival of Bye Bye Birdie next season - one of three musicals I'd die without.
Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
OH! Quick update – I smiled at the cute boy in yoga class last night. He did not reciprocate; rather, he turned his head and looked down. I think I have been face rejected! And Lisa, loved your comments last time on stream of consciousness; still not loving Mrs. Dalloway though.
Since the initial announcement, I have thought about After Miss Julie at least once a day. When the day finally comes that I head over to the American Airlines Theatre to see Patrick Marber’s take on Strindberg’s classic, I will shit myself – guaranteed.
Let’s back up a bit…Miss Julie was written by August Strindberg in 1888 – it’s a play about class and sex – two of my absolute favorite things. It’s a three-person play: Miss Julie and two servants: one male and one female. I really do not want to give too much away, but suffice it to say, were Miss Julie and Hedda Gabler locked in a room to duke it out until death, it would be a toss up who’d walk away unscathed.
Miss Julie is strong-willed, brilliant and manipulative. In short, she is one fierce bitch. This is one powerhouse role for an actress – subsequently, Miss Julie is one of my dream roles.
In 2003, Patrick Marber (of Closer and Notes on a Scandal fame) wrote his take on the classic drama, After Miss Julie - moving the setting of the piece to an English manor on the night of the 1945 landslide victory of the British Labour Party.
I know nothing of the history of Britain’s Labour Party or their 1945 landslide victory, but I do know that following the end of World War II, the rigid British class system started to disintegrate. The shift in Miss Julie’s own power within her household is an ideal metaphor for the systematic collapse.
In short, Patrick Marber’s play sounds ridiculously riveting. To top it off, the show will star SIENNA MILLER. Sienna Miller, whose name has been unfairly run through the mud since she first came on the scene, is an actress of untapped potential. This girl is brilliantly talented – believe me – she’s not yet had the opportunity to show us the full range of her abilities.
Those who doubt me…go rent Alfie. She had a small role in the film as a bi-polar party girl, but my God, the promise she demonstrated was quite exciting. Sienna really bared her soul in that role.
The play has the potential to be completely exhilarating and fascinating. I’m freaking the “F” out, and will be first in line when tickets go on sale. I think you should be second. Side note - the amazingly wonderful Roundabout Theatre Company is also producing the first Broadway revival of Bye Bye Birdie next season - one of three musicals I'd die without.
Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
OH! Quick update – I smiled at the cute boy in yoga class last night. He did not reciprocate; rather, he turned his head and looked down. I think I have been face rejected! And Lisa, loved your comments last time on stream of consciousness; still not loving Mrs. Dalloway though.
Monday, May 11, 2009
An Ode to Virginia Woolf
It’s been quite a few days since my last entry – reason?
Writer’s block.
Okay, so, no, I guess I am not a writer in the most professional sense of the word. I am certainly not being paid to write “Made in India.” And I’m not even sure how many people will even read this, but nonetheless…for days, I have had no thoughts to share.
Lately I’ve been reading Virgina Woolf’s classic Mrs. Dalloway. Woolf writes in the stream of consciousness – a style I find difficult. There is not a strong connection between one thought and the next. Of course, this is how the human mind works – we jump from one fantasy to an unrelated memory in the same breath, but to encounter such form in literature is trying for me.
To combat my writer’s block, I will attempt to overthrow my need for structure and simply record whatever thoughts pop into my head – an Ode to Virginia Woolf as it were.
When you stop to mull it over, the concept of writer’s block becomes quite an interesting. The idea that there is something or someone literally preventing creative thoughts and energy from flowing from our brains into another form is rather troublesome.
Writer’s block could apply to any area of life really – we all suffer from mental obstructions of one kind or another. Connecting back to a previous entry, my lackluster dating life of late has far more to do with the barricade I have constructed in my head than it does with an external force.
I do not go on dates, because internally, I perceive myself to be unattractive, unintelligent and unworthy of attention. It is only this fear that keeps me from speaking to the ridiculously hott boy who’s been coming to my yoga studio recently. He may very well be just as attracted to me, but the negative energy in my head is so powerful, it has created a damn that prevents me from simply smiling at him and saying hello.
In yoga, we move through asanas or poses to clear and prepare the mind and body for meditation. In essence, yoga is designed to eliminate these emotional barriers that hinder all aspects of our lives. If only it were as simple as moving through five sun salutations a day to break through the clutter in our heads.
The human mind is complex, and so are the roadblocks we build in them. As such, there is more to the cure for mental blocks than just a chattarunga push-up.
But what is the solution? Two hours of yoga a day? A walk through the park in the sun? People watching in Union Square?
Perhaps our mental blocks are necessary evils? Voices buried deep in our consciousness that challenge us to work and think harder; strive for loftier goals. I honestly do not know.
I’ll leave with my dear friend Lisa’s word of the day…SCHMUCK or SHMUCK – completely unrelated to today’s entry; but hey, that’s stream of consciousness for you.
Until next we meet, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Writer’s block.
Okay, so, no, I guess I am not a writer in the most professional sense of the word. I am certainly not being paid to write “Made in India.” And I’m not even sure how many people will even read this, but nonetheless…for days, I have had no thoughts to share.
Lately I’ve been reading Virgina Woolf’s classic Mrs. Dalloway. Woolf writes in the stream of consciousness – a style I find difficult. There is not a strong connection between one thought and the next. Of course, this is how the human mind works – we jump from one fantasy to an unrelated memory in the same breath, but to encounter such form in literature is trying for me.
To combat my writer’s block, I will attempt to overthrow my need for structure and simply record whatever thoughts pop into my head – an Ode to Virginia Woolf as it were.
When you stop to mull it over, the concept of writer’s block becomes quite an interesting. The idea that there is something or someone literally preventing creative thoughts and energy from flowing from our brains into another form is rather troublesome.
Writer’s block could apply to any area of life really – we all suffer from mental obstructions of one kind or another. Connecting back to a previous entry, my lackluster dating life of late has far more to do with the barricade I have constructed in my head than it does with an external force.
I do not go on dates, because internally, I perceive myself to be unattractive, unintelligent and unworthy of attention. It is only this fear that keeps me from speaking to the ridiculously hott boy who’s been coming to my yoga studio recently. He may very well be just as attracted to me, but the negative energy in my head is so powerful, it has created a damn that prevents me from simply smiling at him and saying hello.
In yoga, we move through asanas or poses to clear and prepare the mind and body for meditation. In essence, yoga is designed to eliminate these emotional barriers that hinder all aspects of our lives. If only it were as simple as moving through five sun salutations a day to break through the clutter in our heads.
The human mind is complex, and so are the roadblocks we build in them. As such, there is more to the cure for mental blocks than just a chattarunga push-up.
But what is the solution? Two hours of yoga a day? A walk through the park in the sun? People watching in Union Square?
Perhaps our mental blocks are necessary evils? Voices buried deep in our consciousness that challenge us to work and think harder; strive for loftier goals. I honestly do not know.
I’ll leave with my dear friend Lisa’s word of the day…SCHMUCK or SHMUCK – completely unrelated to today’s entry; but hey, that’s stream of consciousness for you.
Until next we meet, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
If you like it, then you shoulda bought a ring [tone] for it.
Forgive the following entry, it’s totes snobby, but hey, that’s part of my charm, right?!
I need a new cell phone – currently, I am the “proud” owner of a Motorola razor and have been so for a year-and-a-half. The longest relationship I have ever maintained with a mobile phone.
According to The Boston Globe, the owner of the Motorola razor is the following:
“Once the phone used by the uber-fashionable, it's now favored by clerks at Claire's, those who refuse to change ‘Gold Digger’ as their ring tone, and folks who are still quoting Paris Hilton catch phrases.”
Despite my New England prep background and my parents’ new Volvo, my phone says to people:
“Hey! This is the guy who served me my bagel at Penn Station this morning or the boy who works the graveyard shift at the new Dunkin Donuts on 9th Avenue.”
It’s time to upgrade the phone and the image it conjures.
When it comes to the mobile, I firmly believe that our little friends are the ultimate status symbol. Particularly as one who lives in the city and does not own a car, for me, the cell phone is the most important tech showpiece.
Despite this notion of mine, I’ve never owned the latest, hottest, trendiest phone. The razor was my first attempt into that world. Prior to it, I had the classic Nokia. Unfortunately for me, unlike Grace Kelly movies, some classics do die.
I certainly think an iPhone would go brilliantly with all of my outfits, but the problem is:
A.) I am on the family plan still, and will have a difficult time getting my mother to upgrade…and seriously, do I want to give up the family plan status just yet?! I think not.
B.) I want to look cute, but technology and Cory do not get along particularly well, so I’d spend the majority of my iPhone time confused and angry.
This begs the question: What is the phone for me? Something that is hip and cool. Yet easy to use and Cory friendly. A phone that does not look like it was stolen from the sketchy bodega on the corner of 40th and 8th, but is also one that won’t cause my parents’ wallet to go into cardiac arrest?
I just do not know.
Thoughts, guys??? Seriously, I need advice!
Until my wireless communication woes are solved, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
I need a new cell phone – currently, I am the “proud” owner of a Motorola razor and have been so for a year-and-a-half. The longest relationship I have ever maintained with a mobile phone.
According to The Boston Globe, the owner of the Motorola razor is the following:
“Once the phone used by the uber-fashionable, it's now favored by clerks at Claire's, those who refuse to change ‘Gold Digger’ as their ring tone, and folks who are still quoting Paris Hilton catch phrases.”
Despite my New England prep background and my parents’ new Volvo, my phone says to people:
“Hey! This is the guy who served me my bagel at Penn Station this morning or the boy who works the graveyard shift at the new Dunkin Donuts on 9th Avenue.”
It’s time to upgrade the phone and the image it conjures.
When it comes to the mobile, I firmly believe that our little friends are the ultimate status symbol. Particularly as one who lives in the city and does not own a car, for me, the cell phone is the most important tech showpiece.
Despite this notion of mine, I’ve never owned the latest, hottest, trendiest phone. The razor was my first attempt into that world. Prior to it, I had the classic Nokia. Unfortunately for me, unlike Grace Kelly movies, some classics do die.
I certainly think an iPhone would go brilliantly with all of my outfits, but the problem is:
A.) I am on the family plan still, and will have a difficult time getting my mother to upgrade…and seriously, do I want to give up the family plan status just yet?! I think not.
B.) I want to look cute, but technology and Cory do not get along particularly well, so I’d spend the majority of my iPhone time confused and angry.
This begs the question: What is the phone for me? Something that is hip and cool. Yet easy to use and Cory friendly. A phone that does not look like it was stolen from the sketchy bodega on the corner of 40th and 8th, but is also one that won’t cause my parents’ wallet to go into cardiac arrest?
I just do not know.
Thoughts, guys??? Seriously, I need advice!
Until my wireless communication woes are solved, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Monday, May 4, 2009
I Can Hear the Bells
Tomorrow morning is the announcement of the 2009 Tony Award nominees - this means two things:
1. I do not have much time to write a proper entry - never fear, post-tomorrow, one will be here! Yes, that totes rhymed.
2. I think we need to celebrate by watching a musical number from the film version of one of the most adorable Broadway shows ever...Hairspray...
oh, and, consequently, relating to last entry's subject:
3. This number is also my theme song in life.
Since I strongly believe in singing out loud anywhere and everywhere, please google the lyrics and get ready to belt along - you know that I am.
Consequently, having not had seen the Broadway show when the film version was released, I did not know quite what to expect from Hairspray. On a humid summer day off from the Ogunquit Playhouse in the summer of '07 (where I was, at the time, Company Manager), I treated myself to a trip to the movie theater. When this song started to play, and the lyrics rolled from Nicki Blonsky's lips to my ear, I can say, in all sincerity, no song had ever resonated so deeply with me.
I'm nearly positve there were tears streaming resulting from the recognition of seeing myself in Tracey Turnblad. At the time, I had an enormous crush on a dancer in one of the Playhouse shows. Many a time that summer, I belted to that song in my car whilst dreaming of him. To this day, "I Can Hear the Bells" holds a dear and near place to my heart.
sigh...
Enjoy!
And until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
1. I do not have much time to write a proper entry - never fear, post-tomorrow, one will be here! Yes, that totes rhymed.
2. I think we need to celebrate by watching a musical number from the film version of one of the most adorable Broadway shows ever...Hairspray...
oh, and, consequently, relating to last entry's subject:
3. This number is also my theme song in life.
Since I strongly believe in singing out loud anywhere and everywhere, please google the lyrics and get ready to belt along - you know that I am.
Consequently, having not had seen the Broadway show when the film version was released, I did not know quite what to expect from Hairspray. On a humid summer day off from the Ogunquit Playhouse in the summer of '07 (where I was, at the time, Company Manager), I treated myself to a trip to the movie theater. When this song started to play, and the lyrics rolled from Nicki Blonsky's lips to my ear, I can say, in all sincerity, no song had ever resonated so deeply with me.
I'm nearly positve there were tears streaming resulting from the recognition of seeing myself in Tracey Turnblad. At the time, I had an enormous crush on a dancer in one of the Playhouse shows. Many a time that summer, I belted to that song in my car whilst dreaming of him. To this day, "I Can Hear the Bells" holds a dear and near place to my heart.
sigh...
Enjoy!
And until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Friday, May 1, 2009
City Love...
Spring has arrived, which means love is the air…hypothetically speaking. Well, for others, at least.
Ladies and, well, let’s be honest, probably just more ladies, I am the world’s worst dater. I do not know how to flirt. I do not know to date. And I certainly do not how to start and sustain a lasting relationship.
What I do know is how to have a dozen or more secret and futile crushes at any given time. I also know how to psycho-ly facebook stalk former flames (likely from afar). And I know how to awkwardly and bitchly treat boys I think are cute.
Is it me? Or this kind of behavior rampant among the gays? Or perhaps it’s an issue of my generation as a whole? I certainly have a number of single friends who recently have felt like dating and relationships are completely elusive.
And will one really make me happier?
Who the hell really knows, but when it’s nice outside, one can’t help but long for a cute, 6’1”, boy next door type to dine with outside at Blockheads…or grab an ice latte with before traversing Central Park…or shopping for Pottery Barn furniture with for your newly restored pre-war co-op complete with stainless steel appliances and cherry cabinets…
I want what I cannot have, and therein lies life’s greatest tease.
I leave today with these questions: Who has a cute friend to set Cory up with? And what are your thoughts on 20-something dating in 21st century Manhattan? And seriously, what is swine flu???
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Ladies and, well, let’s be honest, probably just more ladies, I am the world’s worst dater. I do not know how to flirt. I do not know to date. And I certainly do not how to start and sustain a lasting relationship.
What I do know is how to have a dozen or more secret and futile crushes at any given time. I also know how to psycho-ly facebook stalk former flames (likely from afar). And I know how to awkwardly and bitchly treat boys I think are cute.
Is it me? Or this kind of behavior rampant among the gays? Or perhaps it’s an issue of my generation as a whole? I certainly have a number of single friends who recently have felt like dating and relationships are completely elusive.
And will one really make me happier?
Who the hell really knows, but when it’s nice outside, one can’t help but long for a cute, 6’1”, boy next door type to dine with outside at Blockheads…or grab an ice latte with before traversing Central Park…or shopping for Pottery Barn furniture with for your newly restored pre-war co-op complete with stainless steel appliances and cherry cabinets…
I want what I cannot have, and therein lies life’s greatest tease.
I leave today with these questions: Who has a cute friend to set Cory up with? And what are your thoughts on 20-something dating in 21st century Manhattan? And seriously, what is swine flu???
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
"Oh, summer in Ogunquit...and my own personal summer as well..." -Sally Struthers
The past weekend, summer hit Manhattan – we’re talking 90 degrees. I am not entirely sure we experienced a full and fulfilling spring, but oh well, that’s global warming for you.
I used to loath exceptionally hot weather. I suppose I am still not super crazy about anything above 85, but this weekend was beautiful. And I have to say; there is something appealing to me about summer fashion – so simple in a fitted American Apparel t-shirt, cute shorts, flip-flops and a cardigan. Getting ready in the morning is a snap!
Friday, a gorgeous evening was spent primarily wandering the streets with Richard and Lisa looking for an outdoor spot to have a cosmopolitan. I am not the hugest cosmo fan, but Friday night just screamed "Sex and the City," and I was so longing to have a “Carrie” moment.
Of course, this being reality, my reality to boot, and not a TV show, what was suppose to be a cosmo on a fabulous rooftop bar turned into a vodka cranberry at an over-priced Jewish deli where I could not even get cheese on my sandwich!!!
Okay, okay, it was a fun night – cinematic even, like something out of a Woody Allen movie. To fit into the theme of the evening, we headed to Richard’s ridiculously charming and adorably decorated studio to watch Annie Hall. Basking in the brilliance that is Woody, and following a skit by Monique from “The Black Women of Comedy” – uh huh, you heard me right – was the perfect way to spend the evening. And to top it off, I partook in my first Scotch on the Rocks – sooo Rock Hudson, right?!
Saturday should have been a day of full hot Manhattan goodness; unfortunately, after lunch at Arriba, Arriba, I contracted what I considered at the time to be a terminal case of Swine Flu.
Have we all been following this???? What is going on???
I can say in all sincerity that I seriously thought I was going to die Saturday, as I spent most of the afternoon and night lying in my bed. Ultimately, I think the combination of two mid-day, strong Strawberry Margaritas, a fattening Mexican Taco Salad, 90 degree weather and lack of sleep the night before were the true culprits for my near-death illness.
Fortunately, Sunday morning, I made a full recovery from my bout of “Swine Flu,” and spent the afternoon with fierce and fabulous friends in Central Park, taking in the sun, checking out the cute boys (or lack thereof at alarming number of moments) and doing yoga poses on the grass.
Ahhhh…summer in New York City – there is really nothing quite like it. How did you all spend the beautiful weekend – do share! Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
I used to loath exceptionally hot weather. I suppose I am still not super crazy about anything above 85, but this weekend was beautiful. And I have to say; there is something appealing to me about summer fashion – so simple in a fitted American Apparel t-shirt, cute shorts, flip-flops and a cardigan. Getting ready in the morning is a snap!
Friday, a gorgeous evening was spent primarily wandering the streets with Richard and Lisa looking for an outdoor spot to have a cosmopolitan. I am not the hugest cosmo fan, but Friday night just screamed "Sex and the City," and I was so longing to have a “Carrie” moment.
Of course, this being reality, my reality to boot, and not a TV show, what was suppose to be a cosmo on a fabulous rooftop bar turned into a vodka cranberry at an over-priced Jewish deli where I could not even get cheese on my sandwich!!!
Okay, okay, it was a fun night – cinematic even, like something out of a Woody Allen movie. To fit into the theme of the evening, we headed to Richard’s ridiculously charming and adorably decorated studio to watch Annie Hall. Basking in the brilliance that is Woody, and following a skit by Monique from “The Black Women of Comedy” – uh huh, you heard me right – was the perfect way to spend the evening. And to top it off, I partook in my first Scotch on the Rocks – sooo Rock Hudson, right?!
Saturday should have been a day of full hot Manhattan goodness; unfortunately, after lunch at Arriba, Arriba, I contracted what I considered at the time to be a terminal case of Swine Flu.
Have we all been following this???? What is going on???
I can say in all sincerity that I seriously thought I was going to die Saturday, as I spent most of the afternoon and night lying in my bed. Ultimately, I think the combination of two mid-day, strong Strawberry Margaritas, a fattening Mexican Taco Salad, 90 degree weather and lack of sleep the night before were the true culprits for my near-death illness.
Fortunately, Sunday morning, I made a full recovery from my bout of “Swine Flu,” and spent the afternoon with fierce and fabulous friends in Central Park, taking in the sun, checking out the cute boys (or lack thereof at alarming number of moments) and doing yoga poses on the grass.
Ahhhh…summer in New York City – there is really nothing quite like it. How did you all spend the beautiful weekend – do share! Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Friday, April 24, 2009
A Second Coming of Age
I finally find myself with a quiet to reflect. These moments, particularly in Tony Awards season, must be cherished.
This past week, I feel like I’ve been living in a Michelle Branch song…you know a bit angsty…
I spent two nights of the past week with two of my absolute favorite New Yorkers: Tuesday with my friend Richard at an amazing Cuban bar and restaurant in Midtown, and Wednesday at my friend Lisa’s adorable Park Slope apartment.
Over drinks and dinner, the conversation on both nights took an eerily similar turn, discussing the purpose of our lives, insecurities and, in my case, non-existent love life. We three are all in our 20s and experiencing that second coming-of-age so common amongst 20-somethings…especially 20-somethings in New York City.
We all three work in the theatre-industry and harbor great hopes and ambitions for award-winning career success. The first-step for anyone wishing to make it the Broadway world is to move to New York. A step that seems mountainous when you are coming from a small, lazy town in Maine.
The sensation one experiences moving to Manhattan: settling into your own hole-the-wall apartment and starting that first New York job is nearly indescribable. I did feel as if I had just conquered Everest, and that all was not just possible, but probable.
Just under a year later, I am bit dismayed to say I have not yet received the Tony Award, Oscar and Pulitzer Prize I felt were promised to me upon arrival. Nor have I yet been swept off my feet by a Dustin Lance Black-esque, 6’2” blonde boy promising me a classic Tiffany’s ring and a weekend “cottage” in the Hamptons.
Instead, I am a “9-to-5er” with an essentially non-existent love life just managing to pay the bills each month – with a couple of flavored margaritas mixed in along the way.
Okay, do not get me wrong. I am not in the slightest bit miserable or bitter towards life! Those who’ve heard stories know I work with crazy and fabulous people in the hottest entertainment ad agency – it’s really quite a fierce job. And my apartment is ridiculously large by Manhattan standards with a bedroom that is the definition of classic, cute, amazingness. I do feel incredibly grateful for what has been an amazing year; a year in which I have crossed a number of items off of my “To Do Before I Die” list.
However, as my friends and I discussed this week, when you live in the city that never sleeps, a city with so many opportunities and successful people abound, it is rather difficult to be completely satisfied. I do not think it is merely coincidence that the New Yorker of New Yorkers, Woody Allen so often writes about chronic dissatisfaction amongst the middle- and upper-classes of the Big Apple.
Until the day our awards finally arrive in the mail, we’ll take comfort in the affections and support of closest friends, the warm-glow that a strawberry margarita can bring and the awe the sparkling skyline of Manhattan inspires.
Thoughts, questions, concerns from my fellow angsty 20-somethings? Leave a comment, and until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
This past week, I feel like I’ve been living in a Michelle Branch song…you know a bit angsty…
I spent two nights of the past week with two of my absolute favorite New Yorkers: Tuesday with my friend Richard at an amazing Cuban bar and restaurant in Midtown, and Wednesday at my friend Lisa’s adorable Park Slope apartment.
Over drinks and dinner, the conversation on both nights took an eerily similar turn, discussing the purpose of our lives, insecurities and, in my case, non-existent love life. We three are all in our 20s and experiencing that second coming-of-age so common amongst 20-somethings…especially 20-somethings in New York City.
We all three work in the theatre-industry and harbor great hopes and ambitions for award-winning career success. The first-step for anyone wishing to make it the Broadway world is to move to New York. A step that seems mountainous when you are coming from a small, lazy town in Maine.
The sensation one experiences moving to Manhattan: settling into your own hole-the-wall apartment and starting that first New York job is nearly indescribable. I did feel as if I had just conquered Everest, and that all was not just possible, but probable.
Just under a year later, I am bit dismayed to say I have not yet received the Tony Award, Oscar and Pulitzer Prize I felt were promised to me upon arrival. Nor have I yet been swept off my feet by a Dustin Lance Black-esque, 6’2” blonde boy promising me a classic Tiffany’s ring and a weekend “cottage” in the Hamptons.
Instead, I am a “9-to-5er” with an essentially non-existent love life just managing to pay the bills each month – with a couple of flavored margaritas mixed in along the way.
Okay, do not get me wrong. I am not in the slightest bit miserable or bitter towards life! Those who’ve heard stories know I work with crazy and fabulous people in the hottest entertainment ad agency – it’s really quite a fierce job. And my apartment is ridiculously large by Manhattan standards with a bedroom that is the definition of classic, cute, amazingness. I do feel incredibly grateful for what has been an amazing year; a year in which I have crossed a number of items off of my “To Do Before I Die” list.
However, as my friends and I discussed this week, when you live in the city that never sleeps, a city with so many opportunities and successful people abound, it is rather difficult to be completely satisfied. I do not think it is merely coincidence that the New Yorker of New Yorkers, Woody Allen so often writes about chronic dissatisfaction amongst the middle- and upper-classes of the Big Apple.
Until the day our awards finally arrive in the mail, we’ll take comfort in the affections and support of closest friends, the warm-glow that a strawberry margarita can bring and the awe the sparkling skyline of Manhattan inspires.
Thoughts, questions, concerns from my fellow angsty 20-somethings? Leave a comment, and until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Outer Critics Circle Award nominations were announced Monday, and The Tony nominations are released on Tuesday, May 5th. What does this mean?
It means we are in the midst of award season at work and life is insane. This is the first moment I have had time to jot something down. So, today is a bit of a cop-out…
I filled my Netflix queue up with Jennifer Connelly movies, because she is amazing and underrated, I think. I finished up on Monday night with The Day the Earth Stood Still – okay not her best, but also not as bad you may think!
Jennifer Connelly is gorgeous and beyond talented, oh, and a fellow YOGI!!! For proof, watch a clip below from her CLASSIC movie Labyrinth.
Jennifer Connelly Essentials: Little Children, House of Sand and Fog, A Beautiful Mind, Requiem for a Dream - see them all!!!
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste!
It means we are in the midst of award season at work and life is insane. This is the first moment I have had time to jot something down. So, today is a bit of a cop-out…
I filled my Netflix queue up with Jennifer Connelly movies, because she is amazing and underrated, I think. I finished up on Monday night with The Day the Earth Stood Still – okay not her best, but also not as bad you may think!
Jennifer Connelly is gorgeous and beyond talented, oh, and a fellow YOGI!!! For proof, watch a clip below from her CLASSIC movie Labyrinth.
Jennifer Connelly Essentials: Little Children, House of Sand and Fog, A Beautiful Mind, Requiem for a Dream - see them all!!!
Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste!
Monday, April 20, 2009
Rite Aid Pharmacists: A Prescription for Unrequited Love
Did you miss me yesterday?
I would hope so – due to the challenges and roadblocks that sometimes can get in the way of life, I was unable to record any thoughts yesterday.
Here is a question for everyone: Is it bad to have a crush on one’s Rite Aid pharmacist?
Early last week, I discovered I’d run out of my life saving and affirming medication. Anti-depressants, you ask? Wondering if it is for Ritalin? Perhaps a few anti-anxiety pills – goodness knows I need those? But no, my pills, prescribed by my dermatologist, are for “clean and clear” skin.
Not as exciting, huh? Regardless, I am dependent on those babies! And when I run out, it ain’t pretty.
After a busy day of Broadway advertising, I hurried over to my neighborhood Rite Aid, which I must say is far superior to any Duane Reade, a chain I’ll never quite support or understand. I made my way through the throngs of New Yorkers stalking up on dented, on-sale canned food products, $2.99 packs of 12-rolls of toilet paper and the buy-one get-one free bag of beef jerky. Oh, yes, Rite Aid is one classy joint.
As I finally reached the pharmacy in the back, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the usual corpulent and tremendously frightening elderly pharmacist, noted for her ability to make 200-pound wrestlers cry with just her words, was not there. Instead, I was greeted by the brightest, cutest smile I have seen since the creation of teeth whitening mouthwash.
Mmmhmmmm…my pharmacist, whom I have seen twice now, is the cutest, friendliest, blonde, blue-eyed boy! And so begins the pangs of another of my unrequited love affairs.
What interests me the most is the emergence of a pattern. My pharmacist is only one in a string of ethically unattainable members of the health care profession to have caught my eye. You must, of course, remember my therapist in college?
Sigh…
I will not bore you with the details of that story, since you have, I am sure, heard it multiple times. Suffice it to say, the close of my college career was spent pining over the love of the man who was suppose to help me overcome feelings of anxiety resulting from unrequited love.
Completely twisted, I know. If only I were Woody Allen, I could translate the aforementioned scenario into a dazzlingly witty screenplay and then win an Oscar for it.
I close today with questions I would like to put to you:
Is it really unethical to date you pharmacist?
What is the source of my obsession with members of the healthcare field?
And finally will my pharmacist confess his deep love for me tomorrow, when I pop by with a fake cold and ask him to Vicks Vapor rub me all over?
Till tomorrow, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
I would hope so – due to the challenges and roadblocks that sometimes can get in the way of life, I was unable to record any thoughts yesterday.
Here is a question for everyone: Is it bad to have a crush on one’s Rite Aid pharmacist?
Early last week, I discovered I’d run out of my life saving and affirming medication. Anti-depressants, you ask? Wondering if it is for Ritalin? Perhaps a few anti-anxiety pills – goodness knows I need those? But no, my pills, prescribed by my dermatologist, are for “clean and clear” skin.
Not as exciting, huh? Regardless, I am dependent on those babies! And when I run out, it ain’t pretty.
After a busy day of Broadway advertising, I hurried over to my neighborhood Rite Aid, which I must say is far superior to any Duane Reade, a chain I’ll never quite support or understand. I made my way through the throngs of New Yorkers stalking up on dented, on-sale canned food products, $2.99 packs of 12-rolls of toilet paper and the buy-one get-one free bag of beef jerky. Oh, yes, Rite Aid is one classy joint.
As I finally reached the pharmacy in the back, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the usual corpulent and tremendously frightening elderly pharmacist, noted for her ability to make 200-pound wrestlers cry with just her words, was not there. Instead, I was greeted by the brightest, cutest smile I have seen since the creation of teeth whitening mouthwash.
Mmmhmmmm…my pharmacist, whom I have seen twice now, is the cutest, friendliest, blonde, blue-eyed boy! And so begins the pangs of another of my unrequited love affairs.
What interests me the most is the emergence of a pattern. My pharmacist is only one in a string of ethically unattainable members of the health care profession to have caught my eye. You must, of course, remember my therapist in college?
Sigh…
I will not bore you with the details of that story, since you have, I am sure, heard it multiple times. Suffice it to say, the close of my college career was spent pining over the love of the man who was suppose to help me overcome feelings of anxiety resulting from unrequited love.
Completely twisted, I know. If only I were Woody Allen, I could translate the aforementioned scenario into a dazzlingly witty screenplay and then win an Oscar for it.
I close today with questions I would like to put to you:
Is it really unethical to date you pharmacist?
What is the source of my obsession with members of the healthcare field?
And finally will my pharmacist confess his deep love for me tomorrow, when I pop by with a fake cold and ask him to Vicks Vapor rub me all over?
Till tomorrow, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
You're My Obsession
Those who know me intimately, know that Rebecca Hall has become my life’s greatest obsession – I’ve gone as far as one human can safely go without running the risk of a potential restraining order.
For those of you yet to become acquainted with the beautiful and beyond brilliant actress, let’s assess the situation:
Rebecca Hall is the daughter of the great theatre director, Peter Hall. She started in theatre and is slowly transitioning into an acclaimed film career. To date her film credits include: Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige, Starter for 10 with James McAvoy, Ron Howard’s Frost/Nixon and best role yet, Vicky in Woody Allen’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona – my favorite, favorite movie.
Woody Allen’s comedy is fantastic – funny, witty, neurotic, beautifully shot. All the things we expect from a top-notch Woody Allen film. It won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for Penélope Cruz this year and also stars Javier Bardem, Scarlett Johansson and Patricia Clarkson.
When I saw the movie last summer, it was Hall’s performance that struck me most. The relatively unknown actress more than holds her own against her accomplished co-stars; in many instances, she outshines them.
Her ability to communicate so many emotions with just one look of her eyes is unparalleled by peers. Vicky is a complicated woman, perhaps the most complicated of all the roles: She is neurotic, controlling, insecure, funny, brilliant… It is the most fully realized portrait in the film, and when Vicky questions her motives, insecurities and desires in life, Hall invites us to explore our own issues and questions too. She is the easiest character to identify with, because she is the most real.
Hall received a Golden Globe nomination for her work, and is now traversing the globe performing in The Bridge Project’s productions of The Cherry Orchard and The Winter’s Tale, directed by Sam Mendes. During the productions’ runs at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I purchased in my tix to The Winter’s Tale in a hot minute and got to see my favorite girl in person, on-stage, in all her glory. She was brilliant in the role of doomed Queen Hermione, squaring off against Simon Russell Beale; proving herself to be a true rarity amongst actresses today: One that shines both on stage and on screen.
Watch the clip below for a taste of Vicky Cristina Barcelona and then go rent it!
Till next time…om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
Friday, April 17, 2009
I am THE QUEEN!
I have decided to start a blog up once more. I have, at several points, taken a stab at the online-written world, but never with much enduring success. So, I will try yet again to record my thoughts on a, hopefully, daily basis. I will not concern myself with the creation of clever witticisms or with the elegance of the written English language. I will not give two shits about that and will simply record whatever thoughts cross my mind. Exemplified from that poorly written sentence.
I do hope you choose to read it – otherwise, what would be the point? If I did not consider a loving, loyal audience of the utmost importance, then I’d buy a three-ringed leather binder from Papyrus, start every morning with “Dear Diary…,” and call it a day.
And so it goes.
Last week, I saw the Broadway revival of Schiller’s Mary Stuart.
If you are like me, your reaction to that sentence was: Who? What?
I had never heard of Schiller, and my knowledge of Mary, Queen of Scots was rather limited. I knew she was executed at the order of her cousin, Elizabeth I, after 19 years of imprisonment. I also knew that the decision to execute her was much agonized by Elizabeth. Possessing that limited amount of knowledge, I entered the theatre with the slate decidedly blank.
I must say, I thought Mary Stuart to be one of the most remarkable stage productions I have ever seen. The performances across the board were first-rate, particularly Janet McTeer’s eloquent and passionate Mary Stuart and Harriet Walter’s flawed and human Elizabeth. The decision to dress the women in period costume and the men in contemporary suits is effective – it certainly physically distinguishes the women as something entirely different from their male counterparts; something almost ethereally.
I cannot even begin to imagine what it would have felt like to be a woman in 16th century England and Scotland, possessing immense power in a world dominated by men. How extraordinary and frightening it must have all seemed.
As the second act of the show opens, Mary Stuart is released from imprisonment for the afternoon; she is unaware the release is actually an pre-orchestration allowing for a “chance” meeting with Elizabeth I (a meeting that did never took place in history).
The power of the deeply liberating moment is heightened by one of the coolest stage effects I have ever seen: it rains! For ten minutes or so, it actually pours on stage. The effect is not only ridiculously cool to watch, but further strengthens the dramatic climax of the play.
Mary Stuart may be rooted in antiquity, but the play is not a history lesson; it is one man’s interpretation of Britain’s two extraordinary women. Mary Stuart is an exploration into the effects of the shifts and balances of power, and delves into the complicated worlds of female insecurities.
The idea that history is dynamic, a continual shift of theories and interpretations is endlessly fascinating to me. I think the way in which we learn history in school contradicts its essence. History, we learn in school, is a series of indisputable dates and facts. Elizabeth I was queen of England from 1558 to 1603. George Washington was the first President of the United States. And the attack on Pearl Harbor was on December 7, 1941. The aforementioned statements leave little room for debate. But to consider history in such a black-and-white, cut-and-dry sense is to miss the point entirely.
When we tell the story of Mary Stuart and Elizabeth I, we are sifting through the emotions and thoughts of people deceased now for hundreds of years. We will never be able to full understand or appreciate what occurred. How could we possibly consider their tale to be just a conglomeration of dates and facts?
We can read letters from the period to grasp some sense of the motives and feelings of the individuals, but answers to contemporary questions will always be shrouded in mystery. It is the mystery of the stories of our predecessors that fascinates me. And it is this mystery coupled with the top-notch theatrical craftsmanship that make Mary Stuart a must-see of the season.
Tonight, I continue what has been a marathon month of theatre and see the revival of Eugene O’Neill’s Desire Under the Elms.
Until, next time...om chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.
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