V.I.Me

Tomorrow, I have an audition for a PLAY. It's a production in Brooklyn that wouldn't pay me but...wait...why am I...

is this desperation?

Well, I might as well make the most of it.

The character is "an attractive, straightforward male hustler". Now, you'd think I would have a lot of experience in this field seeing as I've been in NYC for a whole month, but I'm going to pretend I don't. So I decided to try out some method acting this weekend.

As any method actor knows...well...ok I'm not entirely sure how method acting works (maybe I should've gone to a conservatory) but I know that it has to do with living like the character or viewpoints or operative words...ANYWAY

So I found a Sugar Mama.

Her name was Miss Green. She met me after work promptly at 5pm and from that point on it was VIP treatment. We went to happy hour at a posh bar, dinner at a trendy restaurant, and then checked in to a luxury hotel in Midtown East. She toted me around like her Adonis, and boy did she shell out the dough. This was GREAT! Not only was I being treated like a king, I was practicing my craft.

Miss Green made a call to the front desk to ensure that the Concierge Lounge was ready for our arrival and would have our specified cocktails ready. And then it happened:

they told her the Concierge Lounge was CLOSED.

EXCUSE ME?! This was Saturday night and the staff had NO idea who they were dealing with. Sure, I LOOKED like an escort, but really I'm a future award-winning actor and SHE'S and extremely successful young business woman and you're going to tell us the lounge will re-open TOMORROW?!

Let's just say there's a certain hotel on 49th and Lexington that will be receiving a strongly-worded letter.

The night ended in a packed dance club where we were greeted by the party promoter who tried to swoop me as his own escort. Miss Green made it very clear I would be going home with her, but allowed him to buy me a few drinks as well. Just. Kept. Getting. Better.

Carrie Bradshaw should've reconsidered this lifestyle.

But since this was method acting, I knew when I woke up the next morning with my angelic head resting on a plush down pillow it would all be over. I'd be trekking across Manhattan, back to my 9-5, pockets empty, once again.

VIP can't last forever.

Oh wait, yes it can, because I'm me.

Thank GOD I'm pretty,

TJB: Making It

Whining in the Wings

I thought my days of checking the cast list in vain were over. Turns out, you can do the same thing on Broadway...you just have to wait for the website to be updated (or the Playbill if you can actually afford to go see the show. I, obviously, cannot.)

My co-worker and I were discussing a role she thought I would be good for in a certain Broadway show. I would name the show, but because of my bitter demeanor due to my lack of casting or ability to obtain tickets, I refuse to freely advertise for them. Since she couldn't remember the name of the actor who played the aforementioned character (she is not a gay and is blonde so I forgive her blunder), we checked the website.

...and that's when I saw him...that lopsided smile in an ill-fitting, unpressed button-up. He stole my role.

Well...he stole my stand-by.

But it goes beyond that. I had seen him in a YouTube video years ago when all I had of Broadway was wireless internet and a rainbow aura. I quickly stalked him on Facebook like any 18 year old in a Musical Theatre program would do and begged for friendship...and he delivered...ooooh did he deliver. Just another under-pitch upperclassmen at the program formerly known as CAP21 (Oh...are they still calling it that?) he reached out to me with encouragement.

and then he stole my role.

SEE IF I EVER LIKE YOUR PHOTOS FROM YOUR DAYS ON THE DISNEY CRUISE LINE AGAIN!

Begging for the tour,

TJB: Making It

The Price of Fame

I spent all of yesterday knowing I had $6 to my name. No, I didn't have an emergency credit card with my daddy's name on it and my Visa was already maxed out...that's probably why I'm a platinum member...

Of course, I started off my day by purchasing a Diet Coke in the midst of a gay breakdown. When the Diet Coke didn't help, I purchased an iced coffee from Starbucks. I was embarrassed to have to order a grande for fear the card would be rejected with the price of a venti.

so then I was down to like...$youdothemath.75

As I arrived at work (you'll remember I'm a full-time employee now and still broke), I felt something funny underneath my shoe. I lifted my foot to see if I had stepped on something. Oh no, it was just a large hole torn in the bottom of my favorite patent leather sneakers. The shoes that had carried me through such beautiful memories (ex. the most unsuccessful NYC showcase in history) were even beginning to fall apart.

If my fashion couldn't hold up, what hope did I have?

I laid my head down at my desk and softly began to sob into my keyboard. My beautiful blonde co-worker (and coincidentally good friend Guppy) spoke to me in her soft, soothing voice and whispered the magic phrase:

"I'm taking you out for a drink."

Gulping down my G&Ts we discussed the balance of happiness and money. Sure money couldn't buy you happiness, but with holes in my designer shoes on my feet and roots that needed some lovin on my head, something had to be done.

As we began to think about our futures, I realized that even when I do reach fame, there's no way to ensure that I won't crash right back down to the rock-bottom, stank-pit life I'm living now....and then it hit me.

I had the most genius idea I've ever had.

I will slowly begin to release nude photos of myself into the public. SURE, some random people who haven't heard of me in years will wonder why me, a nobody, is e-mailing them nude photos of myself...and SURE, some random people will only use those pictures to elaborate upon filthy, filthy fantasies they've been having of me since 8th grade...

but when the time comes and I've won my three Tony's (2 for acting, one for lifetime achievement) and I'm 32 and sitting alone forgotten in Midtown EAST (the horror), I can recontact my list of nude-photo holders and they'll know exactly what to do.

and we'll all benefit.

So reserve your blog space now Perez Hilton because my tush has a future date to re-gain fame. This boy is going from Playbill to Playgirl and skipping right over bankruptcy.

For the rest of you...cross your fingers...you might have a present waiting in your inbox.

Don't forget to check your texts.

Not you mom,

TJB: Making It

Fiji Fail

I had an audition this morning...sure I looked too young for the roles, sure it wasn't my vocal style, sure it mean I'd have to move to some state called Connecticut for a few months and probably get paid in jellybeans and skittles...but I wanted to kick its ass.

When I exited Penn Station (probably my least favorite subway stop ever fyi) I was dripping in sweat and my vocal chords were dry. I spotted a Duane Reade on the corner (I call it Walgreens) and knew exactly what I needed to nail the audition.

FIJI WATER

I was going to swag my way up to Ripley Grier looking like a champ, sippin my H2O like a pro, and weren't nobody gon say shiz.

Then I got on the wrong elevator...but don't worry, a very ornery young lady was nice enough to point out how irritating it was I had to take the right elevator up just one floor...she was a ginger with frizzy hair and terrible shoes and bad skin.

DON'T MESS WITH ME WHEN I'M IN MY AUDITION OUTFIT

Anyway, forget her. I arrived to the audition, they were running on time, and my vocal chords were soothed by the waters of Fiji. My Fiji water and I even had a good laugh at the case of Poland Springs water sitting on the bench. This was going to be great.

I entered the room like a ray of sun. They asked about my relation Christine. We had a good laugh. I sang my ass off. I owned my exit. The assistant outside raved. I took a seat to wait for more info.....

.....and then they thanked me for auditioning.....I could leave....

It took everything in my soul not to run back in and chuck my bottle of Fiji water at the piano. THAT WAS A $2.22 BOTTLE OF FIJI WATER! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO GET ME A CALLBACK! YES I CAN PLAY LATE 20s!

and that's why my future solo tour will not be stopping in Connecticut.

Crawling back to Poland Springs,

TJB: Making It

Brooke, Boobs and Besties

I saw this again...um...I don't have anything else to say...

BUT right before that I had dinner at my favorite restaurant Vynl with one of my favorite gals T.Cook.

You know those times when you just sit down to dinner with somebody and you just talk for an hour straight and you just feel so good about life? That's dinner with T.Cook.

And if you ask me, her boobs looked better than Brooke's.

GET THIS BITCH ON STAGE!

Sorry, what did you say?

I was staring at your boobs,

TJB: Making It

VIP Treatment

This past week I was lucky enough to attend one of all-time favorite shows

as a VIP guest of course. Have you learned nothing from my blog?!

Escorted by my alleged-celebrity-boyfriend JShpiz (he's in the music industry), we approached the historic (and this time equally impressive in person) Ed Sullivan Theater. With all the swagger I could muster, I walked past the lines of ordinary citizens up to the man with the earpiece.

Me: "I'm VIP. I need to pick up my tickets."
Man: (as if shielding his eyes from my glowing aura) "Around the corner to the stage door."

I grabbed Jeremy's arm and found some intern-looking girls drenched in sweat from the NYC sun...or perhaps from their nerves being approached by someone like myself...

Me: "Listen...I'm VIP and I need to pick up my tickets."
Girls: (as if sensing they should know who I am) "Talk to the big man in the black suit."

and there he was...my future bodyguard.

Me: "Sir, this is far too complicated...I'm VIP and I need to pick up my tickets."
Big Dude: (more apologetic than he would be to Obama) "Just walk in the stage door, the security guard will take care of you."

---enter stage door----

Me: "I'm VIP and I need to pick up my tickets."
Security Guard: (Without even having to ask my name) "Take these to the front of the theatre, walk right past the crowds, don't talk to anybody (as if I would) and find the girl with the clipboard. She's in charge."

Well, to make a long story short, the girl with the clipboard was extremely sweet. She walked us through security, showed us the restrooms, offered us champagne (or maybe just water...) and then...WAIT WHAT?!

she showed us to the VIP LINE....there was a LINE FOR VIP!?! My ego was shattered on the beautiful marble tile of the Ed Sullivan Theater.

I stood in line with my arm candy knowing that I did not belong here. These people seemed so...common...how could they possibly have weaseled their way to VIP?

But just as I had given up hope...there she was: my key to VIP. She descended down the winding staircase of the lobby in her lace black dress, motioned for me to exit the VIP line and embraced me in a hug that only fellow VIP-ers know how to achieve.

"I'm sorry you had to wait in line. Would you like to take your seats?"

and boy did we take our seats. We were perched in the front row of the balcony where there would be no cameras or monitors in our way.

Nothing existed between me
and my soul mate
David Letterman.

For the next 90 minutes I was lost in his dreamy four-eyes and our shared laughter.

...and sometime in there Steve Carell sat down to talk about some mid-budget film...

Do you know what readers? I hope that one day you all get to experience the VIP treatment that I am so blessed to have in this beautiful, stank-ridden, overcrowded city of commoners. And I hope you'll be sitting just a few rows behind me.

NO PICS! NO AUTOGRAPHS!

Follow me on Twitter,

TJB: Making It

ZarKAN'Ta

See what I did there?

Maybe some of you are familiar with the new Cirque du So-gay show Zarkana in the allegedly historical (though underwhelming in person) Radio City Music Hall.

There are no singing/dancing ushers, don't be fooled.

Well do I have a bone to pick with Zarkana.

A couple of weeks ago, I entered a contest they were having that asked those who love to blog about theatre to send in a link to their blog. They would then choose 50 lucky bloggers to attend a special pre-show (maybe post-show...I didn't really read it) and be VIP guests to the show...for free.

As you know, I write a blog about theatre and I am ALL ABOUT the free tickets.

Unfortunately, I was notified today that the event was now full and I was not a chosen blogger.

EXCUSE ME?! I don't know how many New Yorkers are out there blogging about theatre, but I'm sure as hell the only one I know of. Don't tell me they found 50 other people with anything interesting to say about theatre. Maybe they didn't actually read my blog, because had they actually read my blog they surely would have fallen in love with my in depth review of The Tony Awards and The Addams Family. Hell, if they were really bored they would have even appreciated my review of that thing that happened in the spring at Northwestern.

This kid (that's me) knows theatre.

So NO Zarkana, I do not accept your generous offer of a code to save over 50% off your French-infested circus that somehow always seems to feature more small Asian girls than anything remotely French.

No.

I will happily stay here where my blogging is appreciated...on my sofa...with my wine...and my friends Ben & Jerry...

...is this what depression feels like?....

I think I have a drinking problem,

TJB: Making It

Working Boy

I'm not sure if you heard, but I am now a full-time employee.

Sometimes people just realize having me only part of the time is not enough.

That's right! I'll be working 9 to 5, but hell if I could ever get cast in the show.

So now I have a steady paycheck. So now I have a steady spending problem.

Let's be real, I still can't afford shit.

Rent can wait, time for drinks.

Sorry Mom,

TJB: Making It

Who Knew There Was a Spoon Involved?!

So there I was in the middle of a silent work room, preparing my sides for the NYMF audition. The list of people who were going in to the room was lengthy and I knew I had to kill it...there was just one problem, and I had to ask for help...

"Hey guys..." I timidly squeaked to my co-workers "...do either of you know how to shoot up heroin?"

That's right...I had to perform not only a song, but a lengthy monologue in which I prepare my heroin to shoot-up, finished with a "deep sensual inhale". I couldn't have been more excited and more WTF.

Luckily, my co-workers were more than helpful and lead me to several movie clips on YouTube where I could learn exactly how to prepare and shoot-up heroin.

The best part? After I performed the monologue the director proudly shouted "GOOD FOR YOU!" I felt like I was in kindergarten showing the teacher my finger painting all over again.

I threw in a high-kick for good measure anyway.

Cover all your bases,

TJB: Making It

At Least I Live On the West Side

Alright mom...this is a long one. I admit it. I went balls to the wall with this NYC thing. I stood in Chicago, ripped off my testicles, and threw them against the walls of the Big Apple. And DAMN do they hurt.

So here goes:

You know those people that you're in a room with and you just love the crap out of them and want to work with them and do everything possible not to get down on your knees and say "I'll do it for free!" (Work...work for free...and not on my knees.)

Well, I've been auditioning for those people all week.
And I'm still not working for any of them.

I also haven't gotten a real paycheck yet.
And I'm in the middle of a 9-day work streak.
I survive on yogurt and iced coffees. I mean, let's be real, as a gay man, I have private funds for my iced coffees...the rest can go.

So there I was on Monday, gearing up for my big week. In the middle of my work day, I received an e-mail from the studly man-who's-not-my-agent asking me if I could book the tour of West Side Story. Now, when you're fresh out of college living in a city you can't afford, you never say "no". So I spent the next 24 hours at work and at night frantically preparing sides I knew I would never have to read and songs I knew I would never have to sing...

knowing the audition started off with a dance call.

GAY BREAK DOWN. I NEEDED JAZZ SNEAKERS! I couldn't do a West Side Story dance call in canvas jazz shoes! I NEEDED TOP OF THE LINE JAZZ SNEAKERS! But I only had 24 hours...and a work day that ended with only half an hour to race uptown to the only dance supply store for the working man's hours...and they laughed at me when I told them how big my feet were...

so I would do the dance call in canvas jazz shoes.

Well, my ass was slipping all over the floor, but I didn't look as gay as the guy to my left, and I didn't look as immobile as the guy to my right...so I got to sing. Of course, I'd been singing the shit out of "Maria" for years, so that was no problem.

But due to the lack of phone calls from a Mr. Bernstein or Sondheim: I'm guessing I didn't book it. Sorry man-who's-not-my-agent. At least I'm still cute?

I sang for the man-who's-not-my-agent later that day...drenched in sweat that even my snappiest GAP plaid button down couldn't mask. I was excited to find out he'd brought his team of beautiful young women assistants. I have the most respect for gay men who surround themselves with beautiful young women assistants.

So I sang some songs, made some jokes, brushed the flowing blonde locks out of my face, and belted my lungs out.

The verdict: notice how I've still been saying the-man-who's-not-my-agent.

Apparently, I need more confidence and experience. Apparently, some people haven't read my blog.

BUT DON'T YOU WORRY! The man-who's-not-my-agent got me one more audition today...for yet another lead role.

You know...I'm not sure I can keep throwing my balls against the wall.

OH! I guess I should mention that I also auditioned for a team of managers, except I can't seem to keep a straight face when I think about the idea of someone like myself having someone to "manage" my non-existent career. So we'll leave that one out.

But let me just say...had I stayed 32 bars longer, I think I could've gotten the accompanist's number.

So where does that leave me Mom? Well, I've realized I have the potential and ability to compete with every performer on Broadway. I've realized I need jazz sneakers, dance classes, a gym membership and vocal coachings. I've realized I have approximately $12.17 in my bank account. I've realized I've turned down so many opportunities in Chicago (a city I can afford) to follow my dream of being on Broadway.

I've realized there are several paths to any given destination, and it truly is about the journey.

So, readers...so, Mom...I'm left with some choices. All I know is I'm headed towards another toll and I don't have any change to pay it.

Do I speed through the EZ-Pass lane and wait for my ticket in the mail, or turn my ass around and take the long, possibly more scenic route.

Only my blog can tell.

My venti iced coffee awaits,

TJB: Making It

Brooke, Belting, and Beer

I've finally started seeing theatre again. Unfortunately, I can only afford to see theatre that I don't have to pay for. Lucky for me, I know a network of attractive and powerful men who can hook me up. Thank GOD I wasn't born a brunette (pronounced: thank GOD for peroxide) or I'd still be waiting in the lottery lines.

I started off with The Addams Family. Having been in Chicago when and where it started, I'd heard everything bad thing about it one could say. So naturally, I LOVED IT. Sure, this was no deep piece of theatre that revolutionized the way I think about society or social norms, but I laughed on a Friday night after a few G&T's. And when there's serious belting like that, what gay isn't going crazy?!

Not to mention there was of course a perfect role for me. Who doesn't love watching a show being able to say (with minimal bias) "I could do it better"?

And the Prom Queen Brooke flubbed again! I was squealing like the fat, jealous cheerleader on the bottom of the pyramid when the skinny bitch falls. But I'll admit, her boobs looked flawless.

Then I went to see Shakespeare in the Park...it was Shakespeare...in a park...I think it was called "All's Well That Ends Well" or "A Penny Saved is a Penny Earned"...either way it was free, the costumes were flashy, and they served beer

so they had my vote.

As Brecht said: A theatre without beer is just a museum.

I drink for my art,

TJB: Making It

My First Fifteen Minutes

In 8th grade, I tore off a piece of my notebook and wrote upon it "this coupon entitles you to one free ticket to my first movie/concert/play". I gave it to my best friend in the middle of History. As you can see, I was very generous from an early age and expected her to be single for the rest of her life.

I broke her single streak when we dated shortly after she received the coupon. My tactic worked. For three weeks over Christmas break we had the most passionate, non-physical, silent relationship I've ever had. Had she been a gay man, we would have been practically married...except I think they can electrocute you for that in Michigan.

Lucky for me, our breakup didn't end our friendship. She let me belt show tunes in her face for years to come. She even accompanied me to prom...twice...

which brings me to my first taste of celebrity.

Every year leading up to prom at my high school, the local photographer would place his displays in a showcase at the front of the building. For years, the showcase featured various couples from years past in front of tacky display curtains.

After my senior year...there was only one couple's picture used, and to this day, their photo dominates the yearly prom display.

I look forward to the day when that beauty and I can once again dominate the photographs of C-list photographers. While I struggle in New York, she is headed to my lost love Chicago to go to Law School. I miss her dearly and am eternally grateful for her love and support, and the fact that she stopped spending every day at the LA Tan.

Ooooh how easy life would have been had I just gone to Law School...

How lucky I am to not be a celebrity that didn't get to go to prom. But let's be real, had I been on Broadway at 16 I would have gladly passed up the taffeta and streamers...bitches didn't even vote me Prom King...

Still bitter,

TJB: Making It