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!

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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