good enough to go-go

Of course, since you're an avid reader, you recall how well my last dance call went.

If you don't, I'll sum it up:

My Face + Floor = Happened

So, when I finally confirmed my audition for this edgy not-really-new-but-new-musical that's hitting the stage this fall where all the shows I never seem to book happen...(coughNewWorldcough coughVocaPeoplecough coughRENTcough....and don't even make me TALK about my attempts at booking The Gazillion Bubble Show...)

I was less than ecstatic to hear the first step was the dance call.

Not only was it a dance call, OH NO. It was a dance call choreographed by So You Think You Can Dance hottie Travis Wall...the man whose face is all over subway stations and undressing you with his eyes in Times Square.

Maybe YOU think you can dance, but I never said anything about ME.

But there I was surrounded by kids clinging to that "1st Nat'l" on their resume...

And you know what America? I could actually dance.

Well, compared to the other kids (including that guy from American Idol) I could REALLY dance.

No, maybe I wasn't bringing Mia Michaels to tears or kicking my face with LaDuca's (those are fancy dancer shoes), but I was moving more than one limb at a time.

So who knows America. Maybe I should start going to DANCER calls and find my place in the chorus.

AND THEN I WOKE UP IN SO MUCH PAIN  AND STILL CAN'T MOVE MY LEFT LEG THREE DAYS LATER.

I'm eating Advil like M&M's,

TJB: Making It

The City That Never Sleeps...but should more...

Here I am on the 1 train inspired to write on my iPhone 4S...

The 1 train? More like the FUN train!

No, JK, it's hell.

But it's 1:42 AM and the train is packed. Mostly young people. Mostly drunk people. Still, the standard fair share of lower-class Latino people.

Those who are standing are too drunk to stay vertical. Those who are sitting are too jaded to allow them to sit.



All of us here together traveling far too far away from the action that is

THE  NYC.

The one we all read about. The one we all dream to live in. The one we all came here for.

The plastered guy next to me just shoved a dude trying to get off the train and shouted "Hey man, whatever, Fuck you! (Now, to his friend) I can't actually move to NYC. I'm not mean enough. Now, people walk straight at me on the streets and refuse to move. It scares me. I mean, eventually they move because I stare them the fuck down but...Fucking New York. I don't know how long I'll last here. But right now I'm doing good. Who knows? I give myself 2-3 years before I crack. I'd love to live in San Fransisco. But the California economy sucks."

OH REALLY?? Because you seem to be doing AWESOME in this NYC economy as an intern traveling to Washington Heights, falling on your ass at 2 AM on a Thursday morning.

But he says he can go skiing and surfing in California. That'll be the day.

....he doesn't know how to surf but claims he'll learn...

Which brings me to THIS America:

Why the FUCK do we choose to live in NYC?

Obviously we're all a little masochistic. Nobody just takes the pain without enjoying it a little.

So we're all sick and perverted. But why else? Even the strongest master/slave relationship doesn't last forever and this D-bag's 2-3 years is FAR too long for pleasure to be the only reason.

Jennifer Hudson's character in the Sex and the City says she moved to NYC to find love. Then, her ass promptly moved back to St. Louis to find love...where it had apparently been all along. So there goes the Sex and the City justification.

It's no secret that I am a HUGE fan of Chicago, IL. When New Yorkers ask me why I like it so much, I say

"It's the people. People in Chicago WANT to live there. They CHOOSE to live there, and they're HAPPY there. People in New York? We all feel like we HAVE to live here."

We live here to PROVE something, to ESCAPE something.

To pay monthly rent and live with 4 strangers that would pay the mortgage on a house in any other city just so we can say "I live in NYC".

To pay for a pastrami sandwich at a deli that would buy us a 3-course dinner at a restaurant in any other city to say "I live in NYC".

In the past year, I have met the most jaded and bitter 24 year old New Yorkers trapped in life while my 50-something Michigander parents are still searching for the next best thing.

So why, New York?

What is it that makes us shove our fellow NYC-ers off the train and say, "Fuck you!"

What is it that makes us laugh at tourists for looking up in awe?

What is it that makes us stay?

What are we chasing? What are we running away from?

I recently gave my agent a due date. September 15. That is the day that I go BAT SHIT CRAZY if something in my life hasn't changed. Oh yes, he put it in his phone...I think it's a droid...so I'm not sure if it will ever remind him...

but I'll know. I will wake up on that day and either say

"This is it! I love this place!"

or

"This is it! Get me the FUCK out!"

So be ready New York...because I'm on to you...I almost left once, and this time, I'm SERIOUS.

Don't say I didn't give you a chance, because for centuries, you've been tricking people into accepting mediocrity just to say

"I <3 NY".

That's right, I saw Mad Men...AND I read The Great Gatsby.

This would have been easier to type on a Blackberry,


TJB: Making It

Sharing is Caring...when it's beneficial to me.

My Mom texted me while I was on a run and said

"Hey!!! I won an iPad 3 today!!!!!!!!!"

And I thought to myself...

"Hey!!! You. Lucky. Bitch."

Providing she can ever figure out how to turn the thing on...

So there I was sweating my ass off before going to wait tables all night thinking some people have all the luck in the world.

Now, STOP. Hold on one second. I do recognize that my mother is decades older than me (you don't look it Mom) and has had her fair share of struggles and rough times and a day when she was not running along the Hudson River with an iPhone 4S strapped around her arm.

But for the sake of dramatic effect and entertainment value...

Some people have all the luck in the world...

Which brings me to YOU, reader...sitting there and laughing at all the hard work I put in writing this blog (usually in my underwear half asleep in bed and slightly inebriated)

FOR WHAT?

For 25,000 measly hits a year?

For a release from wiping chipotle mayonnaise off tables?

No.

For YOU.

Well, mostly for me.

But sometimes for YOU.

So SHARE the wealth.

SHARE your iPad 3 (MOM YOU DON'T KNOW HOW IT WORKS ANYWAY).

and SHARE this blog with everyone you know.

Copy the link (www.tjbmakingit.blogspot.com)

and post it on a friend's Facebook wall, their Twitter account, your next E-mail to your boss.

Because we need to go VIRAL baby. Well....I need to go viral baby.

Because Kate Shindle tweeted at me today.

So get off your high horse Gavin Creel,

TJB: Making It

I'm Here...wherever that is...

I've been singing a lot of The Color Purple recently.

and that's when it hit me.

I'm stuck.

Once again, I'm slinging trays of food, waiting tables, which I said i would NEVER do again. I try to carry as many dishes in my arms as possible to at least feel like I'm making a statement.

I haven't auditioned in two weeks which hasn't happened since January.

I've been cutting down on my caffeine intake which is just crazy because one iced coffee a day seems pointless... 

I'm sleeping in the bed of someone I've never met which...well which has happened more than once in my life but we don't need to discuss that.

ALL I'M SAYING IS

I'm stuck.

And I know you can relate America. We've all been there. We've all had to stare at our bank account and wonder what's the cheapest food you can live off of for a month so you can justify one last G&T before paying your student loans and hoping a paycheck shows up before RENT is due again...NO not the show although if that were due for a booking NOW'S THE TIME MICHAEL GREIF!

You have my number, I know you do.

We've all had to stare at our phone when our parents are calling and wonder if we pick up and try to make it through a phone call without sounding like you're shitting on your degree and begging for money, or if you just call back later once you've composed your shattered soul and tell them NYC is a DREAM and something's coming real soon, you can feel it.

If there's one thing Northwestern doesn't know how to prepare you for, it's mediocrity.
If there's one thing NYC knows how to make you feel, it's mediocre. 

But maybe something is coming real soon.

I mean, Gavin Creel was only 25 when he was nominated for his first TONY Award...

and wait a minute...

I'm only 23...which means...I've got 2 whole years to dick around...

Hell, I'm doing JUST. FINE.

But seriously Dad, I'm gonna need to borrow some money,

TJB: Making It

Spit or Swallow

 PRIDE is a funny, funny thing America, and since this is apparently the weekend to show it, I'm left questioning what it means to me.

Whow, what is this, a college essay? To be honest, I just had a spare moment between episodes of RuPaul's Drag Race and it got me thinking...


I spent this morning with 4 old friends from Northwestern. All of us are currently on different life paths at different points of success in our chosen careers.

One of us is embarking on a year of world travel, another runs almost the entirety of Chicago theater marketing. The third found a passion for non-profit at AIDS Walk, the fourth writes to help women better their lives.

And those are just the friends I had brunch with.

While I was writing this, two friends sent me their new campaign video to help encourage young Americans to vote. 

...and I just returned from two months of fagging out on a stage in Dayton, OH toting around a trombone.

I would say I am incredibly proud of my friends. Hell, they all have their own bedrooms which would have been enough for me.


But I feel like (especially in the case of fagging out on a stage with a trombone) I spend most of my time swallowing my pride instead of feeling it.

But I think that's what makes me ME

TJB

my shameless ability to swallow my pride and put myself out there in a way that makes others feel a little uncomfortable...incredibly uncomfortable in the case of my grandmother (and a slew of Christian Ohioans who weren't sure what to do with my sass) is what I'm most proud of.

In fact, in the case of this blog alone, my PRIDE has been publicly swallowed almost 25,000 times. 

and I'm proud of that.

I know some people read my blog and hate what I do...or at least if this blog were written by another actor and I read it, I would probably hate what they do...

but to them I say:

be proud of what YOU do.

A great mentor once taught me that in order to make it in The Biz, you have to know exactly why you're in this biz whether it's to create social change or make a lot of money.

Someone recently asked me why I chose to be an actor. Caught off guard, the only reply I could think of  was "because it makes me happy". The person seemed unsatisfied and said, "well, then, what's your end game? What's your goal?"

which I've always known.

If I can inspire just one person to do what makes them happy regardless of feeling like they need to give another person  a reason for why...well...that's something to be proud of.


............and to make a lot of money..............

Time to swallow my pride in some short shorts,

TJB: Making It

Welcome Home Homo

I could tell you were worried readers. I was getting countless e-mails wondering where I'd been and if I'd made it back to New York safely.

Actually, I didn't get ANY e-mails wondering about my well being and I am PISSED because my life has been nothing but DRAMA since I hit the tarmac of LGA.

As soon as I landed, I had to haul my ass to my new home: a small closet in Up-UP-town Manhattan's west side filled with someone else's things...luckily it is attached to a smaller closet that has a toilet and a shelf i smack my head on every time I turn around too fast.

I flipped one big bird to the world and crawled over my luggage to get out of the room because THIS little starlet had a callback to go to.

There's no time for tears if the cameras aren't rolling.

My first stop back to the subway alerted me that there had been an "assault with a box cutter" just around the corner. I flipped one more big bird to the world and let my West Side Story begin.

Of course after being back for but an hour, all I wanted to do was be in an audition room and remind myself that there are 16,000 buffer, prettier unemployed boys dancing around this city who would LOVE to assault me with a box cutter if it got them a role.

I sat my flat ass down in a corner and tried to convince myself I was a REGIONAL THEATER STAR (I carry a copy of my review just in case) and was returning with a brand new swag.

Did I book the job? Probably not. But the director did go to Northwestern so it'll be his fault for not supporting his Alma Mater. Willy the Wildcat will surely shake a shameful finger his way.

And the rat race of NYC was just beginning. It was only my second day back, and my BFF Tray was in town for her birthday. Instead of the city celebrating ME and my return, I had to schlep to the East Village to celebrate her and her visit...before she travels the world for a year...because apparently that's a post-grad option.

I guess they forgot to put that flyer in my "You're Leaving Northwestern a Broke Ass Bitch" packet.

But I'm SUCH a good friend, so I was happy to be a part of her special day.

But I'm SUCH a good gay, so I was happy to leave dinner and hit the town.

And then it happened.

Some time after I made friends with a feisty black woman and paid far too much for some foie gras and beef tartare, I hit empty and fell asleep on the subway.

When I woke up, I was at the end of the line clutching my iPhone 4S that I thought was keeping me alert. Instantly, I remembered a similar thing happening to my friend last March so I reached for my back pocket and...

it was gone.

My wallet was gone.

And that's the day I become a real New Yorker.

So SCREW you pick-pocket and if you even THINK about trying to use my Starbucks Gold Card you will be sorry you ever laid eyes on my killer cheekbones before you reached over to undoubtedly fondle my cute butt before stealing my wallet.

But if you ever make it to Evanston, IL, I do hope you enjoy the Wildcard discounts.

My mom said my last blog post was redundant and boring,

TJB: Making It

Hail to Alma Mater

Today, my dear readers, is filled with emotion.

Today is the day of Northwestern University's commencement. 

So here I am sitting and staring at a blank screen remembering what that day felt like. There we were in hideous hair-flattening mortarboards and figure-crushing purple robes that were supposed to celebrate all we had achieved in what suddenly felt like four SHORT years.

And as much as I wanted to rip off that hat and gown and show everyone that NO, REALLY, I AM CUTE...

Part of me never wanted to take it off because I knew as soon as I did, that meant my friends were going away.

Turning in your purple gown was the sign of a final farewell. And in a fury of flashes from photos and smiles from strangers you were expected to clutch on to your friend one last time to say anything you wish you'd said in four years, but instead all you could say was, "see you soon...I hope".

And maybe you did see them soon. Maybe some of them ended up in your city, but some of them ended up 3,000 miles away and somehow it seems the ones you wish were here always end up over there.

So here I am sitting and staring at an empty suitcase remembering what this day is going to feel like. Sunday, when we're all on stage in butt-flattening jeans and ill-fitting polos wanting to take them off to show everyone that NO, REALLY, I AM CUTE...

Part of me will never want to take it off because I know as soon as I do, that means my friends are going away.

And maybe I will see them soon. Some of them will end up back in my city, but some of them will end up thousands of miles away.

And thus is the life I've chosen.

(I'm not sure that was a proper use of thus but it sounded super appropriate so I'm going with it.)

So to the graduating class of 2012 as they clutch their friends for one last time, I say

GET USED TO IT.

Shit, text her from the airport and stop crying.

I lost the WICKED lotto,

TJB: Making It