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

Words are just words unless they're about ME

Yesterday marked the ONE YEAR anniversary of MAKING IT.

I had always joked that after a year of writing this blog, it would be ready for a book deal...

but shit I'm just beginning.

Yes, I've been through and experienced quite a lot since I sat down to start what has now become a remotely-successful-blog that has shockingly extended beyond my immediate family and former stalkers...but I've hardly been ready to claim that I have ANYTHING to offer the world.

Until now.

Now that I'm officially a star...at least according to Dayton, Ohio.

Let's start with my trip to Panera this afternoon for lunch as I walked past a portly young woman to wait for my panini.

Woman: You were just FABULOUS in the show last night!
Me: *Continue walking with a blank stare wondering what she could possibly be talking about.*
Woman: Your show...I saw it last night?
Me: Oh my GOD I completely forgot I was doing a show...Wow...well...thank you!
Woman: Really, you were SO fabulous and funny and I couldn't stop watching you.
Panera Worker: What show?! Are you in WICKED?!
Me: *Death Stare* No.

I grabbed my sandwich and sauntered away as the portly young woman filled in the clueless Panera worker on exactly WHO I was and spread the tale my fabulous performance.

But just because people have begun to stop me on the streets doesn't mean I'm a star. Oh no...to be a star you must be REVIEWED.

Yup. You guessed it.

This week, I received my first shout-out in a REAL review for a "REAL" publication.

The Dayton Most Metro (not Metrosexual as I originally assumed) wrote THIS:


"[Band Geeks] is also conceived with predictable teen archetypes from goth to gay with a foreign exchange student thrown in for good measure, but these characters are sharply written with hilarious authenticity. In fact, I wish more of them had solos, particularly flamboyant trombonist Alvin Freeman (an amusing Tyler J. Baranski). Alvin’s colorful opinions and his implied attraction to “Dungeons and Dragons” fan Kyle Watson (Jon Kovach) screams to be sung."


Ok SURE nobody's claiming I'll win the TONY this Sunday, but hell if I can stand onstage to deliver a few solid one-liners and still manage to get mentioned in a review

I say I'm doing PRETTY DAMN WELL.

I should point out that the Metro misspelled my name in their original posting, but all it took was one quick text to my agent and he had them begging for mercy.

So let's review the year, shall we?

Graduate Northwestern, conquer hellfire and brimstone, obtain the best-agent-ever and quickly rise to star status (albeit in Dayton, Ohio).

So there you have it America...one year down and I've given you the BEST summer reading you could hope for. Do yourself a favor and go back to Post #1.

Relive the dream.

And by this time next year, that Panera bitch will KNOW I'm not in WICKED.

But seriously Mom we're not seeing WICKED,

TJB: Making It
 

Another Opening, Another Show

After a slap-dash of a preview on Thursday night and a post-show ass-whooping notes session with the writers, opening night was no longer looking so swell. We were out of rehearsal time and left with the shards of failed jokes to piece back together into something that would please both the writers and our director. 

All I wanted was a drink.

So, I got one...
Well, if it's in a pitcher I think it still counts as one...

 On Friday, before I headed to the impending doom of the opening, I stopped for my daily caffeine fix. Lucky for me, one of the regulars had seen the show and could give me a much needed pep talk that went a little something like this...

Him: I saw your show the other night!
Me: Oh yeah? Well, I hope you enjoyed it.
Him: I did. It was only the second musical I've ever seen. The first was a high school production of 101-something and the Shade.
Me: 110 in the Shade. Yeah, I know it. Well gosh, I hope we were at least a little better than a high school production.
Him: Well, that depends in what respects.
Me: **all color sinks from my face and I am prepared to leave this career immediately**
Him: I mean, they were some talented high schoolers and it was a pretty good show. But, I mean, you guys seem to have had like a real budget and stuff.
Me: Yeah well...yes we have a budget. They're paying me a lot to be here so...
Him: And, I mean, your set seemed to be of better caliber, but those high schoolers had some high quality cardboard sets.
Me: Well I'll let them know next time not to waste their money on hiring actors when there's such talent at the high schools and to just get some better cardboard.

END OF CONVERSATION and OFF TO OPENING.

I spent a long time staring at myself in the make-up mirror contemplating the past four weeks (and how good my bone structure looked despite the fluorescent lighting).

Here I was in the middle of nowhere doing a show that might be going nowhere. But then I took a minute to think of all the amazing talent that was surrounding me and how even though some of us were 18 and some of us had kids and some of us had been on Broadway...

we were all in this together sharing the love of what he had created together.

AND IT WAS GOING TO BE F*CKING AMAZING WHETHER THAT COFFEE DRINKING PANSY LIKED IT OR NOT

 110 in the Shade can S my D.

And I made it. I made 110 in the Shade S my D because I had a kick-ass time opening night. The show was hilarious, the people laughed, and SURE our mics had copious amounts of feedback and SURE I crashed the bleachers into a wall, and SURE 55 out of the 60 threw our program in the recycling bin

but I like to think it's because they're just trying to be GREEN.

So I say to all of you who worry about the product you're creating:

Just remember that there's a group of high school students doing it better

so flip the world the bird and enjoy yourself because YOU'RE. GETTING. PAID. #America

Tonight I'm getting TWO pitchers,

TJB: Making It

From Nappin' to Clappin': the making of a musical

The first time a show is performed for an audience is always stressful.

Even more stressful if someone falls asleep in the front row.

Even more stressful if that person is the top theatre reviewer of Dayton.

So there we were on Tuesday night for an invited dress rehearsal singing our hearts out to a small group of geriatrics (and one sleepy reviewer) who probably couldn't remember the last time they walked at a pace let alone marched in a band.

Knowing who your audience is is important...this was not our audience.

So there were were on Wednesday night for a pay-what-you-can final dress rehearsal singing our hearts out to a large group of theatre lovers who would have laughed at any joke so long as they didn't have to pay and it involved sexual innuendo or a sassy gay tone.

And BOY did they love my sassy gay tone. But surely the common audience cannot be as easily swayed by my swagger.

So here we are on Thursday for our First Preview...

and Final Preview even though technically I guess we've had two previews already so I'm very confused at how this works, but I'm sure it makes sense on Broadway.

...one DUD of a performance under our belt and one SURELY too successful of a performance.

And TODAY we're the TOP STORY on Playbill.com (for a whole 4 hours) which is sure to sell at least a few tickets to the 3 people in Ohio who have computers and read the story.

Tomorrow, we open. I'd like to say to a sold-out house but we're competing with a machine called WICKED opening across the street.

You tell me what you'd rather see:

a bunch of 20-somethings pretending they're still in high school in the late 90s marching around with instruments they haven't played in 5 years

OR

SPARKLES, GLAMOR, and FLYING.

WICKED...what a bitch.

My Mom asked how to get tickets to Wicked,

TJB: Making It

What to Expect When You're Not Expecting Much

TECH WEEK.

Ever heard of it?


If you haven't (because you're a NOBODY with a 9-5 you SQUARE) it's the week before a show opens where the lighting designer tries to give you a seizure, the set designer tries to impale you with nails, and the costume designer tries to make you look fat.

As if they could EVER make ME look fat.

(Sorry to the girls they succeeded on.)

But most of all, tech week is the week when actors go BAT. SHIT. CRAZY.

Tears n' Tantrums. Tantrums n' Tears.

I like to compare tech week to giving birth. That last week before you expect the baby to pop out (and I'm not speaking from personal experience I swear) you think "HOLY SHIT! I'M NOT READY TO BE A PARENT!" You're tired, cranky, fat (except for me) and your hormones are out of control.

You CLEARLY didn't read the books and it's too late to start now. It's down to the wire and the nursery is only half painted but your partner is nowhere to be found. Hell, you might as well decide to be a single parent now because that d-bag your Mom warned you not to marry isn't going to do SHIT once this baby is on its feet.

All you can do is PANIC.

REMINDER: we're still talking about theater. Did I lose you yet?

Well, my baby is about to POP OUT and like any newly single parent, I'm worried that this baby is going to turn into a grade-A loser.

Still, may the alleged God grant me the serenity because there is nothing I can do about it but breathe until this newborn slides out my proverbial vag.

too much?

Still, who knows America. Maybe this kid will turn out to be OK. Maybe, one day, this kid will win awards and move to the Big Apple and I'll say "BOY I'm SO glad I got wasted back in 2012 and let your father have a go."

All I know is, it's too late to abort.


But as I tell myself every morning:

If Beyonce can do this, so can I.

To think I could've been a doctor,

TJB: Making It