twenty thirteen

I've spent a lot of time in the past 24 hours with a blank stare on my face that seems to say, "Oh my God, what have I done?!"

But I did it. I moved to Chicago. I am now an official squatter of Cook County. Jobless, broke, and cold, I'm probably the closest I've ever been to the homeless bums of Manhattan...except that I'm staying in the chic apartment of my best friend

who now has a REALLY great OkCupid profile thanks to me. What can I say? I'm a useful house guest.

I couldn't imagine a better way to cap off 2012 than beginning this epic new journey in the Windy City.

So here's to 2012! The year I was in a play with my celebrity crush and the young Lord Voldemort. The year I auditioned for a Black History Month commercial. The year I played a trombone in a musical. 

The year I said "F*CK IT!" and moved to Chicago.

Thanks to all of those who have supported me through this whirlwind of a year. From the heartaches and the tragedies to the laughter through tears, I couldn't have done it without you. Well, I probably could have, but it would have been significantly less fun.

2013, you're up!

Watch your drink,

TJB: Making It

JFK>MCO>ORD

Let's be honest: I never thought I would be 23 and able to sit in a public place without hordes of fans snapping photos of me. How's that for modesty?

Yet, here I am at JFK Airport realizing I have "The Millers Son" from A Little Night Music on repeat waiting 3 hours for a flight that will carry me to my 16th Disney trip. SIXTEEN. That's a lot of mouse.

Christmas couldn't have come at a better time. In a week where I should have been celebrating my final week of New York (JK, I still have a hangover) and kissing friends goodbye (JK, just boys), I was interviewing for a job in Social Media, spending hours on the company's website, blogs, and Facebook trying to make it seem like I was qualified to do anything more than put on a powdered wig and sing about the government. I bought FAST COMPANY magazine for Christ's sake. There are no topless men in that. In fact, most of the people in the magazine are overweight.

I'm sorry, "healthy" sized.

So as I read articles about the boys of Twitter and FourSquare and Mark Zuckerberg's coat-tail-riding sister, all I can think is

Wait...I already do this. But, like most things in my life, I'm not getting paid for it. I've spent so much time consciously avoiding promotion of anything other than myself (ie that show with the Mormons or that funny joke you tried to make on my Facebook wall that I deleted), why not make a career out of promoting other people's things? I turned TJB into an overnight (over-year) sensation (mildly recognizable), and as I've shown from these 30,000+ views on BLOGSPOT of all places, I can get people to read anything.

And you know what, America? I'm gonna do it. I'm going to be one of those snazzy guys who makes a suit look casually easy while I breeze into your dinner party 15 minutes late somehow already holding an Absolut cocktail, apologizing my photo shoot for 30 under 30 ran long.

Then, I'll go back to acting because everybody loves a good transition story. Or maybe I'll just model. I'm New York "cute" which is Midwest "hot".

Alert your happy hours Chicago, there's another yuppie coming from work with an American Express and juggling two cell phones.

First, I have to get hired...but until then, OH MY GOD IT'S MICKEY MOUSE, MOM TAKE MY PICTURE!!

This blog is on my resume,

TJB: Making It

Don't Mess With Texas...or this.

This might come as a surprise to you, but I try to avoid publicly critiquing theatre. I often think, "What right do I have to speak ill of something so many other people believe in? I, an unemployed actor, have no right to judge the art they have spent time and money to produce for the sheer pleasure of masses. All I can do is applaud them."

And then today happened.

Sure, it's my fault for going into the experience believing for some unclaimed reason the show was based on a Tom Hanks movie, but as soon as the lead came out in a cowboy hat and I found out it was a WESTERN, I was even LESS excited.

Then, within the first half of a 3-hour Act 1, there were so many about-to-be-dropped storylines, I was almost positive the show had been written by Ryan Murphy.

I would tell you what the show is about, but I'm not exactly sure. I can tell you it's most likely about one of the following:

1. Oil companies are BAD
2. Texas is AWESOME!
3. We did not/do not treat Mexicans very well
4. Women's rights
5. Interracial marriage
6. Alleged adultery
7. Kids who look 27 but are actually 15
8. The formation of new cattle breeds
9. Coping with death (both literal and metaphorical)
10. The importance of free and equal education opportunities


All I do know is

"Oh no! They're going to sing again!"

is not a reaction one hopes for in a musical.

I was watching a 6 person show with a cast of 18, and 20 of them had songs. 14 of them had underdeveloped storylines, and 2 of them had names I remember.

And as soon as the dead woman came back to life at the top of Act 2 for a cup of coffee and a morning chat with barely a NOD to the fact we had just watched her dead body carried off two hours ago, I KNEW I should've gotten a sandwich at intermission.

But who doesn't love a racist ghost for added conflict?

Oh, and let's dramatically drop that scrim at LEAST 40 more times for a little extra pizzazz.

I do have to give major props to my fellow Wildcats for continuing to make Northwestern University proud and for staying awake through the tepid conflict of predictable dialogue and lackluster lyrics.

How DARE you LaChiusa. You wrote a song about a TO-DO LIST. I could have gone at that score with a red pen and saved us all at least 45 minutes of leg-crossing and hands-to-foreheads while I tried to figure out the necessity of a Mexican boy who can't hold his accent singing about checkers before you killed him off not 15 seconds later.

Yet, at the end of this epic Oregon Trail of Tears, people were on their feet applauding. I looked up at the elderly faces next to me wondering how they were OK with what had just happened. I waited to stand until the on-stage orchestra was recognized because at least THEY gave me something interesting to watch. That Reeds 3 player was GIVING. YOU. DYNAMICS.

I left with so many questions. What happened to the daughter? Why is that Mexican girl still pregnant? Wasn't there an election? Are all water towers 6 feet off the ground in Texas?

These are things I'll never know America.

So why choose to break my silence now? Why is this the musical that compelled me to critique.

Because there's a surprise straight boy my roommate and I have never met staying in our apartment for 5 days and all I can do is stay in my room and bitch.


There are not enough Christmas movies on Netflix,

TJB: Making It

Happy Endings JK BYE

As soon as you say you're finished, everything starts beginning. So naturally, as I began to pack my suitcase for the big move to Chicago, auditions started rolling in.

Back in the spring, I had a pretty slamming audition for Disney Cruise Lines. Well, apparently not TOO slamming because they didn't cast me, but they DID say they wanted me to play Woody in Toy Story the Musical as soon as they needed a replacement. I missed an opportunity soon after while I was being sassy and gay in Ohio, but FINALLY, they called me in this week.

And then they never called me again. Maybe I was still too sassy and gay.

But then I got called in to play a sassy and gay character in a new play. I thought, "GREAT! Screw Disney! I can be off-Broadway."

The casting director had called my agent to ask if I was funny. I always think it's funny when people ask if I'm funny because "funny" is pretty relative and, I feel, depends a lot on the material and situation

...and the fact that this character only has 4 lines...

But yeah, sure, I'm funny.

But apparently not funny enough (or maybe not sassy and gay enough) since they also never called me again.

But then I got called in for a commercial.

Or, I should say,

But then I got called in for a BLACK HISTORY MONTH commercial.

My initial response to my agent was, "Do they know I'm white?" I was assured they did, in fact, know I was white.

Without wanting to lose a good story, I went in for it...and harmonized a version of "Lean on Me" a cappella, with Mariah Carey, Luther Vandross, and Brian McKnight.

or at least they may as well have been because THAT'S how much more qualified they were to be there.

We sang the verses over and over for 10 minutes while being filmed just "hanging out". Needless to say, I don't think you'll be seeing me on your television plugging Verizon Wireless any time this coming February. Maybe I wasn't white enough to be the token white kid, or maybe I wasn't black enough to promote an entire month dedicated to the history of a race.

And then my agent told me he quit.

So Merry Christmas America, from me and the closing of my career in NYC.

And even though I'm finished, I assure you IT's just beginning.

My apartment hasn't had heat for two weeks,

TJB: Making It

Uni Verse

Somewhere around 3rd grade when I was in Disney World, I decided I wanted to buy a Donald Duck pen for school . The other kids were going to be SO jealous (even if it was the least practical writing utensil I've ever used). But, I wanted to buy the pen without the help of my parents. So, I told them to stay in the hotel lobby while I went to do some serious shopping. I remember walking up the stairs to the gift shop, shaking, but thinking

"You can do this! You're INDEPENDENT! Mom said so."

I even forced myself to talk to one of the sales clerks to show that I was there on real business and not just to browse like the other kids.

Now, I'm 23 and still shaking, telling myself the same thing I did back when I was 8.

"You can do this! You're INDEPENDENT! Mom said so."

And while the consequences of my purchases seem to be far more substantial, part of me is still just trying to make the other kids jealous and impress my parents.

I was sitting on the floor of a rehearsal studio this past week with my choreographer. She told me that I was making the right move (in life, not the show, my choreo was whack) and by moving to Chicago I was letting go of all the tension and pressure I had placed on myself to be successful in this career. By letting go and not trying to compete with the other kids and impress my parents, I was ultimately opening myself up to the universe (she gets very deep) and all of the possibilities I'm not seeing because I'm not allowing myself to simply trust in my life path.

I don't even think she smokes anything, but she does do a lot of yoga.

But how do I keep going when everything I thought I stood for suddenly has me sitting down to catch my breath?

There's a boy that I've admired for quite some time. I think he's a comic genius of my generation and I've watched his YouTube videos for months on repeat. When I first saw him on stage, I sat in my seat in complete awe. My new life goal was to become his friend. I stalked him to no avail, but suddenly, somehow, the universe lined up and we were cast in a reading together.

Now, he's the only person who calls me on the phone other than my mom.

So maybe there is something to this trusting-the-universe thing.

My new friend (whom I still stalk, just 'cuz) made me realize that everyone has moments when they need to sit down to catch their breath, and even though I've been independent since I was 8, it's the people in my life who inspire me that are going to make sure I'll stand up again.

I still have that Donald Duck pen back home in my room to remind me of the day I decided I could do things on my own. But now I have 15 more years of experience to show me that it's OK to need people.

Sure, I might be sitting down now...but like I did in the hotel lobby, and on the rehearsal room floor, and in the audience when I hand-picked my new friend,

I'll be standing again in no time.

I can do this. I'm INDEPENDENT. I said so,

TJB: Making It

Thanks, No Thanks: but yes, I'll do it.

Ever since my last "dark" yet "thought provoking" post (those are just the NYTimes reviews), I've spent my days in deep consideration of the move to Chicago.

One reader suggested, "If you're not happy, just move. Don't drink the Kool-Aid and make it into some noble action."

1. You're an asshole.
2. You're right.

"just move"

After I finished imagining the punch to the face I could have delivered to this jerk, that really struck a chord.

So, a la You're a Good Man Charlie Brown, that became my new philosophy.

JUST MOVE.

I put myself into action. I've spent hours applying for any job in Chicago that seems remotely interesting and doesn't involve touching other people's leftovers. I've researched the cheapest travel dates, lined up a fair amount of couches to sleep on, and even budgeted the cost.

And by budget, I mean I checked to see if coffee and booze were any cheaper in Chicago.

Just when I was really getting psyched for my life outlook, guess who called? None other than everyone's favorite so-you-think-you're-moving-to-Chicago-well-guess-what show

WE THE PEOPLE.

Oh yes. Apparently, somebody couldn't handle all the fame and glamour that comes with playing Thomas Jefferson for 12 year olds, and they've BEGGED me to come back and do it for the final weeks.

And like the bitch of fate I am, I agreed.

So get ready for two weeks of FLASHBACK INTENSITY because I am already having nightmares and cold sweats.

Happy Thanksgiving bitches,

TJB: Making It

Second Person Soliloquies

It's 3AM in the morning an you're just leaving work on what you still consider Saturday night. You've spent a majority of the week soul searching. Instead of taking a cab uptown with your friends to get closer to home, you decide to take the train and save the money to have the time to think.

When you approach the first station and all 3 machines decline your card but don't take cash, you consider jumping the turnstile, but fear the consequences.

Instead, you run 3 blocks to the next entrance with an attendant on hand and you hand him $5 asking for a single ride. Though you know he has the capability to sell you one, he points you toward the one machine in Manhattan that will still take your cash. You wait in line behind two husky drunk girls, grab your pass, and sprint to the doors of your train to watch them close in your face.

The next train is twenty minutes away.

It's 3:10AM. You take a seat on a bench next to nobody. The husky girls caught the train.

You've considered leaving New York a lot this week, giving up on acting, finding a real career, maybe going to grad school and taking life seriously. Really, you just long to be pretty, wear pretty things, and have your pretty friends back. Still, knowing that each day contained those three things sounds like heaven.

The one thing you didn't need to motivate you any further was train doors closing in your face at 3AM on what you still consider Saturday night. I guess you got that time to think.

You think about all the calls you've made to all of your pretty friends this week. All in Chicago. All with real futures. All of them happy.

You, however, are choking back tears, talking about how things are going "swell" and how you're so "lucky" to live "here". Their words of encouragement let you know they know you know you're lying.

The train comes at 3:30 and you're moving now, thinking about what you would do if you did leave New York for Chicago. You remember all those times, like a good theatre major, you said

"If you HAVE a fallback, you WILL fall back."

You realize that "back" isn't the only direction you can fall. The others just don't give you options.

So why don't you just pack up and move back to Chicago? If you think you'd be so happy there, why stay? Are you afraid? Everyone will say you gave up? Didn't give it a fair chance?

Or maybe people will applaud you. Tell you it's OK to abandon one dream for another. Welcome you home. With open arms.

But it's almost 4AM on what you still consider Saturday night, and you're still trying to figure out why you think New York sucks so much. Is it because you're not rich and famous yet? Or is it because everyone around you still acts like they are. You can hardly even think straight while that guy who looks like what you remember Bob Marley looks like starts to play a song about Obama, but all you can think is


What happens when The Big Apple doesn't happen?


You had the conversation with your coworkers tonight. One of them, 30, working your part-time as a full-time and dating the other one, 21, unsure of what his future is.  And there you are from New Mexico, Nicaragua, and Northwestern all wondering what the hell you're doing in New York. But somehow you all moved here for the dream, the opportunity, and the promises that have been fooling immigrants for centuries.

Time. Sure, it takes time. One of them suggests you give it at least 10 years.

You've never thought about 10 years in the terms of "least".

So you sprint to your second train to get home as the clock hits 4 and you see it trailing off into the distance. You feel it carrying away every fuck you give about N.Y.C. You think about those 10 years and where you want to be at the end of them.

It's 4AM on what you finally realize is Sunday morning and suddenly, you can picture it perfectly in your head.

So what happens when The Big Apple doesn't happen?

TJB: