more like MEsus

While everybody else was thinking of the three days Jesus spent in the tomb before he rose, I was thinking about the 3 months I've spent in Chicago trying to do the same.

Hi. Happy Easter.

It has now been a quarter of a year since I began my second chance in the second city. I've learned a lot and done a lot, but I've realized one important thing will always be true:

The grass is always greener on the other side.

I'll admit it. I miss New York more and more. I miss the people, I miss their elitism, the pretension, the attitude. Chicago is relaxing and fun, but there is a certain edge missing. The hipsters here are friendly, and nobody wants that. I don't want to have to talk to hipsters. I also don't want to smile at the other gays who pass by when I thought it was nationally established by the HRC that we simply stare at each other judgmentally, and internally agree we are better than the other. I want the same rights as straight couples, sure, but that doesn't mean all gays are equal among ourselves. Sweetie, not until you fix that hair.

Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm happy here. I can afford things. I went shopping for the first time in a year without wondering if my purchase would be approved. I no longer walk ten blocks just to save a dollar on wine. I order shots...at BARS. Life is pretty sweet.

I know what you're thinking. I've written this same whiny bullshit before and you're looking for something original.

SO AM I.

Hell, I almost got a tattoo. Instead, I entered a singing competition at the bar below my apartment. Winner gets $15,000. Don't get too excited, it's doesn't start until June, but if I don't make it to the end of those 11 weeks...

then I understand why this is the SECOND city.

One day those shots will be top shelf,

TJB: Making It

Ex-istential Crisis

There I was, sitting next to the new boyfriend who had no idea I was the old boyfriend. All he knew was that I was the "friend" his current boyfriend had been catching up with, and let me just say:

nobody wants their boyfriend catching up with friends that look like me.

Had I been a littler quicker, I would have thought to ask the box office attendant to switch me to a seat in the back, not next to 185 pounds of baggage. But I was stuck, a towering 6'1", shaking hands with New Boyfriend and welcoming him to Chicago. I was flippin' cherry cordial.

Until three people who knew very well that I was Old Boyfriend came up to hug New Boyfriend without so much as a warning glare in my direction. Let's just say, I practically memorized that program by the time the lights dimmed.

I admit, I had never felt younger, prettier, or smarter than I did sitting there, listening to the-other-friend-who-belonged-there talk to New Boyfriend. But as I read the list of money donors for a third time to avoid having to participate in the conversation, I couldn't  shake that bitter taste from my mouth.

Because I had been drinking A LOT that morning.

I sat and said nothing between dance numbers as I choked back tears from the combination of beautiful choreography and my sad, sad situation. I waited outside during intermission, and when the show ended, booked it to a hidden corner of the hallway to wait for my goodbye.

I walked home singing "On My Own" as if Cameron Mackintosh were on the street casting. My life felt the fast approaching of "A Little Fall of Rain", and knowing they cut that song in HALF for the movie, I needed a pick-me-up before I dove into Adele.

So, I took a shower and washed that man right out of my hair. Full voice. Sorry neighbor.

I believe that one day, there will be somebody awesome to sit next to my old boyfriend at my shows. Until then, I'll try to figure out why anybody would want so may tattoos.

I ate lunch twice today,

TJB: Making It

something about this

I remember sitting in my AP English class senior year of high school. It was "college prep week" and we were in the computer lab researching our major requirements so we'd know what to expect the coming fall. I was a Political Science major at Northwestern University. I sat staring at the screen questioning my entire existence (as any emotional 18 year old does). My hand shot up.

Me: What if I don't want to do this?

As a valedictorian (I had to get that in there), I could tell my teacher was confused by my resistance.

Teacher: The assignment?
Me: No. This. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be a lawyer.
Teacher: So don't. But you have to do something.

That's the day I became an actor.

Six years later, I'm drinking out of a Harvard coffee mug from 2004 in the middle of Chicago thinking, "What the hell is this?"

The truth is, America, I don't really care. I've been having a pretty baller time since I grew a pair of nuts in 2007. When you realize it takes less than 5 seconds to change life, you kind of just start chilling. And as long as you keep doing something, everything else just sort of takes care of itself. Yeah, I'm sure there will come a day when I'm 55 thinking, "Well, shit, maybe I should have..." but probably not. I'll probably get pushed in front of a train first, and then I'll just be thinking, "Well, shit."

So relax, people. Whenever you feel like your life is a mess, just be grateful you didn't document it in a blog. And whenever you think I'm upset or stressed or care, just remember one thing: I'm an actor. None of this really matters. Something does, but not this.

I'm gonna be something,

TJB: Making It

Mormon or More Men...no judgement.

When you're the gay at a Mormon wedding, you're bound to feel a little awkward. There is, of course, the inevitable Prop 8 joke. On top of that, you realize you can't help but dress like an ad for the local chapter of PFLAG even if you put on tennis shoes. The skinny jeans will always win. But I had been friends, nay, BROTHERS with the groom for years, and never once did our difference in beliefs get in the way of love.

Boy oh boy, was this weekend full of love. While it was, of course, full of debauchery and shenanigans that I'm afraid to put into writing for fear I'll never forget they happened, there were also the times full of sobriety, in which we experienced something that transcended simple marriage.

I'm not afraid to admit I held the ignorant belief that most deeply religious people had the need for marrying anyone they could stand for more than three weeks before they turned thirty. Leaving college without a ring is like leaving the house without your pants on (which may have happened on the trip...I can't remember). But when I met the bride, and when I saw them look at each other, it was very clear that this love had nothing to do with convenience of matching religions. These were soul mates.

And I say if you are able to love another person so deeply, so truly, and so honestly...much belief beyond that doesn't matter. We all believe in love.

We all also believe that if you make through an entire weekend with my bros, there HAS to be a God.

In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit,

TJB: Making It

sym-PATHETIC

Things are starting to settle down here in the Windy City. I've had my job for a month. I've learned everything I can about my neighbors via paper thin walls and shrill girl voices (theirs, not mine). The Starbucks guy knows my name.

Ok, to be fair, we have the same name, so it was easy for him to remember and sometimes I still have to remind him, but HEY I'm a regular at least.

Overall, my novelty is wearing off. My friends have even started to choose staying in over humoring my liver on the weekends.

And I thought, maybe that's what I'm missing...a reason to stay in. Someone who thinks I look just as good in sweatpants as I do in a tie. Someone to lay on the couch with while scrolling through Netflix to tell me it's OK I didn't go to the gym today because I was up early for work and deserve to rest. Someone I don't have to make plans with because we ARE our plans.

Just kidding, I don't want to be lame. No offense, but I don't even own sweatpants.

I didn't move halfway across the country to settle down. I moved halfway across the country to shake things up. So the next time you try and tell me that work was hard and you're tired and you're poor, I want you to look deep into my eyes and know that I'm not listening.

Then, I'm going to slap you across the face and tell you to put on your goddammed coat because we are going out while we still get carded.

It's for your own good.

You'd do the same for me,

TJB: Making It

Bro-K

As I carried my booze in a brown paper bag down the street, I watched the bus pull up ahead of me and thought, "Do I run?"

I realized I had been running a lot in the past year. To New York, to the auditions, to the trains, to Chicago, to the buses, to the interviews and for the first time in a very long time, I didn't feel like running...because I didn't have to.

So, I walked.

I walked the half an hour through the snow covered streets of Chicago until my forehead was frozen. I wrote a song on the way that I thought would change the world that I couldn't remember 10 minutes later, but that didn't matter because all that did matter was the whiskey and the beer and the bros.

And we sat. We sat talking about nothing and laughing about everything on one of those nights where nobody cared what we did because we were together. For four hours, we didn't move. We didn't have to.

You know those moments you have when you suddenly think to yourself, "Everything's going to be OK"?

This was that.

Carry on,

TJB: Making It

i was unemployed once

This is how I write cover letters.

-------------------------------------------------------

@nla:

“Dad! Robert’s going to jump off the bridge again!”

I wasn't supposed to answer the phone but, as a 10 year old,I had a desire to communicate with anyone who would listen to me. I couldn't help but respond to the ring. I wasn't exactly sure what bipolar disorder was,but every time Robert called, I learned more about it. My psychologist father would take the phone (before I could find out why Robert liked jumping so much)and push me out of the room.  I got to meet Robert 10 years later at his college graduation while I was in the midst of my own Communications degree. He thanked me for all of those times he was talked down when I answered the phone but wasn't supposed to. That was the moment I understood the power of communication.

Growing up in a world where communication is almost second nature from the emotional evolution of MySpace and LiveJournal to the scrolling photos of Facebook and Flickr, I’m often surprised how difficult it is for some  With constant status updates and Instagram lunches, we've become billboards for ourselves, and yet most people are clueless to the product they're selling. There was a time, yes, when applying for a job involved a face-to-face interaction and a hard copy resume. Today, you’re lucky if your misspelled e-mail and tone on the telephone can be saved by scheduling a Skype session. And I hope you've already Google searched yourself before they find that LiveJournal or you can kiss the job goodbye.

But if you can learn and understand the impact that all this communication holds and get past the fact that you’re just a kid in Starbucks with a tablet and an iPhone typing a cover letter to realize the world is run by kids in Starbucks with tablets and iPhones, you've just become one of the most powerful and influential people in the world - at least until Apple invents something smaller to replace you.

We used to live in a world where the marketing game depended on the housewife’s word of mouth during Bridge. Now, companies depend on the working woman’s tags and tweets during her bridge and tunnel commute to Manhattan. There are many rules to the game from 70 character limits to hashtag etiquette, but only one real skill is required: Communication. If you can do that, you can win the game…or even save a life.

I haven’t had to say, “Dad! Robert’s going to jump off the bridge again!” in 13 years, but every time I click “Share” on Facebook or hit“Publish” on Blogspot, I understand that it reaches much further than the walls of my home now. There really is No Limit.

I hope you'll @ reply me,

@tjbaranski