Monday, December 31, 2012



Another year.

More experiences.

in ways unexpectedly expected.

Lives intersecting.
New souls touching.

Formed trails deepening a course.
Veining caverns to new prospects.
Cheese-clothed eyes,
seeing, sorta.

Adding up settled aspects.
Viewing possible grounds.
Other journeys leading me,
taking me,
pushing me to -

We don't move forward.
We don't move backward.
We just move.

I'll rise.
I'll realize.
I'll take courage, wisdom, and connection on my side.

I'll rise,
rooted in new visions,
keen motives,
to move.

Keep moving.


The year flew by, chuck-full of too many experiences to put here. This was a big year for me, bigger than I really thought it to be. Changes are happening and I'm ready to jump in, to find myself in wakes of different waves of life.

Things have popped up perfectly.

People have left, but luckily had applied their stamps on my soul's adventure-map.

Home has rearranged itself, allowing opportunities to see a truer sense of what I believe life should be/is.

Family has grown ten-fold after the most intense theatre experience experienced.

Dreams shifted - sifted through the woven intricacies of my past - finding true happiness through a melding of loves.

Thank you to everyone who joined me in all my 2012 adventures.

Happy 2013 everyone.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Take us out Ezra.

From the moment I heard him sing at our first rehearsal as Sweeney Todd himself, I knew Ezra Axelrod was going places. And he did, with his husband, to London... 

Summer 2009 is filled joyfully to the brim with memories of my time across the pond, catching up with family, throwing myself into intense dance classes, and hanging with Ezra and his husband David. Ezra was the guy I always looked up to at Midd. He's strong, funny, intelligent, talented, and most of all inspiring. 

When I was putting this concert together, I immediately thought of Ezra. While people would be expecting all musical theatre people (well, if they knew me that is), I wanted to step outside of my box. Ezra's original music, even with it's pop flare, is ridden with emotion, humor, and ingenuity, making it the perfect choice to wrap up our first FRESH PRODUCE concert. 

Thank you for joining Schuyler and The Flies on this journey. Hurricane Sandy, you're (still) a bitch for not only canceling our concert, but also creating so much chaotic havoc for many people in the New York and New Jersey area. But here we are, together in one way or another, not necessarily moving up, not necessarily moving forward, but moving somewhere. And somewhere is better than nowhere. 

Happy holidays everyone.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

My Theme Song.

To sing this song meant having to step outside of my comfort box, a step I became more familiar with during my stint in The Stonewall Sensation (the American Idol-esque competition I was in this past fall). Singing to/at bar people - who were barely listening to me squeak out what I could of a pop song (all I could do was try to incorporate any kind of belt I could fathom within the wispy chords of radio's candy) - was a HUGE challenge I was only slightly staying above water for.

Now here I am, posting to the world another moment of stepping from the box into the "pop" category. I almost didn't post this: "It's not perfect, really weak at times actually. I can't have that on the internet!"

But I'm gonna put it up. I'm proud of the few baby steps I've taken to launch off of the setting laurels of belting my face off in gut-wrenching songs. This video is up to remind myself that easing up a bit and being relaxed is bringing a whole new quality to my voice I didn't know was there. 

Here I am singing Jay Brannan's "Housewife". This is my theme song, and has been for a while. I think it explains a lot about me as a human.

Happy watching!

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Twist the Mold.

Matt Gregory is a genius. Hands down. 

When I brought my ideas for FRESH PRODUCE to Matt, he provided the perfect advice on how to make this a concert series that will inspire and highlight. I had WAY too many songs, and with Matt's help, we chose a smart and fabulous selection of lesser known contemporary musical theatre and other songwriters' songs.

But we were missing one piece to our puzzle, one song. As we racked our brains for other songs, Matt suggested "Say the Word" by Kait Kerrigan and Brian Lowdermilk, a fantastic song that everyone knows quite well and in turn has been down countless times (an aspect I was truly trying to stay far away from).

Then Matt suggested, "What if we make it into a duet?" 

I let Matt at it, and he created an arrangement truly worthy of standing ovations all around. Not to mention our two gals, Melissa and Emily, nail it out of the park, blending beautifully while bringing their hearts to the table. 

Happy watching! And remember: You can always pull strings to make a new twist for a fresh take. 

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Summer's Song.

I love this song.

That's all I have to say.

Here I am singing Michael Kooman and Christopher Dimond's "The Chaos of You". 

Happy watching!

Monday, December 10, 2012

Myth Bringing Fact

A couple weeks ago I had the great opportunity to teach a mini-lesson about writing for Raina's 4th graders. I brought these young minds the knowledge that came to me within my recent years, knowing though that these young ones would connect, find validity, and grow.

The education system unfortunately instills regiment when purposing a productive and flowing piece of writing. Introduction, three supporting ideas, conclusion. Each paragraph 5 to 6 sentences. Sentence structure itself. Words to and not to start sentences. Etc.

Sometimes though, you just gotta write a sentence that feels right even though it may not jive with the "rules". And that's okay because that's how you can best express yourself.

Okay, so I didn't share those specific ideas with the kids because they should learn the basics... BUT, I did share that writing comes in all forms. I brought in some journals and shared bits and pieces, stories and poems, so they could see that writing not only came in many forms, but it ultimately comes from the individual soul who is brave enough to share. 

Raina then segued the lesson into having the kids write true stories of something that had happened to them. The story that Raina shared was one from Bobolinks Fall Tour, when the entire a cappella group was at my parents' house in Guilford; Raina and some other gals decided they were going to make Butternut Squash soup. When the beautiful, golden-yellow concoction went into the blender, a push of the button flew squash around the kitchen, blending with our already golden-yellow walls. Followed by a laugh, we decided to order pizza.

As I listened and laughed along with the kids, I couldn't believe I had forgotten this epic Bobos tale. 

When the kids left for music, Raina and I got to chat about the morning and how shocked I was that I had forgotten all those details.

"Well," she said. "I had to amp up some of the facts so they could better see the writing tools we're trying to use (onomatopoeia, a "hook", etc.)."

Sometimes fact becomes myth, and myth becomes fact. We get to the final, rudimentary emotional values and educational victories, no matter which journey we take. 

Here's Raina singing "Brave Enough" from Shaina Taub's mythologically based musical, THE DAUGHTERS. Be sure to go to her website and download some of the songs from the musical for FREE; I love "I Sing of Artemis"!

Happy watching!

Friday, December 7, 2012


January 2009. Middlebury College Music Department's production of "Gypsy". 

Role of a lifetime, with the best scene partner anyone could ever ask for. 

"I need a haircut so badly..." 

I had just been down in Florida with the swim team for our annual training trip, and the combination of chlorine from double practice days in addition with my daily application of Sun-In (to achieve a balanced perfection of the sun-kissed look) had completely fried my hair. 

Just straw.

"I cut hair!" Emily piped in. One of her clients, Dave Birr, had considerably the best "flow" of campus... 

Hair dresser found! AND, we could catch up before rehearsals started.

"Just cut off the dead stuff." I still needed length on top for the classic musical theatre side-part, aka, a gel-helmet.


Inches of frayed gold fell from the front of my head to the floor. With a gasp, I knew immediately I'd be going through a bottle of Hair-Net a night to keep down my "freshly mown lawn" length hair down as I twirled around the stage. 

"I cut all the dead stuff off like you told me too!!!"

And that she did. Goodbye blonde... I guess I am supposed to be brunette.

This is just one of the many adventures I've journeyed with this gal. I know there are going to be so many more, and I look forward to every time we can get together, expecting and knowing hilarity to come, intertwined within our expeditions.

Here's Emily singing "I'm So Happy" by Jill Abramovitz and Joy Son. Enjoy!

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Coming home.

Soldiers coming home from war has been on my mind recently. Maybe it's the commercials for those TV shows about this very reconnection of fighter and family, protector and protected. Whatever it was, the soldier was a "human" I wanted to represent here in this concert.

Ryan Scott Oliver's "Odyssey" was the first (and best) choice for us. It's not of present times, but it is, in its own way.

There's no reason to go into why we take for granted what we have; we all know we do in some way or another. Then the added aspect of these men and women coming home with memories never to be imagined by so many of our society.

That is why they serve, to keep those memories away from those they cherish, both literally and symbolically.

Here's to the braves of America this holiday season. Thank you. Thank you.

Sunday, December 2, 2012


Melissa was the first person that I ever would call to chat even after an entire high school day together. She was my first friend for that.

I'll always remember coming out to Melissa. I was a sophomore at Middlebury and we were chatting on AIM (oh the days). We had kept in reasonable contact post high school, but not as much as we had throughout. We talked everyday during high school, then suddenly our new lives just took over. And we were fine with it. 

But there was still a tie, a tie that truly held me to only two people in high school. I wish it had been more, but 'tis the way the cat catches the yarn tip. (I just made that up; make of it what you will).

"Melissa, I have something to tell you."


"I'm gay."

"Great Sky."

Or something like that... You get the point. I think my favorite part was when I saw her over the next vacation, she told me that she thought that it was gonna be either that or I hooked up with a girl, finally. 

I'm so happy that we've reconnected after our college days. We've changed immensely, yet we still find our same banter atop our new groundings. That's true friendship. 

Here's Melissa, the IBM Marketing gal, singing "Your Girlfriend" by Katie Thompson. Happy watching!

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Why not?

"Why not?"

That's what I've decided to ask myself whenever a decision is to be made. 

Yes, that's a lot of "Why nots?"...

But, why not? Might as well, right? 


Here's the second video for our cyber-release of Schuyler and The Flies' concert, "FRESH PRODUCE: What it means to be human.". Many thanks to the incredible Shaina Taub for writing this gem of a song, plus another one to come later on! 

Happy watching!

PS... Here's a photo of Shaina and I backstage for the production of "Cabaret" 
we did together at Ivoryton Playhouse, summer 2006. 

I was the tannest German ever...

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Grandfathers of the Year.

And so kicks off the cyber-release of Schuyler and The Flies' brand new concert, “FRESH PRODUCE: What it means to be human.” If you haven’t had a chance to watch the teaser for all the videos, be sure to check it out here:


This first revealing is a bit bitter-sweet. Mom’s dad, Grandpa, passed away last night. While it wasn’t too sudden, it was sudden enough to cause stir, as any moving on of a loved one should. 

Grandpa loves performing magic tricks for all his grandchildren; a favorite includes his handkerchief miraculously turning into a mouse before our eyes. He is an incredible water-colorist, constantly discovering brilliant ways to mingle his paints together to describe, with life, what he was seeing. Grandpa just has a knowledge of everything. He is Mister Fix It, whether a leaky gutter, a rocking chair that’s not supposed to rock, a jammed door knob, he used the same magic that that mouse and his paintings inhabited, bringing those broken pieces new sentience. Not to mention, he’s hilarious, playing such roles as Nathan Detroit opposite Nana as Adelaide when Mom was 4-years-old. Every card, Christmas card, stolen note, was in perfect rhyme, collecting the beaconed verbiage to bring utter joy for all those who fell within his collaborations. 

Above all, Grandpa is the ultimate family man. He provided everything he possibly could and more for his family. His persistence to make sure all the people around him were not only happy, but ecstatic with life, made him an epitome of the husband and father I wish to be someday. 

The best thing is that he will continue to live within me, never becoming passed, but simply continue on as present in new light. That’s something that I will be forever grateful for, knowing that there is nothing that can take away the qualities he expressed and the memories he pressed down within us all. 

Within three months, both of my grandfathers have passed away. I am the luckiest man alive to have had both of these incredible role models in my life for as long as I have. 

I wasn’t planning on having this be the first song to release for the concert, but with timing as it is, I feel like it’s perfect. I would like to dedicate this next song, “Lost in the Waves” by Michael Kooman and Christopher Dimond, to both of my grandfathers, Bob Beeman and Jack Pihl, for all that they have taught me and will continue to teach me. 

Sunday, November 4, 2012

The Weekend "Off".

I'm just waiting for a D train after seeing "Sorry" at The Public Theater. I have to write; just life-altering...


I wanted to write more last night, but I was caught off guard and cut off by anger with the MTA. Sandy's aftermath has created complete havoc on much of the North-East, much right here in the city. 

Some many others have it so much worse than I, and I feel bad for being pissed at anything, especially when so lucky. But it's where I was. Where I'm not wanting to go back to; it was what it was. I was thrown off, off a road of bending crosses, changing views and jives of Soul's teachings. 

I had the greatest weekend. Four shows in two days. Four shows in only two days. Theater unloaded into me and I'm riding the high. It was a variety and couplings of Off-Broadway productions never to be recreated. I haven't had the time to sit back and analyze everything I saw, and I'm not going to rush it. Actually, better, I'm not even going to try. The answers for how I felt about the shows will come when they've set and festered within the - - whatever vessel of my body theatre rests in - on - around...

All I wish to recount is how I saw the shows. The W's: What, Where, When, Who, Why.

I experienced absurd, the truest naturalism I'll ever know, epic musicale, and teetering. 

I resided mainly at The Public Theater, finishing at Playwright Horizons. 

I didn't just see these shows yesterday and today, I saw these shows the first weekend after this catastrophic storm that hit our coast. 

I went with my roomie, his friend, my CLOC fiance, plus a surprising (and surprisingly great) date. 

I journeyed because I could, and because it was free. 

Yes. Every show I saw this weekend took no money from my pocket. Well, nothing's actually free, right? "There's no such thing as a free lunch." Looks like I actually got something out of my "Intro to Microeconomics" course at Midd (thanks Professor Horlacher...). 

I spent money on food. I spent money on subways. I spent money on Starbucks. I spent time getting places and waiting in line (and time is money). 

Whatever I spent I received back in everything I experienced - felt, stole, questioned, created, thought, jarred - in each of those (amazingly spacious with leg room) theaters. 

And I'm grateful. So grateful. 


Go see Off-Broadway theatre:

"Wild With Happy",com_shows/task,view/Itemid,141/id,1057



"The Whale"

Friday, November 2, 2012

Move back...

I’m moving back to my parents’ house on the 20th of this month.

The idea began to brew while at CLOC. My time at the fantastic Harlem apartment - the deal of a century - was to end, and the idea of searching for a new place with little funds gave me that sick-to-stomach pit. Not to mention, my life was changing, outlooks broader, and dreams shifting from performance to direction/choreography. Did I necessarily need to be in NYC now to “become” a director/choreographer?

Things started to happen when I moved here from the comforting confines of home in February of 2011. I auditioned more, I networked more, I created more for myself. How could I leave that, that connectedness, that odd "beating down to the ground" support only NYC can provide?

Pondering amongst summer-stock, beached sunsets, and over-priced pizza, the thought of leaving the greatest city on Earth equated failure: I didn’t/wasn’t able to “make it” well enough, thus had to flee back to Mommy and Daddy...

A very wise friend told me, cutting through (and finally off) the spouting fears of judgment, that moving back was not a failure if I made something of it.

It was then that I started to take this choice as an opportunity. This could be a time to re-evaluate and see the different avenues of this field. This could be the time to learn more about famous directors and choreographers, furthering my own creative aesthetic through those comforting walls of a cheaper living situation. This could be that time to reconnect with family, traveling to be with and learn from extended families’ differences and similarities. 

I came back to NYC with this pretty secure, yet open to change-and-stay attitude. But with each day counting down to my move-out date, I continued to feel drawn to the opportunities that Connecticut could provide. Connecticut has a fantastic theatre scene and can be a wonderful place to work and create. I look forward to hopefully returning to some of the connections I already have there while also meeting new people and creating with the many other talented companies there. 

But it's something else that has been the most intriguing aspect about leaving NYC that continually comes to mind: I don’t want to be creating theatre from the adventures of NYC anymore. It’s already been done and over-done. I want to explore specifics in my own life’s events and escapades outside of this city concerning my faith, family, and other interests in this life that I wish to explore/try out. There's too many to list here, but the ideas are endless. I personally find theatre about experiences that I never would have thought of, stories that are so opposite of the NYC way of life, to be the most fascinating because I am transported completely. That's the kind of stories I want to share through theatre.  

One example: People that know me know that I have a weird obsession and love of farming. My dream is to retire on a huge farm or ranch where I can live out my life tilling the ground, feeding the chickens, riding horses, and holding my husband’s hand on our porch (Well, only if Obama is President...). 

So, this upcoming January, I am heading down to Todd Langstaff’s Maryland farm to help out his Aunt Lee with lambing season. Yes people, I’ll be birthing lambs. It’s something I always have wanted to do, to learn, and be a part of. Thus, when the opportunity arose, and having no NYC ties, I took it because it’s important to me as not only an artist, but as an individual to be a part of an experience like this. Some may ask, “How does birthing lambs make you a better artist?” I have no freaking clue, but you never know...

I’m terrified about moving and hating that I'm leaving this city behind. I’ll miss it terribly, but I know NYC isn't going anywhere (Yeah Sandy, even you can't take us down.). And luckily, I’m close enough to come in every so often to get my city-life-fix every now and again. 

Here’s to the road of my art taking yet another turn...

Wednesday, October 31, 2012



“3a: a group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation: FELLOWSHIP” - Merriam-Webster Dictionary

Family has been on my mind a lot recently. I have been trying my best to pick out every moment when "family" bubbles forward amidst everything else going on, to mash-up and feel through the folds of my mind.


Earlier this month, my former a cappella group, the infamous Middlebury College Bobolinks, came to New York City for their fall tour. That rainy Monday night, I sat in those very straight pews at a Brooklyn Heights cathedral, next to Bobolinks-past, gleaming a smile wide enough to reach faraway lands and bright enough to blind the darkest places of your mind. It was a mixture of seeing the Freshmen from my Senior year being the leaders, still knowing backgrounds to songs, and seeing a whole new group with other stories where I once stood. 

I am able to proudly state that I am a Bobolink-Super Fan. Maybe it has something to do with this feeling that I took advantage of this family at Middlebury; the Bobos were always the ones I was ditching for whatever else was happening. Yet, they never let me go, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

As I joined their post-concert festivities, I worried that I would be sent to outskirts. I was obviously going to be unable to keep up with all the newness, all the changes that occur when unfamiliar members come in semester after semester. And there I sat, amongst the same Bobolink family from my own college years. The group seemed to barely have changed, and I only really knew 25% of the current members. I was shocked, but didn’t think about it too much and enjoyed the escape the Bobos provided for my evening. 

The good things will never change in a family. That’s what I saw here. 


After every theatre experience, it almost seems custom to tell everyone in the process, “Now, don’t you become a stranger! We MUST hang out and keep in touch when we’re back in the city.”

Well, that just doesn’t happen.  

But with CLOC, it has been different. My NYC-CLOC family has been by far the most supportive group. They’re just always there; it’s almost like I can’t get rid of them. Are they following me? I mean, we never have to catch up because we see each other so often...

All joking aside, it’s mind-boggling that we could affectively bring our experience of our summer, being together 24/7, back to this city of cancelled coffee dates, unclearly busy work schedules, and passing moments of connection. 

Then there are those few CLOC-adoon-ers away from the city who continue to be present in my ever-awakening experiences here. Those special individuals that support from away, giving me strength like none other. It’s hard to believe how someone from hours away can be the one who gives the most clarity to the hardest of situations at hand. I can’t understand how it’s possible, yet it continues. So I stop questioning and start thanking.  

Simply be there for everyone in your family; always be taking more time to appreciate everyone’s talents and moments. That’s what I’m seeing here. 


Everyone has their own definition of family. Mine will continue to evolve, and I look forward to each stepping stone upward. 

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Sandy brings something...

Sandy really struck a chord with me. Not a good one necessarily, but a chord. 


There was something bitter-sweet about this storm:

I couldn’t - can’t - get anything done. Transportation is out. It's hard to get a hold of people. Storm’s pressure still floats in air, tense. 

But last night I fell asleep at 9:30 and didn’t wake up till 8 this morning. Eyes glued themselves, stitched. 

There was nothing to do but let my inability to do anything take over. And it did, in sleep.

The past weeks have been... They’ve been like... Well... 

It’s been a spans of weeks where you feel like everything was just a bit off; nothing went exactly as how you planned, but close to. Not horribly off, more similar to a nagging itch. Or an eye twitch. It’s actually more like an eye twitch when I think about it. A big one.

There’s so much going on, and I haven’t shared it here at all. Sure, I could spout some guilt about how I haven’t updated in a long time, but whatever that’s meant for just doesn’t make sense for me. Here and now at least. 

So, I’ll start writing about what I’ve been doing and thinking of as I’m stuck here in my apartment. And for whoever reads, for whatever reason you read, I hope it brings something. Just something. That’s all I ask: have something appear to you. 

Stay tuned. More to come in the next few days.

Sandy... You’re a bitch, but thank you for making me sit down and truly see, or is it see something true?

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

End and Death.

Endings are always a jolt for me.  
News of a death never seems real.
It takes days,
an intricate weave of events,
to see what has happened.
Form of denial?
Most likely.

As I thaw in days passing,
a decompression
of some sorts,
truths suddenly sparkle within.
Always known,
never seen -  

An end is a kind of death.
A death is a kind of end.
Both finite feeling.
A blunt edge. 
A steep-dropping cliff.
A fog-ridden grove.
So, when an end and a death met me last Saturday night
I moved on, 
unable to see, 
unable to want to see.

How can I put
everything I saw,
everything I wanted,
everything I learned,
everything I felt, 
for you
to read
and residually feel?

I can’t,
and I won’t try.
It’s not because I don’t want you to know,
to be a part,
to see my experience...
It’s just impossible.
Well, as impossible as that finite feeling...

Ends and deaths are never finite,
on a larger scale
that is.
We always move forward from both,
taking what we saw,
what we wanted,
what we learned,
what we felt.

My time at CLOC was a blessing.

My Gramps was the strongest man.

My memories of both will throw me forward.

A future awaits.
Opening up to so many possibilities. 
Chipping through the fear to do just this,
to be brave enough,
to let down guards,
to glimpse toward unseen futures.
Past those cliffs.
Through the groves.

There are gonna be a lot of changes soon.
So I’m gonna keep thawing,
letting the natural times un-clamp my being.


Thank you to the absolutely wonderful staff, cast, and crew of the College Light Opera Company’s 2012 season for opening my eyes to a whole new world. You are all family now. 

Thank you to my amazing Gramps, the “Cranky Yankee” filled with the softest and most huggable marshmallow fluff under his tough gruff. Thank you for showing me what it means to be Beeman.