Chatzy.

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."

"Ok."

"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!

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...

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. 

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" 
http://www.publictheater.org/component/option,com_shows/task,view/Itemid,141/id,1057

"Sorry"
http://www.publictheater.org/component/option,com_shows/task,view/Itemid,141/id,1056

"Giant"
http://www.publictheater.org/component/option,com_shows/task,view/Itemid,141/id,1059

"The Whale"
http://www.playwrightshorizons.org/shows/plays/whale/

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...

Family.

Family.

“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. 

Sandy brings something...

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

Snap. 

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?