Les temps sont durs pour les rêveurs.

Dreams haven't been the best lately. It's somewhat disheartening as I am someone who finds refuge in dreams. Often I dream of work I'll someday create with that imaginary performance art company that I'll magically run... eventually. Other times I dream of places I've visited, Puerto Mont and it's beautiful lakes, Italy and it's romantic cobble stone streets- embracing my craziness as I sing while I creep my way around the city. Recently, it's as if the dream fairy has taken a vacation and left Dr Macabre in charge, with full reign to concoct what he may with my already twisted mind. Lately, my dreams have been quite ominous.

I dreamt of San Francisco, the city I currently reside in, and of all it's magic and splendor. There was suddenly a tsunami warning and we all had to evacuate. The feeling was not quite what one would expect. I remember being calmed and wondering what would happen. As I made my way to the top of twin peaks, I found the water was climbing with me. It was completely crystalline and incredibly beautiful. I was a few steps away from the top of twin peaks (which had transformed into coit tower), I looked around and saw the entire city under a calm clear ocean of water. It was as if the city had been submerged in a clear drop of water and it was sitting still, waiting for something to happen. The water caught up with my feet and I played a bit with the water. Then I drowned.

I knew I had died because I was talking to my mother a few seconds later, naked, toweling my self off and telling her everything was going to be just fine. There wasn't any pain or bashfulness at being nude, it was just what it was.

I was sitting at the family's ranch in Mexico, holding a heart shaped flask I had seen earlier that day at Urban Outfitters. I had gloves on but no other sort of protection from the cold winters that can happen in Juarez- in fact, I'm not even sure if it was winter.

It began to rain, and I remember this quite clearly, it rained like the sky was falling one drop at a time. Each raindrop clearer than the other, coming down to the ground in a diagonal path towards me. Naturally, I ran under an awning to take cover (because every Mexican family ranch has an awning... right?). Lightning began to strike and turned the rainy afternoon into what seemed a dark day with flashes of a sunny afternoon. After the brightest lightning hit the ground, the wall that determines the perimeter of our ranch became see through, as if pulverized by a tremendous fire that consumed the city that laid beyond it.

Meanwhile, I stood under an awning watching everything happen.

Mexican's and their food

So I woke up at 4:45 in the morning with a stomachache. I was dreaming that I was working at the restaurant, carrying a bunch of plates. I look down at the plates I was carrying and they suddenly turned into a collaged image of dirty plates made out of oddly sized triangles. In sepia. My mouth watered, my stomach churned and I thought “don’t throw up. You’re asleep. No, really, don’t you dare throw up. Just walk it out girl! Walk it out. That’s right, that’s right, you’ve eaten some weird shit in your life, just stay asleep and work. It. Out. You’ve got a long ass day tomorrow and….” I was awake. the thought of getting up and writing crossed my mind. “are you out of your mind?! It’s 4:56 am!” I tossed in bed. My mouth watered and my stomach churned. I sighed, got out of bed and reluctantly made some tea. peppermint tea. Now I have to wait for the tea to brew and cool down a bit so I can drink it. I guess I’ll write.

Mom would’ve made me chamomile or 7 blossoms tea- what does that even mean? 7 blossoms? It makes me think of concubines running around in the flowery midst of cherry blossom petals. Giggling in super high pitched voices saying “hehehehe so sorry, so sorry” yeah, so sorry you got a stomach ache bitch! And now you have to drink some stupid tea that reminds you of concubines. I shouldn’t have had that pizza.

My stupid stomach always gets me in trouble; it runs in the family. I remember when my mom got cancer the first time. They took out her colon and somehow the doctor rewired her insides so that she didn’t have one of those little baggies that some people who have their colons removed use to go to the bathroom. The doctors were like “you have to be very careful with what you eat.” A few weeks after the surgery, she was back to eating hardcore tacos, burritos, tortas and tamales. We’re from Mexico. She was like “I guess I’m recovered because my appetite is back!” To this day if she gets a migraine she’ll stop eating. But as soon as I see her reach into the fridge for something, I’ll know she’s doing better… much better.

Mexican people and their food I tell you. I used to watch a lot of tv when I was a kid. One of my memories from my early years of marathon television watching is a commercial the government used to air, I guess to educate people but it said something along the lines of “ooooh, we’re Mexican and have amaaaaaazing foood! Look at this sauce, it’s not just a sauce! It takes three days to make! And not only does it take three days to make, but it was originally made by nuns! And not only was it originally made by nuns, but it has chocolate in it! THAT’S RIGHT! CHOCOLATE!” my 7 year old mouth watered as they showed pictures of pestles and mortars with tomatoes and peppers. I begged my grandmother to make the nun-invented sauce and she did. And I was in heaven. And I was still 7. And I pictured my grandmother dressed as a nun making this sauce. Decades later I found out that all grandma did was open a jar of paste and added water to make that delicious sauce. I tried to do it myself once but it turned out awful. I guess I didn’t inherit the nun-like ability to open jars my grandmother had, but I did get the ability to eat everything that comes my way.

Grandma could cook, man. In a way that grandmas only can. And as a product of her cooking, I got to see many things that, well, I really didn’t want to see. I remember one time, I must have been 8, we were at the family’s ranch- and by we I mean me and all 20 members of my extended family- along with chickens, gees, horses, corn, and an apple tree that tried very hard to give fruit but never quite succeeded. As it’s bound to happen when groups of people get together- hunger came and for some reason no one packed any food. And we were in the middle of a dessert with a barren apple tree, so we were like “fuck.” The adults looked at us kids and said, “kids, go catch a chicken.” And we did. We ran around for like an hour, 12 kids, trying to catch one chicken. We weren’t very smart.

When we finally caught the chicken, we brought it to my uncle, who very patiently tied it’s legs, grabbed it by the head, and proceeded to whirl it around until it’s neck broke and he was left with the chicken’s head in his hand and it’s body was on the floor. He must have not tied that poor chicken’s legs tight enough because the headless chicken’s body started running around, flapping it’s wings and sprouting rivers of chicken blood EVERYWHERE. I puked.

After my mom and one of my aunts took the chicken, hung it upside down to drain all the blood and plucked it’s feathers they handed it to my grandmother. By then, one of my uncles had started a fire, and grandma cooked the chicken. I guess she found some tomatoes or something and made some stew or something. I don’t know, I checked out after the blood spouting headless chicken part. It was a cousin’s birthday so someone had baked a cake- why there was cake but no actual food is still beyond me. That chicken fed everyone. It was like we were in bible times and grandma was Jesus, doling out bread and fish that never ran out, but instead of bread and fish it was freshly killed chicken stew.

somebody get me a wagon i wanna get on it!

'tis 5 am and i have rehearsal at 9... 45. i woke up with a strange feeling. i don't know what it's called, but it felt like my sheets were sticking to me, i was over heating, my stomach was about to explode and i was slowly sinking through the mattress. i could've sworn i heard a little voice waaaaaaay out into the distance screaming "water me!" it might have been my dehydrated body, i don't know. after fighting that odd sinking, sticking feeling i decided to get up and drink some water, empty my stomach and do it all without fully waking up so that i could fall back asleep. needless to say, i failed. 

i began to think of the night's conversation, how it involved catching up with an old, dear friend. we talked about exes, life, artistic fulfillment, finances, careers and love. what else do you ever talk about, really? all over a table full, and i mean FUUULLL  of yummy food and good conversationalists, or at least listeners. at one point she said "you're always getting involved in a million projects that don't pay anything" to which i replied, "they're starting to pay a little more." a statement that is true, but for some reason, leaves me with an odd feeling. she said "things seem to really be happening for you" and i felt even weirder. i'm wondering, is this really going to happen? am i actually climbing a latter that will lead me somewhere in the tear of performance artists? i mean, this shit doesn't happen. you only read about it: "so and so saw me in this and decided to cast me in such and such and now i'm getting my oscar." it's a fairy tale. 

i was speaking with my mother and she said "you're going to go places, but you need to keep your feet on the ground." what does that involve i wonder? i suppose never becoming a diva and always keeping your head on your shoulders (a term equally as vague but for some reason decrypting enough for the sentence's purpose). i also suppose it means staying away from drugs and alcohol- something i've failed to do. perhaps it means thanking everyone you work with and always acknowledging that every experience is a learning experience, no matter how old and wise you get. 

so i'm making a checklist: 

stay sober

don't be a diva

thank everyone

learn from everyone

be kind and helpful 

is this really the key to success? 

back to dinner. i'm getting paid more and working with people that know a lot more than i do. and i swear to god the following words just blurted out of my mouth "and here i am drinking my life away on a work night" to which my friend replied "we all do it." suddenly memories of peer-pressure-filled teenage years come flooding to my mind. is this what makes the difference between successful individuals and people who give up their calling? a certain deviance from the "everyone is doing it" norm? i'm suddenly reluctant to be successful. i like drinking. i like drug-ing. is there a balance? i wonder. 

for now, i'll get on a wagon. it should do me ok. maybe two? three weeks? save some money and keep my body watered. what a concept! 

prop eight-ing

Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet. I’m probably thinking “tomorrow I’ll wake up and there will be an appeal” or “there’s no reason to be upset, you didn’t loose anything, you didn’t have anything.” It’s true. We’re not losing anything that we had. I couldn’t get married three years ago, and I still can’t; I suppose what’s troublesome is the outright denial. Prior to the past few years, marriage wasn’t an option. We, the community, would only think about the day when the discussion of this right was a possibility. That day came and people spoke their minds. People voted and we were sent back to square one.

 

My question is, who are these people? Are they our teachers? Our doctors? Our day care providers? The people we trust will influence our lives in a positive manner? I guess my question is “how does this happen?” How is it that someone can say “you are not right, your existence is not right. But mine is.” What baffles me is much of this finger pointing comes from religious views, Christian based views. If a belief system that is meant to teach love and acceptance is the primary backer of segregation and discrimination, does it loose it’s validity? Does the entire belief system become a fallacy?

 

I’m not trying to sound accusatory; I’m trying to understand. Where do all these opposing views come from? What are they rooted in? How are they still alive? Is it fear? Because if people are afraid of going to hell, there are worse things going on that will send you directly there… if it even exists.

 

I’m not mad. I’m sorry. I feel sorry for those people who are holding on to an ideal that is unreasonable and quite damaging. For the people that are blinded by the way a human being interprets text. For the people that can’t see how much their ignorance is hurting innocent people who only want to live their lives.

 

How does this happen? How do you deny someone the right to seek happiness? 

6 am music

though i'm a fan of blogging, doing it at random and somewhat ridiculously early hours in the morning is getting kind of old. honestly. insomnia= not a friend. 

26 going on 30

i was at rehearsal the other day when someone asked my age. "26" i replied. my response was followed by gasps and an array of "you're so young" and "what a baby" garnished with a single  "you come of as more mature". i was amused... i think. 

though i'm fully aware that i'm the youngest person in the group (both age wise and professionally), i thought that being over the age of 25 automatically granted you an avoid-all-humorous-yet-possibly-offensive-age-remarks card. apparently it doesn't. then i heard whom i think is the oldest dancer in the group say "i'm so glad i'm out of my twenties" which was followed by a chorus of "amen!" and "say here! say here!" he went on to say "i spent my twenties getting over my teens, my thirties figuring my self out and now i'm glad i finally made it to my forties. don't get me wrong, great things happened in my twenties and thirties, but i would not re-live them for all the money in the world". someone else said, "i was always told, 'you'll love your thirties' but now that i'm almost done with them i can't wait to get to my forties". 

i couldn't help to feel a strong sense of pessimism stemming from my elder coworkers. 

i began to think of my 25th birthday. i was in NYC, alone with one friend. the second the clock turned midnight, i felt a change happen. i left the realm of my early twenties and ventured into the realm of adulthood. from 25 to 26 not much change, then things started clicking into place. finances became a bit clearer, parties, dinners, dates became quite fancier. suddenly instead of getting tanked at a dive, i get tanked at the opening night gala of the san francisco ballet (and dive bars). 

i remember having a conversation revolved around the way people changed over the years with a friend. we both agreed that we're in completely different places than we were at 21- and we thanked god for it. there are things that i remain unable to shake off- like the insecurities brought by my first love and that undying love for fruit loops and watermelon blow pops. are we meant to shake off our past and move forward? though they seem innocent, blow pops and fruit loops can lead to diabetes, just the way that relationship hang ups can lead to chronic relationship disfunctionaltitis.

i remember when i was younger, i used to be able to get out of bed and tackle an 18 hr day with three hours of sleep under my belt. it wasn't a big deal, "i'll sleep when i'm dead" i'd say. as time passed i became less able to tackle difficult tasks like sleeplessness. i became unable to function and eventually gave in and forced my self to make time to sleep. the exact same thing happened with relationships. i'm suddenly more careful- trying not to like the person instead of going balls to the wall and being completely honest. i've discovered the realm of "taking things slow" which is still unclear to me. 

what is there to be careful about? as we get older, do our emotional needs increase as well as our physical ones? so i need 8 hours of sleep a night. does that equate to 2 sleep overs a week in relationship talk? if everything else in life seems to be settling into place, why this aspect is more confusing than ever is way beyond me. maybe i'll figure this out in my thirties. 

"you know i don't mean it like that" (1 am music)

i remember when i first moved to san francisco. i was 18, leaving a close-ish-knit family circle that revolved around family dinners and religion. still uncomfortable with my english speaking skills, i graduated high school, came out and convinced my self that san francisco was the right move for me- the promised land for newly initiated gay men. 

i had just become aware of the term "that' so gay" when i left LA nearly 8 years ago- i was a late bloomer. the negativity engraved within that statement can be described as unmeasurable. it didn't take me long to figure that out. though i understood the negative connotations implied by "that's so gay" i was a bit confused. i kept thinking, "i'm not that" meaning, i'm not dumb, poor of quality nor a bad idea. perhaps my community is? 

i will admit, there are things that are "gay". 

wearing rainbow feather boas during pride weekend: yup, pretty gay. 

singing along to la cage aux folles: quite gay.

rocking out by your self to gloria gaynor's "i will survive" in your underwear: well, yes, quite gay.

come to think of it, all of the things that i've mentioned are things SOME gay people do, not all. and even if we all did these activities, are they so wrong? i'm curious to know what's wrong with them. 

i've often tried to explain the inner upheaval that happens whenever i hear such phrase. some say that you have to be one to name one- meaning; you have to be gay to call another gay man a "fag" or to label something as "gay" (i.e. "that's gay"). what a silly double standard, right? if a word is to be banned, it should be banned in it's entirety, not just in certain social circles. finally, after years of analyzing and contemplating why some people get away with using offensive language with the "i don't mean it like that" excuse, i've come to the realization that no straight man has been hurt or humiliated by the word "faggot" the same way a gay man has. 

it's been hard to not take it personal throughout the years. it could be very easy to reverse the roles and replace gay with something that is personal to the individual using it. saying "that's so fat!" as my newly appointed offender with a weight problem stuffs his/her face with a super burrito seems, not comparable but equally as offensive. 

i keep thinking, "i must be the bigger person" and "they've told me they don't really mean it like that" but even if it's not meant like "that", the fact of the matter is that offensive words are still being used. 

what a difference a drink makes.

i've always though of my self as a person who is determined, usually set on what he wants and works hard to achieve it. follows rules quite well (or at least tries to). i have a rule of not shitting where you eat. it's simple, blunt and not very easy to follow. in several instances i've managed to put my emotions on the line to stick to this rule. just like in several occasions i've managed to fuck this up. 

i recall once, after a long drunken night, i spent the night with someone i was in a show with. for some reason it escalated to a near full blown relationship and i felt like, well, shit. the situation resolved to an incredible tension back stage, and an incredibly fake relationship on stage- not a professional situation to be involved in. 

i have been in some show-derived relationships that survived the production's run. they usually dissolve as we begin to know each other outside of a show, out of character. 

i will admit, not every breakage of this rule has been futile. one of the relationships i've learned the most from derived from a "showmance" as i've recently learned to label these intensely charged relationships. we were together for two and a half years, vacationed together, met the parents, lived together, the works. 

a few nights ago, after a shot of robitusin and three vodka drinks, a couple of cast-mates and i hit the castro. you know trouble is coming when three young, single, horny, drunk gay men hit the castro. one thing lead to another and i'm kissing a cast-mate.  

reluctant to part take in another possibly fatal case of "shomance", we decided to have that night be knows as "the night when we got tanked"- it was pretty evident that it was not to be repeated. i preface the following questions not out of infatuation but out of situational thinking. i begin to question, is it ever ok to break your own rules? under what circumstances does something become more than momentary infatuation? naturally, by momentary i mean week, even month long moments. 

on what might seem like an entirely unrelated topic, i have a slight fear of missing out on life, experiences, knowledge. i suppose this is why i will most likely try everything once. i'll speak to strangers and listen to their life stories in order to live vicariously through them. though this vicarious lifestyle, i've managed to re-live pre television times, the chilean military coup of 1973 and even some of the hardships of homelessness (to name a few). when you date someone, you not only learn about a person and his experiences but you also learn about their way of thinking, dealing and even feeling. in essence, your learn to see things in ways you didn't see before. 

i usually don't have a plan of what i'm going to write when i start a blog. there's a general idea, like "showmance" but the final outcome always manages to surprise me. i suppose it's due to the soul searching process of finding the right words to express what one means. after reading, and re reading, this entry (especially the previous paragraph), i'm beginning to think that, for a person who craves life experience, i'm certainly not as open as i should be. this is not to say that i'm considering starting to date people i work with, but perhaps i should be open to the idea of considering it. 

5am music (part deux)

i've been having rather odd dreams lately. they involve friends, cast mates, exes. friend's moms, the works. last night i dreamt that i was on vacation. i suddenly see a cast mate's (who's slowly becoming a friend) mother walking around. she says hello and i replied with a surprised what's up. i carry on with my vacation and run into another cast mate. we kissed. i remember thinking "what's going on here?" it was a rather sexually charged kissed that repeated twice throughout the dream. at one point he jumped in the shower with me at which point i thought "oh, i get it, i'm dating this person in this dream, or at least fucking him". 

i once read somewhere that having sex with someone in a dream means that there's an aspect of that person that you want to develop within yourself. i began to think. what is it? he's a talented actor, a composer, pianist, singer, song writer. it suddenly hit me. i haven't created anything in a while. sure, i'm involved in two dance projects and a show that's up and running. simultaneously, i'm auditioning for dance companies and talent agencies. i'm a "working performer" one would say. the thing is i'm working on other people's work. 

i was woken up at 5 am by tonight's dream- hence the title of this blog,  5 am music. i was watching Edith Piaff sing L'Accordeoniste (one of my favorite songs).  i was dancing to it. not playing the part of the prostitute, but that of the soldier that's off to war, thinking of the love he's left behind. when his love gives up, he dies. i remember thinking that it was the biggest cliche in the world. "torn lover dies following the death of his love". funny how cynical i can be even in my dreams. my cynicism was soon shot down when i began to see specific movement. music playing, this ronde jambe followed by a turn thingy. i don't want to get specific but i liked it. 

the other day i dreamt that i was performing a dance that started off on a 6 inch wide beam suspended 4 feet off the air. i was hanging upside down from it, jumping off it, all kinds of things. maybe i just need to create something. 

here's my beef with creating your own work. you can do other people's work and watch it fail. the responsibility a performer has in that case isn't a risky one as he's just following the director's orders. when a performer creates something that he himself presents, it becomes much more personal. to watch it fail would be lethal i feel. i don't know if i can take it. 

there's also the idea that everything has been done before. everything has been said before.i am a firm believer of this, until i walk into a truly inspiring production and get blown away by the innovation those fuckers had.  i've walked away thinking "man that was new" or "i want to be a part of this project" it's never been "why didn't i think of that?" 

on a non entirely unrelated subject. stephen sondheim once said:

George: I've nothing to say

Dot: You have many things

George: Well, nothing that's not been said

Dot: Said by you, though, George

i almost hate to admit that the man has a point. no one arrives at a masterpiece thinking that everything has been said. or not taking the risk of saying something in their own words. perhaps L'Accordeoniste should come to life? perhaps "Dreamers"? i just don't know if i'm ready. being vulnerable on stage is one thing. opening up your self, your source of inspiration, your visceral feelings for others to read is something completely different. 

6 am music

since being awake in the early hours of the morning seems to be a trend, i figured i'd use it as my writing time. i'm beginning to feel the hang over settle in as my stomach churns it self at the thought of last night's events. so i decide to come out  and enjoy the view of my back porch and write. 

it goes without saying that i was not the only inebriated person. it goes without saying that i wasn't the only inebriated person behind the bar. still, whenever i think of things i said, did, and images i created, i can't help to be a bit amused? mortified? what's the word i'm looking for? oh  yes, embarrassed. it's not like i ended up on top of the bar dancing. oh wait, i did end up on top of the bar (though not dancing thank god, i did hop over it to hug someone). that's not what i'm embarrassed by. i'm not embarrassed by the fact that i ended up making out with someone in front of all my coworkers, or dancing like it was my last night in the castro in the middle of my restaurant. i'm bothered by the fact that i actually ended up in a verbal fight with someone. since when do i fight? 

he was drunk, i was tanked. he said something like "where are you from?" (this is all in spanish by the way)

"mexico" i replied 

"no you're not, you're arabic." 

one thing i've noticed, and often found endearing about many latin american folk (my self included at one point) is the lack of cultural awareness. there usually isn't a term "middle eastern" it's always "arabic". there isn't a "cuban" "nigerian" "african american", it's usually "balck". there usually isn't a "korean" or "japanese" or "vietnamese" "thai" "philipine" or "mien", sadly it's always "chinese". i say sadly, not out of lack of respect to the chinese culture,  but out of lack of respect to every other culture with slanted eyes. i digress. 

"you're not mexican, you're arabic" is where i left off with the story. sure, why not, i'll take that as a compliment. i said, "ha ha, no, i've actually got a nopal tattooed on my forehead." to which we shared a hearty laugh. "nopal? what nopal? you're a fucking terrorist!" 

something else one should know about some members of the latin community (my step father included) is that generalizations are often made carelessly. i recall being outraged when i heard 

my step father complain about having to stand out in the sun during his workday. he told his boss "i'm not a taliban member, you can't have me out in the sun and not give me a break to get a drink of water." a totally valid point, one should not be forced to work in the southern california summer without liquids, but at the same time what?!?!?! where did the taliban get involved wit all this? how did cultural awareness get lost in translation? 

so i get called a terrorist. it was as if someone had flipped a switch. i became enraged, even though i often joke about being a terrorist. i recall saying "you need to get the fuck out of here" and "i'm done with you, get the fuck out of here". terrorism is just such a touchy subject. i firmly believe it gets tossed around a little too lightly in this country. you don't call someone a terrorist when for the past 7 years this country has been living in fear of terrorism and using it as a crutch to destroy other countries and  the lives of innocent people who we've deemed "terrorists". 

i looked up the word terrorist and i got the following definition: "a person who uses terrorism in the pursuit of political aims". hmmm. 

being called a terrorist based on my looks makes me wonder, what makes someone a terrorist? is it brown skin? dark hair? a beard? all of those put together? beware, if you see someone that looks like this: 

you might be facing a terrorist. 

in the midst of the fury of juan, i turned around and said "you better learn a country's language before you go and demand rights from it". what a fucking asshole right? who am i to say that? that's what i'm embarrassed about. not the argument, not the over reaction, but the fact that i lowered myself to an uneducated level and threw a low blow right back at him. i unleashed at him for using a term that he didn't fully understand. i thought the past six years of college and 25 grand in debt taught me better. 

god i hope i get it

i got a call from the audition that i had a while back. no, it's not for a chorus line, it's theme song just happens to be playing non stop in my head. 

THEY WANT TO HAVE ANOTHER CALL BACK! ah! why don't they just tell me no already!?! "there's a few of you that i want to see again in a week or so" she said. and then it will be another dreaded audition. only it will be different this time. the first time i went to this audition, i didn't really care whether i got in or not. i had no idea what their work process was like, i didn't know what the project was going to be. i took it like a random dance class. this time around, however, i want to get the job. i want to be hanging off a 2nd story window off a building in the mission. i want to be challenged at rehearsal... ahhh!. 

i often wonder why i chose this career path. most career paths have a very specific currency. banking has money, doctors have drugs, actors/dancers have emotions. we often don't get paid for what we do, yet we expose ourselves and become vulnerable on stage in way that many people don't ever experience. to top it off, we spend our career opening our selves up to rejection through every audition. it really is fucked up. 

then there's the waiting period, between auditioning and hearing the casting. you've auditioned, poured your self out on that stage and then you have to wait. a day? a week end? a week? during that week, i spend most of the time going over the audition and thinking of every possible reason why they would or would not take me. i think of the competition and somehow forget any mistakes they might have made. for some reason everyone else is incredibly amazing and much more likely to be cast. i usually follow this thought by crawling under a blanket with a pint of rocky road ice cream and watch auntie mame. "DAAAAAAAAAARLIN'!!"

every now an then a miracle happens. you do the audition and feel the casting director smile, lean over to the director and whisper. you know you've got it. you walk out of the audition and it's almost like the ground is made of squishy fluffyness. it's almost like floating. so you go home and treat your self to a glass of wine, or a bottle. 

5am music

i had an audition yesterday. i felt i did great, honestly. when i interviewed with everyone else, they said i was "one of the favorites of the group" to which i replied with a napoleon dynamite style "yessssssss". up to that point, i didn't realize anyone still quoted napoleon dynamite (except me, when driven to near insanity by my nerves). the audition lasted four hours. yes, four hours. and was followed by an hour break used as shower and travel to work time. 

while at work: 

• a customer (who i couldn't understand when he spoke) knocked a tray of icy drinks over and spilled them over me. i made sure that his dish had the mushrooms he requested to be taken off. 
• a customer accidentally tapped my crotch. he was sitting with his hand on the edge of the table (perfect crotch level) as i squeezed between his and another table in order to speak with them. after taking their order, he moved his hand and tapped my penis. he realized it, i ignored it and carried on.

work was over and i was glad to go home. to bed. i striped off my uniform and crawled up to the nestyness of my timber nest. that was 5 hours ago. 

i reluctantly opened my eyes half an hour ago, stared into the darkness of my room and said "no way this is happening".  my body is tired, possibly dehydrated and i had every intention of taking full advantage of the stillness that 4:30 am offers. i guess that's not what i was supposed to be doing at the time. i was swarmed with thoughts.

i had no intention of going to that audition yesterday. however, after interviewing with  the company, i found that i really want the job. is it because they told me i was one of their favorites? did they say that to everyone to make them feel good about themselves? and did they all buy into it as much as i did? after doing grad school auditions earlier this year, i promised my self that i wouldn't seek validation to do my art from auditions. i find quitting smoking easier than acquiring self confidence out of nowhere. 

another thought. what if something momentous is happening to someone i care for? i think of friends (one in particular) going through difficult moments. could he possibly be awake hoping someone would call? i keep thinking about family members that are hundreds and thousands of miles away.   is there a sort of connection between us that would alert me if something was going on? we see it in movies all the time. the car crash will happen, someone twenty million miles away will wake up abruptly from a sound sleep. hopefully there are  no car crashes going on. 

maybe i'm meant to write this blog at the moment. 

it's funny how everything is different when done at 5 am. the siren going off in the distance has a different sense of urgency. even the music that comes from my toned down computer speakers has a very different air to it. it's the same music i listen to all the other times but it sounds different. maybe it's the millions of reasons why music would be listened to at this volume at this specific time of the morning: the quiet start of a day, of a week; the sounds score to long night of conversation that's not going to end any time soon; a never ending shuffled itunes; or waking up from a crazy day and needing time to wind off- five hours after going to sleep. 

falling slowly- glen hansard and marketa irglova, once

jigsaw falling into place- radiohead, in rainbows

famous flower of manhattan- the avett brothers, four thieves gone

bond to get caught- playradioplay!, the frequency ep

if you find yourself caught in love- belle and sebastian, dear catastrophe waitress. 

i'll shoot the moon- tom waits, the black raider

bewitched, bothered, and bewildered- ella fitzgerald, the best of the...

a woman left lonely- janis joplin, pearl

lo noto- hombres g, peligrosamente juntos

poses- rufus wainwright, poses

it could be sweet- portishead, dummy

Stupid Move!

so i've started taking lizz roman's class saturday morning's at ODC dance commons. i've come to realize that her class is everything but easy. 

i took her class las week, not remembering that it's two hours. an hour and fifteen minutes into it, after grudgingly realizing that i was in for a two hour class, i nearly fainted. as i gasped for air, she demonstrated an inverted move. she explained: 

"in order to do these kind of moves, you have to use your body. listen to your body. if you dance by imitating shapes, you'll realize that you may not be strong enough to hold them. you've got to give in to the weight of the move, let your weight guide you in and out of the move, on and off the floor" 

my lightheaded self tried very hard to grasp this new age concept. 

"if you try to muscle through something", she said as she began to do a very good bad demonstration, "you will fall out of it" and she did. quite hard. "OW!" she said "stupid move!" the class erupted in communal laughter. 

a couple of hours/days later, when i finally caught my breath, i began to think of all the times that i've said "stupid move" and how simple it is to blame my mistakes on other things. situations, people, stubbornness. how different would life be if one took every situation as it comes and uses the momentum of life to deal with whatever challenge might come? it could very possibly be like landing in shit and coming up with diamonds on a more regular basis. 

Ballet

"In a 1975 study published in the Journal of sports medicine, Dr. James 'Nick the Knife' Nicholas- the former team physician for the New York Jets, Rangers, and Knicks- conducted a battery of 18 'neuromuscular, physical, mental and psychometric' exams on a bevy of athletes. He ranked ballet as the most physically and mentally taxing activity among 61 sports; pro football came third. Ranked no. 2: bullfighting."