I realized when I wanted to write about today that I tend to only note days or occurrences that I find or found negative.  I want to write more about days that are so damn good, I can hardly keep myself from giggling.  This, however, is not one of those.  Sorry. 

Things started a bit out of whack.  I awoke at 8 in the morning to get rid of some of the beer from the previous night's consumption (which was at the Lollapalooza after party), then went back to sleep.  My eyes did not open fully again until they blurrily read the time clock saying "12:15pm...get your ass out of your bed."  Feeling ashamed that my alarm clock was scolding me and I was agreeing with it, I rolled out of bed and started some coffee.  I had a bowl of cereal.  I checked my email.  I mentally prepped myself for my audition that I had at 4: 30.  I looked at the clock again to see that, of course, I needed to get going quicker than I thought, having slept so damn late.  I readied myself and got out the door, my audition apparel adorned, and made my way to the bus for work. 

I got to work with time to spare.  I changed into my uniform and attended the pre-shift meeting where I scored a 100% on a play-acting scenario displaying proper guest service.  Confident about my guest-service wherewithal, I took the drive out front with readiness.  That was the peak of the day.

My audition was slotted at 4:30.  My plan was to hit the bell closet at 4: 05, change into my audition garb, clock out at 4:10, and hurry to the audition, which was only about 4 blocks from where I work.  I would audition, in and out, and hurry back to work, change back into my uniform in the bell closet, and clock back in exactly a half hour after I clocked out.  Haha.  I figured I'd have to over do it by about 10 minutes or so.  I figured my plan was not fool-proof but I still felt confident I could get things executed in a timely manner.

I arrived at the audition at 17 after 4.  By the time the group in the audition room was done, it was 25 after.  By the time they called the next group in, it was 4:30.  I had 10 minutes.  I heard my name in the on-deck group, so I knew it would be longer than half an hour to get clocked back in on time.  I called work and informed them of my imminent tardiness. 

By 5, I was panicking.  I had called work at ten 'til and they were not happy.  I had been on the phone with my manager, one of the cool managers, I might add, and she was not happy.  I had, after all, been missing from work for 45 minutes.  I did my best to appologize thouroughly but I could hear her dissappointment with me loud and clear.  I was sure I would be written up and I still had no concept of how much longer I would be at the audition.  I finally got called in at 5:10, an hour after I'd clocked out from work. 

I did my best to put my fear of losing my job and getting talked to by management aside as I walked into the camera room.  Though I feel confident that I took direction well and went with things in a good way, I did not feel great about the auditors' reactions compared to the others in the audition room.  It was for an Illinois Department of Transportation commercial that I'm pretty sure is about people with DUI's trying to hide their loser status.

By the time I got back to work, it was 5:30, almost an hour and a half after I departed.  It was a busy day.  The bellmen were backed up.  The valets were doing my job and theirs.  My manager wasn't even looking at me when I gave my sweaty appologies, damn near kneeling down and pleading.  I don't think she looked at me the entire rest of the night.  I returned to the front drive dissappointed in the turn of events and my opinions of the audition itself.  I was aggravated by my circumstances.  The sun was lasering down the street I work on, like normal, only it had rained earlier, which made the humidity soar.  Having not eaten since after I got up, I started pathetically getting weak.  I knew I wouldn't really have a chance to eat again, considering I had just taken an hour and a half long lunch break for my audition.  I was just in a condemned mood, so to say.

Clouds barred the sun from yanking sweat out of me eventually, making me smile in relief.  The night had started going smoothly.  I had a few car holds I was sitting on and had been doing decently tip-wise.  The calm lasted only a short while.  Then I heard a voice over a loud-speaker.  Though I couldn't make out what was being said, a guest having a cigarette told me that it was someone saying that a huge storm was coming and that it included a tornado warning.  That's when I saw the police car driving by on Michigan Ave., lights going and a loudspeaker on the top.  I looked at the sky to the West and saw not black clouds, oh no.  I saw Purple clouds, purple in a deep shade.  Behind and amidst those clouds were constant flits of lightning, timing at about 7 seconds apart.  That's when I got worried.

About 15 minutes later, it wasn't really raining.  Rather, I'd say that the air was just being water for a while.  The wind was so intense, a half-filled large bottle of water was blowing down the street.  The lightning was so constant and loud, I felt like the city was under attack.  I could see bolts just beyond buildings in my sight.  The thunder didn't crack; it abruptly growled.   With Mother Nature wearing an early Satan Halloween costume, tornado sirens in the distance and firetruck sirens going off every 5 minutes, I thought the world was ending.  

Finally, the death surrounding us let up...a bit.  That's when everyone still standing needed cabs.  Since I'm the guy with the whisle, I'm the guy to know.  I was running up and down the street, my metrosexual hairstyle flattened to my scalp, my uniform drenched as if I were I were taking a shower clothed, and my useless unbrella pulling my wet arms and hands every which way.  The best part was that while the tips were generous, there were still people stiffing me...and they knew it.  I could tell by their over-done running-through-the-rain hurried-ness.  A forced "wheuggh" or "aarrhg" is a dead givaway too.  At one point, I'd been playing in the rain for 10 minutes trying to find a cab for a guy.  When I finally found one, he did that over-exemplary run and damn near leapt into the cab right past me.  I broke the ground rules for professionalism and irritatedly said "oh you son of a" as I closed the door.  He was looking out the back window at me as the cab drove off.

Things weren't too bad after that.  I just walked around in wet shoes for a couple of hours.  The other blow was when it stormed just as bad as it had the first time...right when I was trying to leave.  I had to wait out the storm, thereby making me miss for the first time the Columbinus karaoke night.  They only come once a month and it's been a tradition since the first go-around during rehearsals.  The first Monday of every month.  The karaoke guy has the best damn list ever.  They know us there now. 

Surprisingly, I'm not in a horrendous mood.  I'm not in the best of moods, but I'm not too bad.  I'm hoping the repercussions of my hour-and-a-half disappearance from work aren't too bad.  I'm obviously hoping that the audition itself didn't go as bad as I perceived it.  I'm hoping tomorrow is a better day.  I'm sure it will be.

It caught me recently that I have reached that stage in life where I don't have that sense of home anymore.  Until I live in an apartment that has more than one room to live in; one in which I can comfortably recieve guests, I cannot have that sense!  I have a "home" in which I sleep comfortably at night and reside in outside of daily life.  It's home but it's not.

It is because of this realization that my most recent trip to St. Louis meant more to me than many of the past.  In this trip, instead of going with the flow of things for 4 days then realizing there was more I wanted to do, I had a plan.  The focal point of this plan was seeing an old friend of mine get married.  The outer layers found themselves rather easily.

My initial itinerary was to be on a train first thing Thursday morning.  That would put me in St. Louis just after 12:30p.  It virtually gave me an extra day.  I changed that itinerary when a friend called me on Wednesday night and asked me if I wanted to do a photo shoot in his stead for the cover of this upcoming week's New City.  I couldn't turn that down, so I had to rebook my trip!  It all worked out rather well in the long run.  I wound up getting a round-trip fare on Megabus for 38 bucks.  You can't beat that. 

On Thursday morning, I took the long bus trip/cab ride to a studio on the West side.  There, I met the photographer, whom I'd actually met about half a year prior.  The shoot went well and I'm excited to see the paper!  My friend hooked me up.  Jacob Ware, you're awesome.  I hope all is well with you.

I got into St. Louis at 11:30 that night.  I was able to read a copy of the play I'm auditioning for on Monday during the trip, so it was a decent ride.  I crashed at my dad's house after he showed me his progress on the basement. (It's almost a different place now!  He's done a lot of good repairs and refurbishing.)

Dad took a half-day at work on Friday so that he could spend the day with me, so I spent the morning over at my sister's apartment with her and my niece.  We eventually made our way back to my dad's house and had some Imo's...which is a must when going home.  Once my dad got home, we spent the afternoon shooting pool, talking about the state of Anheuser-Busch, the upcoming election (it's typically a bad idea to talk politics with my dad, so that was skipped around as much as possible), and theatre.  I even hopped in the pool for a short while, which is something I haven't done in years. 

The evening proceeded into me driving out to St. Charles to meet up with Anthony.  While out along the river, which, by the way, is largely swollen, I ran into Ken Foster and Dustin Massie; two guys I haven't seen since before I moved to Chicago.  It was really good to see them again, considering much has changed since our last meeting.  Anthony and I had a few beers at Millstream, which, before it burned down, was my favorite bar in St. Louis.  They rebuilt it.  It's even better than it was before.  I wish I could frequent that place. 

Once Anthony and I were satisfied with our how's-life conversations accented by good beer, we headed out and over to Ken's so that I could pick up a copy of the movie we spent 2 years filming 5 years ago.  I actually have a copy of Their Own Fight!  It's been 5 years!  It's nuts to watch, honestly.  Naturally, I hate my performance in it.

No trip to the Lou is complete without a night of college-partying-revisited at Anthony's house, so he, Dustin, and I headed out from Ken's.  After a quick stop at Quick Trip that involved memory flashbacks to the max and Anthony begrudgingly filling his oil tank with newly purchased bottles, we made our way to the house.  The rest of the night involved stories of oldn' days, drinking games, John and Anthony's band, a personal attempt at drums, John Elkins being binded to 2-week slavery, and far, far too many beers.  It was either far too many beers are far too little water before passing out.  My body was not happy with me in the morning...the morning of the wedding I was in town for in the first place.

Kirk and Shannon's wedding was one that will be difficult to forget.  I spent the 30 minutes leading up to the service hoping to God Himself that my peeved stomach and stinging head wouldn't render me unable to see the service.  That was the only hard part, though.  The priest leading the service was one with tact I have never seen before.  The man was the most informal priest I may ever see...and it wasn't a bad thing.  He started the service by shouting, "How's everyone feeling today?" as if it was to mark the beginning of an hour-long motivational speech.  The sermon he delivered was themed around...wait for it...the importance of the bind of marriage.  However, this wasn't some speech torn out of  "Marriage Sermons Made Easy."  The priest made it a point for us to know that he, himself, has been married to the same old redhead for the past 35 years.  His sermon involved words of how, through marriage, two people become one.  These words included phrases such as, "when two people exchange bodily fluids," and references to using pillows, tape, and trapeezes...you can imagine where.  Yes.  A priest talked simply about sexual recreation.  In a church.  During a wedding.  At a wedding whose vow-takers' parents sat right behind them imagining their kids having wild Pulp Fiction sex.  It was quite entertaining.  No one was up-in-arms either.  Everything went off without a hitch...except for the actual marriage.  Bad joke.  I know.

After the wedding, my mom, Shane, my sister, her fiance, and my niece went to Red Lobster.  That was actually an hour and a half of keeping my niece entertained, which was no easy feat.  She's just so damn cute, though!  Tangent: the highlight of the time I got to see my niece was hearing her say Uncle Matt for the first time.  It was really, "Uoddl Met," but that was fine with me.  It was that and witnessing her dip a french fry 3 separate times and get the ketchup virtually everywhere other than her mouth.

After Red Lobster, we made our ways back to my mom's house to kill some time, watch Their Own Fight, play Wii Fit, and relax a bit before the reception. 

The reception itself was a great time.  It was at a place called Windows on Washington, which is downtown next to City Museum.  It was a phenomenal place to have a reception.  They did well.  There was also an open bar, which is always a nice touch.  I got to spend a good portion of the evening with my friend Chad, the groom's older brother (both of whom I've known my entire life), which has become increasingly rare since his marriage and the birth of his beautiful daughter, Jayden.  I've actually known his entire family my whole life, so seeing all of them was a treat as well.  Then, there was Kirk and Shannon, of course, effectively displaying their cause as a married couple very well.  If any two people should be married, these two are them.  It was an evening filled with many laughs, many hugs, and again, many beers.  It was well-worth the trip in.

Today marked a sad day.  My last day in town is always very bittersweet.  Yes, I spend it with my family but that inherently means that I have to say bye to them at some point.  I awoke at my mom's house and spent an hour or two with her and Shane and then had to make the first farewell of the day.  It's never easy to say bye to my mom.  She held up damn well today, though!  ...yes, so my mom and I are close, is there a problem?

From mom's, I headed back to my dad's.  He and I spent the afternoon watching Their Own Fight (it's only an hour long and neither of my parents had seen it yet) and having lunch at Culpepper's in Arnold.  Then, he drove me to Union Station to catch my bus.  Saying bye to dad is never easy either.  I could write a book about my father, but to keep it simple, I always feel bad leaving him.  The man is full of love.

The bus trip home was actually pretty quick.  I got back to my apartment a good hour before I thought I would.  See, I used that word again: home.  I am "home" as it seems.  This apartment is where I feel the most comfortable...in Chicago.  I love living here.  I love the oportunities and the people I meet and the new life I have created for myself here.  Regardless, my true home is 6 hours behind me.  This trip was a bit harder to end.  I had such a good time seeing the people I love; the people that mean the most to me in this world.  I see them so seldomly these days.  I think this one was harder because I don't know when I'll be able to head home again.  It could be a few good months.  I know it was harder because of how much St. Louis has been in my thoughts the past month or so.  I'm always thinking about the state of AB and my dad's job.  I'm always thinking about my niece and watching her be her pleasant self.  I'm always thinking of mom and dad and Britt and how life is treating them.  I always wish I could hang out with my closest friend more often.  The hard part is trying to get my mind off of those people and home itself for the sake of pushing my life forward up here.  That's always the harsh finality of leaving home at the end of a trip; knowing that I have to put it all behind me once I pull back up to Chicago's steps.

I've plenty to look forward to up here, so I'm doing my best to look at that.  I have close friends up here that I love to see, so I'll do that.  I have more auditions to attend.  I have shows to see.  I have the potential of the future to look forward to.  I'm simply feeling the lagging effects of a good trip to that special place I'll never sever: home.

I don't think I can take this shit anymore.  Toward the end of my shift tonight, my pocket still craving more of what was not to come, I started feeling rather down.  I thought about the horrible money I've made in the past 3 weeks.  That lead me to think about the economy.  That lead me to think about the flooding in Iowa.  That lead me to think about the flooding in China.  That lead me to think about the earthquake victims...who are now dealing with floods on top of what they've already been dealing with.  That lead me to think about how much life is kicking our asses right now...which somehow lead me to think about my father and the future of his job.

The truth is, I don't remember the last positive thing I've heard in the news.  I can't remember any news about our presidential candidates that didn't involve the word "criticize."  I can't remember the last time I saw a headline that made me smile.  The truth is, we are being BOMBARDED with negativity.  It's all around us!  It's everywhere.  Our economy is turning into a pile of shit right in front of us.  That matters not to the oil companies, they're doing JUST fine.  Does our president seem to give two shits?  No, not really.  His head is still up the Middle East's ass.  It may be because I haven't caught it in any news, but I haven't heard one statement from Bush on the situation in Iowa that is spreading into other areas of the lower Midwest.  I'm not the first to say this, but I don't think he really CARES about this country.  So, there's that.

So, on top of all of the utterly horrific things going on due to nature taking its course, the greed of corporate big-heads is reaching new heights.  I haven't heard anything in the news about it in Chicago press, but it's everywhere in St. Louis.  InBev is trying to buy out Anheuser-Busch.  When I first heard about this, I didn't think much of it.  I just figured, "hah, it'll never happen," and left it at that.  It wasn't until I talked to my father about it that the reality and danger of it struck me.  InBev is determined to get its hands on AB.  If their "peaceful" offers go unaccepted by the Busches, hostile takover will most likely take place.  This means that InBev will offer AB stock owners ridiculously high price offers to buy the stock.  If they succeed in buying out even half the stock...they own AB.  This scares my father and myself because if InBev takes over, bad things will follow.  It's a long story, one whose details I cannot rightfully recall, but in the end, there is good chance that my father will lose his pension and, slowly but surely, his benefits and that wonderful retirement he's only 6 years away from.  My dad has hated his job for years upon years...even blames my parents' devorce on it.  He has sucked it up and ventured into his own hell for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week so that he can cash in on everything at a ripe old age.  That's all FUCKED if InBev takes over, which is looking more and more likely by the day.

To be trivial, the great persona that AB has given St. Louis will be null and void as well.  Busch Stadium?  InBev Stadium.  No.  The world headquarters of Anheuser-Busch in St. Louis?  The world headquarters of InBev in St. Louis.  No.  The happy drinking of AB products on weekends...alright and weeknights?  Not anymore. 

Fuck, I can't think of anything else because I decided to buy an AB product on my way home from work and the inbibing of said product is rendering my imagination useless.

I'm just down about our world right now.  It's not a pretty world by any means.  I used to love Chris Martin's lyrics "We live in a beautiful world, yeah we do, yeah we do."  I can't listen to them anymore because those words are just too hard to appreciate, even poetically, at this point.  I'm deeply saddened by the ugliness this world has to offer.  It's becoming more evident by the day that nothing is guaranteed and that life can turn its back on you on the flip of a coin.  It's scary. 

Sorry for the rant.

The Joseph Jefferson Committee.  They are responsible for viewing and judging hundreds of opening nights around Chicago.  They view both Equity and Non-Equity shows alike and judge them accordingly.  The Committee is an establishment made up of people that live for good theatre.  They make Chicago theatre that much more amazing.

Last night, I attended the 35th annual Non-Equity Jeff Awards Ceremony.  It was jam-packed with actors, directors, designers, and playwrights, most in suits and dresses, all having outside day-jobs.  It was a very formal event, complete with designated tables for different nominated theatre companies and shows.  We, the Raven Theatre table, were front and center.

The evening consisted mostly of speeches, whoops, hollers, clapping, and jokes by the host of the event.  There were even musical numbers performed by the nominees of the musical theatre shows.  The best part of the event is that it was made up of and attended by people that LOVE theatre...so much so that they disregard the fact that it's damn-near impossible to "make it" and have day-jobs on the side...to actually make money.  We're not a wealthy bunch...though we looked it by curious onlookers. 

Raven Theatre didn't do too bad.  The Artistic Director, Mike Menendian, and his friend Leif Olsen won a Jeff for Best Set Design for their Night of the Iguana set.  Menendian and his wife were also honored with a Special Jeff in honor of Raven's 25-year establishment of quality Non-Equity Theatre, sort of a "Lifetime Achievement" award.  It was great to see the familiar faces of the Raven family step up onto the stage and accept awards for their parts in making good theatre.  However, it was Best Ensemble that each one of us was shaking for.

The wind was shot out from under us when they called up another production for the award.  The play Machos won the award.  I hadn't heard of it before...of course, that's the crappy part about these awards: if you're in a nominated show, chances are that you couldn't see any other shows because of run conflicts.  It was a play co-written by the entire ensemble and carried out by them as well, so good for them.  It was painful, but hey, they probably deserved it.

Our director, Greg Kolack, was sitting quietly at our table when our cheers and screams and standing ovations told him that he had won the Jeff for Best Director.  We clapped him all the way to the stage until he got to the podium.  He was speechless at first, but he eventually found his rhythm...and delivered the longest speech of the evening!  His speech almost made me cry...even though I had already heard most of it from when he talked to us before the last show.  He talked about the walls he and Raven ran into when they tried to get through to schools to come and see the show.  He talked about the two survivors, Marjory Lindholm and Brooks Brown, that helped in our cause.  He talked about how when Marylin Manson was asked what he would say to Eric and Dylan if they were still around, he'd say that he wouldn't talk, he would LISTEN.  He commemorated us on taking the stage a mere 5 hours after the massacre at NIU which drew incredulous intakes of breath from many of the audience members.  He commented that we as a cast looked the best in our underwear, thanked everyone he could think of, and walked off that stage making sure that everyone in the theater knew just how important this show was.

Finally, it was time for the Best Production awards.  We all patted each other for luck, but the wind was still a bit knocked out of us for the ensemble award.  The wind stayed knocked out when the reader announced that The Island of Dr. Moreu won the Jeff for Best Production.  I couldn't restrain from mouthing "fuck," but that was the end of the hostility.  We were, after all, one of the Top 5 Non-Equity, Non-Musical productions in Chicago.  That still means something.

After the awards while still in the theater, many people, including Jeff Committee members, stopped Jamie and Greg and told them what an amazing production Columbinus was.  Some even went as far to say that we were robbed.  I wanted to talk about the show, but no one recognized me because of my short hair!  At the bar, people not involved with the show talked even further about how we were robbed, flat out.  It sucks.  I was upset.  However, Greg said something that helped me keep in mind that a plaque does not make this show a success.  He said that the high school students that saw Columbinus multiple times and kept bringing more friends back made it worth it.  Brooks coming out and saying that we were spot on with the portrayals of Eric and Dylan and the life at the school made it worth it.  Randy and Judy Brown, Brooks's parents, emailing us and congratulating us on a successful show made it worth it.  The message we put across and hit home with viewers...that made it worth it.  We walked away from this show with new outlooks on life and a bond that we still, even to this day, share.  No plaque could ever duplicate that.

As Greg said in the CBS spot on the show as well as at the end of his speech:
"If one kid saw this show and decided that there are better ways of venting his frustrations than picking up a gun, all of this work has been well worth it."

I'm fairly certain that ole' Ma Nature walked in on Old Man Winter banging some younger, more vibrant lass and has decided to take out her anger on the Midwest.  Come on! 

Now I realize that the states North of us here in Chicago are having it worse than us.  There was some serious flooding in my hometown of the Lou.  Tornados have been whipping around the lower Midwest.  Snow is still falling to the North.  Here in Chicago, we just deal with winds that damn near blow us over.  Doing our hair is basically for nothing.  Wanna stay healthy and sick-free?  Don't fucking count on it.  In the past 3 weeks, we've had temperatures ranging from 35 to 81, and not exactly in that order.  We get 25 MPH winds with rain, then 45 degrees of hell, then second-guess-the-coat days with highs in the mid-seventies...on consecutive days.  Our bodies are fucking gagging on the bullshit.  I don't even think Emergen-C can help us through this crap.

So, GP Winter, get your shit together.  Gather your things, get outa town, and give her some space.  Appologize and make nice.  Us Midwesterners can't take the quirreling any more.

I had my first Film/TV acting class tonight.  I went in with expectations and all of them were met.  My expectations were:

1: I’d feel out of my element.
2: I’d be told what about me is bad.
3: I’d be too big for the camera. 
4: I’d like/respect my teacher.
5: I’d find out that I’m going to be challenged with the class.
6: I’d walk away scared shitless about my future.

Yep, everything I expected happened.

Luckily, aside from the teacher, Oksana, nobody in the class is involved in a union.  As far as experience in film, some are more experienced than others.  I’m probably the least experienced in film, with the exception of one person who did a little scene work in school, but otherwise has done nothing but a little improv here and there. 

For the most part, everyone seems very nice.  We all (10 of us) had those first-class jitters, but we seemed to warm up to both the teacher and each other as the class wore on.  Oksana, obviously, did most of the talking.  She knows what she’s talking about and told us just that, but she’s not a bitch like some people in her position can be.  She says it like it is and is unafraid of offending, but she doesn’t just toss out insults just to be judgemental.  She’s actually quite a nice lady.

So, I just couldn’t wait to hear what about me just won’t work in the film industry.  I found out when we were going around the room and introducing ourselves.  The first thing she said was, "so, just know that the first thing they’ll say to you is if you’d be willing to cut your hair and shave off that chin hair."  I, of course, understood that.  She asked me if there was any reason I had long hair.  I said that my last show required long hair, but that I just like it long.  She said, not in a mean way at all, that I may find it very difficult to find representation because the look I have now is flat out not marketable.  I nodded my understanding and agreement with her expertise, then cursed myself as loudly as I could in my head.  What are my $600 headshots of?  Me with long fucking hair...and facial hair to boot.  I’m.  A.  Fucking.  Dipshit.

To go along with the fact that my super expensive headshots that up until now I’ve been very happy with are, in fact, worthless in the film market, I now realize that should I pursue acting on camera, I cannot look the way I want to look.  I have to go back to being that clean-shaven, baby-faced, short haired guy I was for my life up until I discovered my love of having longer hair. 

So, I’m too damn big for the camera.  I’ve spent my entire acting life learning to be big and have that booming stage voice I’ve taught my diaphragm and vocal cords to get used to.  I’ve developed the ability to go right into actor-mode when there’s a script in front of me.  I’ve taught myself to be subtle in a big way, stage-whisper, and act to the back of the house.  All of that is a big, fat, no-no on camera.  I knew that going in.  What I didn’t know is that it’s all completely automatic for me at this point and that instead of learning to act for the camera, I will have to break myself of all of it.  That’s all fine and good if I become the actor I hope I can be on camera.  What worries me is that once I break myself of those habits, will I be able to go back into them when I’m auditioning for a play and/or being in one?  Will I learn to habitually act on camera when I’m doing that and habitually act in the theatrical sense when I’m onstage?  I simply don’t know how to act with only my eyes!

All in all, I’m excited for the challenge this class will bring.  I’m excited to see where I am in 8 more weeks when this class is over. 

I figured that when class ended, certain classmates would talk and converse and get to know each other.  I was excited to bid everyone farewell until next week.  What did my smart ass do?  Put my Cardinals hat on and ask the self-proclaimed uber-Cubs fan of the class not to judge me.   I did it with a smile on my face; that joking, please-don’t-hate-me way I usually do it.  I was greeted with the expected facial reaction I like to equate with pulling out one’s penis to point out that one is not circumcised (I am...sorry for the visual).  However, it didn’t end like it usually does.  That person was disgusted.  So was the teacher...even though she said that she doesn’t even like baseball.  I bid everyone farewell that was still in the room with a big smile.  The Cubs fan simply said, without looking at me, that she hopes my team does shitty this week, then went on talking to a friend of hers in the class without that friendly "haha, just joshin’ ya" smile.  She meant every word of it and said it somewhat menacingly.  So, that’s good.  Me and my love for my team.  I mean, I HATE the Cubs, but I certainly wouldn’t damn them to someone I just met and will spend one night a week with for the next 2 months.  Was I asking for it?  Probably.  I just didn’t think it would go so badly.  I’m probably just looking too much into it.

So.  Yeah.  I’m realizing that that little fantasy world that Sarah said that I live in isn’t so little.  It continues to grow...rather, I continue to realize just how wrong I have it on a day to day basis.  Today was the jab that the little voice in my head telling me that it probably wasn’t the best idea to get headshots with facial hair is screaming at me for ignoring it.  One or two people told me that it wasn’t smart to get headshots with long hair while I was initially showing them around to pick out the ones I wanted to print.  That’s starting to sting my pride and make me feel like an idiot.  I’m basically just feeling all around dumb.  I need new fucking headshots...again. 

AHHHHH!

I’m annoyed.

I’ve been a border-line basket-case for the past 15 hours.  The most difficult show closing I’ve ever had to endure took place last night.

It was hard from the get-go.  We had to arrive at the theater a half hour earlier than normal to finish out the photo call for our director, Greg.  He’s a photographer as well and took professional shots of different moments of the show.  We got to see the ones he took last week and they’re incredible, to say the least.  As we were changing and getting our props in order for the photos and for our pre-sets, there was a playful air in the theater.  Instead of wallowing around dreading the inevitable, we were just trying to enjoy each other’s collective company for the last time before the show.  We laughed, joked around, showed each other what we do in different parts of the show that we don’t get to see, etc.  Regardless of how we tried, many of us found ourselves talking about how we just couldn’t believe it was going to be our last time performing this wonder that has been our lives for the past 4 months.  However, the tears waited to be shed...for a little while.

Once our fight call was done, our final warm-up session complete, our props set, and the house open, we all basked in the closing night gifts everyone took the liberty to prepare for each other.  Our places calls seemed to come right after one another; time was flying by.  I retreated to my little space backstage where I always take a few minutes to get myself into the mode necessary to take on the show, but it was cut short because our pre-show cast hug was starting early.  Greg wanted to say a few words.  As we all huddled together like we had done before every show in the run, the looming fate of the night hung over us like a dense cloud.  Greg thanked us for hanging in there and keeping this show tight throughout the 7 week run.  He commended us for keeping it together during the trying time of doing the show in conjunction with the NIU shootings.  I voiced that this experience has been the time of my life...and I finally broke.  Soon, sniffles were becoming more and more apparent amongst all of our touching heads.  We all put our hands together for the final time and dispersed into "Good show" hugs, causing more tears. 

We managed to pull ourselves together and go to our places.  The music started, our cue to start entering came, and the show began.

The first act went as normal for the most part.  It was in the climactic "Alone" scene where our emotions started getting the best of us.  The scene had always been concentrated emotion, but in the final time doing it, there was most definitely not a dry eye was present amongst us.

Intermission came and went as some of us joked and laughed and others stared off into space, comforting each other when necessary.  Then, Act 2 began.

Jaime and I have had worn-out voices after every weekend due to all the screaming we do in the second act.  This time, however, doubled it.  We pulled out all the stops.  No, it wasn’t an uncontrolled scream-fest.  It’s just that we weren’t conserving our voices anymore, so we just went for it.  It all ran pretty smoothly.  It got especially hard during the Library, though.  Tons of emotion.  By Goodbye, I was breaking.  I tried to hold it together, but when Jaime and I approached each other in the Goodbye scene, we stared at each other crumbling.  We were both reddening up as we stared at each other, saying goodbye to each other’s characters for the final time.  By the time we turned to the audience and put our guns to our heads, tears were rolling down our cheeks.  It may sound unprofessional, but it wasn’t.  It fit with what we were doing.  It was just that much more intense.  Walking off the stage the last time was enough to bring me to my knees.  I broke down in the wings, waiting for Jaime to join me so that we could change into our "actor clothes" for the end of the play.  We just hugged and congratulated each other on an amazing run.

That wasn’t even the hardest part.  By the end of the play, it was taking every ounce of energy in us not to break down right there.  We wrote the victims’ names on the chalkboard, thanked the audience and bade them goodnight for a final time, then walked off, officially closing what has been the most amazing show every one of us has been a part of.  We immediately huddled together there, backstage, heads pressed together, and let go.  We just held each other there, in those final moments as a cast, the tightest cast we’ve ever been a part of.  When the circle broke, we all hugged each other silently and tightly.  It was the hardest thing.

If all of this sounds over-dramatic, let me explain.  Imagine your best friend.  Now multiply him/her by 7.  Four months ago, we all embarked on a journey.  For those that either were unable to see it or just didn’t bother to; this play is absolutely incredible.  Just reading the script gives goosebumps.  It’s a very intense ensemble piece that tells the VERY relevant story of adolescence, teenage angst, and their effects on 8 teens immersed in it, 2 of which are effected on a bigger level and decide to take matters into their own hands.  The 2 become Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, and the play goes through the planning, the shootings, and the aftermath of the Columbine Massacre.  Needless to say, as we all gathered on that first rehearsal, we knew that we were about to immerse ourselves into a world that would be difficult to experience.  Throughout the 2 months of intensive rehearsals, we bonded like no other cast I have ever been a part of has.  As one of my fellow cast members so beautifully put it, we, in a sense, "fell in love" with each other.  We are all very, very close now.  Not a diva was present.  No bad attitudes marred the experience.  We all just gelled together and forged a bond and friendships that have proven to be the strongest I have yet found in this city.  That’s not to discount my other friends by any means; I’m just saying that we in this show did something wonderful together and put up a very relevant, powerful, successful, critically acclaimed, and life-changing show that opened many, many eyes.  We all shared the experience; we were in it together.  The show stayed tight because of the remarkable directing, the impeccable stabling force of our Stage Manager, and a group of 20-somethings that became such good friends, nothing could get us down.  Our support net never frayed.

I know I’ll find other shows that fulfill me artistically.  I know that I’ll work with other actors and other casts and make friends.  However, I doubt that I’ll ever find a project that has meant what this one has meant to me.  I doubt I’ll ever work with another cast tighter than the one I just had to hug away.  It’ll be some time before I find another part that I click with like I did with the part of Loner/Dylan; a part that challenges me and pulls out my range as an actor in every facet.  I will miss this show for a very, very, very long time.  Last night, we ended a 4 month long era.  I’ll never forget it.

I recently went to an enchilada night at my stage manager’s apartment in Edgewater.  She made an array of different enchiladas to fit everyone’s personal eating needs...mostly mine, even though I’m not a vegitarian, which others in the cast are.  The enchiladas rocked.

For beer that night, I decided break out of the ordinary and not buy a six pack.  Instead, I bought 3 tallboys, each in a bottle rather than a can.  Each one was a different beer (anyone that drinks with me in bars knows that I switch up my drink pretty much every round).  At one point while walking around with one of the massive beers in my hand, the sound/video designer commented on my drinking choice.  He said that I should write a blog about tallboys.  At the time, I thought it was such a great idea that I typed a note to myself on my iPod.  Now, without either a tallboy or even a regular beer in hand, the wonder of tallboys has escaped me, but I’ll do my best.

The awesomeness of tallboys is as follows:

1. Much like I did for the party, buying tallboys allows multiple types of beer to be consumed in one sitting without having to be in a bar or buying multiple six packs.

2. If you like big things, tallboys fulfill that desire in the binge-drinking catagory of life.

3. It feels cooler to drink from tallboys, regardless of whether it actually is.

4. If you’re drinking an "artsy" beer, drinking said "artsy" beer from a large bottle doubles said "artsy-ness."

5. Tallboys have been helping the homeless deal with their situations for generations.

6. Drinking a large amount of beer causes the drinker to become drunk.  However, drinking the same large amount of beer from tallboys makes the same level of drunkenness feel moreso.  In the same regard, drinking 3 24-Ounce tallboys feels like more of an accomplishment than drinking 6 12-Ounce beers.

7. In a bar-fight, breaking a tallboy bottle over the bar would be much more effective than breaking a puny 12-Ounce bottle over the bar.  Sure, both would do the same amount of damage, but the tallboy would be cooler to fight with...if that’s your thing.

8. Speaking from personal experience, said experience having spawned this list in the first place, drinking from tallboys sparks conversation at get-togethers.

9. Tallboys could probably find a good place in the porn industry.

10. Bigger is better anyway.

So, there you have it.  For those that are bursting with curiosity, my choice of beers that night was Red Stripe, Newcastle, and Becks, and all three were consumed in that order.  Also, for a fun fact of the day that you probably didn’t know or care about; the first beer I purchased legally at midnight of my 21st birthday was a canned tallboy of Budweiser.  I still have the can...at my dad’s house.

I had one of "those" days yesterday.  Shit just seemed to go wrong or happened to be ill-timed.  I got screwed over by happenstance at work, so on, so forth.  On my way to the bus, I saw that I was about to miss one coming, so I ran.  As I ran, my 2-day-old, $400 iPod fell out of my pocket and hit the ground.  The $30 "protector" case broke open, the piece of junk shit, and my iPod got scraped to all hell.  Yeah.  It was just a bad day.  That is, until around 5:30pm.

I wandered into Charlie's Ale House where I was set to meet a man I've wanted to meet since the very beginning of my Columbine research.  I read his book and could not put it down.  I'd listened for hours to interviews with both him and his parents conducted by my director when he visited Littleton, CO.  I looked around, and saw Dave, a fellow cast member, wave me over.  I walked up, and there he was.  "Hey, I'm Brooks," he said as he held out his hand.

He's a normal guy.  Regardless, I was trembling slightly.  There I was, sitting next to a guy whose best friend from the age of 5 helped kill 13 people with Eric Harris.  I was going to be portraying that friend in front of him in a matter of hours.  He had that look in his eye, that "so you're the guy playing Dylan" look.  It wasn't a skeptical look by any means, it was just a knowing look.

Amidst the talks of the misconceptions of Denver weather and porn (he's a character), Brooks would look at Greg, my director, and just say, "man, this is going to be a weird night."  A weird night it was, quite possibly the most real and awkward experience I've ever had.

Once we were at the theater, Greg brought Brooks into the green room before the house opened so that he could meet the cast members that couldn't meet for dinner.  I remember walking into the green room with my Cardinals hat on backwards after my warm ups and fight call.  He saw me and just said, "look at you."  For those that don't get that, Dylan always wore his Boston hat...and he wore it backwards.  The cafeteria footage from that day shows he and Eric.  Dylan is, of course, wearing his Boston hat backwards. 

The show went great.  It was sold out house, the first one since opening night.  there were maybe one or two seats not filled.  In addition to Brooks being out there, I had many friends from work in the audience as well.  I don't think I've ever been more nerve-racked to go onstage in my life.  I couldn't let it go.  I was about to portray Dylan Klebold and Jamie was about to portray Eric Harris...right in front of someone who knew both of them better than the back of his hand.  Eventually, Jamie and I were going to immerse ourselves into the snapped-killer mode that Eric and Dylan were in.  Eventually, we were going to stylistically reinact the shootings in the library.  We were going to do that in front of a man who the police blindly labled as an accomplice, who Littleton residents spat on because of it, whose life completely changed as soon as the first gunshot was fired, who has actually listened to the complete 911 call placed by Patti Nielson from the library, complete with the sounds of people dying and Eric and Dylan whooping and hollering.  Yeah.  My nerves were frayed.

After the show, there was a panel discussion lead by the Raven Theatre education coordinator.  On the panel was Greg, Brooks, and 2 gentlemen whose names escape me but were school violence experts.  We as a cast sat behind them on the upper platform of the set.  A few audience members left, but most stayed.  Amongst the audience were many high school students who looked awe-struck.  Brooks answered questions, elaborated on his opinions and theories.  Greg made points and explained how difficult it has been to get schools to cooperate with this project.  The two experts chimed in with their methods and theories of violence reduction.  The audience asked questions, most directed to the panel, but some directed to the cast as well.  Jamie and I were asked how we identified with the shooters.  The cast was applauded.  It was incredible.  After the talkback, I approached many of the high schoolers and thanked them for coming and supporting.  I shook all of their hands.  I told them that ultimately, we are speaking directly to them because it was their words that formed this play in the first place.  Not one of them was disappointed with the experience.  They all left wide-eyed, vowing to drag any and all of their friends to this play.  Time is, after all, running out.

One thing that will always stick in my memory until the day I die is when right before I answered how I analyzed my part, Brooks turning around and looking me square in the eye and saying, "first off, before you say anything, well done.  That was just...just weird.  You guys captured their personalities...spot on.  It was eerie.  I'm still trying to process it all and take it all in."  That statement rendered every review we've gotten for this show as useless.  It wouldnt' have mattered if we got 10 bad reviews from every periodical in the city; Brooks saying that was the only validation I needed to know that what I'm doing with this part is the right thing.  I'm portraying Dylan Kebold accurately.  I'm not "hollywoodizing" him.  We as a cast are not "hollywoodizing" the story.  Jamie and I mentioned this in the bar afterward and we both agreed that that was the coolest compliment we could have ever gotten.

Our time at the bar holds many interesting digestions.  We talked with Brooks about all kinds of things, mostly video games.  He's a self-proclaimed nerd.  He reviews video games as his job.  It's his love.  He's doing what he loves.  That's awesome.  He's married to a woman that is utterly perfect for him, from what he says.  All in all, he seems like a happy human being.

One thing that sticks out to me is that while we would all be standing in a group, usually with me right next to Brooks, he would glance around at everyone as he talked to them.  Occasionally, he would look at me and say something to the effect of, "oh, and you, you bastard."  He, of course, meant this jokingly, but there was a sense of truth.  He wasn't calling me a bastard though.  He was inadvertantly calling Dylan a bastard.  In fact, while Jamie and I were talking about the whole thing, Brooks walked up to us and said, "what's up, you assholes?"  Obviously, he knew we were just actors, but he still saw us as Eric and Dylan.  He was still processing everything.  I would occasionally see something in his glance that looked almost as if he were looking right through me, right past me to the personality I take on onstage.  It was almost as if he was looking once again at his old friend, his old friend that betrayed him and went on a shooting rampage 9 years ago, eventually leading to his own death.  It was the craziest thing, something he may have known he was doing or maybe not.  I wouldnt' have had it any other way.

Eventually, the bartender started kicking people out.  However, once everyone was gone, she let us stay.  She turned down the lights and let Brooks talk.  As he accepted his last drink of the night, he said, "alright everyone, I'm drunk enough to answer any questions you may still have.  Come on, it's your last chance!"  I started with a simple "Why Boston?  Why was Dylan such a Boston fan?  Why the hat?"  He just said that he liked to piss people off in CO.  I guess they really hate Boston up there, I don't know, but it was super crazy to hear that when I wear my Cards hat around...yes, out of support for my beloved team...but mostly just to piss off the Cubs fans.  After that, the questions were borderline rapid fire.  We spent the next 45 minutes hearing some serious stuff; unashamed accounts of different crime scene photos, people that actually were involved that never got procecuted, what who is doing nowadays, the actual demise of Eric and Dylan.  Brooks truly believes that Eric killed Dylan and then killed himself.  When I said that his parents think that they killed themselves, he corrected me and said that his mom believes that, but his day agrees with him.  His dad is certifiably a Columbine expert.  It was just crazy to get the "inside scoop" on so many topics dealing with that day.

Eventually, we all had to put our coats on and wander out into the fiercly snowy night.  After giving Brooks my information, I thanked him profusely again for his presence and his help.  He said that it was his pleasure to be here and thanked all of us for putting on such a good show.  We are welcome to contact him any time.  As we all hugged and bid each other farewell for the night and Devon and I walked to wave down a taxi, I looked back at Brooks and Greg walking across the street to Greg's car.  I felt completely satisfied with the event; the total experience that the night was.  I don't know that I've ever had one that equals it.  I'll never forget it.

Shit's blowing up.

At least in my head it is.

Columbinus ends in a month.  I'm one of the only actors in it that doesn't have something lined up when it's done.  I'm the over-headed dipshit that figures that things will be given to him.  I feel that casting directors will line up to shake my hand like they did opening night and things will be cake from here on out.  I'm wrong in every way I imagine.  Most of what Sarah taught me in one well-worded phrase was that I live in a "fantastical world" and that I have "tunnel vision."  Sarah didn't tell me these things in a mean way, nor did she mean to cut me down while saying them.  She simply meant to point out to me that the real world doesn't work like I would like it to.  Regardless of how I want and wish people to be, ugly and immoral things will still happen.  Corporations will still be backhanded.  Athleletes will still earn millions more than teachers will.  People will still kill other people.  People with tons of potential will still finish their lives without achieving their goals.  My eternal fear is that I will fall into the catagory of the latter-most item.

Sarah was full of compliments.  She complimented me on a daily basis.  I felt better about who I was on a daily basis with her.  One thing she told me is that her biggest pet peeve is seeing people with immense potential waste time by not being proactive.  She thought that I had a lot of potential but I don't do enough about it.  I thought then and still think now that she's perfectly right.  To this day, I still don't think I'm emotionally ready to completely commit myself to acting.  I'm too damn afraid.

I'm afraid that I will run out of money and feel myself a failure to my family.  I fear that I will be a 35-year-old man without any near hopes of marrying and starting a family of my own.  I fear furthering the distance of my proximity to my mother, father, sister, niece, and other beloved people in this world.  I fear giving up every comfort I have out of devotion to the unknown.  The thing that keeps me going is this.

I have the force of the world behind me.  My family backs me up in everything I do.  My parents are a sacred force in my life, believing in everything I tell them I want to do.  My sister supports me in every loving way that she can.  My extended family constantly tries to stay updated with me to know what's going on in my pursuit.  My brother watches me with determination from wherever he is right now, God blessed it be somewhere wonderful.  I have every force of God behind me, and yet still I fear the future.  I fear failure, yet I give into the possibility more and more with each passing day.  Am I truly that weak or am I just that damn lazy?  That's my problem. 

I need to do so much, yet no matter what I tell myself I need to do, I still end up falling through the cracks of my inner hopes.  I don't know what my problem is, but I do know this:  something is wrong with me.  Do I need anti-laziness pills or do I need to re-evaluate my desires?  Who knows...?

I'm also rather drunk right now, so is all of this just the beer talking?