Stories from the Past: Coming Out Cow

My senior year of high school, the theatre director a TCHS declared that we would do a one-act version of the three-hour Sondheim monster Into the Woods.  Because I didn't sing, I would be the Narrator for  the play, and she had planned to enlist all of the pretty, preppy, show choir kids to play most of the parts.  The traditional corps of the department would serve as back-up artists and crew...which, while crappy, was better than an earlier idea to dress them all up as trees and have them dance around as different parts of the scenery.

Just like this...but made of dancing high school theatre kids.  Image via Wikipedia

Anyway, I had decided months ago that I was going to come out before my senior year started because I was tired of living the lie.  So, on Sunday, August 8th, 2004, I told my parents, which is another story for another day.  It intersects with Into the Woods because I was working on that show at the time.  In fact, I was the theatre intern with my friend Alisabeth.  Between us and Mandy, we were given the job of doing the cow.

For those of you who aren't very familiar with Into the Woods, it's a musical mash-up of the stories of Jack, Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Little Red Riding Hood all going into the woods to get their dreams.  Okay, well, Jack obviously has to have a cow because he's going to the market to sell his cow for food for him and his mother.  Now, there are two ways that you can do this.  You can either hire an actor to play the part of the cow or you can build a cow prop.

We, sadly, attempted the latter.  It was maybe the most dangerous weapon that I've ever seen on wheels.  Made of two-by-four, chicken wire, plaster, paper-mache, and white paint, more people bled on this cow than I would have thought possible.  It was a hot disaster.  The casters wouldn't stay straight, the back of the cow buckled, and it needed so much plaster to make it look like a cow verses a box covered in chicken wire that that was what I was assigned to do with Alisabeth for the second week of school.

Friday, we were sitting out in the courtyard outside the drama room.  This was right after the outdoor furniture that had been used at the previous year's prom had been donated to the school but before they screwed on that brass nameplate that dedicated it to that kid that died.  Alisabeth and I are slathering plaster on the cow and talking about the election.  She had proven to be mostly conservative, and this being 2004, my senior class could vote for the first time, and it was shaping up to be an important decision:  you could either vote for President Bush or you could vote against him (Kerry not actually counting as a canditate because he stood for nothing).  Although we could agree on the upcoming pro-liquor referendum for Tift County (which was dry at that time), we eventually ended up on thornier subjects.  Like gay marriage.

Obviously, I defended gay marriage against her arguments, but at the same time, I had to admit to myself that it looked like it was going to be an uphill battle, even for civil unions.  I mean, two of the four states to have same sex marriage have happened in 2009, and this was five years ago.  If I'm not mistaken, Massachusettes was the only state to have anything like this going on.  My fervent support made Alisabeth ask me if I was gay.  To which I immediately replied "no."

I started to kick myself and got really quiet. I guess Alisabeth was either embarassed that she had asked and I wasn't or didn't know what to say because she knew I was closetted.  I actually surprised most people when I came out.  And I had promised myself that although I wasn't going to throw myself a "coming out" party like a debutante, I also wasn't going to deny it any longer if anyone asked me.  And this was my first test, and I had already screwed it up.  After another couple of minutes of silence, I back-tracked:

"Wait, scratch that."
"Scratch what?"
"I am gay.  Not many people know.  Don't spread it around."
"Okay..."

We talked about my coming out for a little bit.  I didn't want the news to get around because I was afraid, this being the deep South, that I'd be harrassed.  But, I didn't trust this girl, and the circle of people who knew was getting big.  Soon, it was going to explode.  But for now, I was just another guy covered in plaster, trying to make a cow for the musical theatre.  And the future was a story for another day.

By the way, the cow never did become satisfactory.  Instead, we dressed up a short girl like a cow.  She did a much better job than a plaster representation.

Reccomended: Abandoned Theatre Photos

For all of my fellow theatre people, check this photo project out.

www.abandonedtheaters.com

It's a set of about thirty pictures (it's only as a slideshow, so I couldn't tell exactly how many there were). I thing that they're beautiful in a completely destroyed way. Plus, it reminds me of how many different performance spaces there are in the world. I wish I could recover one of the sites and make it awesome again, but sadly, I don't have the contracting skills or the money.

One day, though...

Weekend Recap: Catie and Paul Move-In

Alternate title: Golden Child Proves Pyrite, Lives in Sin

Okay, so here's how this weekend went.

First off, I rolled out of bed at my parent's apartment at 11 AM. I would rather have gone home, but my mother didn't want me to drive considering that I had just finished a margarita roughly the size of a fish bowl. Had to be real fast when I didn't have my ID and all that, but anywho, spent most of Friday evening with my parents, having dinner at Sonny's, have a drink, and then headed to their apartment. Plus, I couldn't go home until I taught my little sister all of the yoga poses that I know and a basic tango step. I mean, you have to keep your priorities straight.

Rolled out, packed at my house really fast, went and got about six inches of my hair chopped off, and got on the road. By the time I got to Macon, they were mostly done moving in. I hung some curtains and went on an expedition out into the middle of nowhere to get a table. But, for the most part, I just stayed out of the way. Catie, I have always known, is anal-retentive about where her stuff goes. Turns out, so is Paul. While we were getting the table, her mother and sister unpacked the kitchen. In the 24 hours between then and when I left, most of the stuff in the kitchen had been moved to a new, better location. Plus, the tension between Catie and her mom (who doesn't agree with Catie moving in with her boyfriend whom she is not married to) could have been cut with a knife and slathered on corn, so rich and creamy was its texture.

Anywho, we did dinner at Ron and Chang's, a combination Chinese and home-cooking diner. It was really good, and I think orange chicken, mashed potatoes, and okra is a too-long-overlooked dinner selection.

One of my other friends that I've met that was hanging out after the move is what really piqued my interest though. She's been dating this guy for about six months now, and they've gotten to the point to where they don't know exactly whether or not it's going to be super long-term. Well, that's putting it mildly. My friend wants to breakup with her boyfriend because she misses the chase. She provokes him into fights so that maybe things will get bad enough that they'll just fall apart. She wants out, because she doesn't believe that this is forever. I mean, she hadn't gone so far as to delete the naked picture of him from her phone, but she was bored and this girl who had never done the relationship was ready to move on.

And then, in a moment that I think is beautiful, we were sitting in the living room, bitching the past year, and she started smelling the blanket she was wrapped up in. When I gave her a look of "what-the-hell-are-you-doing," she explained: "It doesn't smell like (boyfriend's name) anymore."

"You are a veritable bundle of contradictions," I responded. I mean, maybe I get it. It's new and whatnot, but right now, I can't explain it. And it's mostly intriguing me.

The thing that I love about going to hang out with my best friends is that there is never an agenda of things that we're going to do to have a good time together. There doesn't have to be one, and to make one would fly in the face of what makes us such good friends. It makes me sad that I don't carry a tape recorder to record what's said and what we talk about while I'm with them. Since I don't live with any of these fantastic people any longer and we're spreading out to the corners of the known world, I feel like I should write down every witty thing said in case I never get to hear it again. Plus, it takes a while to break in new people so that you know that you can talk about anything, transitioning easily from the concept of reach-arounds and how best to prep for anal sex into what is metaphysically troubling us about the future and our friendships. Whatever, this is getting a little heavy for what I wanted to write about.

Later on, I had poured with too heavy a hand, and since the world wouldn't stop spinning, I made myself throw up so that I wouldn't go too far down the rabbit hole.

Next day, did Mexican, Lowe's, came back to apartment, read Remains of the Day, played some Wii, went home, watched Forensic Files with mom, came home, went to sleep in the recliner in the living room with my glasses still on.

Songs of My Life

I, like almost everyone else on the planet, have certain songs that take me into very specific places in my past. They're not even all songs that I necessarily like, but as soon as the introductory music starts, I'm taken back. A few examples:

"The Ocean Breathes Salty" by Modest Mouse--This just came on my Pandora station (a modified Hold Steady group). This is the song that I quoted on the title page of Edgar's Ashes. I was exhausted, sitting in the Mac Lab, writing out Matthew's storyline in maroon crayon when this song came on. Modest Mouse didn't usually come on that channel, so I had to tab over and see what was playing. And I loved it. Sure, it's from an album that a lot of people didn't really enjoy, but the line "You waste life, why wouldn't you waste death?" became the dedicatory quote for the play. And hearing it takes me back to those exhausted, middle-of-the-night writing marathons where I was putting that show together. It feels like a burned mouth from too much coffee

Eddie Izzard's Definite Article CD--For a while in the spring of 2007, I fell asleep every night listening to spoken word stuff. It usually was an Eddie Izzard CD, because I enjoyed it but I knew the CD well enough that it wouldn't keep me awake. I did this for a few months until I slung my mp3 player across the room in my sleep and broke it.

"You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morrissette--My senior year in high school (2004-2005), I began listening to this CD non-stop for about two months while I was doing errands around town or driving to-and-from school. Mix that in with my expressive interpretations and the fact that it looked like I was screaming at invisible people in my car when I was driving led to some interesting conversations with people that I knew that had seen me driving. I eventually had to take this CD out because it was making me too angry and it was starting to make men piss me off as a general concept. Needless to say, that wasn't going to work any longer.

"The Pineapple Song" from Cabaret--This song actually has little to do with me, but it does go into that same era when I first got a car in high school and I fully believed that the most important part of driving was what you were listening to. I permanently cured my brother of worrying about driving with reckless drivers because I would veer into oncoming traffic if I didn't like the song tha twas on. Well, I would always sing full-out. And after a few months, he started lightly singing along. Then, I wouldn't sing a certain song or whatever, and I catch him singing. And the moment that I knew that I had infected him, at least a little bit, is when we were driving home from the S-curve in front of The Little Pantry and he asked if we could listen to this song because he thought it was hysterical. Score one for musical theatre.

CYLA Senior Corps

Why do I love the song "I've Just Seen a Face?"

Okay, here's what's up with me: I got a call yesterday as I was driving out to my house with my little sister, Morgan. The guy introduced himself as Jeffrey H******** and told me that CYLA (City Year Los Angeles) wanted to interview me to become a Senior Corps member for the upcoming year. Basically, it's the next step up: I would be in charge of a group of between 6 and 8 of my peers, and I would have to attend planning sessions and extra training. Which is fine. If there is one thing that I'm good at, it's being in charge. I get a thrill off of leadership, and I'm good at organizing tasks and making sure that everything gets done.

The only catch is that I have to interview for the job tomorrow at 4 and, if I get the job, I have to be out there by July 16th to start training. Which means that I'm moving 45 days before the September 1 start date that I thought that I was aiming at. Which means I have to bump everything up.

I'm really thrilled about this opportunity. I mean, most of the people with this job are people from the Corps who are coming back for a second year of AmeriCorps experience. If they think that I can handle the job at this point, then I'm thrilled to offer any extra work that I can do. I just want to try to do some good in the upcoming year.

On the other hand, my mother isn't thrilled. She's supportive, don't get me wrong. Dot would never tell me not to go after something like this, but, at the same time, she thought that I was going to be home a lot longer. So, I'm trying to stay near the home base until I have to go, but it also means that I've got to move up any plans that I had...I mean, I haven't even told Erica that I might be moving.

Basically, I need to start planning if I'm moving that quickly. But I don't know for sure that I am yet. So, I'm in a holding pattern.

Minor Update

The background noise of my life lately has been television on DVD. So far, I've had Buffy Seasons 3 and 4 and Dexter Season 1 playing for the last few weeks. Sometimes, I'll play documentaries in the background on my computer...I don't know...I have a drive to learn stuff. Ever since I've left school, I feel like it's going to be really easy to stop learning stuff. And there is s0 much that I still don't know, so I need to keep up with the education and whatnot. I finally finished Naked Lunch tonight, so I'm 3 for 3 on my major works of the Beat Generation. I can't say that I liked it, but it did intrigue me a great deal. I feel like I need to go back to it when I'm in a more emotional or off-kilter place. It doesn't seem to be best read when under the influence of a well-reasoned temperament.

I'm starting to have remarkably vivid dreams at night. If it keeps up, I"m going to start a dream journal. Passe, I know, but I've never dreamt before. I usuall sleep in blackness. I had about five dreams before this past year, but my subconscious is really starting to kick in.

I didn't realize that it was Memorial Day today. But, whatever, it didn't matter until I tried to mail something and realized the Post Office was closed. Suck.

I don't have anything really witty to say. Come back tomorrow for something more than an elongated status update.

Post-Grad Plans

For those of you that don't know, I'm moving to Los Angeles at the end of the summer. My job with City Year Los Angeles starts on September 1, but I have to be there a little bit earlier to do registration and whatnot.

I started looking for apartments tonight. I'm still outside the 60-day window, so mostly I'm just getting a feel for neighborhoods and price ranges. I know that things are ridiculous, so I guess that's why it's not freaking me out too badly. Four of us CYLA people are going to be living together. We're looking for a two-bedroom in Korea Town. The cheapest apartments are 1300 but usually they run in the 1500-1800 range and up from there. Between the four of us, that'll be about half of our monthly combined income. Woohoo AmeriCorps jobs and volunteer pay.

I don't know why moving out to Los Angeles makes me want to panic sometimes. I mean, I know that it's totally understandable. Reasons that it should freak me out:

• Rome, GA (population: 45,000) is the largest place that I have ever lived. My hometown, Tifton, GA has a population of 28,000, which is about 3/10 of a single percent of the size of LA. There are more than 10x the amount of people in my hometown in the five square miles of Korea Town.
• This is the first place that I'll have lived outside of the normal education plan. I lived at home and then college. This is the first place where I really have to take care of my self.
• I don't know how to survive in a city. I really don't want to be in charge of apartment hunting and whatnot in my group, but my type-A personality just won't let me take a backseat.

I have the fear, sometimes. Other times, I fully believe that this is going to be the best year of my life and that I'm built for LA. But, when I have to work on the logistics, it makes me panic.

I think that it makes me panic because I'm afraid that I'm going to fail and end up doing something that I don't believe in because I couldn't cut it out there. I've never really failed at anything that I've really wanted to do. In fact, I usually am spectacularly successful. I have high expectations for myself...and I don't want to disappoint myself or others.

My hometown breaks down like this: 60% are perfectly content staying here forever, 30% screamed so loud about getting out in school, but they had no follow-through and they ended up back in Tifton, broken, pregnant, getting married, dreamless, goalless, and full of compromise. The last 10%...well, we're the one's who went off to school...the one's who left town. Of that, maybe 4% of us will get our degree. And maybe, just maybe, a couple dozen of us will leave the state of Georgia and go on to fantastic things.

I want so much more than where I come from. It's a nice place to hail from, but you have to go somewhere else to hail from there. So, I guess what I'm saying is, I'm going to have to fuck my fear. Because I can't stay here...and I've made a commitment.

As a wise woman once texted me when I almost killed some people outside a Carraba's: It's a challenge now, and we don't lose challenges.

Damn straight.