Unemplrrrrrrrrrment

          Where would we be without words? And where would I be without this beautiful lake before me? Access to a kayak is a religious thing indeed. The Boh-remuses have been very good to me in the lake house department. I love New York when I can leave it now and then. I’m not exactly one of those jet-setting homos with no financial limits. Maybe a little stint out at Fire Island in a cute swimsuit and a couple of days at my buddy’s cabin will get me through this hot, unemployed summer? When your hobby is going to brunch professionally it’s a dangerous thing to be in Manhattan twiddling one’s thumbs….every moment risking another potential dollar spent.


          I need a break. I think we all do. And by break, I mean a break from all the breaks! When I’m in between shows it can feel as though time is standing still and I’m moving through quick sand. I must have seen all twenty seasons of Law and Order at this point. It’s a very slippery slope from a casual cruise through the DVR list to having a nurse stop by to flip you over so that you don't get reality TV bed sores! Saturday feels like Tuesday and Friday night is just as boring as anybody’s Monday. Not spending money is an art form I'm struggling to learn....like cooking at home.  I cringe.  I prayed for a hobby this summer, something that would not just be another dance class or voice lesson. I was looking for something totally on the other side of the brain (something that would captivate the other 22 ½ hours in the day). Through my questioning and meditation on the subject I started to write, not on my computer or my sweet smelling leather journal (which I never seem to have any comment), but my IPhone. Every word you read on this blog was originally typed with shaky thumbs as I rumbled down the subway tracks, brainstorming and soaking up the images of the city and trying my best to find the words to truly capture such a rich environment of colorful urban inspiration. I’ve spent countless subway rides buried in this Notebook application puking up anything that comes bubbling up and shooting out my fingertips. Thank god for T9 English!!!!

         I make a valiant effort to not judge myself too severely but I don’t always achieve that goal. When you write something down, spell check it, hope that all the comas are in the right place (which mine never are) and post it for the entire world to read it can be a very scary thing! One click of the mouse leaves the field wide open for people’s opinions both good and bad. It’s an epic waste of time to get stuck in the fear that comes with putting your words out on the world wide computerized web. I don’t exactly have a career to ruin so I figured it was obvious that I should proceed onward with my ramblings. Sometimes I have no comment. And others, I spend trying to actually have a life rather than observing it under a microscope to the point that I’m not even living it. Blogging is great and it gives me the space I need to run verbally wild like a chicken that’s just lost its head. But it’s ironic isn’t it if you’re trapped at your desk inside your apartment trying to write about experiences that you’re missing right then and there? They, in fact, might inspire the blinking cursor that is starring you down wild-west style (insert whistling sound and tumble weed here.) The blank screen before you is only a useful tool if you’ve got something already lived to write about.

         So what is the point of an empty journal entry I want to know? I don’t want to read some stranger’s melancholy blog entry about how their day was at work or how difficult it was at the gym that particular day and how sore their calf muscles are.   Who fucking cares?! Most existing blogs could put you to sleep in a matter of minutes.  They can be verbal Ambien.  So, why would anyone care to scroll through my pot induced posts? I can’t answer that, nor will I now take the opportunity to sell myself to you. I’m sure, at times, I’m not totally PC but nonetheless it is still my unique perspective as a boy in a Manhattan bubble. I figured the world should know what I’m laughing about under my breath deep in the guts of the train tunnels. My life feels like an Albee “wangled teb.” There’s a piece of mind that comes with making a committed mistake. At least you know that you really went for it!  It’s like an ice skater that hesitates for a split second just before a jump goes horribly, horribly wrong. Any doubt, whatsoever, can sabotage a moment. Decisions require an attack of sorts. I know the truth about second guessing myself and it's not a pretty picture my friends.  For me second thoughts resulted in a break in three places!