The Comfy Corner

Tis the season for holiday parties! They are large gatherings of random groups of people brought together for the sole purpose of eating lots of sugar, drinking lots of alcohol, and wearing sweaters. The connecting theme between all of the parties that I have been to this season? There seems to always be one person at the party that no one likes. It isn't the kind of thing that you're forewarned about either. It starts off so innocently, "Oh Clark's girlfriend is coming too. It'll be fun." And then you get to the party and realize very quickly that Clark's girlfriend is a constant-talker-no-listener and no one really likes her (except Clark, and he's cool, so everyone is also like, "Clark could do much better"). And you are condemned to hours of Clark's girlfriend and forget to actually enjoy the party. Finally, Clark and his girlfriend leave (or worse, Clark's girlfriend gets too drunk and winds up on the floor passed out) and there is a breath of silence before someone quietly pipes up with something like, "Clark's girlfriend is... animated."

All we want from a holiday party is a little Christmas cheer, some good friends, and perhaps a comfy corner by the fire, right? So why must we be subjected to these holiday Grinches that make everything uncomfy?! It should be a universal law that at holiday parties everyone must put aside their bad habits and poor social skills and pretend to be a human for the sake of the people that want to enjoy the festivities. So to all of the "Clark's girlfriend"s out there I have this to say; don't get so drunk you pass out on the rug, don't sleep on the couch while everyone else helps with the dishes, don't just talk constantly about yourself and your achievements, and don't make people uncomfortable by prying into the intimate details of their personal lives ("So like, how's the sex in your relationship these days.") Not cool.

Happy holidays, ya'll! Stay the comfiest this season.

Everyone goes through a very similar series of conversations when they get to know someone new. Where are you from? Where did you go to school? What did you study? Where do you work now? But I, being so wonderfully typed into the middle ground of races, am cursed with being ethnically ambiguous. So every time I meet a new person, conversation inevitably leads to a conversation about how I am half Chinese. It amazes me how worked up people get about it. They gasp and flare their eyes in astonishment. "YOU'RE CHINESE?!?" I am sometimes taken aback as though they are offended or something. But then their eyes narrow (as they try to see a hint of squintiness in my eyes) and they say, "You don't look that Asian. I knew you were something, but not Asian." Then the whole room (everyone loves to discuss this topic) looks me up and down as I sit there judged and ethnically abused while they decide whether or not I look my race. They usually finish it off with an offhand compliment like, "Asian and white is such a beautiful mix. I want Asian babies." So I'm left confused and trying to decide whether or not to be offended or thankful or afraid they might take advantage of me.

Yesterday, however, I was not confused. I was just offended. I was an extra on this TV show and I was walking past this other extra girl who, for my own purposes, I will call a bitch. As I walked past she was saying, "Asians just aren't..." She paused and looked around to make sure no Asians were lurking in corners. She looked right into my eyes!!! And then she continued, "They just aren't attractive. The boys aren't cute and the girls aren't pretty. It's their pushed in noses and their slanty eyes." She demonstrated by pushing in her own stupid nose. "And they never have very good muscle tone." I wanted to push her nose in WITH MY FIST! But, I took the high road. A few minutes later I was with her in a group of extras and someone complimented my skin tone. I said, "Thanks, it must be THE ASIAN IN ME!" And I looked right into here eyes and glared. She looked confused. I hope she got the memo. She probably didn't though, the dumb bitch.

Moral of the story is twofold. One, yes I am Chinese, don't be shocked. Two, you never know if someone around you is a mixed breed. So don't talk smack. Stay comfy ya'll.

I've been doing some extra work recently for the TV shows that film in New York and after shooting only a few episodes of a few different shows I have quickly been able to establish some stock characters that always pop up amongst the extras. They totally legitimize the making of a TV show about extras called, "Extras."Here are some of the most notable characters I've come across thus far...

1) The Creepy Old Man - there is always an old man that is awkwardly hitting on all the young ladies. There was in fact a man on the set of "Gossip Girl" that said, as the girls were walking by, "I wish you ladies were all walking into my apartment." I'm so glad I'm a dude.

2) The Overact-er - This is the girl that stands beside you in the group scene and is gesticulating and making facial expressions that are so big they definitely won't be missed by the camera. This is also the girl that causes the director to come to the extras and say "stop opening your mouth so wide."

3) The Woman with the Obnoxious Laugh - there seems to always be one woman who makes her presence known to everyone in the holding room with her hideously obnoxious laugh. We hate this woman.

4) The Girl Who Almost Got SAG - this is the non-union girl who talks about absolutely nothing except how many waivers she has and how she is going to become SAG. This girl we hate also. This is also the girl that gets pushed into the deep back because she's too tall. HA!

5) The Guys Who Only Counts the Hours - this actually a group of people. These are the union people who do absolutely nothing except talk about how much overtime they're gonna get, what meal penalties they are getting, when golden hour is happening, blah blah blah. Did you really start doing film and TV for the money? Then, I'm sorry, but you're doing it for the wrong reasons.

6) The Guy Who "Won't put up with this shit" - this is the guy who goes and gets a piece of cake from the catering table before we're allowed to. He is also the one who refuses to stand where he is supposed to or is always complaining about not having bottled water on set.

7) The Couple - Last, but not least, there are the people who do extra work to find romance. I actually don't mind these people. It's a game I like to play while I'm sitting around doing nothing. Where are the budding romances going to pop up first? My set crush usually ends up being a crew member with tattoos and pretty arms (Don't worry, Kevin. I only look. And I still only have eyes for you. :)) <--- I hate that.

Humans have the unique ability to share a common knowledge about certain feelings and situations without actually talking about it. These little pieces of trust and knowledge are called the unspoken rules. For instance, you never cut a line. No cutting! I learned that in elementary school when I got overzealous about pizza Friday. Lines make sense. The person who gets their first gets the first artichoke in the barrel (that's not a fraze... and that's not how you spell phrase... watcha gonna do about it?). But, for some reason, this unspoken knowledge seems to leave people baffled when it comes to auditioning situations.

In non-union land, us lowly third class passengers on board the actor Titanic have to arrive to the audition at the ass crack of dawn (without any real chance of getting a lifeboat). This often means that the line starts forming outside the building before the building even opens. Now that line makes logical sense when you are outside. It sprinkles down the block in perfect lineage. But once the building opens, and elevators come into play, all hell breaks loose. Suddenly, the people at the back of the line "forget" there was ever a line. Everyone gets "confused." The only people who are "definitely sure there was a line" are the people who were in the the front of it. So they plant themselves in a brand new line in the audition room while the stragglers come in and sit wherever not realizing that there is a sort-of line happening. Now, I make it seem as though everyone is asking questions and trying to sort this out. That's not the case. NO ONE SAYS ANYTHING. There is just an unspoken tension while people try to figure out for themselves how this is all going to play out when the monitor arrives.

Then the list goes up and the monitor is like "is there a line of some sort happening?" A hush falls over the crowd. It's the first time an official person has mentioned the tense situation that's been going on all morning. Usually, the person who got there at 6am shouts "YES" angrily (finally releasing that built up anxiety they felt every time someone ignored the faux line). That person will get the first slot and everyone else shuffles about in confusion. So I ask myself, isn't there a better way? Yes, there is. Get an agent and have appointments. Alas, if only I could just wake up early to get an agent. The fight continues, NYC, it does continue. Stay comfy, ya'll.

Have I posted this before? Does it have the exact same title and is about the exact same subject? Probably, but it deserves a reposting because people who go out to eat at restaurants are oftentimes absolute morons. A guy this evening walks in, sits down, and does not open his menu. Assuming he has been here before and already knows what he wants I approach him to take his order. He looks at me directly and says, "I want a steak."

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't have steak."

*baffled expression of disbelief*

"You don't have steak???"

"No sir. We have steak tacos..."

"No, that's not what I want. I want steak." He puts his hands in the shape of a steak to inform me of what a steak looks like.

"We don't have steak."

"Well, what DO you have??"

I took what little patience I had left, balled it up in a big ball, reached down, opened his menu gently and said as if talking to a small child, "We have the items that are here in our menu." More baffled expressions from him. "Mostly pizzas, pastas, and salads."

"Oh, well I'll have to go somewhere else, then."

Have a great day sir, go die, and learn how to read a menu. Bye.

This is LITERALLY the best piece of advice my restaurant can give me.

1. Jersey Bloods
2. The Light in the Pumpkin
3. God I-put-a Spell on you
4. Wicked SCARY!
5. Mary Potions
6. Chicagoblins
7. Sister Axe
8. How to Not Bleed in Business Without Really Crying
9. Priscilla, Queen of the DAMNED
10. Mamma Monster
11. Billy Skelliton
12. Gross (Grease?)
13. On a Fear Day You Can Flee or SEVER
14. Million Dollar Horrortet
15. Avenue Boo!
16. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
17. The Book of Murder
18. Horror Horse
19. Anything Decompose
20. King Fear

I was reading a book the other day entitled, "How to Be a Gentleman" and I learned a lot of really useful tips about etiquette including, "When you get up to leave a dinner table for the restroom, always fold your napkin and leave it sitting in your chair. If the waiter moves your napkin to the table while you are gone, he is in the wrong, not you." This is one of those little things that I'm pretty sure will stick with me for the rest of my life for no real apparent reason. Here are some others from my past.

1) Always dry your hair first when you exit the shower (Fatherly advice from long ago)

2) Taking a shower is equivalent to two hours of sleep (Men's Health)

3) To clean your house is to clean your soul (Japanese wisdom from Yurie)

3) Never be the one to make a ripple in the pond (Japanese wisdom from Mary Roach)

4) To be an expert at anything, you must put in 10,000 hours of practice (My "wife" Vanessa)

5) Never leave the house without a positive mental attitude (Personal philosophy)

6) K. I. S. S. (Keep it simple stupid, Odyssey of the Mind philosophy)

7) It is more difficult for bacteria to grow in an unmade bed than a made one (HGTV perhaps? reason to not make my bed)

8) If you roll your clothes you can fit more in your suitcase (Boy Scout handbook)

9) NEVER WEAR WHITE SOCKS WITH BLACK SHOES (My pregnant sister)

10) Always match your tie to your socks (My classy boyfriend who is ALWAYS a gentleman)

1) I only buy magazines with shirtless men on the cover - I read something about magazine editors putting shirtless men on covers to sell more copies and I thought, "That's silly, who is that easily swayed?" But then I realized, I am. Whoopsies.

2) I hate when people dance and sing to themselves on the subway... but I do it too - I was watching this guy just jamming to his iPod on the subway and I thought, "How silly, sir! No one else can hear the music you are listening to!" But then I caught myself doing the same thing a day later. Sometimes you just gotta dance.

3) I hate the phrase, "We're a really crazy bunch here" - When people say this about their work environment I metaphorically roll my eyes because crazy groups of people don't talk about how crazy and cool they are... they're just crazy and cool without talking about it. If you have to talk about it, chances are, you're a pretty normal bunch. Not to mention, I don't like the word, "bunch."

4) To me, acting is living, but to others, acting is just facial expressions - I realized that when people don't know a lot about theatre or acting and they are trying to compliment your performance they'll say things like, "You have a really expressive face" or "You make the best expressions."

5) No matter what city you're in, small Asian women will push you to the ground before letting you get on the subway before them - these small Asian women are a crazy bunch (and they don't talk about it).

So, I'm waiting tables again! This means long, exhausting evenings for me, and more great stories about stupid guests for you! But now, we are dealing with New Yorkers instead of Bostonians. No real difference except that New Yorkers are much more willing to shell out lots of money for a dinner than Bostonians are. But there is one thing that remains the same. Foreigners still don't tip. A big clue I have realized is that if anyone at the table asks for "no ice in their water" then you will get no tip. No ice? No ice. Get it? So get comfy, cause here we go again on a magical journey of food serving fun!

Someone gave me a magnet with this image on it two years ago and I never thought much about it. I thought it was clever and kept it on the fridge but my friend Anthony looked at it recently and commented on how perfect it is for me on so many levels.

No one really imagines themselves after they graduate from college, right? I mean, we all have a vision in our mind of going to high school, of going to college, and then of having a family one day. But that in between college and family time is always a blur. So I have officially reached the blur. And in an attempt to turn that blur into a sharper image, I have moved to New York City. The CENTER OF THE WORLD!!! And I have moved into the classiest neighborhood in Manhattan... HARLEM!!! And as I sit at night listening to the homeless man puking on the sidewalk outside my window, I get to thinking about the question that I never really considered before I came: what brings you to New York?

I was asked this question twice in job interviews and I was surprised to find myself caught off guard. I opened my mouth to speak, but realized I didn't have a solid answer. I quickly mumbled, "I'm an actor" and they responded with that fucking annoying, understanding, sympathetic head nod akin to if I told someone that I hated anchovies or something. "Ah, yes. I'm not surprised." But on thinking about it more I've come to realize that it isn't just acting. Yeah, NYC is an incredible place to be an actor and I plan on building my career here, but it is also just a great place to become the person you wanna be. Literally everything is here. There is no better place, in my opinion, to figure out who you are and hone the skills you wanna hone because you are surrounded on the daily by every personality type and every opportunity known to man. And there is no excuse to not take a class, or cook an incredible meal, or write a cool blog post about something important, because it is all at your fingertips.

So what brought me to New York? A U-Haul. And I'm here to stay.

Like the naive middle-class, half-Asian boy that I was, I grew up thinking that I lived in the trashiest town in the world. I thought that downtown Asheville was a bunch of dirty hippies that never washed their hair. In fact, I covered my food for fear of bugs jumping off their dreadlocks and onto my plate. I thought that Fairview (the smaller, less glamorous town where my house is) contained the most amount of rednecks per square mile than any other town in the world. And I thought, stupidly, that if I moved to the North, I would forever escape stupidity and poor driving. This weekend, it finally dawned on me how wrong I actually was.

I visited a little town called Beckley in a little state called West Virginia. It is important to note that I went to Beckley to escape the small town of White Sulphur Springs. Kevin and I needed to go to a movie theatre that showed more than one movie a week and Beckley was the closest metropolis. When we arrived, I was thrilled to spot a Chili's. Chili's and Chic-Fil-A are quite possibly my two favorite places in the world. When we walked in, however, I quickly realized that we were not going to blend in well. The eyes of West Virginian judgement stared right through my fitted blue H&M polo with white piping and right into my soul. The look in their eyes read, "Ya'll ain't from around these parts, are ya?" I felt a slight shudder of discomfort but I couldn't quite find the words to describe it. When we went to the movie theatre, though, I gazed at the poorly fitted pants draped around too-big waists. I gazed at greasy hair tied up in greasy pony tails. I gazed at all the "Tapout" shirts and zip-up hoodies wrapped around women with pores big enough to fry chicken in and I found the words that had previously slipped my mind: white trash. Kevin turned to me and said, "Can we go back to the car?" I nodded quickly because we weren't from around these parts.

When I drove back into the beautiful mountains of North Carolina, I realized that Asheville wasn't so bad after all. People here are sensible and dress decently. There is a manageable amount of Tapout clothing and most people bathe. For the first time in a long time, I felt at home in my home. And I realized that the North isn't so glamorous as I once thought. There are a lot of stupid people there too, they just have different accents. So next time I visit home, I will make sure to leave my judgement shoes at the door.

So, I would by no means consider myself a yogi. In high school, I attended a few yoga classes at the local YMCA. That was back in my fitness class heyday when I would do cardio-lite with all the local moms. They were obsessed with me because I knew the Grease dance and I was this random teenage boy doing cardio dancing to disco music. I loved it, though. I even became great friends with the teacher, Marianne, and I regularly attended her cycling, muscle pump, and spinning classes. She kept me in great shape. Anyway, I digress, yoga.

The very first yoga class I took was at the downtown YMCA. Now, for those of you who are not familiar with downtown Asheville, NC, it is the hippiest, gayest little mountain town in the country. So yoga is kinda a big deal. I got there with my friend Becca and it was dark in the room and smooth mountain music was playing (banjos and shit). I copied the other people and got a mat, but I wasn't sure if I should get one of the block thingies or the blanket. I decided against it. A mat would have to be enough. I found a spot and sat quietly on my mat while the other hippies melted into the room with measured breaths and relaxed demeanors. The teacher guided us through the class and I did fairly well. My strong fitness background paid off. We then got to the part where you just lie there. I call it nap time, others call it shavasana. Everyone in the room started wrapping themselves in their Mexican blankets but I just chilled there blanketless. It was too late to get up and grab a blanket. I would have interrupted the flow of the bandhas or whatever.

After nap time, the teacher (who had a slight Southern accent) put her hands in prayer position and said, "Ya'll have a nice day" to which I politely replied (with my hands also in prayer position because I had taken to copying her) "You too." Well, that's when Becca laughed and laughed at me for the longest time and when she stopped laughing she informed me that the teacher had actually said "namaste." In my defense, she had an accent, it was the end of class, and it is not unreasonable at all! Namaste means "I bow to you" which is essentially what you are saying when you say "Ya'll have a nice day," right?? Ugh, well now I know.

Namaste ya'll. Stay comfy.

As I slowly creep into that amorphous phase of life known as adulthood, I am starting to develop an appreciation for the finer things in life. Fine wines and cheeses, high class restaurants, and five star hotels. This may sound like a good thing at first, but I am starting to find that it is actually kind of dangerous. Or, to put it more bluntly, expensive. I visited the Greenbrier Resort and Casino a little while ago. It is self-proclaimed to be "America's Resort" and it is nestled in the beautiful mountains of West Virginia. It features all of the luxuries you might find on a five star cruise ship such as gambling, fancy restaurants, a theatre, expensive shopping, and an infiniti pool, but it also features a huge golf course, horse back riding, and croquet lawns. The clientele at this resort are some of the snobbiest, hoitiest toitiest people I have ever met in my life. For instance, I was waiting to see my friend in the resort's show, "Rockin' the Fifties" and these two old ladies had gotten there way early. One of the ladies was going on a rant, "I don't know why they don't just open up the doors already. On the cruise ships we always get to the shows early because the bingo is happening and they take up all the good seats. Then you end up sitting behind a pole or something. It's already 8:01 and they said the doors would open at 8:00. This is ridiculous." To which the other lady responded, "I have 7:59. Maybe their time is wrong." This is the extent of the worries these people have. Yet somehow, I find myself attracted to this lifestyle. I kind of wish these were the things I worried about.

I gambled for the first time at this resort. I walked into the brightly lit, tackily decorated casino. And as I stood next to giant clam fountain and listened to the tink and beeps of the slot machines, a sort of rush came over me. I let myself drown in the chatter of rich rich people and I felt, if only for a moment, like James Bond in Casino Royale. I purchased a ten dollar Malibu and coke and sat myself down at a slot machine. My blood was rushing, my back straightened, I felt like a high roller at last! I pulled a crisp, five dollar bill out of my pocket and slipped it into the machine. Approximately two minutes later the money was all gone and I was done. That's about the time when the woman next to me started screaming and jumping up and down. She had just won 8,000 dollars!!! One of the ladies working at the casino waddled over smiling with a stack of 100 dollar bills and started placing them in her hands. I picked up my rum and coke, walked away dejectedly and decided that gambling wasn't for me. I decided that as much as I love the high life, I will not be living it for quite some time. Until then, I will content myself with happy hours and 50% off sales at the Gap. Ralph Lauren can wait.

Stay comfy ya'll.

I think we've all had those moments where we make a new friend (or a new boyfriend/girlfriend) and the time comes when you must attempt to integrate this new friend into your old circle of friends. It's kind of a dreadful place to be. Awkward hugs/handshakes, so nice to meet you's, heard so much about you's, etc. etc. ad nauseum (First time I've used that phrase, ad nauseum! Hope I used it correctly!). Well, I don't know about you, but every time I have to introduce a new friend I get really anxious inside hoping and praying that they won't be Mr/Mrs. Bottom-of-the-bitter-barrel and scare away my friends. You know the type. The kind of person that just kind of looks bored and stares off into the distance when they meet new people. And inside you're like, "Come on! At least PRETEND to be excited to meet these people! This is important!" And they are all like, "Why should I pretend to be something I'm not?" And you're like, "Because that's just what you have to do sometimes to make a good first impression!" After all, who doesn't want all of their friends to get along, right? So if you happen to be this friend follow these simple rules:

1) Smile! A smile goes a long way.

2) Talk! Silence makes people uncomfortable. And I know it is difficult for some people to jump on board the empty conversation train, but it is a valuable skill!

3) Listen! Don't zone out and act like you'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

4) Laugh! A sense of humor is a valued quality in a new friend, so at least give a chuckle if something is funny.

5) Be slightly conservative... meaning don't lead with your strong personality traits. You need to feel out these new friends before you go all out. For instance, if you have a knack for dirty jokes. Maybe wait until they know your name and where you are from before you whip out the big guns.

Just a few comfy tips for meeting new people. Slash a bitching rant on how not to act if I introduce you to my friends. :)

Stay comfy ya'll!

So, I've recently been stressing a lot about what kind of clothes I should be wearing. Clothes are a big part of one's personality and I feel like I have somehow never really developed a sense of style. I like wearing black so my style has pretty much consisted of a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. That usually makes me pretty happy. But recently, I've felt this thirst to go beyond the black and venture into the world of patterns and colors. And I was doing pretty well! I spend a couple hundred dollars at every poor, gay man's two favorite stores H&M and Forever XXI. And I got some cool plaid shirts, nice pants, a sensible cardigan, I even got a hat! And I've felt so comfortable wearing these clothes until tonight when my nephew looks at me and says, "You need a new pair of shorts!" I look down at my just-above-the-knee, fitted shorts and say, "Why?" He says, "Those are WAY to small." I look at his sagging cargo shorts that are mid-shin and say, "Well, at least I'm not wearing capris! Pull your pants up and get a belt." I showed that 12-year-old.

But in all seriousness, fashion in the South is way different than it is in the North. The clothes I feel comfortable in up there, I feel silly in down here. I suppose that is why I am still hanging on to my few pairs of cargo shorts that my boyfriend hates so much (Kevin, okay, you're right, cargo shorts are over but I need them for when I visit the South so I don't get hate crime'd!). Then at dinner my sister is like, "Ugh, those plaid shorts you were wearing the other day with that striped shirt. Awful." I looked at her and said, "Mixing patterns is in, don't you know?!" It's true, I read it in the news somewhere. Who is she to tell me that I can't mix patterns!?! As she sits there with her purple feather earrings. Pshaw! So here is a message to the South: It is okay to wear clothes that fit, it is NOT okay to wear cargo shorts, and if done tastefully mixing patterns is FINE! I will wear my Northern clothes with pride and family, stop harassing me about my clothing choices.

In days of old it was completely appropriate to ask to see a picture of one's children, pets, or perhaps a husband or wife because those are the appropriate things one might carry around photos of in his or her wallet or purse. Nowadays, the whole photo frontier has changed completely. Most people don't carry around wallet size photos anymore because they can just store photos on their phone. It's convenient, yes, but at the same time it stresses me out. And this is why...

So I had a moment today that I'm not proud of.

Ya know when you leave a place after living there for a long time and you think to yourself, "Good riddance! I couldn't be happier to get away from this hell hole!" but then you go back several months later and realize that you sort of missed it? Well, this DID NOT happen to me on my most recent trip to Boston.

So if you follow, you'll notice that the past month had few comfy corners. I've been doing wardrobe for this little show called "Hairspray" and lemme tell ya folks... wardrobe. is. no. joke. So much harder than acting. For this show, we have hundreds of costumes that are washed, ironed and steamed every day, forty two wigs that take an hour a piece to comb out (and are combed out daily), and probably about a hundred or so costume changes that happen during the show. They don't mess around! So I haven't had time to blog, but while I have been busy ironing, I've also been busy choreographing this kids show for the theatre's kids camp. And can I say ya'll, it just made every day a little more bearable. It reaffirmed my desire to have children and there are several children that I may or may not have kidnapped.

I distinctly remember moments from my childhood when my older sister would punch me in the shoulder because I would copy everything she did or I'd always order the same thing she ordered at restaurants. She would get so upset with me and I never really understood why. Or those moments when adults would say things to me like, "When I was your age, we didn't even have a TV" or "These are the greatest years of your life so enjoy them." And still, I never really understood. This past weekend, however, my little sister (she's ten and super sassy) came to visit and suddenly I understood.

I was dancing on stage with a drag queen name Sabrina Blaze tonight, singing "Proud Mary" and I had one of those self-reflective revelations where you suddenly look at yourself from the third person, analyze what you're doing and think, "What events in my life led me to this moment?" It's such an odd feeling! I often think about myself in the context of the people around me and it makes me suddenly very self aware. It happens a lot when I look at myself in the mirror as I'm drunk at a party. I gaze at my reflection for an extended amount of time, fix my hair and say, "What are you doing with your life?!" And that's it really. I move on.

So, as many of you may or may not know, I am currently interning at a summer stock theatre called Theatre by the Sea (TBTS). Before I launch into a rant-complain-fest, let it be known that I am having a BLAST and I am so so so grateful to be here doing what I'm doing. That said, the TBTS intern is a lovely position with duties and hours of work nothing short of slave labor (today I latch-hooked 3000 pieces of yarn into a shag rug for Hairspray. It took 8 hours). But that, in my opinion isn't the worst of it. The worst of it is the living situation.

Alrighty, so we've reached July. It's that magical moment that signifies half a year gone. We all have found ourselves smack dab in between New Year's Day and New Year's Eve. To celebrate, I'd like to go on a miniature rant about charm. Related vocabulary? Small talk, schmoozing, winning over, fake laughter, and "bink." Bink is a term my friend Kevin uses whenever he turns on the charm. He says "bink" in a high pitched voice and puts the back of his hand on his cheek and smiles the most charming smile I've ever seen. He could get away with murder with bink. So damn charming and so damn useful.

1) Movies - Alright, here it is. My confession of June. I am terrible at remembering movies. I can't remember the plots, I can't remember the characters, you're lucky if I even remember that I saw it. This proves to be a very difficult thing in the theatre world because everyone is always striking up a conversation like (fake example coming up), "Oh my god, she's just like Suzy Baker from the movie 'End of the World'" and immediately I am lost. They go on to rave about Suzy's performance and all the other movies she's been in and that one obscure TV show she did and that monologue she gives after her son dies blah blah blah. My brain just doesn't feel the need to retain plot information for large numbers of movies. It's the simple truth of the matter. The plus side? I can watch movies multiple numbers of time and still be surprised/emotional at the ending.

Summertime is a time when I actually find myself with enough hours in the day to do the things I love: reading, playing piano, cooking, and going to the gym. This last one, however, has been ruined as of late by people I would like to call "gym hogs." I was innocently stretching and literally using the tiniest corner of the gym when these bros (they were such bros) came over and started playing basketball on top of me. With an audible "hrmph" I moved my mat to a quieter spot. Minutes later I spot these bros on the other side of the gym throwing weights to the ground with loud grunts. "Typical" I say to myself under my breath. Then, I talk to my friend Derek and he tells me that he was about to use a piece of equipment when one of them came running up and said, "Dude, dude, dude, no you can't use that. We're about to use that." This made me think of a list of things that annoy me about the gym.

Summer is a time for refreshing cold drinks and outdoor adventures. It's a time for iced coffee and sun glasses. It's a time for... smoothies! And today I experienced one of the best, strangest smoothie places ever.

The theme of recent days: babies. My sister called me two days ago with the news that she was pregnant. This will make me a two-time uncle (I already have a nephew #gettingolder). I couldn't be happier for her! Also, at my show the other night we had this little boy come onstage to be a guest speller. HE WAS THE CUTEST LITTLE BOY EVER! Every time he went up to the mic to spell he had to lower it so that he could speak into it. And then he got the word "hederaceous" (an admittedly very difficult word to spell, you can ask my friend Kevin) and, though he tried his hardest, he misspelled it. We then proceeded to sing our "Goodbye Song" to him and he waved goodbye to us the whole way down the aisle. He didn't watch where he was going, he just looked at us and waved goodbye (with a confused/sad look on his face). And it's a pretty lengthy song!

I have a philosophical side that kicks in on a semi-regular basis and questions everything about the world around me. It's especially true when I'm doing the run of a show. I always seem to have a moment when I take a step back and I think about the set, the lights, the audience, the theatre and everything that went into creating this "thing" that would fill the space in between dinner and the train ride home. And I find myself asking, "Is this not the biggest waste of money and space ever?" And I begin to question why I would ever partake in an artform that is so wasteful and so temporary when I could be in some third world country helping to cure disease and feed the hungry or something. "What's the point?" I ask myself. It's all a giant ruse, after all, right? We manufacture this human idea of entertainment and we place value on it. I could hop in my car and drive away and the show would still go on (I'd never be hired there again, but that's beside the point). They would fill my spot somehow. So why bother? The second I hit the stage, though, all of these questions disappear.

The reasoning behind this title: nothing more than I just wanted to talk about Twitter but didn't wanna title the post "Twitter." I suppose it stems from my self imposed need to be creative. Or perhaps my ridiculous obsession with plays on words (old man humor is my forte).

The beach here in Rhode Island is absolutely beautiful! If you stand at the front door to my house, you can here the waves gently crashing in the distance. I've always been a mountain boy. I grew up swimming in rivers and hiking mountains (in addition to sitting on my ass and playing video games and eating Little Debbie cakes of course). The beach was always a far-off, exotic place for me. I craved it and got so excited every time I went. However, now that it's a three minute walk from where I live, I have to say that it's become a little donuts for dinner (sounds like a great idea at the time, but you regret it later). Here are some reasons why.

Over the past semester I developed a slight addiction to the TV series, "The Biggest Loser." I watched every episode religiously and I even did some of Jillian's "Last Chance Workouts" on my Comcast OnDemand (she knows just what to say to me). In short, I developed a sort of obsession with watching people lose weight. My roommate, Vanessa, and I would always make lots of snacks (because you can't watch the show without eating, right?) and we'd watch it before going to bed because watching them workout made us tired. The embarrassing truth of the matter is that...well... I cried, without fail, every single episode. Every episode would have an emotional arc and 3/4 of the way through the show, someone would inevitably have some incredible revelation and start crying and that's when I would lose it. I'm not ashamed, though! These people are making huge changes in their lives! They are losing more than just weight, they are losing years and years of emotional baggage and they are fighting to win back their lives. They all gained weight for someone emotional/psychological reason and that show just cuts right to the heart of the problem and transforms not only their bodies, but the way they view the world!

The current show that I'm doing necessitates me acting like a twelve year old asshole for an hour and a half. The show is called "Spelling Bee" and I'm playing the former champion, Asian, Boy Scout, overachiever who gets a spontaneous erection. So basically, I'm playing myself at age twelve (only I wasn't an asshole. I was super sweet). In working on the show we have had to resurrect memories of when we were that age and I'm sure I'm not alone in saying that it was not the greatest time of my life. In fact, it was an age that was so awkward and uncomfortable, I don't know how I ever survived it. When I think back on that time I think about traipsing around my middle school campus being super nerdy, being overweight, being uncomfortable changing in gym class, being confused about girls, and being nicknamed "Mr. Perfection." And, lucky me, I get to revisit those memories eight shows a week!

Two weeks ago I lived in a beautiful South End Boston two bedroom apartment where I enjoyed my own room with a Tempurpedic bed and one beautiful, amazing room mate who spoiled me beyond belief. Two weeks later I am sharing a small room with four boys in a house with about thirty people sharing one kitchen with constantly-wet counters and piles and piles of dishes and five refrigerators. I feel like I'm living in a reality show or something. The joys of life have become primitive. For instance, I just spotted a foam mattress pad sitting in the hallway and I snagged it like a ninja. And now I feel like a king on my top bunk. I get joy from finding space in the refrigerator to put my milk. Or if I can snag a burner on the stove in the morning to make my eggs.

All complaining aside, I feel humbled. I've made my my mattress more comfortable (I was getting bruises on my ribs from the springs) and I've made a home out of a mad house. I'm kinda proud that I've been able to find comfy corners beyond the L-couch where this blog was born. I feel like a gypsy or something. Floating around the world with the ability to exist in any environment with any group of people. The only thing I need to work on is my space cadet-ness. I get super A.D.D. and forget that I didn't wash my cup or pick my shoes up from the kitchen. Or I leave my cheese stick wrapper on the floor. Live and learn I suppose! At least I'm not in a restaurant anymore.

Stay comfy ya'll wherever you may be.

It's over. My days of formal institutional education are over. I have graduated from college and I am moving on. But graduating from Emerson College was a weird experience. I felt like my college experience was atypical in every way. I didn't take tests or math or write a ton of papers. I didn't have a quad or a campus for that matter. I lived in the dorms for a hot second and then moved into an actual apartment. So having a formal graduation was weird for me. After all of these years of non-college-like things, why have something so traditionally college?

Also, the end of graduation was super awkward because no one really knew when to move their tassel to the other side of their cap. I actually moved mine over right after I walked across the stage, but upon realizing that I was the only one who did that I quickly moved it back over. And then no one knew exactly when to throw their caps in the air so I threw mine at the weirdest moment and had to awkwardly pick it up so the teachers wouldn't step on it.

On the bright side, our speaker was incredible. Richard LaGravenese is my new favorite screenwriter. He was real, he was honest, he knew what we wanted to hear, he was very appropriate for Emerson, he gave amazing advice, and he actually got kinda emotional toward the end. It's just nice to hear someone who is really passionate about their craft. And it's always good to hear someone tell you that you chose the right field. And now I sit here in my shiny new job working next to professionals and he couldn't have been more right and I couldn't feel luckier. I left the most talented people behind only to join a new group of amazingly talented people. LaGravenese said something that struck me. I think it went something like this.

"It's a finishing of the hat. It's all about creating something that wasn't there before. That's why we do this. You all have the right to make your place in the world. Go get 'em."

And so now I move on. For better or for worse. Into the abyss but knowing that no matter where I go or what I do, there will always be a comfy corner waiting for me.

1) The Happy Birthday Song - I am blessed to have always celebrated my birthdays with talented singers so the happy birthday song is always quite melodious with some harmonies thrown in at the end. This year, however, it happened a little differently. The moment it turned midnight I was on the subway with my friends Anthony and Vanessa and they sang the weakest, most out of tune happy birthday ever. The "whoa, yeah, kay" version of the song, if you know what that means. Somehow, though, I preferred that to pretty singing. It's the people that count, I suppose.

Every time my parents come to visit Boston, I inevitably end up consuming a lot more Chinese food than I care to. We don't have the best Chinese food back in North Carolina, so their first stop is Chinatown; specifically dim sum and dumplings. It's atrocious, really, because I can afford to eat Chinese food. What they should be doing is taking me to eat in the North End or other places that have food that I can't afford to eat on a regular basis. I give them hell for this.

Have you ever been struck by a moment of spontaneity? Has that moment ever gotten you into trouble or took you somewhere you weren't planning to go? I can think of two very specific moments where this has happened to me. The first one is a time way back in middle school when I was at the North Carolina state fair with my friend, Rawley. We were a spontaneous duo. In fact, I was at the fair to dress up as Clifford for the little kids (a spontaneous volunteering gig). On my break, however, we walked around the fair and saw a sign that said "The Greatest Storytelling Ever Told!" In a moment of spontaneity we were like, "WE LOVE STORIES!" and rushed inside the tent. Of course, it was a bunch of sneaky Christians waiting for someone to trap. And they got us. For an hour we sat in that tent being force fed bible stories. Not that Bible stories are uninteresting, just not how we planned on spending our break.

I just watched this movie "He's Just Not That Into You" with my best Asian-American friend, Jess, and I came to the conclusion that we are all crazy. Literally, certifiably insane. We all work ourselves up into frenzies about the littlest things and our brains have the power to convince us of the stupidest conclusions.

At Emerson College, we have the benefit of a little local coffee shop right next to our classes called Boston Common Coffee Company (which we have all cleverly shortened to "bocococo"). It is our "Central Perk" if you will. With plenty of big sofas, comfy corners abound and it's a great place to caffeine up before a rehearsal. On many occasions I have jogged to bocococo in weird costume pieces or all sweaty from dance class in dire need of a caffeine fix.

I often blog about public transportation because, well... because most of my life seems to be spent waiting at bus stops, waiting for the T, waiting to cross the street, walking to the T, standing in line waiting to pay for the T, waiting in traffic etc. So today, I was walking with Vanessa (to the T) and I was crossing the street in the most perfectly legal way; the white man was clearly lit and the harsh beep-boop sound that it makes was sounding, signaling that it was okay to cross. But as soon as I started to cross the street a biker zoomed past me at breakneck speed almost nicking the hair off my chin. It was in this moment that I realized that there exists a hierarchy of things that use the streets of Boston.

I just finished doing a run of a musical called Urinetown. It's a comedy and, as the title suggests, it is a show about pee. More specifically, a show about what happens when your rights to pee for free are taken away. It's also one of the few shows that breaks the fourth wall and makes fun of the structure of musical theater. The show is actually hilarious. While it was and still is one of my favorite shows, and while I have to say that this it is probably the most fun I've ever had doing a show, I also have to say that it was also very difficult and very much a learning experience.

Every person who has been a server in a high volume restaurant will be able to relate to this. And if you've never been a server, then this is what you are missing out on. This job, for some reason invades people's sleep. My friend Zach, apparently talks about work in his sleep. His girlfriend tells me that he will legit ask her questions while he is sleeping like, "Will you help me run this food?" And she'll respond, "Sure what is it?" and he'll say, "desserts..." Over the past week I've had several dreams about working in the restaurant. All of these dreams result in me waking with a jolt realizing that I've been tossing and turning and clinging to my pillow.

I love/hate Hipstamatic for iPhones...or everyone with an iPhone in general. I don't know what it is about the filtered, old timey nature of the hipstamatic for iPhone photos, but they makes me angry. Slash I love them because they make me look really cool. Maybe it's jealousy. Maybe it's a loathing for anything that could be considered a fad. Maybe it's the fact that it's called "Hipstamatic" and I just loathe everything that is hipsta. But when I browse Facebook and find entire albums of Hipstamatic photos, I get upset.

I overheard this conversation on the Silver Line this morning and it really put my life back into perspective for me. I never actually saw the people who were talking. They were right behind me and I didn't have the guts to turn around and look. But their voices were soft and mellow with a sadness that simply can't be described with words. This was the first part of the convo.