The Comfy Corner

When you attend a middle school in a hippie-littered, lesbian-abundant, obnoxiously self-satisfied city like I did, you don't go on normal school field trips. No, you go to Camp Earthshine. Yes, this is a real place and yes I really went there.

I had exactly two friends in middle school. A nerdy white boy named Matt and a nerdy Indian boy named Keeshan. They were awesome. We were awesome. And we did everything together. I mean, come on, who needs girls or parties or middle school drama when you have awesome RPG's to play on the computer?! Xenimus, anyone? So fun. We even had a shared notebook of secrets that we would pass back and forth to each other in class (it was links to porn sites, y'all, we were C-O-O-L). And when it came time for our school field trip to Camp Earthshine, of course we decided to room together. We were buds. And we were psyched.

The theme of our three day adventure at Camp Earthshine was "Destination: 1840." For the first half of the trip, we were Cherokee indians. It was like an acting exercise, so naturally, I rocked at it. I gutted a fish, I cooked said fish over a fire, I then ate said fish in a legit teepee, I threw a tomahawk, and I ground some corn. If I had been any more Cherokee, I would have been walking the trail of tears! The second half of the trip I was a pioneer, black-smithing, candle-making, and apple-cider grinding. If I had been any more pioneer, I would have been kicking the Cherokee off their land and sending them on the trail of tears! It was both educational, a little bit sad and dangerous. So naturally, I thrived. The best part of the trip, however, was the accommodations. All of the students stayed in the main lodge, which was pretty cool. That's also where we ate our meals and they would give away awards for the tables that left the least amount of food waste (hippies). The lodge, however, was not big enough to accommodate all of us. Three boys got to stay in the guest house. And you guessed it, Keeshan, Matt, and I were those lucky boys. Cherokee by day, middle school boys wreaking havoc in the guest house at night. And this wasn't just any guest house. No, it was practically Trump manor. Two stories. A spiral staircase! A KITCHEN! Just for the three of us. We stayed up late into the night swapping ghost stories, having pillow fights, and eating strange things on dares. Everything was perfect until, if I remember correctly, we got a little too rowdy and ended up punching a hole in the wall. And then we got a little hyped up on candy and broke a bunk bed. And then I got bad diarrhea because of all the candy and I think I didn't cook my fish all the way through and I definitely ate too many apples (they were free y'all!). And our teacher had to intervene.

We got in trouble, yeah. But would it have been so memorable if I hadn't gotten in trouble? Absolutely not! We were three nerdy boys allowed to let loose for the first time ever! It was our time to break shit and we did not disappoint. So if you are a parent of a nerdy, perfect teenage boy and you are trying to get them to do something wrong for a change so that they can live a little.... send them to Camp Earthshine. Stay comfy y'all!

In this time of giving thanks and recognizing what we are grateful for, I thought it might be nice to give NYC a little pat on the back and thank it for all that it does for me on a daily basis. It's a big apple, and I've taken many bites of that apple, and though it has left me with a constant, mild case of diarrhea, I'm still grateful to be living here. So here's lookin' at you New York! Here's what I'm thankful for:

1) The ease with which I am able to do my laundry. I only need to block off a day to do it! #LoadsOfTimeLoadsOfLaundry #ThanksYouThankYou

2) Getting my packages has never been simpler! Sometimes, I actually receive the package! #PutThatThankYouInACardAndSendIt

3) The overwhelming presence of late night trains. Getting home drunk from the clubs? Easy! It's a simple Blip-blop-2-hours-later-Im-there! #SoSoSoBlessed

4) The decreasing rent. Thanks for keep an eye on our wallets, NYC! I owe ya a $9 Budweiser #WinkyFaceTongueOutGrateful #TakingThatThanksToTheBanks

5) Parking is a breeze. And no one works harder for this city than the meter maids! #ThoroughAndSoThankfulForIT

6) Icy winds that actually are powerful enough to blow tears out of my eyes and cold enough for those tears to freeze on my cheeks #FrozenTearsIsMyNewAutobiography #WinkWinkNudgeNudgeMotherNature

7) The high number of Baby Bjorn strollers in TriBeCa. Whew! I was worried I might have to look at those trashy Graco's the rest of my life. Thanks for keeping our babies bougie NYC! #GratefulForBougieBabies

8) The phrase, "This train is being held at this station by the dispatcher. We should be moving shortly." Which is always followed by #SeventeenLipSmacks #ThankfulForNYCAttitude

9) Every party that is ever thrown in Brooklyn. Wow, Brooklyn is fun! And getting there has never been easier! Just a quick A>F>Construction-on-the-L>G and I'm there! #ThatWasEasy #BlessedButNotObsessed

10) Mariachi bands on the trains #SpeechlesslyThankful

Stay comfy y'all and have #Blessed #Thankful #Grateful #PraiseHimForHeHasGivenUsARoofOverOurHeads kind of weekend!

Everyone says that the first year out of college is the toughest. There are still traces of cheap beer and poor choices flowing through your veins and you are caught in a post-collegiate whirlwind of life decisions and experiences and it is tough to know where to cast the proverbial net. But for me, that wasn't necessarily true. I got a fun, degree-related job right out of college, I went straight into a meaningful relationship, I was doing what I love with people I loved, I was WALKING ON AIR! But then, earlier this year, everything made a giant shift. My relationship ended, my enthusiasm for my work started to deteriorate, the world around me that once felt so small, manageable, and neat started to grow bigger and more daunting and more unorganized. It happens to everyone and it had finally happened to me; I was hit with a major case of the twentysomethings.

I'm not proud to admit it, but I spent two weeks in June paying for my meals with quarters that I had found in my room (thank Gods for dollar pizza) and literally surviving off of the food my restaurant job was giving me. It was a bleak time, sure, but I felt too proud, too determined to ask my family or friends for help. I knew that I could push through it. I felt in my heart that this was a struggle I needed to go through in order to really bring myself up. I thought, "You can't rise to the top if you don't know where the bottom is. " And I had found bottom. I may or may not have spent an entire evening by myself (under the influence of some recreational anesthesia) watching wedding proposal videos and sobbing uncontrollably. Bottom. So what I did was I picked myself up by my bootstraps and labeled this past summer the #SummerofChang. My job started paying me more money so I started eating real food again. I explored every beach within reach of NYC. I painted my living room walls and bought new pants. I booked a show in Maine and went there for a month and made some amazing friends. I was, for the first time in my adult life, figuring out who I was, by myself, for myself.

It feels weird to admit that you don't know who you are. But I did that. I admitted that I wasn't sure who I was or what I wanted. And that is what your twenties seem to be all about, right? Uncertainty. I am certainly certain that everyone has felt uncertain about their lives in their twenties.  And now, though I am in a much better place than I was earlier in the year, I still don't really know where I am going but I feel much more confident in the man that is going there. Wherever "there" is. And I can literally feel the neurons in my brain rearranging themselves to become that of an adult brain. Two days ago I poured out a bottle of champagne because I knew it was cheap and would give me a headache. Two years ago I would have drank the entire bottle no problem. I know now that a Bourgogne wine is from Bergundy, France. And I know that I like wines from that region of France. I know that my favorite Bourbon is Basil Hayden and I like to get my produce from Whole Foods. Brick by brick I am putting myself together. And for all of you twentysomethings reading this, you gotta do it. Dude, I get it, it's a tough decade. It's lonely and confusing but it is also a crucial period of self discovery and you gotta make sure that you end up liking the person that you discover. As Dr. Meg Jay, author of "The Defining Decade" says, "There are no guarantees. So claim your adulthood. Be Intentional. Get to work. Pick your family. Do the math. Make your own certainty. Don't be defined by what you didn't know or didn't do." Stay comfy y'all.

I'm a Southern boy through and through (with a touch of Sriracha, of course) and thus I have done my darndest to avoid the New England traditions for as long as possible. Ne'er have I stood 'pon yonder Hampshire white peak proclaiming myself a Yankee doodle dandy, but I did, as of last week, partake in the one fall tradition that all New York parents drag their children out of the concrete jungle to enjoy: apple picking. But, in true Chang fashion, I performed this tradition of traditions in the most non-traditional way possible.

I recently befriended a middle aged man from Bangladesh. And for our purposes, let us say his name is Sumon. Sumon and I became friends at work and one day some co-workers left to go apple picking for the day. I sighed with jealousy and casually mentioned that this was an activity that I have sadly never partaken in. He turned to me and admitted that he too had never been apple picking and, with a fervor that only Bangladeshi people possess, asked if I would take him. I was taken aback by this request. So few people ask me on such romantic dates, I was not prepared. As I usually do when I'm caught off guard or afraid, I said yes (It's a dangerous habit, I realize). I learned over the next few days that Bangladeshi people do not share the American people's reputation for broken promises. They are a people of persistence. Thus he kept reminding me of our impending apple picking excursion and insisted that I set a date, so I eventually gave in and said, "YES, Sumon, Wednesday morning, we will go." Feeling the need for a buffer of some sort I invited some other coworkers and friends so that I could have a full car for the journey. But when I mentioned to Sumon that I was bringing some friends he looked at me perplexed and said, "But there is no room in the car!" I said, "Yes, Sumon, I have plenty of room in my car, what do you mean?" To which he casually responded, "Well, there's me, my wife, my daughter, my mom, my dad... no room, full car!"

My jaw dropped. I admit that in the heat of the moment, I was not happy that Sumon had invited his entire Bangladeshi family without asking. So I put my foot down, "No, Sumon. It is my car, I decide who goes. Only you, not your whole family." But then one by one each of my friends canceled so I thought, "YOLO!" and I told him he could bring his whole family. What the heck, at least Bangladeshi people are reliable. So Wednesday morning I overestimated the drive to the Bronx and arrived at Sumon's residence - half an hour early. I sat in his living room and ate oranges and mangos that Sumon had peeled for me while his amazing old, amazingly tiny father stared at me smiling his very-few-teeth smile. Then, when the whole family was ready, we all piled into my tiny Honda Civic (2 door). Sumon and I in the front. His wife, his one year old daughter, his mother, and his father in the back seat. How did they fit you ask? Well, his ancient, tiny father essentially sat on his mother's lap for the entire hour and a half journey. It was a sitcom episode y'all. You can't write a scene like this. None of them spoke a word of English except Sumon. So I listened to them talk and talk in a language I did not understand as I drove them through the beautiful land of New Jersey. As I drove, I thought to myself, as I often think to myself, "What events in my life led me to this moment?" And then we arrived at the apple orchard.

We all exited the tiny car like clowns in a circus. The waspy, manhattanite families stared at me (the clear outlier in the group) in confused judgement as we made our way to the counter to get our apple bags. But when we got to the orchard everything clicked for me. I saw the incredible smiles on Sumon's parent's faces. I saw his daughter running through the orchard. I saw his wife eating the apples with pure joy. I saw myself running through the orchard and tasting, for the first time, the beauty of a fresh picked apple. I later learned that this was the first time Sumon and his family had ever seen an apple tree. And, for his parents, it was the first time since they moved to America that they had ever left New York City. I watched Sumon lift his daughter up to pick apples from the trees and an incredible feeling of pure joy flooded through me.

I've been living in Manhattan with blinders on. Just laser focus on myself and complete ignorance to the reality that surrounds me. Bangladesh, I learned, is just east of India. If New York were India, Bangladesh would be like Long Island. And Sumon won some sort of immigration lottery that allowed him to move to America on a working visa. For him, it was the opportunity of a lifetime. And he has worked so hard to bring his family here. One person at a time. And what have I done? I write blogs, make silly videos, sing songs and complain about my family. But this tiny gesture of taking Sumon's family to an apple orchard meant the world to them. His wife cooked me an incredible picnic lunch of tandoori chicken, hard boiled eggs, and basmati rice. She made it "not too spicy" just for me and even brought me a fork to use (they ate with their hands, a tradition that didn't necessarily warm my heart). She even apologized for not making me a salad (which you better believe I was furious about). The kindest and gratitude they expressed toward me for doing this for them was not a kindest that I've ever experienced. And I can't help but thank him for taking away my blinders and helping me to see that I'm not the only person in this world. It was an experience I will not soon forget. And now I always have a Bangladeshi family that I can have dinner with. And you better believe, I'm bringing a set of utensils. Stay comfy y'all.

It is fifth grade. A sweaty, overweight, pre-diabetes half-Asian youth is released onto the gravel playground of his elementary school. Beads of sweat immediately form on his upper lip as he shields his eyes from the harsh afternoon sun and gazes upon the game of kickball that the athletic boys are starting up by the jungle gym. Afraid of sweating through his shirt too soon he climbs the jungle gym, finds a comfy place to sit, and begins to commentate the kickball game. "Zach is up for the kick. He's looking anxious. Will he be able to help out his team this time?" He nods his head in satisfaction. Yeah, this is his idea of fun. But eventually he realizes no one is listening to him and he joins his two best friends: Kelly, the super-Christian and Kandace, who often kicks him in the shins for no reason. They draw a definitive circle in the gravel and begin to play their favorite game: push the other person out of the circle. It's like sumo wrestling, with less rules. The half-Asian, because of his weight advantage, usually wins. He would always win, but he loses on purpose to Kandace for fear of being kicked in the shins. Then the whistle is blown and this joyous, carefree hour of recess ends. The half-Asian sulks back into the place of learning with a sweat soaked shirt, a dozen fond memories, and a sadness that the hour of play has ended so abruptly.

You guessed it, that half-Asian was me. And I tell that slightly embarrassing story because I recently ended a month long recess period. Sometimes shows feel like a job, sometimes it's just for the money, and sometimes they feel like that time you were a kid and you were playing in the sandbox with your friends for hours (but it felt like only minutes) and you never wanted to leave and when it came time to say goodbye, you cried. That's what this show was for me. It was sandbox time. I mean, it was just an Andrew Lloyd Webber show, ya know? A lot of fluff, not much content, the gayest thing since Grindr. But every single show, I cried at the end. There was something about this group of people, the place we were in, the ensemble we had,  and my emotional state at the time that just clicked for me. I felt it. I felt it pretty hard. We weren't really changing the world with this production but this production was kind of changing my world. It restored for me that sense of freedom and joy that I got when I was playing "push the other person out of the circle" in fifth grade. And when it came time to say goodbye, it was like hearing that whistle that marks the end of recess. I was sad. But like, a happy sad. "Bittersweet" is usually the word people use. Happy that I had the experience, but sad that it was time to go back to real life.

But there is always a silver lining to returning to real life, right? I mean, as Alfred Pennyworth says to Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins, "Why do we fall master Bruce? So we can learn to get back up." Without real life, we would have nothing to compare sandbox time to, am I right? Thus sandbox time wouldn't be special. So for now, I'm looking fondly back on my month of recess. And I'm looking forward to the next time that bell rings and I get to go back outside and play again. And until that time comes, stay comfy, y'all!

Boojie: "Fancy. Derived from the French word, bourgeoisie, which means middle class. They were never content on being the middle class and strived for the best...the upper FANCY class." (urbandictionary.com). Anyone with eyes and a heartbeat that has spent more than fifteen seconds with me knows that I am a boojie person. My ideal afternoon would be spent on a white couch in the Hamptons in the Barefoot Contessa's garden sipping rosé by the fire, eating hors d'oeuvres and chatting with Oprah and Ina about how dumb Sandra Lee's tablescapes are. Jeffrey would probably show up late with sorbet and flowers. I mean, I'm so boojie, I sleep in all white like I'm Jesus or something - my roommate can attest to that. It's a cleanliness, purity thing I suppose. I love white clothes, get into it. So recently, I was enjoying a lovely Sancerre rosé at the Front Porch (a local piano bar) and I thought to myself, "Self, where is this boojieness coming from? You were raised in the opposite of boojie - the boonie - so where did it come from?" So I took a quick trip through history.

When I was in elementary school, my dad would take me to the fanciest restaurants. He is a doctor and back in the day, pre-Obamacare, doctors were wined and dined with fanciful meals, late night trysts, dancing girls - and they could bring their families. So I went. So I grew up having meals at resorts in Hilton Head and enjoying seafood at the Grove Park Inn in Asheville and the Chateau Elan in Atlanta. I mean, I had a preference for foie gras and escargot by the time I turned twelve. I was a boojie baby. But I had no idea! I mean, you grow up knowing what you know, ya know? So I continued into my teenage years in blissful ignorance and I became obsessed with "The Sims" but I was not content on any of my Sims living in anything less than luxury. I built mansions for them with all the finest things. I was no stranger to "rosebud." Glamorous. We're talking elegant foyers, oak paneled smoking rooms, spa quality backyard oases. And still, I didn't know I was boojie. 

It wasn't until I was seventeen and I watched the James Bond film,"Casino Royale" that I realized I was a boojie person. I wasn't obsessed with the plot or the women or Daniel Craig's body (although, I wasn't complaining, okay? Excuse me, Daniel, walking out of the ocean with that body, shameful). No, it was his tuxedos. It was the money he was spending. It was the cocktails. The cars. It was the hotel rooms. The walk-in shower in his hotel room. The train rides. The yachts. The private dinners. I was obsessed with the boojiness of his lifestyle. I walked out of that theatre feeling like my life was severely sub par. I felt lost, confused, living a pathetic middle class life of Applebee's and Six Flags. And it was in that moment of devastation that I truly discovered who I was: a boojie person. 

And therein lies the problem. I don't have the money I need to support the lifestyle I so desire. So what do I do? I live by the idea that money is meant to be spent. It isn't supposed to just sit there and collect dust (what others might call "interest" - tomato tomato)! So when I acquire money, you better believe I'm on the town buying Tempurpedic pillows and crystal tumblers. I own three tuxedos, I own the softest sheets, and, on occasion, I have fancy dinners. One day, I will come home to a place that is lit with white candles with a fragrance of lavender bath bombs floating in the air. And all the furniture will be shades of vanilla. And all the floors will be heated. My counter tops will be heated, because ain't nobody got time for cold hands. And all the lighting will be on dimmer switches to create the perfect atmosphere for any occasion. Because I believe that even people without money deserve to live in a little bit of luxury. And when that fateful day comes, I will pour myself a white wine spritzer, sit on my white couch and say, "This, my friends, is a comfy corner." Stay comfy y'all.

When it comes to auditions, I have some stories. I mean, suffice it to say, I'm no stranger to creepy warehouses in the Bronx, okay? Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking casting couch, I'm just talking strange people asking me to do strange things. The kind of stories that make me breathe a deep sigh of relief that my mother doesn't read my blog ("Internet? That's becoming a thing now, huh?"). But let's be honest, most performers have a mental rolodex of uncomfortable audition stories, right? I mean, my roommate just got cast as a lead in a musical and when she went to her first rehearsal it turned out to be an acting class for homeless people. I mean, legit crazy people. One guy signed in as Christopher Guest - and it wasn't Christopher Guest. So with that said, I think a sufficient amount of time has passed and my emotional wounds have healed thoroughly enough that I can finally reveal the story of how I got my microwave.

I responded online to a casting notice for a "Music Video - seeking dancers." Sounds harmless enough, right? I dance, sure. I like music videos, who doesn't? "Who knows?!" Thought I, "Maybe this is actually a Beyonce music video in disguise!" I'll go ahead and quash the excitement for y'all right now - it wasn't a Beyonce music video. The guy responded casually asking me what kind of dance I do. I told him, "I'm primarily a tap dancer." He didn't seem too pleased with that. So he proceeded to ask me if I owned tights or any other "dance uniform pieces." Breezing by that little red flag, I responded, "Yes, of course, I'll bring plenty of options!" I was still hanging onto the thread of hope that this could be my chance to finally meet Beyonce. I got to the location which turned out to be his apartment (red flag) and I was the only one there (RED FLAG). It was just me and him. No Bey. He was still in his pajamas and camera equipment was strewn across his eerily empty living room (RUN AWAY, NATHAN!). He told me just to get changed, get comfortable, stretch and put on whatever music I liked. So I put on a nice long sleeve turtle neck and long pants and I asked him, "I can pick whatever music I want? You don't have a specific song that you are making the music video for?" He said, "No, I just want to film you dancing and I'll pick the music later." So that's when I said, "Peace out, dude, you're a fucking weirdo." Right? No, that's not what happened. That's what should have happened. What happened was - confused, and with an astounding amount of innocence and naiveté, I asked him, "What sort of dance are you looking for?" He said, "Ya know, contemporary." And that's when he handed me a black rose and said action.

Now, I'm usually pretty game for anything. And when I get into uncomfortable situations like this, I turn to the wisdom of Kelly Clarkson and say to myself, "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." Of course, I wasn't totally sold that I was gonna make it out of this alive. So I danced. I cued up some Adele - and I danced. Literally, for my life. In his living room. While he filmed me. Then he asked me to change into some tight, short, white shorts. So I did that because I respect and listen to my directors, ya know? And he filmed me more. Then he asked what other shirt options I had. I showed him my options but none of them were good (revealing) enough. He said, "Wait a minute, I think I have something for you." He came back with a tight, mesh shirt. The kind of shirt I've only seen on creepy Latino men in the dirty corners of the Ritz. I put it on (what doesn't kill us make us stronger, right? haha... ha...ha..) and I danced with that rose like it was the last time I would ever dance (#kisstodaygoodbye). Posing. Posing. Then he asked me if I would take off the shirt entirely, maybe just dance in my underwear. I stopped dancing. Looking back, that may have been the moment in my life when I became a New Yorker. I told him absolutely not, I was not comfortable with that, and then I asked him what that microwave was doing on his floor (I had been living without a microwave for like four months because I couldn't afford one and the first thing I noticed when I walked into his apartment was that he had two microwaves #selfish). He told me it was an extra microwave that he bought on accident. I told him I wanted it and I took that microwave and left his apartment. That was that. A few minutes later he sent me a still from the video (below).

About a month ago I was lying in my bed. I had just woken up from a lovely night's rest but my eyes were still closed. You know how it is when you are awake, but not quite ready to get out of bed? That was me. And that is when the cheeky little ghost grabbed both of my big toes. The second his little ghost hands touched my toes, every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. I couldn't move a muscle. My whole body had seized up and my eyes were clamped shut. Slowly, every so slowly, he pulled on my big toes lifting my feet off of the bed and then slowly he released them back onto the bed. And after what seemed like ages, when he finally let go of my toes, my blood immediately went back to normal and I was able to open my eyes again with a sharp intake of breath. When I regained my awareness, I looked down and he was gone. The mischievous little casper had escaped!

And it is because of this incident (and several others, I could go on and on) that I believe in ghosts! I hear too many stories and I've experienced too many strange things in my short, eventful life that I have no other choice but to believe it's all real. I mean, it all kinda makes sense, right? It is scientifically proven that the soul of a human has a weight. And that soul leaves the body when it dies. They measured the weight of humans at the moment of death. And there is consistent weight loss of about 3/4 of an ounce coincident with the moment of death. Where does that weight go?! HUH!?! Huh, doubters?? Does it float away? Well, this particular soul decided to grab my toes one morning and now I'm a believer.

And that faith carries over into my belief of psychics and mediums as well. As hilarious as I think the Long Island medium is, I also think she is absolutely brilliant and deserves everything she's gotten in life. She pegs the craziest details about people! And psychics too! There was a white witch that came up to Hugh Jackman while he was working at the front desk of a gym, before ANYTHING happened for him. Before Les Miz and the Wolverine and the other ones. And she said, "Don't freak out, but tomorrow, you are gonna get a call from an agent. You should take him up on his offer. You are going to be very famous." Excuse me? Did that happen? I think it did. So now, I am patiently waiting out my days for my white witch to come and deliver MY good news. Bring it on ghosts! Bring it on dead people! Bring it on psychics! I'm ready. And as a  rebuttal for those of you who are maybe doubters of psychics and mediums... You can't deny that even if they are full of shit, they are offering people some much needed advice. They are helping people get over and deal with things they've been avoiding. Sometimes, I think psychics and mediums can tell people things that their friends or therapists just never quite figured out. So, I'm gonna call a psychic and get some things sorted out and you should all do the same. Stay comfy y'all.

I recently have been spending a great deal of time in Tribeca. For those of you who aren't familiar, it is a small neighborhood in NYC. It stands for "Triangle Below Canal" and it is literally a little triangular neighborhood just below Canal street where the rich, artist folks live. A paradox, right? Rich and artist? I honestly have no idea where any of their money comes from, but the residents of Tribeca (including Beyonce, okay? Excuse me.) are some of the most fascinating people I've ever met. Just imagine every character in the TV Show, "Girls." Here are a few of my favorite overheards:

1) "If I told you that I was actually a huge celebrity in Sweden could I get a discount?" - Rich girl whose daddy probably cut her off

2) "What if I told you I was pregnant? Do you have a pregnant discount?" - Same rich girl
"I hope you're not pregnant, because you've had 5 mimosas." - Me

3) "I haven't been in anything for a long enough time now that someone actually stopped me on the street and asked me to take a picture of THEM!" - Renee Zellweger

4) Said nonchalantly "Oh yeah, I almost forgot, your grandpa gave you five hundred dollars for your birthday." Pulls out a white envelope of cash. "Do you want it now or should I hold on to it?"

The son, equally non-chalantly, "Yeah, just hold onto it."

5) "We can drop by the candy shoppe right after the Balloon Saloon, honey." - A mom

6) "No, absolutely not, you cannot get the berries. You can have a cone of ice cream but no berries." -Questionable Tribeca Parenting?

7) "I have so many tiny hats, it's ridiculous." -Asian woman

What makes your life beautiful? It is a question that comes back to me in my toughest moments. And I think it is an important question for everyone to ask themselves every now and again. Because even though we are surrounded by beauty, it is one of those things that we get used to and take for granted. And we can't take beauty for granted, cause beauty will be PISSED! So here's a list of my personal favorite beautiful things:

1) Family and Friends - Top of the list, duh. Even though I often forget to return their calls and only call my dad when I'm really sick or need money and on Father's Day (don't forget!!!), I love my family!  And I have the best friends in the world, no arguments please.

2) Morning Coffee and Morning Talk Shows - I am a firm believer in starting your day off relaxed and stress free. It's why I always try to get to work early and have coffee. Because whatever you start your day with, you are gonna carry with you throughout your whole day. And I love Rachel Ray, I don't care what y'all think, haters gonna hate.

3) So You Think You Can Dance - The best reality show on TV, surpassing The Biggest Loser by just a tiny bit.

4) Underwear - Happiness should be built from the inside out and I am happier in really fun underwear. I just am. I know they are fun, nobody else needs to know, it's my little secret. Nathan's Secret. OOH! Trademark.

5) The Beach - For the second week in a row, my beach plans have been ruined by the rain. I'm FURIOUS! Because I LOVE the beach. I grew up in the mountains and the beach is such a foreign, exotic thing to me. I could stare at the ocean for literally hours and I have. The beach at night? Excuse me. Magical.

6) New York City - NYC and I have grand plans for this summer. It's the #summerofchang and I am gonna milk this city for everything it has. Free movies, rooftop excursions, every park, every exhibit, restaurants, bars, clubs, I'm there.

7) Trader Joe's - Not the process of shopping there because that makes my life anything but beautiful. In fact, it is probably one of my greatest sources of stress. But once those groceries are in my apartment, all is at peace in the world.

8) Babies and Marriage - I lump these two things together because they give me similar warm feelings in my uterus-stomach. I love everything about them, babies in the subway, babies at the restaurant, babies in the park, marriage anywhere, Say Yes to the Dress, David Tuterra's My Fair Wedding. It gives me life.

9) My Roomate - She gives me tough love. She tells me what I need to hear even when I don't wanna hear it. And it helps a lot. And she is also just an incredible, incredible friend. And FUNNY! Cast her! www.vanessmoyen.com

10) My Sodastream - I LOVE soda water. I drink like fifteen glasses a day. Once Sodastream entered my life, everything changed for the better and for good.

So take a moment, think about the beautiful things in your life and your comfy corner will be just a little comfier. Guaranteed. Stay comfy y'all!

In life, we can expect only the unexpected. It's depressing. It's exciting. And it's why I am so fond of the theatre. Theatre embraces the unexpected. You never know when a prop will be forgotten, a mic won't work, or an audience member will fall through a window and land on the marquis of the theatre. Every time that first word is spoken or that first downbeat of the overture is given, the dice has been rolled. And I find that as soon as that first applause moment or burst of laughter hits, actors like to get all Judge Judy on the audience. "Ugh, what a terrible crowd." "They don't know what funny is." "If they'd stop texting, maybe they could enjoy a little ART!" "This is a SOCIETY, there are RULES!" I'll be honest, these words are no stranger to my vocal folds. I love a good audience hate-fest just like any other thespian, sure - BUT, I have recently decided that from now on, when I walk onto a stage or into an audition room, it isn't gonna be about them - it's gonna be about me.

If someone says, "Wow they LOVED you tonight!" I'll respond with a casual agressiveness, "Yeah? Well, I wasn't doin' it for them, was I? I was doin' it for me!" Because life is too short to constantly and obsessively stress over whether or not other people like you. It is hard enough in this life to convince yourself to like yourself. Am I right? Can I get an amen? And I have found in the past that I will bend over backwards to make myself into exactly what other people want or need me to be. And I'm done with all that, ya see?! It's exhausting. So from now on, I'm doin' it for me. Selfish? Perhaps. But is not our primary goal in life to seek some form of happiness? And I find absolutely no joy in trying to decipher what other people think of me. Despite a few striking personality similarities, I am no Long Island medium. Hey nah-nah, what's my name? I'm Nathan Chang. And I'm bein' me. And I hope and pray that myself will be enough. That's all I can do.

Miley was just bein' Miley. Outkast was just bein' honest. And I'm just bein' me. And I'm starting today. Because why wait for the perfect moment to start something amazing, huh? I'd rather live moment to moment instead of sitting around waiting for the perfect moment. Especially since the unexpected is all we can hope to expect. Stay comfy y'all!

I've recently discovered something very odd about myself. I always start my journeys before I realize that I don't know where I'm going. For instance, I get into the car and start driving before I realize that I have no idea how to get where I'm going. Which proves to be a dangerous endeavor because I'm always fighting with Google Maps instead of paying attention to the road.  Or when I'm not in a car, I often start walking down the street in a random direction before I realize that I don't know where I'm going (so I'm fighting with Google Maps and walking into traffic - I seriously have a death wish). Now, one could analyze this a couple different ways.

One could say that I'm being a terrible Boy Scout, and one would be right, because I'm living my life in every way except prepared. I'm making decisions heedless of the consequences. Jumping into things without the proper tools needed to do them well. I often do this while I'm cooking. I'll just turn on the stove before I know what I'm cooking or before I've even taken a pan out of the cabinet or an ingredient out of the fridge (a waste of gas, don't tell my room mate). One might say I'm getting ahead of myself, putting the cart before the horse. Jumping to results instead of enjoying the journey.

Or one might say the opposite. That I'm only focused on the journey with little interest in where it will take me. I'm just jumping headfirst into things with full commitment and an open heart. Yeah, it's dangerous. Yeah, I run the risk of wrecking my car because I'm never exactly sure how I'm gonna get where I'm going. But isn't it an exciting way of going through life? Just getting in the car and driving? Just picking a random direction and walking? Just turning on the stove and figuring out a meal? Exciting? Yes. Dangerous? Yes. But I like to think that I'm at a point in my life where I'm not so much concerned with the how as I am with the what. I know what I wanna do and where I wanna go. And I think I've subconsciously decided that I'm just gonna do it and the how will figure itself out along the journey. So jump in y'all. And, as always, curl up with something or someone soft and stay comfy. Cause life is short.

I have recently started reading "Eat, Pray, Love" - a book that my male, lesbian, and masculine female friends told me was awful and I shouldn't read it - so I knew I'd love it. I'm learning so much about how to deal with men! And I am reading it during my offstage time in the current show I'm doing (...Millie). Just picture me dressed in stereotypical Asian rice-picker garb, with watery eyes and a sympathetic frown on my face reading "Eat, Pray, Love" offstage. I'm only about eight chapters in, which, for those of you who know the book, is like 8 pages. But it has immediately got me thinking about change. Change is something that I think our world is starting to accept. Well, I can't decide if it is something we have decided to accept or if we've just grown weary of fighting it. Either way, I have thought of some examples for you to chew on so that you don't have to think of any on your own.

Example one: I remember back in the earlier days of Facebook, every time something changed on my profile, it was like the world shifted off orbit a little bit. I had to blog about it, talk about it at lunch with friends, make a sassy status about it, etc. But now, it is changing with such frequency that every one seems too exhausted to care. We have become unfazed. Change on Facebook is about as big a deal as that new reality show "Splash" (Nobody cares! You guys aren't even good at diving!). Or here's another one: what about the new G-mail compose layout? I switched right on over to the new feature and didn't bat a single eyelash, not a one. And I figured there was no use "taking a tour of the new features" because it's just gonna change again (And honestly, I use Gmail to write and receive emails. That's the only feature I need from you Gmail). Ain't nobody got time to take tours of Gmail!

And to use a bigger example, gay marriage is at the forefront of political debate right now and public opinion has drastically shifted in a very short amount of time. And I wonder to myself, "Self, what made everyone change their mind so quickly?" And then I talked to a friend who said, "Yeah, my mom called me and was like, 'Hey, should I vote yes or no to this gay marriage thing?' And my friend said, 'Yes mom, obviously yes.'" And that was that. Opinion changed. So maybe most of the people in this country have just called their kids and asked them what they thought! Because they are all just tired of caring or thinking about things. Just a thought.  

All in all, I'm happy that we are growing accustomed to change. As they say in that space wars movie thing with the robots, "Resistance is futile." And I've decided to take sides with a friend of mine you may know who's named Obama. Change has become something that I believe in. And as a return-the-favor to Obama, I am consequently going to become a Chang that others can believe in. I have goals y'all! And I'm gonna make ya proud. Embrace change, embrace Chang, and stay comfy y'all!

I'm standing at a precipice. The realization that it's time to start being an adult is settling on me. I'm not totally there. I'm not about to do something crazy like get married or buy throw pillows or anything, but if the bridge to adulthood were an actual bridge, then I'd say that I just found the bridge on a map and I'm headed that direction. And I'm not afraid to admit it, I know where I'm going. I'm likely to make a few pits stops along the way because once you cross the bridge to adulthood there is no turning back and I wanna make sure I've experienced everything I can on this side of the bridge before I cross it. But, here are some of the things I've recently decided are important foot stones on the drunken, regret-laden, sometimes-I-black-out-and-sing-Taylor-Swift path to adulthood.

1) Be a Good Host - This pertains to both parties and having guests over for the night. At parties, have some alcohol available ahead of time (no mid party liquor store runs) and have some food and non-alcoholic options (not everyone wants to get drunk). When having guests over for the night, have blankets and pillows ready, offer them a drink, some food, coffee in the morning, and a clean towel. A good host has more to offer than just a couch.

2) Don't Drink Tequila, Ever - As an almost-adult I've decided that there are certain alcohols I should and shouldn't drink. Tequila, for me, is a no-no. Find your no-no's and your go-go's! I have my go-to drink, a vodka soda, that not only helps me avoid scream-singing "I Can Go the Distance," but it also helps me keep my manly figure.

3) Get Home Before Two - "I have work in the morning..." is now, I have officially decided, a perfectly acceptable excuse to exit or avoid any potentially non-adult situation. I am an almost-adult and I need to show up to work in the morning well rested and without a hangover (or God-forbid still being a little drunk).

4) Bring a Bottle of Wine to a Party - In my transition from newborn baby to adult (I feel as though I've skipped all stages in between those two), I've decided it is now unacceptable to show up to a party empty handed. Adults bring something for the host, be it wine or Oreos. Something.

5) Remember to Close Your Tab - Adults don't get so drunk that they forget where they are or that they have to pay for things. Adults pay for things. Don't steal. Children steal. Adults have children, they don't act like children. I'm not ready for children. I may never be an adult... Moving on...

6) Wear Nice Clothes - I've reached a point in my life where I not only feel the need to start acting like a grown up, but I also feel the need to start looking like one. Shaving and showering happen on a regular basis now and I own more button ups and sweaters than ever before! I recently bought a pair of chinos. Times are changing.

7) Read the News - In college, I felt, for some reason, that it was okay to say things like, "No I don't know about what's happening in Israel because I'm in college!" That is no longer okay. Adults know what's going on in the world and can offer their piece of the opinion pie in any adult conversation.

8) Save Receipts - An adult is prepared for an audit. I'm not that kind of adult yet. And I don't foresee myself making enough money any time soon to need to be that adult. But I have started saving receipts!

9) Spend Money on Things - I've reached the point in my life where I am starting to realize that there are no more semesters. There is no "next chapter" plainly in view. My future right now is giant shards of amorphous confusion that I have about sixty or so years to piece together into something I won't call regret. So... I should start investing in furniture that will last for a length of time.

10) Buy Groceries - I'm cooking more of my meals than I ever have in the past. Adults cook. And adults know how to find the sales. Adults save leftovers and remember they are in the fridge.

I'm becoming an adult. It's scary to admit, I know, but I'm ready to embrace it. I'm packing my "emergency bag for the rest of time." The lonesomeness, the burden, the struggle, of adulthood is at my doorstep and I'm going to answer the door with confidence.

Stay comfy y'all

I find it interesting to think about the various things we do and accomplish in our lives and how they relate and inform each other. For example, how does my obsession with Harry Potter relate and connect to my acting abilities (infinite connections, believe me. WWDRD - What would Daniel Radcliffe do?). I've been introducing myself into the cabaret world of New York while simultaneously doing the same thing in the improv world. And there is one concept that bridges these two artforms in a most beautiful way: you are enough.

You are enough.Three words that can at any moment make me laugh with utter joy or cry uncontrollable tears of sorrow. In improv, they teach you that you are inherently funny. People are inherently interesting. You don't need to layer on any silly character or crazy idea. You can be yourself and yourself will be enough. And I'm starting to realize that you are enough because you are so very similar to everyone else on this earth. We are all a jumble of the same materials and ideas. We all eat, we all sleep, we all breathe the same air, so it is silly to think that you need to do a scene about lesbian vampires on Mars in a room made of jello in order to be funny or interesting. A funnier scene would develop from two best friends that just had an incredible dinner. It's relatable. It's you. It's me. It's enough.

And in cabaret it's even more so. I've seen so many incredible performers freeze up in cabaret type settings because they aren't playing a character or acting. In cabaret, you are playing yourself. And being yourself is really difficult. I feel like I'm fighting this treacherous battle and I'm on this long and dangerous journey only to arrive at my destination which is - myself. We feel this constant need to layer on more things to make ourselves better versions of ourselves but it all ends up having the opposite effect. We seem desperate or like we're trying too hard. Too much icing on the cake. You are the cake and your cake is perfect. So my little piece of wisdom of the day: you are enough. I've never met a person in my LIFE that I've thought "you are a completely uninteresting person." Even people that I've initially thought as "boring" turn out to have many layers and are just as weird as every other weirdo in this world. So stay comfy y'all, because you're enough.

Tonight is the final night of a show that has been steering my life for the past year. It started as an idea that this stage manager of one of my shows pushed me to turn into an actual thing. And then I started doing a lot of brain storming. And then I mentioned it to someone in passing and they set a date for the show and scheduled a space. And having a deadline forced me to actually start creating things and fast forward a few months, I'm performing the show in New York City in one of New York's oldest, most amazing cabaret theaters. It's been a whirlwind experience to say the least. But I've realized something rather important through this process: doing shows in New York is FUCKING EXPENSIVE but you can't put a price on art. You can't put a price on my boyfriend's tears after the show or my own tears after reading a congratulatory email from my dad. Those things are priceless. Thanks American Express for stealing that idea.

I've actually had to completely restructure my view of money through this process. When I did this show in Colorado last summer, everyone handed everything to me on a silver platter. They gave me a space, my music director volunteered his time for free, the musicians were HAPPY to play for me for free. It was a dream come true! Or maybe it was just because the town I was in was so small there was nothing better to do. In any event, who cares!? I created something pretty awesome for free. And then I came to New York with an idea to do the same thing, but I realized very quickly that if I wanted it to be good, it wasn't going to be handed to me in the same way.

Needless to say, there are plenty of things to do in New York and people don't work for free very often. And rightfully so! New York is ridiculously expensive and getting more so every day. MTA fare hikes, I quit you. I'm surprised they don't charge you to breathe in this city. But I have come to the understanding that I have to view money as a liquid thing. A thing that will come into my life and go out of my life in regular intervals. I've always looked at money as a thing that I should be squirreling away and protecting with my life. And when I have that view of money, it pains me every time I swipe my card or put a pen to my checkbook. But now I see money as opportunity. I see money as classes, contacts, connections, friendships, shows etc. And when I look at money like that, I get a lot less stressed out. Some people work for free because they can, they want to, or they like you a lot and some people charge money for this reason or that and some people charge very little money because of several other reasons. In the end, it doesn't matter. More money doesn't equate to more talent, I mean, I could name several TV actors... Money is simply money and people have their prices. End of story. I didn't go into this business for money or because of money, so I'm learning to let it go. I write those thousands of dollars worth of checks away and I can still breathe. It's a learning experience, but I think it's an important one for every artist to go through. You can't put a price on art.

Stay comfy y'all!

I've been gettin' a real kick lately at the number of people who have all sorts of quality advice about my career. What I've discovered is that everyone is apparently an expert in every field! I didn't know that until recently, but dang, what a discovery! For instance, I was talking to a gentleman recently who once took an acting class. He informed me that what I need to do is go see shows that have roles in them that I could potentially play. This was a real breakthrough for me. He suggested I go see Jersey Boys because... that show has guys in it! And then he had a light bulb moment which was quite exciting for both of us. He said, "Have you considered being in Book of Mormon?" That hadn't crossed my mind! But now I think I'll go sign up to be in it. Cause, gollygee, it sure sounds like an awful lot of fun.

My favorite, however, is the people who come up to my room mate and me and say things like, "You know what you should do? You should get an agent!" or "Have you considered looking into getting an agent?" This is just solid advice. I'll run on down to the agent store and find one I like!

Lastly, I was really inspired by whoever wrote the recent Backstage article about auditioning holding rooms. She warned me that when I get to an audition there could be "ten other people waiting to audition." She also let me know that if the day is really busy I might have to wait "up to an hour." Garsh, that sounds like a tough situation! Thanks for the warning.

Stay comfy y'all.

The other night, my friend Melonie and I decided that it was high time that we had a night of debauchery. This night has become a bit of a tradition and it usually involves us stuffing our faces with delicious vegan strawberry shortcake from Peacefoods Cafe and then going to Dive 75 and getting blackout drunk while we play Scattergories and eat Reese's cups by the fish tank. A sensible night for anyone involved, right? But this particular night did not go quite as planned.

Everything was perfect. I was at a perfect level of drunk, we were playing Scattergories, we were alternating buying each other drinks, and we had finally scored an actual table instead of a spot at the bar. Bliss. But then, Melonie realized that her bag and her coat were gone. This is when the chaos ensued. As we stumbled around the small, crowded bar looking for her bag and her coat we suddenly realized how drunk we actually were. I was stumbling and running into people. The bouncer even yelled at us for looking through other people's things. That's when Melonie turned on the drunk girl tears.

Tears like pearls poured down her face as she started blatantly making up all the things that were in her missing bag, "ALL MY CASH I OWN! MY PHONE! MY METRO CARD! MY SOCIAL SECURITY CARD! MY PASSPORT! MY PAYCHECKS! I WAS GOING TO THE BANK BUT I FORGOT!!!" We were legit starting to cause a scene at this point. So that is when the owner of the bar came over and gave us 30 bucks to take a cab home. I gave Melonie my jacket and we ventured out into the freezing New York air minus one coat and one bag. This is when my memory gets patchy. I remember having a Con-Edison traffic cone in my arms, hugging it like a Teddy bear, I remember Melonie jumping over the turnstile to ride the subway (guess we forgot about the cab money), I remember her crying while she sat on the edge of the platform with her legs dangling towards the tracks, I remember screaming at her about the danger of that,  and then I remember being on the train.

On the train Melonie turned on the tears EXTRA hard. The crowd began to gather around us to listen to our sob story. I rubbed her back and nodded my head a lot and said useless things like, "It's okay, we'll find it. Don't worry. We'll figure it out." As a result, this really nice teacher woman gave us a 45 dollar Metro card. And then, as we were stumbling off the train another older woman gave us her 8 dollar Metro card. She looked SO sorry for us!

So, if we are all doing the math here, WE SCORED 83 DOLLARS JUST BY BEING DRUNK AND SAD!!! I'm thinking that this is a business we should really look into! In then end, we woke up with the worst hangovers, the bar called me (apparently I left my information) and they found her bag and coat, and I now have a huge Con Edison traffic cone sitting in the corner of my room. It'll come in handy for something I suppose. Stay comfy y'all!

For those presently unaware, I am working for the Harry Potter Exposition in Times Square as the sorting hat. NBD, really. Anywho, there is one question that I always ask all of my first year clients. That question is asked in a stunningly realistic British accent and the question is, "What is your favorite Hogwarts house?" Here are four of my favorite answers.

1) Hufflepuff - I just love everyone who says they like Hufflepuff. I wanna say, "Time to move out of your parent's basement!"

2) Zorendendon - One of the cutest kids I've ever sorted came in and said, in the cutest little voice I've ever heard, that his favorite house was zorendendon. I had no idea what he wanted so I made him a Gryffindor.

3) 1 or 3 - a cute little girl very sincerely told me her favorite house was either 1 or 3. I don't know what kind of number system she had worked out in her head so I made her a Ravenclaw.

4) Well, I suppose I'm a Goofendorf - This was the response given to me by the funniest Texan woman I've ever met. She followed it up by screaming, "IS THAT THING CLEAN?!?" when I put the hat on her.

Stay comfy y'all.

I'm not too good at the whole New Year's resolutions thing, but gosh-darn-it I sure try every year! Last year, I managed to not accomplish ANY of my New Year's irressolutions. Yes, it is "ir-" because last year was a very uncertain year. I mean, let's be real, I'm a pretty productive person day in and day out so while I may fail at accomplishing long term goals, I make my daily goals my bitch. Wake up, check. Eat breakfast, check. Watch Rachel Ray, check. Nap, check. Boom boom boom. Knocking things off my to-do list like Santa. But I've decided to go all out this year and try all of the New Year's resolution tricks in hopes that one of them will stick. So here we go.

My word for the year is "growth." Growth in every sense of the word. I mean, not EVERY sense of the word. I'm not clearing the shelves of Extenze or anything (or am I?). No, I want to gain some weight; growth. I want to finish classes at UCB; growth. I want the decisions I make this year to all come from a place of growth. Are you helping me to grow physically or emotionally? If not, then you can GET OUT!

My catch-phrase for the year is "ripped and rich 2013." Well, let's be real, rich in the literal sense is not going to happen foralongtimepossiblyever#regret. But that's fine, because I want to strive for wealth in every other facet of my life (cue groans from my father). I want to be rich in social interactions this year. Rich in love. Rich in friendship. And ripped is exactly what it is. I want to be ripped. I'm at the gym always.

My slogan for the year is the Boy Scout slogan: do a good turn daily. It's a fool-proof plan. Do something nice for somebody else every single day. For instance, yesterday I was humming while I was waiting for the train. To everyone who heard me, you're welcome. ;)

My mantra for the year is "only hot people sweat." This is something that is literally written on the mirror of my gym and I've taken it to heart. What it means, to me, is that I can't be afraid of the work it takes to get what I want. Too long have I gazed out yonder window stoically yearning and dreaming sans execution. This year I am not going to shy away from the journey. Results are achieved through hard work. So I'm gonna sweat it out this year, y'all. If I'm not sweating when you see me, ask me why. And I'd better have a good reason, else I'll have to have a long talk with me.

So, hopefully one of these things will stick this year. If not, then this time next year I'll get my cat man license, purchase 19 cats, a home in Queens and wait it out (death, that is). Stay comfy y'all!