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!

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!

2:30AM on a Tuesday night, I am awoken by the raucous chatter of young hooligans beatin' their gums loudly in my kitchen as if it were a regular speakeasy. Blearily, I stumble out of my bedroom door to tell the young rag-a-muffins to pipe down and I remind them of the time of day. The next evening I settle into my bed with a blanket and a cup of tea and watch "The Truman Show" with a candle burning and a chocolate brownie cheesecake in my hand. The morning after that, I go to get my mail (a linen pocket square that I've been waiting for anxiously). On my way back from the mail, however, I ran into some buddies of mine and shot the shit for an hour and a half on Main street, complaining about the pace of New York City and how you can avoid getting mugged by simply screaming the word, "WHAT?!" at your pursuer, and the practicality of those new-fangled toe shoes and how they might cure an aching back. This conversation was quite taxing so I settled in for an afternoon nap post retrieving my mail. Now I find myself sitting on the porch on Main Street, sipping coffee and blogging.

What does this say about my personality? Well, I am an old man. A regular wet blanket through and through. I avoid activities that might excite my weak heart. When I go to bars, I go to quiet bars and I drink gimlets. I am a home body. I prefer candles and Ella Fitzgerald to a night of clubbing. I prefer cooking an Ina Garten meal and listening to Michael Buble than going out to dinner. I prefer nostalgic comedies to loud thrillers. I prefer Rodgers and Hammerstein's classic melodies to the busy music of today's composers. Okay, so maybe it is also just says that I am a big homo, but in general I think it says that I just prefer my peace and quiet to the incessant noise of a juice joint.

And I've come to realize that this isn't necessarily a great quality of mine. This is a part of my personality that I have to actively work on. I know that I need to get out and explore the world and I know that I'm not going to make any connections or get anywhere in life sitting in my bedroom. So, I sigh loudly and put on my club outfit on occasion and bump and grind with the best of them. But, it's just so much ya know? The loud music, the people hitting on you, the embarrassing drunken confessions of your friends. My senses can only handle so much! If only we could go back to the days of sitting around in our drawing rooms smoking cigars and drinking port and we could call that a crazy night. But alas, we've reached a point where a "crazy night" involves hash being slipped into the hooka and then that crazy Australian girl from the Cirque trying to give you a "space cake" and you waking up inside of giant metal tube with your pants off and no recollection of how you got there. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I can't keep up with kids these days! I haven't the energy and if I tried, then I fear the ole ticker might give out. So I'll content myself with my Ella, my port, and my blog and occasionally, when I'm provoked  enough, I'll put on my red pants and hipster glasses, get wasted, and pose for Warhol-worthy photos in the clubs with the rest of them. Stay comfy y'all.

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)

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.

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 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.

It amazes me how much of a bubble college truly is. Every time I leave Boston, it's as though I am awakened from a long, strange dream. We all get so wrapped up in our lives that we forget that their is a whole world of things waiting to be explored. I'm currently blogging live from the William's estate in Windham, Maine where I am melting into a fur rug in true Spring Break bliss laughing about people who buy out entire stores of food for pennies using their coupons. And we couldn't have dumbed life down any more.

I apologize for not posting in a while. The beginning of the semester hit me like Hurricane Katrina (too soon?). In any event, the storm that has dumped snow on over half of our country finally arrived in our great city of Boston and has resulted in the rare, but wonderful snow day. And this snow day has gotten me thinking: how have things changed? How is this snow day different from the ones I would ache for in elementary school? Well, there are some key similarities (sleeping in, playing in the snow) but there are also key differences...

1) I eat a lot of Chic Fil A, Mexican Food and Barbecue.

2) I marvel at how cheap beer on draft is.

3) I get roped into taking out the trash or doing chores and I always ask, "What do you do when I'm NOT here?!"

4) I play with the dogs and wish I could have one of my own in my apartment.

5) My little sister wakes me up every morning.

6) I watch entire seasons of TV shows on Netflix

7) I read a lot of statuses and start preoccupying my thoughts with things like, "I'm so annoyed with all of these Black Swan statuses." or "When did it become a new thing to make your New Year's resolution your status?"

8) My grandmother tells me I am "very pretty" every ten minutes I'm with her (Alzheimer's)

9) My sister says, "That's so gay" all the time and always apologizes to me.

10) I breathe in the fresh air, I sleep a lot, I eat a lot, I marvel at the beauty of the mountains, I am thankful for my family and for the fact that I still have really great friends here.

Ya'll have a nice day!

Nathan

This is why coming home and digging through old stuff can be dangerous. I won the year book design competition in fifth grade and this is the portrait of a winner. At least I was doing well at something...



Not much longer after that photo was taken, I wrote my autobiography. I wish I could just upload the whole thing because it is all golden. On one page I talk about how I want to stop pollution five times. Apparently I was on a big environmental kick. And under "five important questions for the future" I asked "What will we eat? Where will we go? What will we do? What will we wear? Where will we have gone?" That's all I could come up with in the moment, apparently. But here are the current fads...



Apparently it was really cool to wear plaid button ups unbuttoned over a white shirt, listen to 98 degrees and watch DVD's. Oh my 6th grade self. Those were dark times. It's important for everyone to know that this is around the time I started running to lose weight and clean myself up.

So I was recently balled up into a pile of plush pillows in the corner of my bed when my mind began to reach back to a time long ago when my fascination with comfy corners began. If you all want to know how I originally came up with the title for my blog, you can find it here. But, I just realized that the history goes back much farther.

When I was a kid, I wanted to live underground. I envied animals that burrowed, like mice and groundhogs, because I imagined them to be so incredibly comfy in their little underground nooks, storing away nuts and decorating with leaves and small twigs. I stared longingly at my hamsters in their cages (I loved hamsters) as they burrowed their little bodies into the bedding and napped all day. I think, if memory serves me correctly, I even started to dig a hole in my back yard (a hole...to live in?) but I quickly hit a bunch of rocks and I was too fat and lazy to continue. So alas, all I could do was dream.

Also, I had two blankies growing up and two stuffed animals named Smooch and Snuggles. I had others, but they were the only two that mattered. Every night I would curl into bed with Smooch, Snuggles, and my blankies and I would ball up my yellow blankie and burrow my hand into the folds of the fabric. I just liked the way it felt. So cool and soft on my hand. Today, I no longer sleep with those old friends (I sleep with new friends!), but I never pass up an opportunity to feel a soft fabric, or curl up into a ball in a corner with pillows. I crave winter just so that I can where my hoodie. So, I suppose the moral of the story is that while we can change what we do quite drastically, we can never change who we are at our core.

Blogging to you live from New York City folks! I always seem to end up back in this city, and every time I visit, I am filled with inspiration and renewed vigor for life and art. It's like the collective creativity and talent crammed onto this little island is just seeping into my pores. I can't wait to move here after I graduate (that is, as long as I do actually graduate).

So, the best thing about having a large network of friends in NYC is that I never have to find a hotel when I visit. I can always just crash on someone's couch. So for this particular trip, Chris and I decided to crash on his friend Drew's couch. It was a very kind gesture on Drew's part, so naturally I felt obligated to get him some sort of gift, although I didn't have a clue what it would be (me being on a very tight budget and all). But, as Chris and I were walking toward his apartment, my prayers were answered. Sitting on the side of the street was a knee-high, stuffed horse mounted on a wooden stand with wheels - and there was a sign attached to it that said "Take Me!" So, naturally, I took him and decided that this would be the perfect "Thanks for letting me stay in your apartment" gift.

As I was walking down the street with my new horse, however, the worst possible thing that could have happened, happened. We passed by a mother sitting on a stoop with her little girl and her little boy. The little girl took one look at my new horse, dropped her jaw and looked directly into my eyes with the most pitiful, disgusted and horrified look I have ever seen on a human face. The look said "That was supposed to be my horse! You bastard..." Sure enough, after we passed her, I looked back and saw her running up the sidewalk to look at the empty spot where the horse had previously been. Now, I have a little knot of guilt growing in my stomach. We had taken this toy, that could have been enjoyed by this little girl for the rest of her childhood, perhaps she would have passed it down through the generations as a family heirloom, it would have a permanent spot in the playroom next to the fireplace, all of her kids would have pictures with it, and we used it as a joke thank-you (we ended up putting the horse in his bathtub with a bottle of beer. Drew found it this morning). I feel despicable, but it was so worth the laughs.

Ya know how you have those moments when you suddenly remember a moment from your past and you get all nostalgic and realize that you've changed but you haven't - you're older but still pretty much the same? And then you think, "Wow, I wish I could recapture some of that uninhibited creativity from my youth." Well, I'm only twenty-one so I don't really have many moments like that but, I recently flashed back to a memory from high school which I think captures my odd sense of humor very well.

I was with a group of my friends and I was telling them about how funny it would be if someone ate a Snickers bar with a fork and a knife. No one does that, right? So, of course we decided to do it. But, of course, we had to take things to the next level. We set out the white table cloth, we got out the good china, we lit candles, and my friend Laura whipped out her violin. I sat there at the table and ate that whole Snickers bar with a fork and a knife in the dim lighting accompanied by the violin.When I finished we all laughed and went about our day - we didn't take pictures or videotape it or anything. Just doing it was enough.

And while I miss those weird moments from high school, I still feel like my sense of humor is pretty much the same and if ever I was confronted with another opportunity to eat a Snickers bar with a fork and a knife, I wouldn't hesitate.