The Comfy Corner

I had a real flair for the dramatic growing up. As did, I suppose, most people who grew up to become actors. But, I believe, everyone kind of has a flair for the dramatic when they're young, right? I mean, just listen to the cacophony of children on the subway every afternoon screaming for their "passy" or their "baba" or whatever. Or, God-help-me, listen to those kids at brunch on the weekends in Tribeca. "I SAID I WANT OYSTEEEERRRS!!!" I swear, that whole neighborhood becomes one giant, bougie Gymboree on the weekends. Thankfully, most people grow up and learn how to tame that dramatic beast inside themselves and only release the drama-beast when they are drunk or heavily medicated after surgery. Actors, on the other hand, have the unique ability to be dramatic about things while completely sober and sans-incision (but that clearly doesn't stop us from going under the knife or drinking alcohol Lindsay Lohan). In any event, the message I'm trying to convey here, perhaps unsuccessfully, is that it is perfectly healthy to be dramatic sometimes while you're sober. Just get it out of your system, y'all! Drama is a dish best served piping hot. So go for it! Do what I did the first time I got a charley horse.

I was seven. I had just cozied into the top bunk of my bed. My mother had tucked me in burrito-style, like I prefer, and turned out the lights. I had waited the standard couple of seconds before I turned around to pull out my secret stash of toy cars from under my pillow (I liked to play cars even after I had already been tucked in. Rebel Chang) and that's when it happened. Searing pain shot through both of my legs. It was like the devil himself had reached his red, hot hands through my skin, grabbed hold of both of my calf muscles, and started slowing ripping them apart, cackling all the while. I screamed out in pain and horror as I fell out of my bed. I rolled around for a bit clutching my shins, hot tears streaming down my face. My life was flashing before my eyes, all seven years of it. No more pushing sticks down the creek, no more riding my bike around the cul-de-sac in tight circles, no more slip n' slides! In the words of the Backstreet Boys, it hit me harder than a shark attack! My mind was exploding with pain, I knew nothing except that I needed to seek immediate medical attention. I made use of my only two working limbs and I army-crawled out of my room. Every pull of my arms caused an equal jolt of pain through my legs. It was torture, but I knew that I needed to see my Dr. Dad right now because I knew these legs needed immediate amputation! That was the only solution for this brand of pain, I knew it. So I crawled down the stairs crying out for the whole neighborhood to hear, "I'LL NEVER WALK AGAIN!!! I'LL *sniff* NEVER *sniff* WALK *cough* AGAIIINNNN!!!" I pulled myself into the living room with the last bit of strength my arms had left in them. It was like the final scene of Lord of the Rings when Frodo has to make that final push to get the ring into the volcano. And there sat my family, all staring at me drop-jawed. I saw their blurry outlines through my tears and I reiterated "I CAN'T WALK! I'LL NEVER WALK AGAIN!" They didn't seem to understand me! Why weren't they rushing me off to the hospital or bursting into tears? Their baby boy was dying!  Perhaps, I conjectured, they were all born without emotions! This is when the worst thing that could have possibly happened, happened. They all started laughing. A look of confusion spread across my snotty, tear-stained, seven-year-old face. They were salting the wound. The louder they laughed, the more my legs hurt. Didn't they know that?

My dad eventually calmed me down and explained to me what a charley horse was and that I just had to stretch it out for a bit. I got better. No amputation necessary. And now, my family just loves to tell this story at the dinner table. Okay, was I being a bit dramatic? Yes. But isn't that how we ALL feel when we get charlie horses?! Like we'll never walk again? I was just responding to my pain honestly! And I feel like people don't do that often enough. We stifle our response to pain because we are afraid that we might come across as what? Weak? Well, I have no fear of seeming weak. I freely admit that I am a delicate flower. When a doctor asks, "On a scale of 1 to 10 how is your pain?" I say, "11! FIX ME!!!" I'm that guy that says "ouch ouch ouch!" before people even touch me or if someone maybe came close to stepping on my toe. Because I don't wanna hold it in. I want to feel. And to feel is to experience, y'all. So go ahead. Throw your temper tantrums. Whine about your petty problems. Get it out of your system so that you have a clear head to actually deal with things like an adult. And also so that you don't become a drug addict or something. It's healthy to feel emotions, I promise. 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).

"So what do you do for a living?" I'll ask someone that I'm meeting for the first time. They look to the floor sheepishly and respond dejectedly, "Ugh, I'm an actor." In the same tone of someone admitting they are addicted to meth or something. I HATE THIS! No one should feel ashamed to admit that they are an actor. Being an actor is such a brave, incredible profession. You are doing what most people in this world regret not doing; chasing your dreams. So say it with confidence, y'all! I'm an actor. Don't apologize for your profession. I know that it can be annoying living in New York and LA and telling people that you are an actor because everyone's an actor. But who cares?! You aren't the same actor as the person you are talking to. You have something unique to offer the world that they can't offer. So own it! And if they roll their eyes, you slap those eyes right outta there face and then they'll be sorry. Because they won't have eyes!

This past summer I was working at a theatre in this tiny town in Colorado. The theatre was pretty much the only reason the town still existed. So working as an actor in that town was something to be proud of. When people asked me where I worked, I proudly said that I worked for the theatre, and it would spark some sort of admiration in them. They were excited and wanted to come see the show. Unfortunately, it's not always that way in New York. Admitting you are an actor seems to spark projectile vomiting and heavy sighs. But, it shouldn't! When people visit New York, they are most impressed by the artistic presence throughout the city. And you are part of that, so you should be proud.

And lastly, this is a personal rant, but Backstage Espresso needs to stop writing depressing articles like "When Should You Give Up on Your Dreams?" or "Ten Things You Sacrificed When You Decided to Be an Actor." WE GET IT, BACKSTAGE!! We know exactly what we gave up! I could write a ten page article on why I should quit acting! So I don't need to hear it, okay?! So, be proud of who you are, be proud of the amazing career you chose, and don't let the man get you down. Your life will go the direction that it needs to go. Stay comfy y'all.

So I have overheard many hilarious conversations on the streets and subways of New York City but few have earned the right to have a place on my blog. Few have caused me to miss my train stop because I am furiously typing the whole conversation on my phone with the speed of a court stenographer. When reading this, imagine two oppressively nerdy band geek boys. I have named them Dave and Rob (no offense to you, Dave or Rob, those just sound like band geek names to me). This is their conversation. It needs no further exposition.

Dave: (upon entering the train) So, what do you think Heather really thinks of me?

Rob: Dude, probably what everyone thinks of us brass players.

Dave: What's that?

Rob: All of the wind players are scared of us.

Dave: Why? What are they scared of?

Rob: Dude, you know. Our bro lifestyle, man. We're like drunk all the time. And if we're not drunk, we're really angry.

Dave: Yeah, that's true. I mean, we have pretty crazy ways.

Rob: Yeah we do.

Dave: But like, I specifically wonder about Heather ya know? Like what she thinks of me.

Rob: What, you afraid she thinks you're like a little horndog or something?

Dave: Yeah man, I mean, we're brass players.

Rob: That's true. Well, why don't you invite her over to my place?

Dave: Oh, yeah, totally.

And that's about when I realized that I was two stops past where I was supposed to get off the train. Stay comfy y'all!

So I think I've done enough greeting lines with enough companies now to have an opinion about them. We begin with a definition. The greeting line: the thing you do after a show where you thank the patrons for coming, shake hands, sign autographs, and take pictures. It's essentially the stage door of regional theatre! And I've officially decided that I am not a huge fan of them. I mean, I love talking to patrons and encouraging them to continue seeing theatre and what-not but the majority of the time it is just awkward. For both parties involved. It is awkward for the people who just saw the show because they are kinda overwhelmed and in a state of confusion where they are lost for words. Which is why you get comments such as,

"Wow, you can almost act, sing, and dance!"

"Is that a pillow under there or is that all you?"

"Those glasses aren't real!"

"You should consider doing this professionally!"

And that's just a select sampling. Don't get me wrong, most comments people make are genuinely heartfelt and lovely to hear. But every so often the comments are inappropriately hilarious or sometimes they can be kinda unintentionally mean. It's worse when you have to collect money in a basket at the greeting line. Because then you actually need something from them so you have people doing the avoidance smile-and-nod as they guiltily breeze past you. Also, at the theatre I'm currently working for, I've had the unique added frustration of people congratulating me for shows that my friend Anthony was in last summer and I was in fact not in. I usually just say thank you and pretend to be him for a second, but sometimes I have to explain that they have the wrong person. "We went to college together, he's a good friend of mine, we get confused all the time." Although, we don't look that much alike in my opinion. Maybe it's our Emerson training they are getting confused...

There is one greeting line situation that I love. And that is the greeting line for kid's shows. I get to feel like a rockstar and see all the cutest babies in the world at the same time! When I was with "Seussical" there was the cutest handicapped boy who came through the greeting line in a wheelchair and sang "How Lucky You Are" to us. If that doesn't make you cry then nothing will! There was also a kid that came up and handed me and my other Wickersham a banana because he thought we might be hungry. I could have died from the cuteness. Not to mention the hoards of kids dressed like the cat in the hat. I could sit in those kinds of greeting lines all day long. Otherwise, I'd rather change into my footy pajamas and crawl into my comfy corner with a bowl of mac and cheese. So whether you are in the greeting line, greeting people in the greeting line, or if you don't have to deal with this at all, stay comfy y'all.

People say that improv can be a kind of therapy for some people. Heck, people say that about theatre too. And it's simply because in improv you get to just be as weird as you want to be. As weird as you probably are. So all of the misfits and weirdos that have never been able to find creative satisfaction in other fields find improv to be a rather comfy corner. I know this to be true because I am that misfit weirdo that recently found his comfy corner in improv. I used to hate improv. Sorry to all my friends that were in improv troupes in college, but I just did not enjoy seeing improv shows. I didn't like watching actors struggle on stage. I didn't like the discomfort of knowing that things could fall to pieces at any moment. I am the type of person that practices too much, demands perfection when perfection isn't reachable, and generally just tries too hard. I like theatre to be in a nice, squeaky clean little box that is polished till it shines. That's probably why I like musical theatre so much. But then I forced myself to join an improv troupe and the walls came tumbling down.

All of the freedom, the relaxation that I worked SO HARD to achieve in college has finally started to sink in. It's like I took some miracle antidote that made the metaphorical stick up my butt just disappear! The problem in college was clear. I was "working so hard" to "relax." Not really very effective, right? But in improv, I can't really work too hard because I don't know what's gonna happen next. So voila! I stopped working so hard and finally I was able to relax and just do it. And the fear of failure in improv is silly because the odds are totally in my favor. Just by the nature of it, it's all totally made up, so you are going to be funny 95% of the time if you are being honest.

So, therapy indeed. It seems like a contradiction to put yourself in a high-stress situation in order to unwind all the things that are tightly wound inside of you. But it totally has worked for me. All of my favorite actors started out as improvisers so of course this is the path I want to be on. So to all of my fellow therapy group members here in Boomtown, thank you for welcoming me into your world. Whether I'm actually good at it or not, it doesn't matter. It's become like a weird drug for me and I'm gonna keep taking this drug until I need something else. For now, this is the best high I've ever had. Stay comfy y'all!

I feel like it is finally time to 'fess up and tell you all the story of how I got the job that I currently have. I love my job and am having a blast, but I'm gonna be real for a sec - my audition to get this job was a big strug mess! I'm talking Elise Taff level strug (she's the struggiest friend I have, check her blog out here!) I submitted for an appointment and got one late in the day the day before the audition. They very kindly said, "We will need you to be there at noon tomorrow." I, however, was not in the city. So I responded, "I'm not in the city currently so I might be a little bit late because my bus is coming in around that time." To which she responded, "Well, the dance call starts at noon, so good luck!" Now, this is where the chaos ensued. My bus was scheduled to arrive in the city at 11am. But, I knew MegaBus and how much of a strug it was about being on time anywhere. So, I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

The next morning, I arrived in NYC at exactly 12:15pm. Thanks MegaBus! I ran like the wind to Chelsea Studios, my rolly suitcase giving me so much grief at every curb doing that whole bouncy-bouncy-twisty-topple-overy thing that rolly suitcases like to do when you are in a hurry. I get to the audition room and the monitor says to me, "You're really late, we started teaching the combo a little early because everyone was here." Defeated, I ask if they mind if I just change clothes right there in the hallway in front of them because there is no time to find a bathroom. They obviously didn't mind. Actors are always getting naked in front of each other, am I right? It is around this time that I fully realize a couple very real, very scary truths: I didn't bring dance clothes, I didn't have my book if they needed me to sing something, I didn't have a headshot or resumes, and to top it all, I wasn't feeling super on top of my game, I hadn't showered in a while, I hadn't slept, and I had just got off of a five-hour bus ride. I laugh to myself as I throw on my pajamas to do the dance call. Many of you are probably thinking, "Why did you even attempt to go to the audition?" But I walked into the room.

I get into the room just as they are doing a final run of the audition dance. I follow along in the back as best as I can and learn it on the fly (luckily, it isn't too hard and Steph Heroux taught me right). Then, they call out everyone's name to put people in groups. Marcia Milgrom Dodge (Dir. of Ragtime on Broadway) is running the audition. She calls everyone's name, but mine... because she doesn't have my headshot... because I didn't bring one. I raise my hand and say, "You forgot me." They find my name on the list and say, "Do you have a headshot?" To which I respond, "They didn't quite make it to the audition with me." One of the girls runs upstairs to print out the email version I sent them and we continue on with the audition. Luckily, they don't make me sing anything from my book (that I didn't bring) they just give us songs from the show (which I already knew). But she encouraged us to remain in our dance clothes when we sing so she could remember us. So I kept on my pajamas, but I threw on my boots so I wasn't auditioning barefoot. And then I auditioned for a Broadway director. That night, I got the call.

So what can I learn from this experience? NEVER DO THAT AGAIN! Yeah, I got the job but that was because after all I had been through I had developed this whole "Fuck it, things can't get much worse" attitude which probably read as confidence. I am the type of person that needs to have more control of my life, so I would prefer to not audition like that again. What I need to do next time is find that confidence without being an absolute mess. And I advise no one else to audition like this either.

Stay comfy y'all!

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.

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).

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 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!

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.

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.

Most people go through their whole lives just working, taking care of the family, and plowing through the daily routine. That's what my parents are doing and that's probably what your parents are doing. But I went to theatre school. And I feel like I am cursed. Semester one at Emerson was a lot of discovery, crying, and rolling on the floor. Phrases like "milling and seething" and "rolling down my spine" became a second language for me. And, while these things have done wonders to my acting abilities, they have been a pain in my ass when it comes to just living life. For instance, I was listening to a friend of mine tell this awesome story about how she got really sick in Europe and everyone thought she was going to die. But, I wasn't just sitting there enjoying the story, I was thinking about how good she was at storytelling. And sure enough, after she finished the story, another (actor) girl at the table was like, "That was the best storytelling you've ever done." Who says shit like that?! Actors, that's who.

Tis the season of auditioning. Nowadays, I talk to my friends in New York and they are going on four or five auditions a day. I'm in school and in Boston, so opportunities are much slimmer, but I have also felt the heat of the rush for summer work. It is just around this time that all of the regional theaters hold their open calls. This involves a lot of early mornings, a lot of belting at 9am, and a lot of waiting. Hundreds of people show up to these calls, but what gets me is that these theaters suddenly develop a huge superiority complex once they arrive in the big apple to hold their auditions.

I'm currently in this dance class that is quite frankly kicking my ass. The teacher is this small, beautiful, amazing dancer that can win you over with her sweet voice but can also turn your heart to ice at the same time, ya know? Kinda like Professor Umbridge... only skinnier and not evil. On the first day of class, she informed us that we were probably going to cry at some point. And any time someone says "Jesus Christ" while we are doing abs or intense stretches, she just responds "Jesus won't help you now!"