the thursday group

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Histrionem Interruptus

I'm having a high right now. Everything went so well with Emotional Baggage:

a. All evening shows were sold out by opening night
b. ACT managed to drag a full-house audience into the theatre on a Saturday afternoon;
c. The last two performances were perfect, from Play 1 - "Along for the Ride" to Play 6 - "Born to be Blue"

As ACT's pinch-hitting assistant producer, only-when-no-one-else-is-available publicist and cast member, I could not be any happier than I am now.

And then there's the occasional situation in which emotions are charged and the naive performer begins to think it's the real thing. Then, again, even seasoned actors get carried away by such emotional highs -- think Brad and Angelina, or Julia Roberts when she ditched Kiefer Sutherland a few days before their wedding. I find it quite appalling sometimes how good actors fail to respect themselves and their work by being the sorriest, sorriest courtesy-flirting blokes on the planet. Schade.

This is why I disappear from the theatre circuit as soon as "the room goes dark," so to speak, to welcome my return to real life from the world of the imaginary.

So this year's acting quota has been filled. On to the next. . .

. . .which, by the way, is managing the trouble caused by our parish priest when he "fired" my vocal ensemble from the 6 pm mass without consulting the DB Catholic Committee.

And when someone has been wronged--in this case my choirmate, even men of the cloth are not spared my ire.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

My turn to get mushy...

So here I am typing at the airport lounge, my first night away from my little girl, with a gaping hole in my heart. Deep inside, I know that she's going to be ok. Yaya is there and so is my brother-in-law. I'm just going to miss her so much. I don't know how many times I kissed her and hugged her today. When she saw that I was dressed to go out, she said "bye" and "see you tommorow". I've told her over the past several days that we were going on a trip and wasn't joining us and she seems to understand but I know she doesn't understand how long we'll be gone. I know I have to be strong and I'm sure that I'll enjoy our vacation but I wish I didn't have to leave her behind. I know the ladies of The Thursday group will look after her and I am eternally grateful to have friends like you that I can count on. Give her a kiss for me everytime you see her. I'll see you all when I get back.

Monday, May 01, 2006


When your openly gay male friend freely admits that he wants to "peel away that yellow drape wrapped around" a woman, the heretofore unitiated straight men sit up and take notice.

Grumpus spend the better part of one evening searching online for the rest of that video and found some really well done screencaps of her chest-to-nether region, and a photo montage played out to the John Mayer classic "Yeh bahdy'z a wahnderlaaaaand." I'd post the links here but the videos have disappeared in the intervening 4 days.

My own love goes exclusively and obsessively to the little guy with the huge voice who sings his li'l heart out every week. Ya had me from "I've".

A rare senti post

In the very distant past, somewhere in my youth or childhood, I took my obsessions seriously. This was before the creation of the interweb, so when I was seriously jonesing for information and other articles of fandom, I would scour bargain bins for used magazines, hunt through the dustier sections of bookstore shelves and, on occasion, correspond with like-minded individuals.

This is how I got my bootleg copy of The Black Album exactly when it was first "released" and then "recalled," found the lyrics to the Star Trek theme and, well, amassed a mountain of LOTR-related paraphernalia. (Yes, this list does indicate the extent of my geekhood). Somewhere in my reading of the back pages of Rolling Stone, I picked up on a few other albums, including this gem that became one of my favorite albums of the next 5 or so years.

I wore thin my vinyl copy, and then forgot about it. It's probably in storage in a soggy bodega in Manila right now. A month or so ago, in a fit of nostalgia I went ahead and bought the CD from Amazon. When it arrived, I popped it into the CD player and, with the first melancholy guitar notes and david 1's plaintive "Miss Cristina drives a 944," just like that, I was 15 again. Before college, grad school, first love, heartbreak, Grumpus; before New York, Hong Kong, that F in Math 18, my driver's license, the Peter Jackson trilogy; before my first cigarette, my first beer, my first job, my first surgery. I hadn't grown into my adult height and weight, hadn't come out of braces, had never talked to a boy without blushing, hadn't yet learned to understand my parents.

The air was ripe with incipient adulthood. It seemed that everything was possible and yet nothing was within reach. Do you ever feel anything as intensely as you do when you're 15? I hadn't been anywhere or done anything, and yet I thought I understood the heartache, failure and desperation that david + david sang about. As the CD played, all the emotion flooded back, and that same peculiar mix of expectation and naive world-weariness hit me like a ton of bricks.

In the intervening years, the abstract has become concrete, generalities have become specifics, limitations have been revealed. I've been places and done things and learned how to laugh at myself. But the oddest thing is that I don't feel like I've grown up or changed into a different person. I feel like the person I was when I was 15 is still there, fully real, and living somewhere in the back of my head.