Stage Fright
As I finish up the piece I’ll be reading at the next WYSIWYG Talent SHOW (it’s this Tuesday at 7:00 don’t miss it!) I’ve been trying to figure out of I have any stage fright waiting to burst forth and ruin the whole thing for me. I’m not feeling particularly nervous about anything except finishing my essay in time to read it, but since I’m a worrier by nature I’m trying to plan ahead. It’s been about fifteen years or so since the last gasp of my amateur stage career (I quit a voice class in college because of a scheduling problem and have never performed or even tried to carry a tune in public ever since), but I’ve never been prone to much anxiety about giving presentations or wedding toasts or anything, so I’m assuming I’ll be alright.
As I tried to think back to how I dealt with any stage fright in the past, though, I had a shocking realization: I can’t remember a damn thing about ever being on stage before.
I never entertained any notions about being an actor or singer, but as a burgeoning young homosexual with an affinity for musicals, I was naturally drawn to opportunities of the school play. I can’t imagine that I was any more than adequate, but nevertheless I took the the plunge into a handful of talent shows, a couple of musicals, a couple of musical reviews, and even a dance recital. Every one of them is a blank for me. I can’t dredge up any firsthand memories of being on stage or even waiting in the wings. I can look at pictures or video footage of those moments, but they don’t inspire any kind of recollection at all. I can recall surrounding circumstances easily enough the time I sang my bit while battling a raging case of strep throat, sneaking up to the lighting booth with Mark to watch a dance number choreographed to a Kraftwerk song, realizing that my body mic was still on as I changed costumes backstage but nothing about the performances themselves is there.
I suppose this is a side effect of the rush of adreneline required for a pretty shy person to put himself on the line and possibly look like a fool in public. I imagine I was so attuned to the moment and getting through it each time that I was totally focused on what I was doing, leaving no part of my mind free to process and preserve what was going on. It’s a shame, because I can remember that I enjoyed the overall process of putting on a show a lot. Was I any good? Probably not great, but I don’t think I ever messed up or embarrassed myself. Damned if I know, though. Hopefully, I won’t be so narrowly focused on Tuesday, and I’ll be able to hang on to the experience this time. Take some pictures for me, just in case.
Jailbreak
Is that a pretty place? I like to call it “The Soul Crusher,” the place where I toil away each day, hating my life more and more all the time and dreaming of the best way to get out of that prison before it destroys my spirit altogether.
Today, luckily, is the first of my summer flex days I get to take every second Friday off in exchange for working an extra hour a day the rest of the time. A fair enough trade-off, considering that every day in my cubicle feels like an eternity already, and the extra weekdays give me a chance to loaf, window shop, run errands, and pretend I have a better life. Delusion! Whee!
One of the nice parts of the whole grad-school plan was that I’d have a concrete way to get the hell out of that place by the end of this summer. Now that the future is a little more vague, I still have to find something better to do with my time and energy. It seems less and less likely that things will ever change for the better at work, so I’m constantly looking for somewhere else to go seeing what’s around now, deciding how to adjust my portfolio, and waiting for the time to head over the wall.
Keep an eye out for the guards while I scout the perimeter.
Not-So-Scary Ghost
Just a Halloween lawn ornament I stumbled across one night.
Statuette of Liberty
I just stumbled across this study I did for a poster illustration. I couldn’t find a stock image of the statue that worked for what I had in mind, so I bought this statuette at a gift shop across the street from the Empire State Building and photographed it from the angle I needed. I’d forgotten about this study image, which is interesting in its own way.
That’s So Gay!
There won’t be a better way to celebrate Pride this summer than dragging your butts over to P.S. 122 to watch me and some other bloggers who actually have talent reminisce at the WYSIWYG Talent Show. It’ll be fun! I’ll be confessing to all the sissiest details I can think of, and I’ll be upstaged by the likes of Kythryne Aisling, Jimbo, Kiri, Bob (he’s Yer Uncle), the Everlasting Blogstalker, Faustus, M.D., and The Hazzards. Come watch my stage-fright meltdown!
Barry Supply Co.
This gem of a hand-painted sign is tucked above a nondescript door on West 17th St., I think. I’m actually afraid to go and find out exactly what they sell, because the reality is sure to be more drab than the sign itself.
Ignoble Infirmity
I’ve been mostly bed-ridden for the last couple of days, wheezing my way through a nasty chest cold that’s thrown me for a loop. Miraculously, though, my giant-sized tonsils haven’t gotten in on the act they’re usually the first line of defense to crumble in the face of random germs. As a matter of fact, my tonsils enormous, oversensitive, and a lifelong problem aren’t the only part of my immune system that have been reinforced by modern medicine during the last few years.
Ironically, the last few years of having an incurable disease have been the healthiest of my life. I’ve always been on the sickly side, plagued by minor ailments and inconveniences as long as I can remember. The frequency and severity of those various bugs really skyrocketed during the years between my infection and my diagnosis. A few years of treatment, though, and I seem to be as hardy as anyone else. (Furiously knocking wood as I type that.) I’m also much less stoic about getting sick.
When you sniffle and shrug off sore throats and stuffy sinuses all the time, you get in the habit of ignoring it all. No big deal, just more of the same ol’-same ol’. When you feel alright most of the time, though, even a little wheezing and wooziness seem like a huge deal. I just hope that if the situation ever demands that old habit of stoicism that I still have it in me. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for me to worry about taking a turn for the worse, but who knows? (The not knowing is the best part, after all.)
I’ll just keep counting my blessings, and maybe I’ll lie down for a nap. I’m feeling a bit dizzy, I’m afraid. But that’s all.
Scary Baby
Somewhere in the East Village, someone tossed out the baby with the bathwater. Or the coffee. Whichever.
Advanced Dentistry
Now tilt your head back and open wide. Be careful, though, not to let that head fall off its little stand. This surreal little gem was from a series of photos of life at the Boston University Goldman School of Graduate Dentistry. It warms the cockles of my heart to know that I have a mouthful of fillings inserted by someone who trained on a scary, plastic, robot head. No wonder my dentist was so impersonal toward me. And I thought he was just distracted because he needed to fly back to California for a court date.