All Things Just Keep Getting.. Stranger

9:24:41 AM EDT
Feeling Anxious

Let's face it. I'm not a happy person very much anymore.

God knows, I've rarely been happy on what you'd call a regular basis. Don't get me wrong,  I've been content. I've been complacent. I've even been relatively sedate.  However, I am just not HAPPY - at least not the way I used to be. I used to find joy and happiness on a daily basis. I found it in the smallest things. Those little moments of unexpected joy usually made sailing through the day so much easier. Even on the worst of days, I always managed to think with a small degree of positive thought. I loved making people laugh and I adored having fun with everyone that I chose to surround myself with.

Do you know why this sucks? By most standards, I have NO reason to be unhappy in the grand scheme of things: I have a good job (for now) in one of the biggest hit shows Disney has ever produced. And I have to say, judging from the response I get, I do a damn good job in this role. Plus, I am becoming more and more successful and popular in the local GLBT community with Dame Edna and her karaoke shows. So, why am I feeling and acting like Eeyore on downers?

I don't really know. I mean, there are extenuating circumstances that could be indicative of this manic-depressive episode. I've bitten off more than I can chew. For me, that's saying a lot. I am now having mood swings that go from Everest highs to basement-level lows. I am tempermental, easily annoyed, and suffering from a total lack of self-worth. I have no real reason to feel like that, but I do. Maybe it's because I just feel as if I have hit the wall. I used to just hit the wall and climb over the damn thing. Now, I can't even get a foothold.

10 years ago, I was a whiz kid. I had boundless energy, and I never let any opportunity pass me by. These days, I am trying to get that old moxie back, but in the process, I'm getting my ass kicked. the difference between 25 and 35 doesn't seem like a lot, but I have come to discover, it's an enormous gap, especially in energy and drive.

Granted, I've been plagued with being either vocally, physically or emotionally exhausted a lot within the past 5 months. More so than I think I have ever been. Yesterday, I was having the worst vocal day I have had in ages. I was finding it hard to swallow even liquids. My throat hurt as if I had severe tonsillitis, but I had my tonsils out in 1992.  It felt like someone had me by the throat and was squeezing. The pressure on my throat was incredibly annoying. I was giving shows that were sub par by my own standards, I was cracking like Peter Brady going through puberty.

I wanted to find a substitute performer to cover my last two shows, but there was no luck. No one was available. After the third show, I was afraid that if I continued that I might be doing damage to my voice. It didn't feel right, and when things don't feel right, you owe it to yourself to do what you feel is right. I had to go to a Centra Care clinic to see what was happening to me. I had to go. I couldn't do the last show with the kind of vocal stress I was experiencing. My managers, God love them, told me they didn't think I sounded so bad, but I know when I am not giving the show I am capable of.  It wasn't so much the vocal strain, it was the pressure on my throat.  So, they had no other choice. They had to down the last show of the day. Naturally, I got chapter and verse about disappointing the thousands of hopeful guests waiting to see the show. My only common sense reply to that is this: Lose one show or lose a whole BUNCH of them when you have no one to cover my shifts and I have no voice at all. It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation.

Trust me when I say I HATE being the cause of a lost show. I simply was scared. And hurting. And patently unhappy. When I am in pain, I get frustrated, then I get cranky, then I get bitchy, then I start biting heads off of people like Ozzy Osbourne with a bat.

I went to a Centra Care over off 192 in Kissimmee, and sat there with NO ONE in the waiting area for what seemed like forever, and once the doctor saw me, ran strep tests and so forth, the verdict that came back surprised me: I have a severe ear and sinus infection that is draining into my throat, causing the swollen glands, the throat pressure. I've had sinus infections and ear infections before, and they don't feel ANYTHING like this. But hey, what the hell do I know? I don't have a PHD or MD after my name.

Anyway, I am off sick today, as I still sound like Bea Arthur after a stiff Drano gargle. Maybe the antibiotics and decongestants will do their magic over the weekend.

So, back to the unhappy thing:

I've been doing a LOT of reflection lately. A LOT of self-examination. and you know what? I don't always like what I see. So, I have to ask the burning question: What is it going to take to reclaim myself? What is it going to take for Michael to make himself once again the loving person, the kind and decent person he used to be?

I suppose that I am exhausting myself over lessons learned.

See, in the past, when the end of the road was near, I blindly ignored that big yellow DEAD END sign until it was too late. I found myself struggling and starting from scratch. I have fallen into this trap so many times, and I always allowed my own blindness to destroy me. When a job was close to it's conclusion, I never planned ahead.for what might hapen next. I merely fell into a pit and fought like hell to claw my way out. It always started with deep depression, lack of self-worth and eventually ended with me landing the next gig, humbled and determined to start fresh. My head  both bloodied and bowed, I guess you could say.

Well, after that course of lather, rinse, repeat, I have come to the inevitable conclusion that I am just too old for that kind of shit. I can't let that happen again, which is why I am working almost every single day of the week, late nights and practically no days off and on reduced amounts of sleep.

I know that I will make a career move in the next few months, if the opportunities that have been developing in the past few weeks continue to bloom. Even if they don't continue to grow as they have, I am planting my seeds and hoping that they will grow so that when the change DOES happen, I will be able to afford myself the quality of life that I have had for the past few years. I feel that might be a positive first step in rediscovering that elusive happiness.

Don't misunderstand. I am not making these decisions lightly. I am not making those decisions based on feeling like an outsider at work. I have never aspired to belong to cliques. I have long subscribed to the notion that I don't use work as an excuse to have a social life. I come in, I do my gig, pick up my check and go home. I don't want to involve myself with politics, drama or attitudes. Of course, this business lends itself to that, but I would prefer to do my job and not worry too much that I am not one of the "IN CROWD". I have my in crowd moments in other venues, and you know what? I don't live for those moments, either.

I got into this business because there is no other career that gives me that kind of satisfaction. I can use the talents I have and the abilities I have been blessed with to make a living. Sure, I could take a 9 to 5 gig, but hell, if you thnk I'm bitter and disagreeable NOW.. You wouldn't want to be near me if I moved into a "civillian" gig.

It's funny, there have been times in my life in which I sat with that aforementioned blindness and ignored the signs and those hints from God or the Universe until God had to look down and kick me square in the teeth to wake me up. God won't have to kick this time. I am paying attention to the signs, although I am not doing myself any favors while I am in this mood swing and depression pit.

It's time to reclaim myself. It's time to give myself the freedom and the credit I deserve. I need to get back to the world of live theatre, which is where I belong. I know that in the coming years, I will have countless productions of The Producers and Hairspray to do.

In the meantime, I will do my gigs to the best of my abilities and do my best to find joy in the small things in my life.

It's a start.

 M

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1:31:59 AM EST
Feeling Sad

In just a few short hours, people will rush to the florist or to their local Hallmark store and spend money on tokens of affection for the significant others in their lives.

These tokens will be met with sweet kisses, loving caresses and loving whispers, which will culminate in intense and passionate lovemaking.

OoooooooK.

I think that's the bill of goods that we are sold about Valentine's Day. We spend money on items that signify the degree of our love for someone and they reciprocate with similar gifts or with affection. It's the image we're sold about this holiday, by the greeting card companies and the chocolatiers in an effort to boost the after-Christmas sales slump. And it's worked.

I am a romantic. Always have been, and foolishly, always will be. Although experience and common sense should dictate that I should be anything but a romantic.

I have come to dread Valentine's Day. It signifies not love, but hurt and some particularly painful memories for me.

In two of my previous relationships, (In fact my first relationship and my last relationship to be precise) I treated Valentine's Day like a major event. In these two cases, all of the work, the planning, and the genuine love and thought I put into the day was met with, in one case, genuine hostility.. In the other, utter indifference. 

After the first time, (the hostile reaction) I swore I'd never go to all of that trouble ever again. After the second time (indifference) I determined that gestures of this type, no matter how beautifully sentimental, are relatively meaningless to a person who has decided that he is no longer in love with you. He is merely going through the motions, biding his time until he can make his exit.

The first experience was soul-crushing. I had been with my first partner for almost a year, and I decided that I was going to do something incredibly special for him. After all, this was my first Valentine's day with a partner, so why not make it one to remember?  

Oh, it was.. but for the wrong reasons.

I came home from work, I cooked a beautiful meal. I included wine, champagne, roses, chocolates, stuffed animals, a lovely card picked with a great deal of thought, as well as a bedroom filled almost to the waist with red and white balloons. I was so excited that I was going to blow his mind. I just couldn't wait for his arrival and subsequent surrender to this eloquent romantic gesture.

When my partner arrived home, he threw a fit. I mean it. A FIT. Not a simple protestation that said:  "You didn't have to go to all of this trouble on my account, etc." He launched into me as if I had committed the worst offense against him possible.He was angry. he screamed at me. 'I don't want all of this. I don't know why you have to make such a production out of everything." and so on.... It was at this moment, I thought I was going to die. I couldn't respond in anger or in pain. I ran. Running was, at the time, the only solution I could reconcile myself to. I grabbed my car keys, ran down three flights of stairs and drove around Orlando, in a tear-blinded rage.

Three hours later, I returned home to find him asleep. Dinner was untouched and ruined. The balloons in the bedroom were almost entirely popped, with latex shreds festooning the floor. The rose petals that were strewn from the door to the bed had been brushed away like rubbish. The carefully chosen Valentine's card was ripped entirely in two, still in it's envelope unread - tossed on the floor, along with the other detritus of his apparent rage at a gesture which I thought would thrill him, not anger him. I went onto the back balcony of the apartment, overlooking the golf course, where I watched no less than three couples sneak onto the greens to make out, make love or just roll around on the grass. No, I didn't watch them in a perverse, voyeuristic fashion. I could hardly see them through my tears and through my haze from the wine, which I refused to let go to waste. I finally cried myself out and crashed on the couch, exhausted from the hurt and feeling as if I was not worthy of giving or receiving love from anyone.

So, my first Valentine's day with my first partner turned out to be an enormous emotional scar from which I have never fully recovered.

Our relationship somehow survived this. For almost another year. I never got a satisfactory answer from him as to why my efforts enraged him so. I can't even recall the lame excuses he tried to offer. I just had to learn that I would have to forgo romantic gestures with him from that moment on. After all, they meant more to me than they would ever mean to him. So, why make the effort?

So, as time marched gamely on, I went through a few shorter relationships, and I never did anything special for them. A cheap card. A funny card. Nothing sincere. No flowers. No Candy.

With the exception of one of these relationships, I received nothing, not even a funny cheap card. I began to realize that although I am a romantic, I had this annoying tendency to pick people who were not in the slightest romantic themselves. Oh sure, they claim to be. I laughed when I saw Gay.com profiles of three of my former relationships. All three of them espoused that one of their best qualities was how romantic they were.

Ah, who knows? Maybe they think they are. But I'll be damned if any of them were ever good at being demonstrative about it.

In my last relationship, almost 7 years after the great Valentine's Day Balloon Massacre, I decided that maybe the person I was with was worth the attempt of a nice romantic gesture. He seemed to respond favorably to most of my previous romantic notions, so perhaps he was well worth the risk.

I cooked. I got champagne on ice and roses. I picked two cards for him, because I couldn't find just one that said what I wanted to say. I didn't risk balloons or stuffed animals - the flashbacks would have killed me.

When he came home, we ate the dinner, drank the champagne. He opened the cards, looked at the roses. All I got was: "Thanks." He proceeded to sit in front of the TV. I tried moving over by him to at least hold him or give him a kiss. But I got no remote favorable response. I decided that maybe he was tired, and if I let him rest, maybe we could have some together time before we went to bed.

Not a kiss, not a hug, not even a simple and succinct: "Go to hell."

That, my dears, is why I utterly despise Valentine's Day.

As some of you know, this last ex and I split in May, and he finally moved out last October. It's taken me a while to even consider being with someone on even a dating basis. I've tried, and I have failed. I am scared of being that vulnerable to anyone ever again. I am frightened of allowing myself to be the loving, caring, passionate person I am, just to allow someone to abuse that side of my nature. I am tired of being used and hurt by people that have the talent to fool me into believing that they are worth the pain that I know they will inevitably cause me. (Yes, I sometimes know from the beginning when someone is going to be a train wreck waiting to happen. I just want to believe that they aren't.)

In the past month, I have met three men that I have been attracted to. Not just physically, but on an emotional basis. Whether that attraction is totally reciprocal on the part of any of these other parties, I don't know. There is something there, but just what, I can't say. To be honest, I don't have the balls to find out.  One of these three could mop the floor with my heart. I know if he did, I'd crawl back and ask for more.

I guess I am so emotionally crippled and bitter, I find it hard to believe that romantics- true romantics ever pair up.

I realize that with love comes pain, or the potential for pain. And with love comes the risk that you will open your heart and become vulnerable to those who are all too willing to take advantage of it. I also realize something I should have stated earlier in my tales from "War of the Roses.": You treat your partner and do things for your partner because in your deepest darkest soul, those gestures are precisely what you hope your partner will do for you. I guess I just manage to pick those people who either don't have that knowledge or were just too damn stubborn to take a clue.

I just don't know if I can bring myself to take that risk again...  not anytime soon, anyway.

So, here it is, Valentine's Day and I will be alone and more than likely, very lonely. No, it's not a pity party, folks, as much as you'd like to read into my words that it is. It's just that gut-wrenching feeling when you see those people out there rushing to the florist, or rushing from the Hallmark store, knowing that their gestures are going to be met with love and a genuine return of affection.

Gershwin said it best:

They're writing songs of love, but not for me.
A lucky star's above, but not for me.
With love to lead the way, I've seen more clouds of gray
Than any Russian play could guarantee.
I was a fool to fall and get that way.
Heigh ho, alas, and also lackaday.
Although I can't dismiss, the memory of his kiss.
I guess he's not for me.

He's knocking on the door, but not for me.
He'll plan a two by four, but not for me.
I know that love's a game, I'm puzzled just the same.
Was I the moth or flame, I'm all at sea.
It all began so well, but what an end.
This is the time a feller needs a friend.
When every happy plot ends with the marriage knot
And there's no knot for me.

Happy Valentine's Day to the Lovers, The Dreamers.... and Me.

MW

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4:49:12 AM EST
Feeling Frustrated


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8:30:58 AM EST
Feeling Hopeful

PART 2.. Can you believe this???

Moving on to the personal life..... What personal life?

As you may or may not know, my ex TJ and I split back in May. We continued to live together until Mid-October. It was a challenge to live under the same roof with an ex, and make even a marginal effort to move on with your life - especially when you are still hopelessly in love with the ex and can't help but pray that he will come to his senses. Actually, I am grateful that never happened.  Despite the pain of the constant reminder of your past relationship living 15 feet down the hall, I learned a lesson: No matter how bad the money situation is, it's better to be poor and struggling alone to pay rent than it is to live in an apartment that is tense and pain-filled.

The only handicap and tie TJ and I had to one another after the breakup was the car issue. We shared his car for almost a year, after my old Honda blew up. It was incredibly kind of TJ to share his vehicle, even though it made life impossible for both of us while we were together and especially after we split. I would have had a car MUCH sooner than I did, but every time I got close to having a respectable down payment on one, TJ's would break down.. Usually while I was driving the damn thing. Therefore, I felt obligated to handle a good portion of the repair bill.  I don't begrudge it. It beat walking or riding the bus.

Fast forward to September 13, and I was able to find a finance company who came to my rescue with decent payments on a 2002 PT Cruiser that is in excellent condition. So, once I had the wheels, I began rehearsals for NEMO, and began to taste life as an independent single man once again... IT SUCKS! I've tried dating a few folks casually, but my heart is just not in it - not yet. I'm actually ok with being by myself. To a degree. But we'll get to that in moment.

I did luck out in the roommate search. I found a fellow Disney cast member who has been a total pleasure to live with. She's (YES, SHE - Don't die of shock!) answered my ad on the cast portal, and was looking to move in even before TJ was planning to move out. Fortunately, TJ was willing to leave early, and the new roomie moved in. Bless her. She's been a joy to have here. She's clean, She's quiet, She pays her bills on time and she's genuinely sweet.  What a relief! Finding a dependable, honest and pleasant roommate who won't either rob you blind or drive you insane is a rarity.

Moreover, we work on really different schedules, so we never truly get in one another's way. She's a character performer at Disney, She's "good friends" with the mice from Cinderella: Suzy and Perla, as well as Chip and Dale, among others. Since she's moved in, the house has remained practically as clean as the day she moved in. With TJ, He hit this place like a hurricane on a daily basis, and as much as I refuse to badmouth him in print or in private, he was the crappiest housekeeper ever to draw a breath. I did, at bare minimum, 75% of the cleaning around here for the year we were together. He was so messy at times, particularly after the split, I stopped cleaning up after him. Period. The house was a wreck for a month at one time. It was revolting. He never took the less than subtle hint to take some action and perhaps do his share of the cleaning. When he did, it was half-assed, careless and usually was accompanied by a barrage of bitching. Since the new roomie arrived, this house has, with few exceptions, remained as clean as the day she moved in. With my schedule, it's a relief to not have to work all day and then come home to do maid service.

Folks, I have to admit something: I am genuinely lonely.  NO - I am not getting on another desperation boyfriend kick here. Not by a long shot. I'm just thinking about a few more changes I desperately need to make in my life before I will ever be ready to be with anyone ever again. I am what GAY.com calls a "serial monogamist." I tend to go from relationship to relationship, and I even mark periods of my life by the person I was with at any given time. I am trying to break myself of that, and that's going to take time. Until I'm ready to try it again, I am just going to keep myself out of the vicious relationship cycle that I placed myself in. I guess that it's a good thing to have self-realization in order to make changes in your life, but it would be a far better thing to use that realization to effect a positive change in your life. 

So, I'm alone. It's Christmas, and that sucks. I do hate that, because last year with TJ was one of the best Christmases I have ever experienced with a partner. It was everything I hoped for and more. I know I shouldn't use that positive experience as a barometer for all Christmases yet to be, but this year is the polar opposite of last year.  

Sure, I miss TJ, but believe it or not, I have begun to think of him less and less. I DO miss the companionship and the laughter and the shared interests we had, but as much as we discussed remaining friends, we never will be truly that close ever again. I believe that we can be friends, but for now, distance is the key to maintaining my sanity and keeping my heart safe. I don't know when, if ever, the time will come for us to be real friends who do things together and are involved with each other's lives. I don't see it.

When I do go out, I actually am afraid of seeing him. I am especially afraid of seeing him with someone else. I just don't know how I will react. I don't want all of those old feelings to flood my heart again. I don't want to rip the wound open again when it's only now beginning to heal. I realize that it's a possibility that we will run into one another eventually. I will just have to cross that bridge when I come to it. I have spent the time since he's been gone healing myself as best I can. Keeping busy with NEMO and nursing those anxieties have certainly helped keep his memory on the back burner.

The loneliness I am experiencing is probably self-imposed. No, I don't want to feel isolated from friends, family and life, but it seems to work out that way. 

I have often said that I don't trust people very much. On first meeting, I tend to be thought of as cold, distant and snobbish - those certainly are fair assumptions on my personality, but I am actually none of those things in reality. I realize, however that I do come off that way, even when I do not intend to be anything but polite. People who I am briefly acquainted with will often ask me if I'm mad at them for some reason. When I say no, they say that they felt that they had done something wrong because of my behavior.  My token reply is simple, but very true: "If I am mad at you, you WILL know it."

Those trust issues will take a lifetime to overcome, but I AM making an effort to recognize those times when people's perception of me destroy any potential friendship that might have developed.

I used to trust freely, until I was hurt so often that the mere idea of being MYSELF around new people was crippling. So, I tend to get quiet and withdrawn and rather straight-faced and emotionless. Yes, Me.. Withdrawn and Quiet - I know people who would pay for the honor so see me in that state. During that withdrawal, I watch people.  I let people prove themselves worthy of my friendship and trust. Once that happens, I'm home free. The problem is, most people will not take the time or the opportunity to dig deeper and see what's beyond the defensive walls you have erected around yourself.

So, why fear? After all, there's an inherent risk in any relationship, whether it's friendship or love. If you don't take the risk, then you don't gain the value the person could add to your life. 

I have realized that a person may be your friend or lover for the wrong reasons.  That has certainly been the case for me many times. I sorta get tired of having people like me for what I do, rather than who I am. I have countless people who don't know Michael, even though they do know who I am. They will be sweet, friendly and open, then they will introduce me to their friends as Dame Edna, and I almost want to slap them. It's as if the only value I have to them is as a performer. I am glad when people admire my talent, but I do wish people showed just a modicum of interest in who possesses the talent they seem to admire so much.

Again, I am bringing this back on myself: When I perform, I am open, I am someone who elicits interest. I don't guard the way I do when I'm just myself.  I recently told someone this and they replied that I was an actor - I should be able to act as if I am open and secure and still elicit the same interest in people. I told them that it was a great suggestion, but with one fatal flaw: I'd simply be acting. Why allow someone to see a front? Why perform for them, Why show them a distorted reality and go jumping through hoops in order to have a friend or a lover? Until I can changethe behavior in and of itself, and learn to release the fear of being used or hurt, I would rather be true to myself and be a little guarded. I suppose keeping that guard up comes with the price I am paying now.

Another reason for this distance I am feeling is this: almost all of my relationships have been isolated. Meaning, I become a homebody who wants to do things with my partner. Sure, going out is possible, but it's not what I live for night after night. So, we typically planned projects or just had evenings at home.

Most of my friends have come to accept the fact that when I am involved with someone, I tend to vanish until there's either a problem or until there's a breakup. That's not right, and I know it. I don't mean to distance myself from my friends, but I do it each and every time. It's not as if I wouldn't include my friends in my life, but I tend to throw my focus on the relationship. A friend once told me something that I thought was a crock. Now I understand and see it as a simple truth: "Lovers will come and go in your life, but friends will remain forever." Profound, ain't it?

It seems, and this is totally my fault, that the only times my friends hear from me is when I need to vent or when there is trouble or pain in my life. My friends had basically become a substitute for the Journal. I was venting to them - not in print where I could let it go and attempt to discuss brighter and better things. I had become a negative energy in this world, and I am truly not a negative person. But I sure was giving a damn good impression of one.

After a while, I kinda got the feeling that I was burdening my friends. Whether I was or not, I simply didn't want to take the risk that the answer would be YES. I didn't want every contact with my friends to be colored with the attitude of "Oh shit. Here comes Michael again with more drama and misery." So, I stopped calling anyone.  I didn't totally shut them out, but I certainly didn't call them when the loneliness got to me so badly, all I could do was sit at home and hurt.

I wasn't exactly feeling sorry for myself. Perhaps I was but it didn't seem like self-pity as much as it was loneliness. I couldn't understand why I rarely got a phone call just to say hello or to ask me if I wanted to have dinner or a quick drink.

Perhaps when you are perceived as a sad-sack, people don't think of you in a positive light. How could I possibly be seen in a positive light when a positive light wasn't burning from within me?

I've managed in the past several days to contact my closest friends, just to say hello and apologize for being Debbie Downer. I have told them that I want their help as my friends, to help me make these changes in my life. Ok: I've pinpointed the root of the loneliness issue here.. at least I think I have, but I now have to figure out just how I'm going to overcome it.

2007 is just around the corner. A New Year, with new opportunities and a new chance to pry my heart out of cold storage and see what I can do to make my life my own once again, and learn to stop living for someone who has yet to prove that they even exist.

I promise I will write more. I know I've said it before, but now that I have actually written this volume, I feel that relief I described about 20 pages ago. I think it's going to be a useful tool in getting my life back.

Merry Christmas.

M.

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8:28:06 AM EST
Feeling Hopeful

Merry Christmas, dear readers!

It's been forever since I posted a journal entry. I used to write daily, as I considered it the best therapy in the world. I sincerely believe that you can discover more about yourself by writing freely and openly than you ever could on an analyst's couch. And it's a hell of a lot cheaper. I spent Friday at home sick to my stomach, so between visits to the porcelain God, I decided to write it all out and do some pre-holiday cleansing.

Naturally, Here it is Sunday Morning and I am still writing this. Adding, editing... I just attempted to post the entire entry, and I finally did it. I exceeded the 25,000 character limit! I've written some long-ass entries, but this one is a 2-parter.

Since my journal has been more or less discovered by co-workers and family alike, I guess I can no longer concern myself with nagging privacy issues. I've always been honest in my journal entries - often to my detriment - and since this is my place to vent, vent I shall. Sit back, this is gonna be a BOOK. You have a lot of catching up to do where I am concerned..

I think I've missed the release that comes from writing: The cathartic release of frustration, the bursts of momentary pride or triumph when you relate good news. The problem is, when I have penned entries within the past year, there's been very little good news to pass on. So, I more or less decided to not write because I hate playing the role of Debbie Downer.  You know, Debbie Downer - Rachel Dratch's recurring role on SNL where she's always in a party or fun environment with friends and no matter what the occasion, she blurts out non-sequitur pieces of info or anecdotes that bring the mood to a screeching halt.

When I went back and re-read my blog, I said to myself: Good God! I am just a font of misery, aren't I? So, I just stopped. I wasn't writing to elicit pity or sympathy, but I simply got tired of reliving old pains that I simply continued to rip open time and again. It was counterproductive, and I wanted so badly to change things in my life for the better, just to have good things, positive and pleasant things to write about. I know I can write pain. I just haven't had too much experience writing about the simple joys in my life. I've not had the time to really devote to it, and since I'd lost my muse and my joy in writing daily, I stopped. No, that's really no excuse, as I used to make the time to write, because I saw the emotional benefits of releasing everything onto a computer monitor and walking away from it. As of late, I just carry that nasty baggage around with me like a damn Albatross. So, here I am: for better or worse, hoping that you will let me once again release the good along with the bad.

I told myself before I even made one single keystroke here that for every negative thing I discussed, I was going to counter it with a positive thought or spin. No promises, but I am going to make the effort.   

People who used to read my journal on a regular basis began to send me e-mails out of the blue and ask when I would update them on my life. I was confused as to why anyone would care, but hey, I guess my own little soap opera is a good entertainment value. In my case, especially in light of the Debbie Downer entries I was churning out, I think I was being used by people as an example. Just a template for them to allow people to say to themselves that they didn't have it so bad.

Regardless of UP entries or DOWN entries, I've needed to write. I just haven't had the time. More to the point, I just haven't been able to focus. Since September 16, I have never been more occupied, more stressed and more down on myself than I can ever recall.  Don't misunderstand, this entry isn't necessarily a Debbie Downer pity party - this is an honest reflection and examination of my life in the past 4 months, and the foolish things I've done to make things harder on myself. I'll start with work, and move on to the personal stuff. It's funny how they always seem to intertwine - and in the most inconvenient way.

As you may have read, I was cast in Disney's new multi-million dollar theme park spectacular - Finding Nemo: The Musical. Despite my own personal frustrating journey from rehearsals to getting the show up and running, It's an amazing show. I mean that with all my heart. AMAZING. I am very proud to be a part of something that is touching thousands of people each and every day. It's got genuine emotion and heart, and even in this somewhat abbreviated adaptation, people are truly astonished at the beautiful way this story is being told. 

In all the press for this show, the creative team said time and again that the people in this cast are not merely Triple Threats (Those performers who can sing, dance and act) but rather, quadruple threats: Singers Dancers, Actors and Puppeteers.  Now, singing and acting, I have nailed. No prob. Dancing is difficult as hell for me, but throw puppetry into the mix -AT THE SAME TIME -and it was a recipe for a nervous breakdown.

Trust me, it's incredibly difficult to not only sing and dance on your own, but the coordination required to puppeteer at the same time is incomprehensible. At first try, you'd swear that it goes against the laws of physics. Now this isn't just a cute Kermit The Frog hand puppet, but an 8 foot long, 17 lb. Great White Shark. So big, it is controlled by 2 actors - I'm in the front voicing and dancing and singing as Bruce, and another actor/Dancer is in the back controlling and dancing as the tail. Pity the poor guys who are my ass-end. I drag those guys all over hell's half-acre while screaming like a lunatic. Sure, there are bigger puppets in the show: Nigel, a 20-foot tall Pelican, Mr. Ray, a giant Manta Ray that is attached to a bicycle and Crush the huge surfer-dude sea turtle that is the size of your average Volkswagen. Regardless, Bruce is in my humble opinion, a killer to puppeteer. Not only do you have to tell the story as an actor, (in full view of the audience, mind you), you have to animate the puppet and do your damndest to share focus with something that is so big, an audience is simply compelled to look at it.

I am truly proud of the show. I just wish I hadn't had such a damn hard time learning it and getting it into my body. I have said many times before I am NOT a dancer. I am barely a mover. I am fully capable of learning choreography, but you'd better be patient and be fully willing to teach it to me as if you were instructing a kindergarten dance class. I'll get it. It may not always be right, but I will eventually do it enough where the movements will ingrain to my muscle memory. Just don't expect it overnight.. or over fortnight.

The show has been running for almost 2 full months, and I am still making idiotic mistakes. The performance notes that the Staging Specialists (who basically maintain the integrity of the director's staging and intent) give to me are often like a broken record. Sometimes, I read the note, understand what I did wrong and fully correct the issue. Other times, in an attempt to fix some other issue, I totally forget what I corrected previously and boom! There I am, back at the beginning. Other times, there are so many notes to digest, you have to pick and choose what you can remember to correct and hope that you can fix a few issues in one performance and fix the rest during the next performance.

Rehearsals were long, tedious and very challenging. That's not just this show, folks. That's any show from your local community playhouse to Broadway. Rehearsals are the laboratory where you experiment with a formula, and more often than not, the lab explodes because the formula was wrong. Rehearsals for a new show are especially difficult because the creative team has no template, no point of reference, no roadmap - Just their vision and lots of ideas formulated in pre-production planning conferences. I daresay that 99.9% of that pre-planning goes out the window as soon as rehearsals begin. Once you add the human element (the cast) and you begin putting actors in motion, things that sounded brilliant on the drawing board just fail miserably. So, you take another route. One that will hopefully make the journey satisfying for the people performing it, and most importantly, the people seeing it. I liken this kind of creative process to spaghetti: You throw it on the wall and see if it sticks. We threw a buttload of pasta on the walls for this show, kids. When all was said and done, it stuck. We are performing 4 shows daily to crowds of 1700 people per performance, many of whom line up over an hour in advance just to get a seat. Amazing, huh?

The show was written and composed by Bobby Lopez and his beautiful wife and collaborator Kristen Anderson-Lopez. Bobby won the Tony just a few Short years ago for his score for the musical Avenue Q. He is a bright and amazing talent and a sweetand gentle soul. Kristen is as equally talented - and she was working on this monster show while juggling being a mom with an incredibly intelligent toddler. It's really a great feeling to know you are working with talents who have made a difference in the landscape of our theatre. I am really flabbergasted that I got to know them so well. I can't wait to work on another of their shows again.

Our director, Peter Brosius is a nut. He is the Artistic Director of the Children's Theatre of Minneapolis, MN. I love this man and the way he talks to actors. He is like a HUGE kid who just bathes in the creative chaos. Animated and wildly funny, his frenetic enthusiasm is a hoot. He is just one of those directors you want to please, because when you give him something he wants and then give him something he didn't think about, he just beams. He wasn't one of those directors who denied you the chance to make suggestions. There was no "MY way or the highway" attitude from him. He actively solicited us for ideas, thoughts and collaboration. His enthusiasm was infectious. His sincerity during rehearsals and his genuine respect for our talents was simply overwhelming. There are several moments in the show that are true tear-jerkers. Peter will discuss them and he will just well up with tears as he discusses the scene. That's great. People with that kind of rare genuine, generous enthusiasm are a great benefit to being part of this insane business. If you can't work for Peter himself, I hope that everyone in this business has the opportunity to work with someone like Peter, although I have yet to meet many directors who are that generous of spirit. If you are lucky enough to work for a director like Peter, the experience will restore you as an artist and make you remember why you went into this profession - out of true love and genuine passion for the process.

Nothing scares me more than a choreographer. Choreographers, in my experience, are people who are used to seeing results - NOW. Dancers are brilliantly gifted people who know how to control every facet of their bodies. A choreographer can spit out a movement combination, and a dancer or even a proficient mover can regurgitate it on the spot. Not me. Show me a combination, and I will just simply regurgitate.

Our choreographer for NEMO is John Caraffa, a Tony-nominated choreographer who staged the brilliant Urinetown on Broadway a few years ago. John also choreographed that incredible animated sequence in the film of The Polar Express, where all the waiters are dancing all over the train car. John, like all choreographers, has his methods, and naturally, those methods scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I was so insecure and scared of getting anything wrong, I froze practically every time John changed a move, a step or a piece of business.

Funny thing is, John was never mean or threatening to me. Don't misunderstand, he was a good barometer of the cast's dancing abilities, and if you were someone who could dance and didn't deliver, he could get testy. I think he knew I was, quite literally, the "slow fish" in the school, and if I got more frightened or intimidated than I already was, I would have retreated even further into "defeatistland." Some choreographers can be reincarnated Hitlers, but John was rather subdued and at times, had the patience of Job. (especially with me.) Although it was not his job to spoon-feed me everything or to comfort me when I had one of my multiple nervous-breakdowns, he always knew how to relate to me on a level that got through to me.  One day, after the Shark number went through it's 40th change, my brain short-circuited. I couldn't remember another version of this song. They all blended into one big jumble that my brain and motor skills couldn't separate or make sense of. So, I walked upstage in a blue rage, almost weeping. I exclaimed: "I can't do this! I can't!" John looked at me and said: "Michael, If I can teach Nathan Lane how to do Ballet, I can certainly teach you how to dance this."  John knew Nathan Lane is one of my heroes, and John choreographed Nathan in the stage version of Terrance McNally's Love! Valor! Compassion!  What could I do? Caraffa invoked the mantle of the great Nathan Lane in the presence of Lane's most devoted disciple, so, I did my best to overcome my sheer terror and learn the dance. I actully have learned it. It took what seemed like an eternity for me to begin consistently getting the steps, but I'm actually now having fun withthe number, exhausting as it is. Better late than never, huh? 

I never really got to socializeor to even know John well, but when we did encounter one another on breaks, we discovered kindred spirits in each other, and discussed obscure musical theatre and performances and performers we admired, etc. I think he truly enjoyed that about me, especially in this day and age where performers really know so little of the history of the business in which they make their living. Often times, their knowledge is limited to WICKED, RENT and whatever show just happens to be in vogue. No, there's nothing wrong with loving those shows, but I think it's nice to know what those shows owe to the shows that came before them. I have said that many of the younger performers think that all shows are either B.R. or A.R.: Before RENT or After RENT. If the show, with few exceptions, is a B.R. show, they could care less about it. It was nice to actually have a conversation with someone where you could instantly bring up a show, a performer or a reference point, and the other person knew precisely what you were talking about, and had their own perspective on your reference. I think I'd die of shock if I could find someone in Orlando who could have those types of conversations with me.

Anyway, here's where I fell down on the job: You know those anxieties I mentioned earlier? Well, I've learned that anxiety is a natural, if stressful, part of life. It's how you allow that anxiety to manifest itself that is the key to success or failure. Well, if you fail, you just have to suck it up, make every effort to salvage what you can, repair the damage you have willingly or unwittingly caused and do your utmost to turn things around.

I kicked myself continually during the rehearsal process, and as a result, made myself physically and emotionally sick on an almost daily basis. I had anxiety attacks several times daily. I found myself getting little or no sleep and I cried all the time. Most shamefully, I gave up on myself so many times that I behaved like a massive pain in the ass to people who were trying to do nothing more than help me be the best that they knew I could be - The staging specialists, Jenn Rapp, (the adorable assistant choreographer), my stage management team, my fellow cast mates. I alienated myself by willfully allowing my own foolish insecurities to eat me alive. I would perceive genuine assistance, guidance or help as an attack, and go on the defensive.

My self-confidence levels plummeted to an all-time low. I felt that I could do nothing right. I watched rehearsals and I was blown away at how effortless it all seemed to everyone around me. Everyone seemed to just pick things up and run with them. As for me, I felt like I was doing nothing more than holding everyone up from accomplishing anything. When I stopped and REALLY thought it, I realized that EVERYONE had those moments. My fear of failure just manifested itself in a demonstrative, detrimental and negative way. In fact, it made me, to a degree, the black sheep of the cast. I hate that I put myself in that position. I have no one to blame but myself for that, and I have had to really work to overcome that stigma. Baby steps... Baby steps.... I don't truly believe I have gone out of my way to hurt anyone's feelings, but I never know. I'm just covering bases here, people. There has been many a time when things that I have said or done have been take massively out of context. It's only when someone decides to ask me if I realize what I said or how I said something that it ever strikes me that I might have actually hurt someone's feelings or been disrespectful to them or made them feel as if I didn't value them.

I truly regret that I ever allowed myself to be such a wreck, because each and every person in this show is utterly incredible. There's so much talent in each and every one of them, so many gifted and blessed people, I regret that I couldn't toss my own baggage aside to get to know them all sooner. Hell, I was working with Michelle Knight, Kurt Von Schmittou, Juan Cantu, Billy Flannigan, all people I have known for a while (or felt I have) and loved dearly. Most of them had seen my positive side at the Hoop-Dee-Doo, either onstage or backstage, and I'm sure my erratic behavior puzzled them. Why flake out now? 

I put up a wall around me that I'm sure many people felt was impenetrable arrogance or just plain textbook psychosis. It wasn't either. It was just fear. Good old fashioned flop sweat. After performing professionally, and quite successfully for the past 17 years, You'd wonder why I allowed this new and exciting experience to drive me down so much. I couldn't really pinpoint it at the time, but now I can safely say the answer is easy: I was out of my comfort zone. I'd been mostly doing repeats of shows for the past 10 years. I wasn't playing Nicely-Nicely in Guys and Dolls or Zaza in La Cage, or any of the other roles I could do in my sleep.  For the first time in a while, I was being challenged as an actor and I was too damn scared to simply embrace the challenge and grow as a performer. I am ashamed to admit that, but it's just the plain truth. Of course, at the time I didn't have the perspective to see how easy I could have made this on myself, and how much more enjoyable and rewarding this whole project could have been from the beginning. 

I couldn't understand why this wasn't another one of those fun roles I could just chew the scenery with (literally) and just walk away feeling satisfied each and every show. Hell, I'd had that with Six-Bits at the Hoop-Dee-Doo, which to me was the best role I've ever had at Disney. Why not Bruce? It seemed like the most obvious casting choice in the world. If I could have simply RELAXED and opened myself to a different method, I wouldn't have put myself and those around me through the needy Diva routine that has plagued me whenever I felt like I wasn't as good as I was led to believe.

I was so used to what I suppose you'd call the easy way - relatively quick results in warhorse shows that allowed me to pull from my actor's bag of tricks. It always seemed to ensure success on some level for me in the past. I thought that this was going to be another of those instances. Boy, was I wrong. I bought into my own press and decided that it was easier to ride past accomplishments rather than create new ones. I suppose I suffer from that near-fatal curse that poisons almost any actor's fragile ego: We so WANT to be good, we so NEED to feel approval, we often pathetically cling to the small vestiges of our past glories that made us feel loved, approved of, important.  When you go into rehearsal and feel like a complete failure, you scramble to recapture that feeling and justify your participation as a member of the cast. I sought minor comfort in going through my old clippings, watching old tapes of my shows and wondering why I wasn't capable of delivering the goods as I'd done so many times before.  It was a relief for all of 10 minutes.. then it just made me feel worse.  Again, don't misunderstand me, I don't think for one second that I am better than anyone else in this show, I just wanted to believe that I was AS good as any of them. I just couldn't relax and allow my true personality and my talents to come along with me to the table.

So, to my cast, managers, crew and all my NEMO family, some of whom will inevitably read this: I sincerely apologize if or when you felt any disrespect coming from me. I foolishly alienated many of you because of my own insecurities and a fear that I allowed to paralyze me from becoming a true member of the ensemble. Please understand that I realize that my mistakes cost me a great deal, namely your friendship and your respect. I value each and every one of you.  I stand in awe and great pride to share a stage and this experience with such an amazing and beautiful group of people who work together to do the impossible 4 times a day. I will endeavor to earn what I should have worked for from day one - your respect and your friendship.

So, that's it for work. I am blessed to have that job and to be a part of this piece of Disney History.. I don't want to look back in a few years, long after I've moved on, and regret that I didn't take a moment to enjoy an experience I was privileged to be a part of - While I was still part of it.

Ok. That's it for Part 1. Part 2 is above this entry.. If you read the damn thing backwards, it's still long.

Could have been worse... I could have done it in Aramaic.

M.

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6:41:49 AM EDT
Feeling Angry

The Trenton Duckett story hits close to home for me.. I live not too far from where this tragic event took place.. that is... whatever did take place.

I posted an entry over a year ago that has, to this day, continued to bring me hate mail and/or fan mail from Nancy Grace Haters or Fans.

As I watched a replay of the interview with Melinda Duckett,  I sat astonished at the nasty, cold, calculating way in which Nancy Grace took this poor girl to task for everything and anything - WITHOUT ONE SINGLE SHRED OF EVIDENCE.

Yes, this girl was scared. Grace made it worse by just browbeating her on national television. Had Grace been conducting this cross-examination in front of any judge in any court, she would have been nailed for badgering a witness.

I don't believe Melinda Duckett harmed her child. I said I don't believe she did.. and wouldn't we all HOPE she didn't??

Thanks to Grace, we may never know if she did. I hope this backfires on her ten-fold.

So, just to dredge up all the hate and nastiness I can muster towards Nancy. I now repost my blog entry that gained so much attention. Including comments.

Fire away Grace fans... I have an odd feeling that there are fewer of you now than before...

M

 

I must preface this entry by making two specific disclaimers:

1) HATE is a strong word, and should not be used unless you absolutely mean it.

2)I am NOT, by any means, a Michael Jackson fan or supporter.

Very few TV journalists insense me. I always have kept the perspective that I, as the viewer, am the one in control. If I don't like a reporter's slant, I can always tune into another network for another perspective. Objectivity in network or cable news journalism has seemingly become an antequated notion.

Networks have their individual political agendas, and the hosts of any given news talk show use their shows as forums for personal diatribe, rather than open discussion of fact and analysis of information.

I said that when I didn't like a journalist, I simply changed the channel. That's not always true. Sometimes, I sit and watch one particular journalist, just to see how much further she can push her foot into her big mouth.

Nancy Grace, the Court TV commentator and Headline News host is the one member of the media I openly despise... No, not despise.. HATE. As I said, hate is a strong word. Only use it if you mean it. Well, do you think I mean it when I say: The mere sight of the woman makes me want to pull out her 60's throwback THAT GIRL flip 'do - Bleached strand by bleached strand. I mean it.

                                     

This vapid, judgemental, talentless bimbette presides over her Court TV and Headline News programs with the journalistic finesse of a lemming over a cliff... or the delicacy of a sledgehammer - Take your pick

She uses both of her network platforms to act as judge, jury and executioner of Michael Jackson, or any defendant in the trial du jour.

Grace has beat the anti-Jacko drum since day one. She behaves as if she has a personal stake in Jackson's conviction. Every day, she picks apart Jackson's behavior, dress, demeanor and asserts his guilt before she's even begun to allow her expert panel of guests to analyze the testimony in the trial.

When any of these guests give the Jackson defense any credence, or perhaps cast any shadow of reasonable doubt upon the case, Grace becomes a madwoman: She Jekyll and Hydes herself into an argumentative, rude and dismissive fishwife. She's in the business of tele-lynching any and all defendants she finds guilty. Any neighsayers are an intolerable inconvenience for Grace. If you are in the tele-court of Nancy Grace, Heaven and Clarence Darrow help you if you don't follow the Grace party line.

Of course, she did the same thing to Scott Peterson....and she was right. I'll give her that. However, Grace commits one cardinal sin. A sin for someone in the legal profession, but a raging miscarriage of ethics for a journalist - She convicts before the trial is over. Sometimes before it even begins. If she assumes someone is guilty, she goes after them tooth and nail.

If Grace doesn't like you, she will do her damndest to convict you in the court of public opinion. Sadly, it's dilletantes like Grace who have that power in our slanted media.

Doing a bit more research on Grace's general abuse of her media position, I ran across a few posts on several websites that beautifully analyze my point in far more concise, and clear terms than I ever could. I quote them for you here:

 "Grace is so repellent a figure that she serves a useful purpose; she helps us see the moral and intellectual corruption spreading through our mainstream “news” culture. It’s increasingly clear that (Larry) King himself is uncomfortable with her rancid behavior."

"Nancy Grace: The Queen Of Sycophant Adulation.

On February 21, 2003, Nancy Grace accused Michael Jackson of being a sexual pervert on national television, and she did it so explicitly, that if this demagogue and CNN are not sued for slandering Michael Jackson, his attorneys are sleeping on the switch. In particular, Nancy Grace said: "Well, these kids know him real up close, too, in bed with him. And, Larry, what this child alleges is shocking and incredible and so much of this affidavit... But I'm telling you, this boy, two-thirds of this can be corroborated by other people. So why would he lie about the molestation part? It is in graphic detail. It just seems true." The suggestion that uncontested, innocuous facts are proof of sexual molestation charges, is an absolutely preposterous, slimey tactic that is used to assume credibility where none exists. People who use extraneous observations to create the impression that outrageous allegations are credible, are essentially desperate liars, and if demagogues like Nancy Grace are not sued, they will continue to abuse their power.

The extreme gap between the truth and the rhetoric of a demagogue like Nancy Grace, speaks for itself.

GRACE: Well, it's my understanding that there was a very, very long and intense police investigation that the file is, as they say, inactive because, I believe, the victim did not want to go to court. That's what I think. That's what I can deduce. And we all know that there was a civil settlement of millions and millions of dollars. And interestingly enough, on February the 10th, there was a response by the Jackson camp to this affidavit being made public online. It didn't negate the truth of the affidavit, it just simply attacked the breach of the confidentiality agreement

TRUTH: The so called victim's family was after MONEY not JUSTICE. The victim did not have a case to go to court with. Clearly, the D.A. did not refuse to prosecute the case because evidence that Michael Jackson sexually abused children, existed.

GRACE: And you know what, Larry? I think that if a father had tried to extort Michael Jackson for millions of dollars, you want to tell me he would not have been arrested or charges filed? At the beginning -- and the panel laughed when I brought this up, specifically the Jackson family lawyer. But the Jackson camp changed their stories so many times. First, they said this was an extortion attempt; they would never pay. Then, suddenly, as police began to develop evidence, they did pay millions of dollars... Right. And I'll make it quick, Larry. I've got in my hand again the affidavit of Jordy, not the cancer victim. This is another boy that had sleepovers with Jackson. You said that thiswas all about extortion. Question to you: Why wasn't this child's father prosecuted for extortion if you claim that was why, what this was all about?

TRUTH: The police SHOULD HAVE charged Michael Jackson's adult accusers with extortion. Nancy Grace likes to blame Michael Jackson becausethe police didn't do their job properly. Nancy Grace cannot blame Michael Jackson for the fact that the police did not do their job right. Why would anybody expect the police to help a "weirdo" like Michael Jackson? Moreover, if, as Nancy claims, the police had developed credible evidence to support outrageous charges of criminal, sexual misconduct, why didn't they file criminal charges? After all, Nancy Grace was "talking about oral sex, manual masturbating, taking baths together", not abo