Friday, August 18, 2017

But what's that white stuff on top?

Why, yes -- we DO have a mall in Iowa with a first-place-at-the-fair-cherry-pie mural bursting with color and local-culture pride from its merry little triangle in the ceiling trusses. Our celebrated mall also has an Abercrombie & Fitch guy in a small, lat-hugging T-shirt who wouldn't look up from his folding when I walked by him 73 times. OK, 74. Because it has to be an even number or I'd still be standing at the back of the store. And that would make me seem pathetic.

Sieg fail, Bannon

You racist piece of shit.

Flashback Friday: Giant Fiberglass Underpants Edition

The plaza outside Tribune Tower in Chicago used to (and maybe still does?) have a rotating display of massively giant sculptures of stuff. One summer it was the figures from American Gothic, which made sense since the painting hangs in the Chicago Art Institute. And in 2011 it was Marilyn Monroe coquettishly letting her white halter dress blow up over a subway grate in The Seven Year Itch, which made sense since that movie had exactly nothing to do with Chicago. The sculpture was artistically unremarkable -- as are most giant sculptures rendered in fiberglass, to be fair -- and its cantilevered billowing skirt ended up serving the unintended but more useful purpose of sheltering lost tourists and people waiting for the 147 bus during sudden rainstorms.
Plus, no matter where you stood within sight of the statue you couldn't avoid seeing Marilyn's GIANT FIBERGLASS UNDERPANTS. Which I, being a paragon of maturity, of course respectfully refrained from photographing and posting on social media or my blog.

Thursday, August 17, 2017


They're making it look like his ship isn't sinking.

I hate to drag. I mean brag ...

Legs and lists

1. Leg day.
2. Ouch.
3. Also: 20 minutes on the elliptical.
4. Also: alarmingly large puddles of sweat.
5. I found this shirt on the bottom of the pile this morning.
6. It's unflatteringly tight around my tummy.
7. Which is probably why it was on the bottom.
8. I used to run through the gayborhoods of Chicago in a Speedo every December.
9. I also used to own a red Speedo that fit over my hips.
10. Leg day. Also: 20 minutes on the elliptical.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

So this just happened

It seems I've been cast as one of the Guvnors in One Man, Two Guvnors, leaving the roles of One Man and The Other Guvnor of course in the hands of two other dudes. 

I've never played someone who was in the title of the show before. Probably because Evita's Brother and Smudge the Socially Awkward Plaid wouldn't fit on the marquee. Plus I haven't done a non-musical in more than two years. If I remember correctly, all you need to do in a regular play is just say a lot of words and occasionally point at stuff. So this should be easy. 

But I'm stoked beyond belief over this opportunity and this role and this show and this director and this CAST. And I'm going to keep my tap shoes backstage during every show just in case. Because I'm liable to burst into song at a moment's notice anyway. And some habits are hard to break.

Too far? Not far enough?

What if he doesn't even use white golf tees? Gosh, I hope I haven't confused him or made him look silly.

Thank you all!

When your head's just not in the game at the gym ...

Redirect your energies toward poking an illiterate circus bear with a tweet stick.

Tuesday, August 15, 2017


I'm having new headshots taken a week from today and I'm growing my scruff back so we can try some manly shots and then I'll quickly shave and we can try some more shots with me covered in bloody razor nicks. Then I'll have to face the profound life decision of which international modeling contract to sign.

Also: I'm perfecting my international model pout.

Monday, August 14, 2017

Sucking at history: It's not just for reality TV failures anymore!


We all knew your "additional remarks" were nothing but bullshit that you were cornered into saying only because you got called out for the initial meaningless piece-of-shit nothing you vomited up when you finally bothered addressing the nation this weekend.

We knew your "additional remarks" were bullshit that was written for you the second you said "egregious," a word you neither know nor understand but you ironically ARE in everything you think and say and do.

And now you're trying -- and failing, as always -- to turn your grotesque, arrogant, meaningless failure into victimhood. Which is tacit -- another word you're too arrogantly stupid to know -- admission that you didn't mean a word you said.

Die already. Painfully. Violently. Humiliatingly. Just die. You owe us.

One audition, two scenes

I just auditioned for my first non-musical in over two years. Which means I couldn't rely on my mad tapping skillz or ironically croon a girl song (which is ironic, see, because I'm a boy) as a theatrical device to give the illusion that I'm creative and resourceful and positively visionary and therefore an indispensable artistic asset to any final casting decision.

No. I just had to act -- the one stage-play-craft thing I'm least confident about -- tonight. In a British accent, no less. And -- unlike a month ago when I auditioned for Grease and my ONE JOB was to use the Midwestern American accent I've had FOR 49 YEARS but NOOOOO! I suddenly out of nowhere started talking in a freaking SOUTHERN ACCENT that WOULD NOT GO AWAY -- tonight I stayed as British as I could ever hope to sound for the entire audition, no doubt in part because of the seven British lines I just had -- including "wanker"! giggle giggle -- in Billy Elliot.

So now all that's left to do is madly obsess over every word I stumbled on and every probably catastrophic artistic auditiony choice I made tonight until there's a callback or a cast list posted on Wednesday. Y'all.

Low-hanging fruit

Sunday, August 13, 2017

I'm still not used to being The Old Guy

I usually have an innate ability to know when my gym is completely empty so I pretty much always work out alone. But I just survived a self-esteem slaughterhouse of a workout surrounded by six 20something guys who were not only all insanely muscular but they all knew each other and all talked to each other and completely ignored the old guy who was slowly being transported back to The Land of Crippling High School Insecurities.

But I used it to push myself through a more brutal than normal arm workout. And then I rushed to the safety of my car to photograph the proof of it before my pump deflated.

Getting old can really mess with you sometimes.

I'm going to die alone, aren't I?

I feel a breeze on my neck

I'm standing in a long, unmoving returns line at Walmart. In front of a woman who keeps sneezing on me. I think I'm going to spend 20 awkward minutes trying on underwear in front of my mom next to make my afternoon complete.

Driving Miss Bridget

Look at that adorable-but-starting-to-look-older-and-sometimes-nighttime-drooly-and-graying-so-slightly-that-you-hardly-even-notice-but-still-totally-adorable FACE.
I wish Bridget hadn't photobombed me and ruined my selfie.

Happy Gay Uncles' Day to me

That's OK, niece and nephew who are no longer in the will; I'll post my own celebratory sparkle glitter flower kitty gif. Even though I can't figure out how to make the gif's sparkle feature work like the way I found it on Google as only a tech-savvy younger relative could.