Alexa ...

What are the chunkiest, dumbassiest shoes I could possibly wear to a choreography rehearsal exploding with precision-heeled sauts de basque?

Dear LORD that was a long day

I cleared some stuff out of my storage unit, sold a ton of books (for a meager $20, but still), learned choreography for 4.5 hours with a delightfully talented choreographer and a cast of dancers half my age, did a show that was spiced up with a tornado delay and a couple dropped lines on my part, emptied the litter box, decided to sleep with my gross wrist wound unbandaged to see how it survives a night in the open air, and took a helicopter selfie with Jeffrey Epstein’s alleged neck creases (too soon?) in our Kountry Krafts guest room where I’m still sleeping because the final push of my bedroom project has become kind of overwhelming. Good night!

I’m just starting hour 4 of a 4.5-hour Hello, Dolly! choreo rehearsal that leads straight into an Aurora performance

I packed a snack to keep my vim and vigor up and a package of baby wipes to keep my Sturm und Drang down as I transition from exhausted, sweaty dancer to focused, pleasant-smelling actor. Wish me luck.

I’m kinda really excited to report that I’m jumping back into the world of choreography, but in baby jumps (the metaphor, not the actual choreography)

I’m choreographing “Jitterbug”—the only real dance number in The Wizard of Oz—for Jefferson High School’s spring musical (which, as some of you might guess, is The Wizard of Oz). I start teaching tomorrow—just as soon as my tiny-armed assistant and I figure out what the hell to do with the second bridge of the endless dance break. And I’m a stalwart opponent of box steps, so don’t even think about suggesting those.

OK ... I'll jump on the bandwagon:

THEATRE EXPERIENCES SURVEY

1. Played a murderer - yes
2. Played an animal - no
3. Played a character opposite your gender - in a couple of drag cabaret shows
4. Worked with an Oscar/Tony/Emmy winner - not that I’m aware of
5. Undressed on stage - oh yes … and I’m about to again
6. Had a stage kiss - yes
7. Played a ghost - no
8. Been a stage manager – no
9. Been on tech crew – in high school, and I will again in a few months
10. Worn fake eyeglasses – yes
11. Worn contact lenses – in one eye that was supposed to be blind
12. Been in a staged fight - yes
13. Missed a cue - just a few lines over the years
14. Walked off stage during a scene to fix your costume - no
15. Scolded someone for touching your prop? – gently
16. Been in a musical – DUH
17. Been in a Shakespeare production – just in a few isolated scenes
18. Forgotten a line on stage - yes
19. Forgotten a prop on stage – no
20. Had a wardrobe malfunction on stage - a hat with a wig glued inside it once fell off my head
21. Been nude on stage - starting January 25 at Theatre Cedar Rapids!
22. Eaten real food on stage - no
23. Choked on real food during a show on stage - also no
25. Been injured during a show - nothing serious
26. Torn up the set by accident onstage during a show - no
27. Broken a prop onstage during a show - indirectly
28. Had a nosebleed onstage - no
29. Played a character of a different race – no
30. Been paid for a performance - yes
31. Played a musical instrument for a performance - yes
32. Sung in a show – DUH
33. Farted on stage during a show - gross, no
34. Made noise backstage during a show – only on purpose
35. Cut your hair onstage during a show - no
36. Simulated sex onstage - no
37. Ad-libbed until another actor made his/her entrance - yes
38. Played a child – only when I was an actual child
39. Been punched in the face accidentally onstage - no
40. Played a lawyer – no
41. Killed another character on stage - only offstage, if that counts
42. Died on stage – almost, if that counts
43. Played a drunk on stage – yes
44. Choreographed a show – not a formal musical, but I’ve co-choreographed Follies and choreographed more show choirs than I can remember
45. Directed a show – no
46. Designed a set - only in my head
47. Helped build a set - yes
48. Ushered/house managed a show – no
50. Helped make costumes for a show - emphasis on helped
51. Experienced effects of a theater ghost - I don’t believe in ghosts
52. Done a lighting design - no
53. Done sound design - no
54. Used dialects – extremely, extremely poorly
55. Gotten a bad review – not that I can remember
56. Done children's theater – yes
57. Worked with animals - no
58. Improvised to cover a technical issue – just broken props
59. Performed in outdoor theater - no
60. Fired a prop gun onstage - I’ve held many prop guns on stage, but I don’t remember having to fire any

I SAY I WANT SOME RESOLUTIONS

Here’s last year’s list, amended with variations of CHECK! in front of things I actually accomplished and with updated/new things I have yet to accomplish:

CHECK! I will turn 50 in April (that’s not the actual resolution—it’s just the preamble to the resolution) and to celebrate I will run every race within 100 miles that’s been on my bucket list—plus any other races I discover that sound fun—all summer, culminating in a back-to-back three-day Disney 5K/10K/half marathon in November. [UPDATE: I was sidelined by injuries for two races and I opted not to run the 10K at Disney, but I’m still giving myself full credit for accomplishing all of this. And I can run faster than you if you try to chase me down and explain to me why I didn’t.]

I will finally run the Bix 7 in the Quad Cities this July.

And you should come with me, whether you want to run or cheer or celebrate together at the after-party.

I will continue making the gym and distance running an integral part of my life. Because I’m not getting any younger or less single.

PARTIAL CHECK! I will stop thinking PB&J and Diet Coke are an acceptable dinner.

I will continue enjoying PB&J at all opportunities and I will continue eliminating Diet Coke completely from my diet (14 days and counting!)

MOSTLY CHECK! I will stop launching scorched-earth social-media fights with cousin-curious Trump supporters to the point that I make myself angry every time I open my social media and discover that they still don’t know how to lose and shut up and go away like normal morons.

I will stop losing hours scrolling mindlessly through Facebook and use my newfound free time to pursue something—anything—more productive.

I will keep myself constantly updated on the current slang and the new small talk. And use it only in irony. Because I’m 50. And an adult. I think.

PARTIAL CHECK! I will figure out how to use the universal remote I bought for our TV. [UPDATE: I made multiple attempts last year, and I got it to do everything but change channels via the number keys. PLEASE COME OVER AND HELP IF YOU’RE FLUENT IN TECHNOLOGY.]

I will start (or finish) reading all the books I bought (or received as gifts) in 2018 (or 2017) (or 2016) (or before that).

I will continue to cultivate the wonderful friendships—and keep my distance from drama—that I’ve been abundantly fortunate to have found since I moved home four years ago.

I will quickly learn the names of people I meet, especially when we do shows together. But no promises—I’m mired in a lifetime habit of convincing myself I suck at names and therefore not even trying.

ONGOING CHECK! I will get the hint and cut my losses the first time someone shows me we don’t have much of a friendship and it’s never going to go anywhere.

SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME PICK A COLOR BECAUSE I’M SERIOUSLY PARALYZED WITH INDECISION! I will bury my tinkle-colored bedroom walls in a deep, rich, handsome, masculine, adult color that I have yet to determine.

CHECK! I will nag and complain without shame or reservation until we replace our pinky-beige, mousy-blah, suburban-horror Formica countertops with something that doesn’t make me want to hide under the sink and slowly die of mousy-blah ennui hastened by poisoning from any store-brand Formica cleanser we have stored there.

I will continue to cull and integrate and sell and give away the two-bedroom-apartment contents of my storage unit ASAP so I can eliminate that $200+/month line item from my personal budget.

I will use my newfound storage-unit savings to pay for regular voice lessons [which I started in December!]

I will make practicing the piano a regular part of my weekly schedule to try and regain some of my long-dormant skills.

I will try to get a gig choreographing something smallish somewhere or finagling my way into playing in an orchestra pit somewhere. [YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. CALL ME. LET’S TALK.]

I will more regularly give myself private tap lessons from all the YouTube tap videos I’ve found.

I will stop wasting time winding up the vacuum cleaner cord.

I will scoop the cat box twice a week instead of once.

I will finally visit the local museums I’ve been woefully absent from seeing: The African-American Museum, The Czech and Slovak Library & Museum, The Masonic Library and Museums, and any others I discover.

I will work harder (notice that I’m not giving myself any form of schedules or deadlines here) to post more frequent #ArtThrob essays about my favorite works of art.

I will stop accepting Facebook friend requests from strangers just because they’re cute.

I will stop accepting Facebook friend requests from strangers just because they’re cute.

I will stop accepting Facebook friend requests from strangers just because they’re cute.

I will reduce forgetting my bipolar meds from once a month to zeroth a month.

I will avoid the New Year’s Day Rose Parade. And all other parades. Just like always. Because parades are stupid.

A few years ago I made a resolution to say or text or email something nice to somebody—longtime friend or random Internet stranger—every day. The resolution has slowly evolved to also include just texting or emailing a random hello to someone I haven’t talked to in a while and to check in almost daily with people I know are struggling with mental illnesses themselves or in their families. I’m sure I’ve missed a few days here and there, but overall it’s become a happy little daily habit that’s kept me in touch or even reconnected with people from every corner of my 50-year (ACK! How did that happen?) life (except for a handful of guys I’ve had longtime crushes on because I’d die inside whether they did or didn’t respond—and, sadly, at 50 years old (did I mention I’m 50?) I’m still kinda scared of guys I have high-school crushes on). Crippling insecurities aside, I’m renewing my daily-compliment/hello/check-in contract for yet another year. And I encourage all of you to consider trying something similar. Because it’s WAY cheaper than flowers. Or therapy. Happy 2019!

I've never really liked "Turkey Lurkey Time"

—mostly because of its toddler-creativity title and Hal David's criminally mind-numbing lyrics. But the gloriously jerky melody and never-gonna-be-boxed-in phrasing are Burt Bacharach at his finest, and I think Michael Bennett defined an encyclopedic choreography vocabulary for the next half-century of show choir competitions in this song alone. Plus I've had a gay-dancer crush on Donna McKechnie—she of the endless legs and beguiling self-awareness and almost poetic extensions—since probably before I was born. Plus HOW THE HELL DO THEY ALL DANCE THIS NUMBER WITHOUT IMPLODING IN CATASTROPHIC EXHAUSTION?

Anyway, it's Thanksgiving, which in some circles means it's Turkey Lurkey Time all day. So please shout the lyrics to anything—ANYTHING!—else to drown out these linguistic burps as you marvel at Donna McKechnie (in red, who first captured my heart as Cassie in A Chorus Line), Baayork Lee (in green, who kinda got shafted when all her great Connie recitative got cut from the original A Chorus Line cast album) and Margo Sappington (in blue, who went on to a life of fame and fortune as the choreographer for the Doonesbury musical) powering through their tipsy steno-pool production number that has absolutely no relevance to the already convoluted, dirty-sexy, nothing-to-do-with-the-holidays story of Promises, Promises.

We are REALLY TIRED of the Disney parks’ jazz-hands-oppressive anti-choreography-on-the-rides policies so we left the parks and came back to our room to chill

Also because I need to conserve my 50-year-old resources and turn in early so I can win the half marathon before the sun comes up tomorrow. But still.

With a little bit of practice and with a lot of Tuesday-night concentration, we just got all of “With a Little Bit of Luck” choreographed!

(Now a-lot-of-sick Bryant needs to get a lot of better so we can teach it to him.)

Lord and Lady Boxington are ROCKING tonight’s My Fair Lady “Embassy Waltz” rehearsal!

Check your local listings to make sure you don’t miss a minute of our debut Ländler on the upcoming all-lord-and-lady smash season of So You Think You Can Edwardian Waltz!

Well now I know where I got my fascination for walking around the city taking pictures of architectural geometries and dramatic perspectives and stark contrasts between shadow and light:

I just saw West Side Story on the big screen for the first time, and it is BRILLIANT cinema--and a lush visual poem of color and movement and shape and pattern that I never fully appreciated from my endless viewings on a TV screen. I grew up devouring the movie soundtrack and I’ve known every word and note and phrase and nuance of Leonard Bernstein’s score and Stephen Sondheim’s libretto for as long as I can remember. I’d assumed I’d spend my first big-screen viewing obsessing over Jerome Robbins’ choreography and staging, but instead I kept examining every camera angle and forced perspective and texture and shadowing and gang-specific palette of Robert Wise’s cinematography. And now I have the final piece of the puzzle for my full love of and artistic respect for this movie.

OK, well not the FINAL final piece of the puzzle; the final final piece may or may not (which totally means does) revolve (literally!) around the ... um ... globe-like butts of the dancers, which also can be fully appreciated only on the big screen.

Anyway, here are some non-butt-related examples of the photos I've taken as I've wandered around Cedar Rapids not realizing I was pretending to be Robert Wise:

Alvin Ailey’s work is still electrifying

But I’ve seen more stirring architecture on a mattress store.

#HowToTurn50 #AndYawnAndStretchAndTryToComeToLife

You wanna know what Fire and Fury is about?

I’ll tell you what Fire and Fury is about: It’s about when you’re rehearsing your A Chorus Line medley — which, of course, every singer and dancer and theater person on earth knows instinctively because IT’S A CHORUS LINE — and the choreographer says to take your places for “I Hope I Get It” and all the dancers under 20 ask “Which song is that one again?”

#WeirdStuffICollectOnMyPhone

Brutish

We just had our first music and choreography rehearsals for the Orchestra Iowa holiday pops concert. And we’ve now discovered an interplanetary cosmos of music—holiday or otherwise—that lives in an unexplored dimension far beyond our mortal understanding of the allegro-legato continuum:

I've never really liked "Turkey Lurkey Time"

... mostly because of its toddler-creativity title and Hal David's criminally mind-numbing lyrics. But the gloriously jerky melody and never-gonna-be-boxed-in phrasing are Burt Bacharach at his finest, and I think Michael Bennett defined an encyclopedic choreography vocabulary for the next half-century of show choir competitions in this song alone. Plus I've had a gay-dancer crush on Donna McKechnie -- she of the endless legs and beguiling self-awareness and almost poetic extensions -- since probably before I was born. Plus HOW THE HELL DO THEY ALL DANCE THIS NUMBER WITHOUT IMPLODING IN CATASTROPHIC EXHAUSTION?

Anyway, it's Black Friday, which means it's Turkey Lurkey Time somewhere. So please shout the lyrics to anything -- ANYTHING! -- else to drown out these linguistic burps as you marvel at Donna McKechnie (in red, who first captured my heart as Cassie in A Chorus Line), Baayork Lee (in green, who kinda got shafted when all her great Connie recitative got cut from the original A Chorus Line cast album) and Margo Sappington (in blue, who went on to a life of fame and fortune as the choreographer for the Doonesbury musical) powering through their tipsy steno-pool production number that has absolutely no relevance to the already convoluted, dirty-sexy, nothing-to-do-with-the-holidays story of Promises, Promises:

Progress

JULY 1, 2016:
The natural progression of bipolar disorder: depression > deep depression > despondency > recovery > fogginess > exhaustion > functionality > public panic attacks > Oreos

JULY 1, 2017:
A year ago right now, the not-entirely-tongue-in-cheek bipolar cycle -- including the binge-eating of Oreos -- that I described in this Facebook post was a regular part of my life, mixed in with painful ramp-up and withdrawal cycles from a constantly changing cocktail of ultimately ineffective meds.

Six months ago right now, I started yet another new med with a by-then defeatist predisposition to thinking it wouldn't work, just like all the meds before it. It almost immediately gave me an instant-onset blackout so severe that I crashed to the tile floor and ended up in the ER with a deeply lacerated face, loose teeth from biting through my lip and a concussion.

But then the new med started working. And while I waited for it to fail like all the meds before it, it actually kept working. And now -- six months later -- I've had only a handful of relatively minor bipolar episodes. Plus I've been able to show up for work and run errands and honor all the commitments on my calendar. My doctors are scheduling my visits at longer and longer intervals. I'm more present in my family's lives instead of sleeping all the time with my head under a pillow. I'm back to having intense gym workouts almost daily. And for some reason this is my gold standard of success: I'm doing shows again. And not only am I doing them but I'm opening my third back-to-back show this weekend. And I know my lines and my choreography without having to think about them and I'm letting myself believe that I'm doing a good job and people like me and I'M LOVING MY LIFE AND IT'S ALL WORKING THE WAY IT'S SUPPOSED TO.

A year ago I honestly didn't think I would ever feel so amazing for such a long amount of time. I honestly didn't remember what it felt like to enjoy life without effort or interruption so that you didn't even notice you were doing it ... or wonder when it would all collapse again. A year ago I knew people liked me but I didn't believe it ... or at least I didn't trust myself to believe it.

I'm so glad this memory popped up on Facebook  today. I had six more months of struggling and falling ahead of me after I posted it. But after that I've had six whole months of happiness and connectedness and functionality and honest emotion and feeling like my old self -- or at least the old self I wanted to feel like.

Six. Whole. Months.

And I haven't even been hungry for an Oreo for at least half of those six months. Which means the cycle is officially broken.

Flashback Friday: Cicero Edition

The Chicago Gay Men's Chorus allowed me to check off a lot of things that are on every man's bucket list: Sing the National Anthem at a Cubs game, record a CD of beautifully arranged love songs, choreograph a show called The Ten Commandments: The Musical, and rock the six-wived Lipschitz out of Velma Kelly's wig and heels in a reverently faithful re-creation of "The Cell Block Tango." POP!

Culture Vulture

FRIDAY NIGHT
Bob and I saw a bizarre little play at a bizarre little theatre. Bertolt Brecht's Puntila and his Man Matti is—and I'm just guessing here—an absurdist look at class divisions and the plight of laborers in 1930s Finland. Or it's an absurdist look at the fluidity of social stratifications in the presence of alcohol in 1930s Finland. Or it's an absurdist story about a wealthy alcoholic landowner, his wily but long-suffering chauffeur and the impending marriage of his never-satisfied daughter in 1930s Finland. Or it's just absurd. In any case, after getting over my initial discomfort at the prospect of watching a loud actor play a loud drunk for two hours, I enjoyed the play—at least to the extent I was able to understand it. My favorite part was the ending—and not just because it was the ending, but because the entire cast came out with half-filled beer bottles, began blowing over the openings and created a gorgeous calliope accompaniment to the closing song.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Bob and I continued our weekend of culture at the Art Institute with a viewing of Unbuilt Chicago, an exhibit of architectural models and drawings of Chicago buildings that never made it from the page to the real world. Some of the proposed buildings were spectacular—many of them disappointingly so in comparison to photos of the buildings that currently stand in their place today. The exhibit isn't very big, though, so while we were there we also visited some of our favorite pieces from the museum's permanent collection:
• A Sunday on la Grande Jatte, a favorite of mine if not for the brilliant Sondheim musical it inspired then for its simple defiance against artistic conventions that sent modern art even further down the path of exploration.
• Paris Street; Rainy Day, a sumptuous visual feast of energy, mathematics, perspective, atmosphere and social observation.
• American Gothic, Grant Wood's wryly humorous, oft-parodied homage to enduring Midwestern virtues. I'm especially drawn to Grant Wood's paintings because he lived and worked most of his life in and around my home town. He even taught art at the high school that eventually became my junior high school. I also have a print of his brilliantly satirical Daughters of Revolution hanging in my dining room.

SATURDAY NIGHT
I sang with about 20 chorus members live on WGN radio to promote our holiday show. WGN broadcasts from a sidewalk-level booth (scroll down to see it) in the magnificent Tribune Tower on Michigan Avenue. Passers-by often stand at the windows and gawk in at the broadcasts—and since we were clearly and repeatedly identified as the Chicago Gay Men's Chorus, we were essentially specimens of homosexuality in a glass display box. So we spent most of our time in the studio demonstrating various group-sex configurations.

SUNDAY
I'm choreographing the abovementioned show, and I'm pleased to report that as of today's rehearsal, all the choreography is taught. It's far from audience-ready, but at least it's all taught. WHEW.