Thursday

The weekly rundown:

First, I finally broke the Radio City audition glass ceiling this year and didn't get a "Thank you!" after I sang...  I think I finally had some idea of what to sing when I walked in the room.

Too bad I got let go at the final cut today after working my tail off in the callback.

Guess that glass ceiling just got a little higher.  At least I don't have to wait 2 months to find out I didn't get the job though, right?

Oh, and on that note, Wednesday was frightfully cold and rainy, and after keeping us out in the cold for 2 hours, the nice folks at Radio City didn't bother to tell us we wouldn't be able to leave once we got inside and would be held hostage until our number was called... 4 hours later.   With no chance to eat.

WTF, Radio City, WTF?

Secondly, I am looking forward to this weekend to finally sleep in past 7 AM.  Seriously, when did I turn into my father?

Third, it was my father's birthday today.  This year was the year I kinda forgot about him for part of the day (because I was busy pulling up for Radio City) and it just felt weird.  Thank goodness I had the afternoon to spend some time at home, and pizza and beer to eat my feelings for Thursday Night Pizza Party.

Sadly, that tradition has fallen by the wayside now that the old apartment is gone, but Kate and I resurrected it partially this evening.  We just need to get some of our good friends back in the game of Grey's and Papa John's.  At least in time for the dramatic season finale next week.

Fourth, well, that's really all.  My life isn't that interesting now that I'm not living in Japan anymore.  I really miss it, so much so that I found an amazing Japanese restaurant on 49th and stopped in to have a bowl of ramen after the cold imprisonment yesterday.  Sapporo was 99% authentic, though I wish it hadn't been two Hispanic guys cooking my food.  And the ramen noodles were a little thin... And not quite white-yellow enough.  But the broth and pork were spot on.

Seeing the Japanese people's faces when I shouted "gochi so sama deshita!" as I left the restaurant was PRICELESS.  They so didn't see that one coming, nor the fact that I understood half of what was happening in the restaurant.  It made me feel oddly at home.  Sigh.

I'm heading to see Leslie Jordan's show tomorrow night (since he was so great at the Easter Bonnet), and I was devastated to hear that Doris Eaton Travis passed yesterday.  I met her years ago doing Will Rogers and have seen her at the Easter Bonnet twice since then (the last time still kicking away only 2 weeks ago), and sadly our last-living-at-106 Follies girl has joined my dad on the other side.  What an honor to experience her joy and memories 3 different times.

My father was a man who understood the importance of words and the power of listening.  Something I'm still learning every day.  A man who believed "sainthood is achievable", that "something worth doing is worth doing right", and who taught me the true power of music with his guitar strums.

Happy Birthday, Dad, I love you.

Back in the Game

I'm sure you are wondering why a guy who spent so much time blogging his adventures in Japan has paused his blogging while readjusting and adventuring back into a New York way of life, and the truth is I've been adjusting.

And for all my brain has been able to accomplish in the last two weeks (which wasn't much), I haven't felt much like writing at the end of these long, early-morning days.

Take last week for example.

I auditioned every single day (except Tuesday because I left my cell alarm on vibrate) and therefore left the house by 7:30 AM, if not earlier.  I often was out all day with a side trip home for a break, and Monday and Tuesday I had late night affairs that didn't get me home until 1 or 2.  And jet lag has left my bedtime at a respectable 10 PM the past two weeks.  I'm not sure I'm auditioning particularly well, but at least I'm there.

I did have a good audition for a couple of agents on Monday night, but I haven't heard anything yet.  At least it felt good, right?

I then worked 30 hours for a special event over the course of Friday morning through Sunday at noon, and each morning progressively got earlier until Sunday's wake up call of 4 AM.

So I'm brain dead.

And when audition calls are run like LA/reality TV/open call auditions (I'm talking to you, Debbie Allen) with a lack of understanding and complete disrespect for union rules, including telling union members they should leave their union so the producers can operate the calls the way they want to, I don't have much energy to be witty at the end of the day.

TV on the couch time sounds much better.

Especially now that DVR is back in my life!

But I'm present now.  And after a week of jet lag and spring hibernation, and a super-productive audition/working/unpacking week, I'm ready for a week with a little less crazy.

Which is why I'm so thankful I have two afternoon singing appointments in a little bit and already had a most excellent tapper call that was short, simple, concise, yet with the perfect amount of challenge and technique required courtesy of Christopher Gatelli.  It was so pleasant to be in a room with 20 men who could all actually tap well, and then, rather than watching each person to see if he could tap, I was enjoying watching each person to see how he could tap.  His style.  His sounds.  His sense of rhythm.

It really was a beautiful thing.

And to have a cold, windy weekend that has turned into a cool, sunny and gorgeous spring day, well... I couldn't be more content.

This makes being home feel easy.  And right.

Not those crazy SoyJoy-grabbing nut cases yesterday.

I'm unpacked, but I still have a lot of decorating and planning of our living space to do.  For now, I'm here.

And You Thought Jet Lag Was Bad...

I have seen the dark side of the human soul.

The animalistic scavenger within us all.

It makes me so ready to jump on a plane back to Japan.

____________________

I was doing pretty well with culture shock.  It took a week, at least, but I was adjusting well.  I'm on an early schedule because of my busy week, but I'm getting plenty of rest.  My back hurts 'cause my mattress sucks, but that's my own fault.

And I've adjusted to the food, sort of.  My stomach doesn't hurt, but I can still taste all the chemicals in our food and water.

But two weeks could not prepare me for what I witnessed today.

Sometimes I work special events for a marketing firm, doing whatever staff position they seem to think best for the day or weekend.  In this case, I was working a 3-day weekend event that welcomed women from all over the world for a special celebration of O! Magazine.

Now you would assume that since people go gaga over Oprah and most of this convention was about "living your best life" with some help from her usual friends, that people would be generally positive and kind and generous.  And they were.

For the most part.

They were ecstatic on Friday as we checked them in.  And they were soaking up the information at the Javits and enjoying the gifts and give-aways on Saturday, even if they weren't always so patient or courteous when waiting in line.

But standing in Times Square today giving people free snack bars, of which we had plenty (somewhere near 20,000, not to mention 2 or 3 times that many in the production tent), literally turned into a manic free-for-all.  And I get it.  *SOME* of those people just walked two miles.  Very few, in fact, but maybe they were hungry.

It's not like the walk was a marathon.

When people are not even patient enough to share free samples with their neighbor without resorting to jaws-of-life grips on an energy bar, it's just disgusting.

But nothing was worse than the woman who felt she had every right to not only come behind the table, inside the tent to where I was working, but then take a cardboard box (that turned out to be empty), take my personal samples from other tents that were stored next to my own personal belongings, and stuff the empty box with my baked goods and try to claim them as her own.

Worse yet, when I told her she wasn't allowed back there nor was she allowed to take a box, I discovered my property in her box and kindly told her she wasn't allowed to take from our stock or our personal belongings hidden under the tablecloth.

(May I remind you that there were about 100 people vying for snack bars and literally tearing them out of my partner's arms at this point -- in short, we were swamped).

I may have made a slight mistake by taking the boxes back from her, but as soon as she lost her temper, I "gave her back" the cupcakes she had stolen so deliberately and ruthlessly from me and told her to have a nice day and not worry about it.

But this poor, sad woman, who seems to have dealt with much pain in her life, felt she should accuse me of stealing her cupcakes (that were mine, I remind you, but I had given up claim long ago) and ruining Mother's Day for her.

At this point, nothing had really gotten out of control, but her guilty conscience wasn't done yet.

She then insisted to speak to my manager, who attempted to calm the woman and clearly had my back, and she continually threatened to involve the police.  Which, in the event they had come over, wouldn't have really mattered since I had been visited by all the Times Square police earlier that morning and had generously given them many free samples to stave off the cold.  They mostly likely would have been on my side.

She continued to claim that I had been rude to her and wouldn't apologize and had stolen her belongings, when, in fact, she had stolen mine and had come very close to stealing some of my important personal belongings.  In short, she finally gave up her claims, because I ignored her and continued to work at staving off the herd of starving elephantine vultures waiting impatiently, but only after 10 minutes of loudly claiming I had stolen her cupcakes.

Seriously.  This was over cupcakes.  That weren't that good.

Had this semi-crazy (she did pay to attend the event, so I won't call her full-tilt-Times-Square-homeless crazy) woman succeeded in calling over the police in the middle of this event, she would have taken up some vital service worker's time over cupcakes when they should be watching out for Oprah and J-Hud.

Oh.  And those car bombs we seem to be on alert for.

What a sorry state we've come to as a culture.

In Japan, where the mentality is that everyone waits and everyone gets a turn, people would have kindly taken one snack bar and been on their way.  And we would have been able to donate 10,000 bars to a shelter, instead of watching the souvenir store behind us make off with 30 boxes or so to resell at considerable mark-up.

And I just became disgusted.  By the end of the day, when we were literally giving away 12 count boxes to each passerby, I couldn't even speak.  I was a cardboard-cutting machine, wearing my backpack because I couldn't trust anyone not to ransack anything and everything.

I was shocked when nice women from the Midwest would ask to sample just one.  It was refreshing and honest and amazing.

And the cupcake guys even replaced my stolen cupcake, without me having to say a word.

So today I honor those mothers who taught their children patience and kindness.  I'm sure my own mother put up with much more than 2 hours of manic-madness to feed, clothe, and raise me, and I'm very thankful for her love.

And I hope that woman today can find a mother figure soon, one who will teach her when a cupcake is just a cupcake.

Freezer in the Garage

So I've a lagged a little bit this past week in keeping this blog up-to-date on my life.

So you're guessing I'm gonna tell you about it, right?

Hold your horses, kiddos!  This one's a spur-of-the-moment food-inspired (what else do I blog about?) obsession!



SAMOAS!!!!!!!

No.  Not the people of the island nation where "Survivor: Heroes vs. Villains" takes place.  I'm talking about GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!

Do you know how long it's been since I've had a delicious caramel coconut chocolate-covered chewy nougat?

I don't even know how long it's been.  It's been that long.

See, Kate just went to switch her laundry at the laundromat, and, attempting to win the race for best roommate ever, bought 2 boxes of Samoas, and a box of Thin Mints (in case those were my favorite) since they just happened to be sitting on the counter for 3 bucks a box at the counter.

SERIOUSLY, NYC?  You can't track down cookies in New York using your web skills or phone books or even stopping by the Girl Scout Association office on 23rd Street, but they just happen to show up at our laundromat the first week of May?!  I'm not complaining, but WHOA!  Seriously, if you go to the website to buy cookies it sends you the contact information for the little girl closest to you selling them.

You'd think GSA would have figured out by now they could just sell them in the grocery store, or make them available through Girl Scouts year-round.  And don't they know that putting little girls' contact info on the internet is a BAD idea?  Hmmmm...

But back to my food obsession.

My mother, being the best mother ever, brought me a box of Thin Mints while I was in Japan.  Seriously, who thinks of that?

Only the kind of mother that would buy something like 50 boxes of Girl Scout cookies each year when we were growing up, and putting them in our freezer in the garage, to make sure our cookie cravings were satisfied all year round.

That's Mother Day award-winning kind of stuff, right there.

Of course, she went above and beyond and would keep like 15 12-packs of pop on a shelf out there (for camping trips and variety, etc.), a dozen loaves of the best raisin bread EVER from South Dakota, and all the pheasants my family would shoot each November in South Dakota.  And when you consider that we were of family of 6 with 3 very hungry growing boys... well, she's a food rock star.

Even better was the half of a cow we kept in the freezer one year.

Seriously.  Kate doesn't believe me, but one year we split a cow with the Boersma's from a butcher in Greeley, and I remember loading up our suburban and going out to cow-town and filling up the backseat with white-butcher-paper-wrapped steaks and ground beef that we had purchased.  We must've eaten that stuff for a whole year.  And it was REALLY good.

I'm not sure where all this nostalgia is coming from, but let's just say the GSA are taking me back to some great memories of my mother and her food-providing skills.

I even remember in high school how liberating and adult-like it felt to purchase my own box of Samoas from one of the girls in English class and then keeping them in my locker.  I would pull one or two out during passing periods and savor the delicacy of my very own Samoa that I never had to share with a brother or sister.

That was heaven.

And now, we have two whole boxes in our freezer to savor at our leisure.

And thank you, Mom, for making sure our sweet-teeth were always satisfied.