concrete trenches
sometimes more feet than shoes.

Saturday, November 29, 2003  

Shizzard my gizzard

Thanksgiving was fun and fine. BG and I *rocked* at the Trivial Pursuit (last 20 years, or 20th anniversary or some damn thing). The food was good, but dammit, there was that freakin' green bean casserole! I had some, and I still don't like it. Totally not the fault of the more than gracious hosts.

There were the friends, and then there were the friend's friends. The boy F'sF is alright, smart but a little pretentious in that very specific New York way. The girl F'sF was, well, dumb. At first she seemed fine, shy perhaps. As the night progressed and she began to converse, it was clear that she couldn't really keep up. BG is an intellectual freak of nature, of course, and the friends have some serious brainpower going. Girl F'sF was somewhat lacking, but would compensate with an amazing amount of slang, yo.

| posted by christopher | 12:40 AM

Thursday, November 27, 2003  

For putting me back in my snail shellFor putting me back in my snail shell

There are very specific memories attached to Thanksgiving: the bowl of mixed nuts in the shell, string bean casserole (made with Durkee canned onion rings and something which I could never abide), pumpkin and pecan pies, the sound of my mother putting the gigantic bird in the oven at midnight the night before. I haven't had a Thanksgiving like that in well over ten years. Tomorrow we hang with friends in Williamsburg with food, tv, games, drinking, and perhaps a bit of illicit drug use (not that I'm condoning that for you kids under 18. Stay in school)

I wonder a little about this holiday. It's so close to that other gigantic consumerist holiday. Plus, when I made little construction paper Pilgrim hats in grade school, no one told me that the Puritans had to come here because they were too uptight to live in England! Or that if the Indians had known what they were in for at the hands of these pale, black clad people they probably would have let them starve.

Happy Thanksgiving. Give some thanks for something today, and pass the nut bowl.

| posted by christopher | 1:43 AM

Wednesday, November 26, 2003  


Sometimes the best thing ever is to kick it at home with the Best Girl, eating stir-fry and watching a NetFlix on the Powerbook.

| posted by christopher | 12:06 AM

Monday, November 24, 2003  


Mark it as a red letter day. I've waited my entire adult life for today. I'd be more giddy-dancy excited if I didn't feel this were my due. After an afternoon of waiting tables, I'll go sign papers at what will afterwards be My Agent's Office.

| posted by christopher | 9:43 AM

Sunday, November 23, 2003  

Maybe washed down with a little wineMaybe washed down with a little wine

Haven't had a good night's sleep in about a week now. Each night of restlessness chips ever so slightly at my psyche. The covers had a death grip on me this morning. Gravity had intensified in the vicinity of the mattress. Somehow, I achieved escape velocity.

Every once in a while my eyes would burn at work. They'd ache to be closed. Nothing helped. Every customer I served was a dolt or a pain in my ass. Funny, tips were down today.

Now, instead of in bed, I'm typing this. I don't feel tired. Except I am. So I'm going to enlist momma's little helper (in the form of Tylenol P.M.) and make myself have eight uninterrupted hours of blissful shut-eye.

| posted by christopher | 12:10 AM

Friday, November 21, 2003  

This is whyThis is why

BG is filming an entrance project for some rich opera director's application for film school. The script is based on an opera, and she's having a hard time learning the lines. She's kicking herself about not having started sooner. She asked me the no-win question of did I think she was bad for not having done her job.

Other questions that fall into this category: Do I look fat in these jeans? Am I wearing too much make up? What do you think of my mother/brother/father/sister? Will you tell me about your ex?

I hemmed and hawed and danced around the question as best as I could, but there was nothing to be done. I was trying to be nice, figuring there's nothing to be done at this late date (filming started today) so just try to get her to forgive herself and move on.

And then there was the fight. Small, tense, as all our fights are. Neither of us is much in the yelling department. But the rest of the otherwise nice night was shot to hell. Sleep was spotty, she was up at 6am to get to the city and the filming, I was at work.

So, I decide I want to do something nice and take her to Ariyoshi, her favorite neighborhood sushi place. On the phone I ask her if she has any thoughts about dinner. "Yes," she says, "Can I take you to Ariyoshi?"

| posted by christopher | 4:15 PM

Wednesday, November 19, 2003  



With my iPod on, I couldn't hear the argument. All I could hear was the word. The guy doing the yelling was standing by the door of the train. He was standing next to the guy whose sexual proclivities he was impugning. He was talking, shaking is head. For the record, the gentleman was far more "Monday Night Football" than "Queer as Folk."

Blah blah blah blah faggot blah blah blah blah fucking faggot blah blah.

A guy near the row was staring at the floor, suppressing a laugh. The angry guy started taking his argument to laugher, jerking his head to the left with every faggot that came out. At one stop, several people got off and the alleged faggot sat down. Angry guy didn't stop his tirade, laughing guy didn't stop his laughing. Eventually angry man left and the train felt a little bit lighter, people shook their heads in apparent relief.

I have friends who take this particular train on a fairly regular basis. They might take the word "faggot" personally. Just as personally as angry guy might have taken the word "nigger." I wanted to ask what was the difference between the f-word and the n-word.

I never took my iPod off.

| posted by christopher | 11:09 PM

Tuesday, November 18, 2003  

Ma don't BellMa don't Bell

I'm feeling a little abandoned by my parents. I'm trying to remember the last time they called me – outside of telling me someone in the family died – and I'm coming up blank. Apparently it's my job to call them. devoted children call their parents.

Bullshit, I say.

Why should it always be up to me? Did they lose my phone number? Maybe. That doesn't really make it any better.

My old therapist from the Evil West points to my parents for a great number of the, ew, issues I now confront. Chief among them, fear of being ignored. Ta-da! Funnily enough I have this sneaking suspicion that when I call someone they a) won't really want to talk to me and b) certainly won't want to give me a call back if they only get a message. Where does that come from, I wonder.

Actually I'm right pissed. I called them from London, during the weekend of a "family reunion" I could not attend because I was in the UK. No one was home, or no one was answering. That was two months ago, and not a peep, not a squeak. My God Fearing Sister has invited me to spend Christmas with her, where she'll be hosting my parents. Even if I wern't planning on spending it with BG back with her 'rents in the Evil West I'd be hard pressed to accept.

Really, I just want them to call and ask me how I am. How's their son fairing in the big city? How hard could that be? My number's in the book.

| posted by christopher | 8:03 PM  

Good luck?Good luck?

I don't think I want to go on tour for six months with a children's theatre show; the pay is low, and it ain't exactly Shakespeare. Still, here I go to the audition. Six months = 24 weeks = union health care.

Speaking of health care, I went to get my free Actor Flu Shot??? care of Actors' Equity yesterday, only to discover it's the wrong strain. Well, what do I want for nothing.

| posted by christopher | 8:47 AM

Saturday, November 15, 2003  

Saw the airSaw the air

Where are the good plays?

My career in acting is one part narcissistic approval seeking, one part lack of other marketable skills, and one part joy of theatre. I moved to New York because it's supposed to be the center of theatre in the US. So where are the good plays? Where are the theatrical experiences that take my breath away and reaffirm my belief in the power of live performance? I'd say I like about one in ten shows I see.

The play I saw tonight wasn't bad, per se. Better than mediocre. A little lifeless, a little wandering at times. Some pat acting and shapeless directing. However, a theatre like this one should know better. I know there must be better stuff out there, but where?

I'm tired of plays that don't thrill. I'm tired of theatre that's safe (yes, they talk about sex, yes there's nudity and drug use, but c'mon, the play was S-A-F-E), theatre that is not theatrical. Give me a reason to see the performance live instead of watching the Six Feet Under DVD I rented from Netflix.

| posted by christopher | 11:11 PM

Friday, November 14, 2003  

Nothing to sayNothing to say

So don't say anything

| posted by christopher | 5:56 PM

Thursday, November 13, 2003  

Take your platitudes and shove 'emTake your platitudes and shove 'em

Nervousness is just excitement with no place to go. So I've ben told. Bite me. To me, it just feels like nervous. Flop sweat, shaky hands, dry mouth, shallow breathing. Gawd. One (me) wonders why I do this. Isn't there some pill I can take/ Or a shot? Tequila, maybe?

In spite of the aforementioned symptoms, I'm off to sing and act for one of the more heard of agents in the city. Thanks to my Acting Pal for setting me up with her agent. "It's not an audition," says the agent, "I just need to get a feel for you."

Sure feels like an audition from this end. A really fucking big audition.

Here's what I want: I want the general population to have to go through a month, just a month, of auditioning. Think of it like a job interview where you have to perform your job in front of some people who don't actually do what you do, but are in the position to hire you. Write code? Fine, write us up a little database here, would you? You're a chef? Would you please make a chocolate ganache? Real estate, eh? Excellent, list these three homes for me.

Eh. Not exactly the same I guess. Still, having to walk into a room and give two minutes or under of a "performance" is an awful big thing. It's not at all like being onstage in a fully rehearsed, fully teched out production. No sir-ree.

| posted by christopher | 1:01 PM

Wednesday, November 12, 2003  

Things I love about New York, part 236Things I love about New York, part 236

So, this guy, slightly autistic, slightly crazy, shoots and cuts up his neighbor in Texas. Self-defense he says. He's acquitted. He's from New York, so the story is front page news. The Times headline says Real Estate Heir Durst Acquitted of Murder . The New York Post headline, in about 174 point font, reads RUN FOR YOUR LIVES.

The Daily Show aired a few minutes ago, and in my defense, I was going to post this BEFORE they ran the bit. Seriously.

| posted by christopher | 11:33 PM  

So tiredSo tired

I'm so tired. Second double shift in a row. And I'm tired...

Tired of washing glasses. Tired of taking orders, serving drinks, counting cash, asking if you want fries. I'm really tired of listening to people's conversations while I pour the beer. Tired of hearing you talk about your acting class, or publishing job, or interview, or upcoming wedding, or investment deal, while I add up your check.

My horoscope in the Village Voice said something about being prepared for the future and knowing that the future I want is going to occur, in time.

If only I believed in horoscopes.

| posted by christopher | 12:40 AM

Tuesday, November 11, 2003  

The hardest wordThe hardest word

When I ask people "Would you like a beverage?" during the lunch shift, most people will say "just a soda," or "only water," as if not ordering an alcoholic beverage is lesser.

Last night I spilled a bit of beer (not an uncommon occurrence) while drawing it. My co-worker for the evening was standing right next to me and said "I'm sorry." "You didn't do anything." "I know, I just apologize for everything."

Notice this: when you're walking somewhere, or running an errand and someone cuts you off, or bumps into you or engages in that little dance of go-left-go-right-what-way-are-you-going check wether they say "Sorry" or "Excuse me."

I say "Excuse me." Unless I open a door into their face. Then I'm sorry.

| posted by christopher | 11:38 AM

Saturday, November 08, 2003  

Left of left, or the Left left meLeft of left, or the Left left me

What the fuck is THIS doing at the top of my blog?

OK, I know that Blogger has to earn their money somehow ('cause they sure ain't getting any from me right now) but the Republican National Committe? Here? On my blog?

I wonder if all the hits regarding that stupid fucking banner on that stupid fucking ship have tripped some algorithm and now suddenly someone thinks this is some kind of right leaning opinion page; a fair and balanced blog.

Michael Moore for President!
Legalize it!
Gay rights for all!
NEA Funding for my cat dung crucifix!

Maybe that'll help.

| posted by christopher | 2:28 PM

Thursday, November 06, 2003  

UntitledI find it easier to take as text rather than soundbites.

A shout out to my very good friend Anne, who sent me the following item. Her quote begins it.

"Either he has a subversive speechwriter with a wicked sense of irony, or he is even thicker than I thought. Hearing him blithely, humourlessly, solemnly recite this paragraph, however, made me weep for my country:"

There are, however, essential principles common to every successful society in every culture. Successful societies limit the power of the state and the power of the military so that governments respond to the will of the people and not the will of the elite. Successful societies protect freedom, with a consistent impartial rule of law, instead of selectively applying the law to punish political opponents. Successful societies allow room for healthy civic institutions, for political
parties and labor unions and independent newspapers and broadcast media. Successful societies guarantee religious liberty; the right to serve and honor God without fear of persecution. Successful societies privatize their economies and secure the rights of property. They prohibit and punish official corruption and invest in the health and education of their people. They recognize the rights of women. And instead of directing hatred and resentment against others, successful
societies appeal to the hopes of their own people.

Would that we lived in such a place...

| posted by christopher | 11:13 PM

Monday, November 03, 2003  

Hair ApparentHair Apparent

BG went to the Bumble and Bumble salon today to try to get a free haircut. Seems they'll cut your hair for free with students wielding the tools, if you have the hair they're looking for. Most of the girls had to go in for a consult, but the guy manning the line gave her his card and said "Can you be here at 11:30 tomorrow morning?" Yeah, my girlfriend has model hair.

While standing in line, however, this man with impossible messy/done hair and a soul patch came in. He wanted to get some hair product. Unfortunately for him, the salon proper was closed so they could interview the hair model wanna-be's Unfortunately for the salon, this guy was an asshole. "You don't understand," he said to the guy manning the line, "I drove all the way out from Westchester County. I've been out of SumoTech for a week."

"Well, the cash counter closed at five, sir."

"But I need my SumoTech. There's no Bumble and Bumble where I live. Can't you just take my American Express imprint?"

"I'm not authorized to do that, sir."

And on and on and on. He was asking for the most senior person, and asking where the corporate offices were (like they'd be open after five). He was still trying to get his hair product when we left.

Perhaps he should be more worried about his ugly-trendy-pointy brown shoes, or his soul patch (really, a soul patch?), or maybe, possibly, just suppose he should wake up the fact that IT'S JUST FUCKING HAIR PRODUCT!

P.S. Call me holier than thou, but I'm not so concerned about hair product and I can write that shit off on my taxes.

| posted by christopher | 9:40 PM

Sunday, November 02, 2003  


Even though it's me god given right to complain about my life – waiting tables instead of acting, living in a neighborhood where English is the third language, poverty stricken – I'm a Pretty Fucking Lucky Guy. Life with BG is better than I ever could have hoped, better than anything I've ever had, better than perhaps I deserve.

Now I just need that Law & Order gig . . .

| posted by christopher | 7:44 PM
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