Like A Virgin

Hallowe'en is not my holiday. You could over analyze the reasons why until you are blue in the face. Maybe I don't like the element of hiding behind a costume or a mask because I spent a great deal of my young life hiding (growing up gay in the seventies and eighties involved a lot of hiding). Perhaps I don't like coming up with costume ideas or executing them because I live in fear of being judged (and the judgement factor of good or bad costumes is a big part of the holiday). Could be I am just too serious a person for the frivolity. The truth is: I don't know. The other truth is: I just don't care enough to analyze why. I only know this: Hallowe'en is not my holiday.

As a child I liked it. Of course. Hallowe'en meant fun stuff like trick or treating (going out after dark, in costume, asking for candy? perfect!), nighttime spelunking games, the excitement of scary stuff, leave us not forget all that candy, the decorations, the costumes...it is a child's holiday. I never had thrilling costumes as a child, though; but the candy was always plentiful. it was the seventies and it was still safe to trick or treat, to play hide and seek in the dark and to eat the candy given to you by strangers. Once in the grades above sixth, my interest in the holiday waned. I knew where to get the candy: out of the big bowl of treats my mom had for the trick or treaters who would come to our door. Why should I put on a costume that itched or was uncomfortable, only to be told it was only ok, just to get candy when I could swipe it from the bowl at home? Once out of high school, I just went to the store and bought the candy I wanted and stayed home on Hallowe'en and watched television. I was an actor, I wore costumes for work, not for play. During my 20 years with Pat, we have never dressed for Hallowe'en (though one year we went out on the holiday and people asked what we were dressed as and we replied "homos").

My friends love this holiday, especially Tom. It is his favourite, though, we have never been together on the holiday. He is always with his friends from Brooklyn, who party hard on Hallowe'en, while we go to the Roxy and dance and watch the pageantry. Last year, while going to the gym on All Hallow's Eve, I saw many people in costumes heading for the parade; my favourite was the girl dressed as Carrie Bradshaw---marvelous! I always exude enthusiasm over THEIR enjoyment of the event because it is what a friend does; whatever their enjoyment, support it.

This year, though, Pat had an idea regarding Hallowe'en. If was clear that we were going out because the weekend of the holiday, at the Roxy, one of our favourite dj's was spinning. Tom would be there, William and Joey would be there, Team Howard would be there. We were going dancing on Hallowe'en; the only question was, would we dress up? Pat wanted to go as a pair. He said to me "What if Clark Kent and Lex Luthor were a couple?"

Interesting.

What if Superman and Lex Luthor lived in Chelsea? There IS a lot of homo eroticism in various episodes of SMALLVILLE... The adversary yet jovial nature of the hero and the villain in the ongoing evolution of the serial over the years, from comic book to little screen to big screen... This would be just another evolution, a variation on a theme.

Ok. I said. Let's do it. For the first time in over two decades I was going to wear a Hallowe'en costume.

Good Hallowe'en costumes are not easy to come by. If you get them at the store, they look store bought and don't fit. Amateurs. If you want a really good costume you either build it yourself or hire someone to do that. Me? Making a Hallowe'en costume? First of all there is the matter of my schedule--uh uh. Then there is the matter of skills required to make a Hallowe'en costume--uh uh. So we would hire someone to do a sexy set of costumes that would work on the "theme" of Superman and Lex Luthor as a couple. That, though, takes money. And I had a root canal this year and bought an ad for a few thousand dollars, to promote the re opening of my studio; we had spent much of our year's income on a personal trainer and on, well, food and a roof. There was no money left to pay one of the BROADWAY BARES costumers to make us outfits. So that kind of put the kaibash on that idea. And then, two weeks ago, at the gym (and having just seen HOLLYWOODLAND) I said to Pat; the image of Superman and Lex Luthor has had many incarnations over the years--we just need to find the RIGHT variation on the theme. If Lex and Clark were Chelsea Boys, they wouldn't wear what we see in the comic book or the movies or the tv show. They would wear CHELSEA BOY clothes.

That did it.

We bought Pat a Superman t shirt, ripped off the sleeves and cut it off at the belly, to expose his hipcuts and flat stomach. We got him some dark DIESEL jeans and black work boots, a piece of chain link to make into a necklace and attaced to the necklace these green light up ice cubes that looked like Kryptonite. We learned to style that big ass curl in the middle of his forehead and we designed a big green Kryptonite tattoo that said LEX. Instant costume. For me, as Lex Luthor, I was half-way there. Shaved head. That left much research to be done, online, for Lex Luthor has no set outfit. After looking at all the Lex's over the years, I decided it had to be something gnatty; a suit, that would do it. An Armani suit, no shirt, a LUTHOR AND CLARK tattoo and sunglasses. Done, costumes ready, for the first time in my adult life, two weeks before Hallowe'en .

The week before our trip to the Roxy, Jason Woods was throwing a Hallowe'en party and we were invited. We decided to use this chance to dress rehearsal the stumes and see if they worked. Kaitlin O'Neal helped me find the right tools to create temp tattoos and Jen Houston came over to create them. We looked good but decided the curl wasn't prominent enough and the LEX tattoo needed to be bigger. But the crowd liked the concept--especially when we added a dog leash to Pat's Kryptonite necklace. During the week between to two parties we worked out and dieted and got our bodies to where we wanted and on Friday Annalisa came over to do the tattoo duty. Together, the three of us collaborated on new tattoos that were FABULOUS and by Saturday night, we were hittin on all sixes...

Kaitlin arrived dressed as an Indian Goddess (she told me the name but I will be damned if I can remember it--even if I coulc, I wouldn't be able to spell it), in a most amazing confection of purple chiffon and a makeup job that had taken three hours! Annalisa was made up as the glamour demon with firey red hair and horns and eye makeup that made her look as alluring as Theda Bara. Tommy and Wesley were another famous gay couple from Chelsea: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Tom was set to go as The Devil Wears Prada (no he was not dressing as Streep but, instead, in fierce demon makeup and a Prada outfit). Much to everyone's dismay, Tom fell ill five days before Hallowe'en and had to stay home in bed. Jen was going to come as Wonder Woman or some other diva goddess but, to our deep regret, had to work in the PMS Kookie Kompany kitchen, baking all the huge holiday orders she has been getting--and when you are the boss of the company, you have to be there to do the work. So our gang was complete, hanging at 2-A on Saturday night, heading to the Roxy by midnight, and ready to have some fun.

And fun it was. The stumes we saw! The Rauhoffer music! The lights, the pageantry, the laughs. Men on the dance floor stopped their gyrating to watch Kaitlin; Tommy had the costume everyone wanted (because every gay guy wants a cape); Wesley's HP glasses made him the object of desire for every man who likes an intellectual type in a tank top. Young boys with either a Superman or Daddy fetish sidled up to Pat, while people with a sense of humour and a sense of style engaged Annalisa and I in stimulating conversation. Our friends that we ran into on the dance floor were happy and adventurous and enjoying that adventure; and we even had a surprise visit from Jason (who took time out from a two day drama tournament to be with us!), who arrived as the hottest Superhero that people talk about--the Green Lantern. I couldn't believe how much fun I was having--on a holiday I have shunned my entire adult life. I will admit that some of the costumes we saw were lame; some of the costumes didn't matter cause the men WEARING the costumes were so easy on the eye; and then there were the costumes that made you STOP in the name of love. Madonna Pompadour, The 69ers, Dorothy, about a dozen Wonder Women, Supergirl, Robin Hood (my favourite--he could really dance and he had a really big arrow), and any variety of FIERCE diva goddesses. There was no drama. No one got drunk and sick. No one fell down on the dance floor (though someone did trip on a stair). No emotional drama...it was just a fun night with fun people that live inside my heart. I was so glad to get to go, to get to have this adventure, to get to spend an entire weekend with people I love (because, don't you know, on Sunday a bunch of us met for brunch and then went to Queens to see our ailing Tom). It was fun and, believe you me, we don't get enough fun in this life. We spend it working and worrying about the mortgage. We go to bed early, exhausted and stressed and we go to work early, hoping to git r done. To take time out, every so often to have an adventure is something we forget to do and something we SHOULD do.

I'm glad I did. I don't know if I will do it again. I did it. I enjoyed it. I had my good Hallowe'en experience. And I was so happy with the way I looked in my stume.

I ran into a great friend and a great guy, Danny Parks, whom I see seldom because he is in school and THAT is a time consuming effort; but when he saw me in my Lex Luthor costume he said no more than three words to me before disappearing into the crowds:

Work

It

Out.

I feel that I did.

please note: the photo of our dress rehearsal was shot by AJ Triano; the photos of the actual Hallowe'en gang were done by all of us taking turns behind the camera--to try to give full photo credit would be insane.

Whew!

WELL. I gotta tell ya, folks; what a week!

Oy vey's mir. That's yiddish for HAVE MERCY. Here's the deal: I run a small photography studio where I get to take care of clients that I love, love, love. I truly do enjoy my work and 99% of my clients. Natch, there is always that 1%...it's that way with every job, ain't it? And my latest clients have been heavenly, simply heavenly. Now...when I am not busy doing photos for money, I am busy doing photos for my life as an artist. And speaking of my life as an artist, I spend a certain amount of time writing--on my blogs but also on my personal writing projects. This is the artistic part of my life.

BUT. A girl's gotta eat. And art don't always pay the bills. So I have a day job. I am the personal assistant to an author. He lives a block away. He is not just an author, though; he is a show business historian and archivist. He also produces and distributes cds. He also produces productions and directs productions and...sigh...he is just the busiest person, except for me, that I know! I spend a fair amount of time doing work for him (which includes the housework because...as I say all the time... I am the assistant!) and I love it. I love the job, I love the work and I love him.

BUT. Aside from being an artist and an assistant, I am the CEO of Two-A. Inside of this apartment I do the cleaning and the cooking (except for breakfast, which is Pat's specialty) and everything else that goes with the day to day operation of a household. I am a Househusband.

I also run an Ebay auction business. It is time consuming. Nuff said.

So let's see what we have here: Photography, artwork, personal assisting, housework. Now. I am also a gym rat. There can be anywhere from one to three hours a day spent pursuing health and fitness for me. Cardio first thing in the morning; maybe pilates around noon; weightlifting in the evening. It is an essential part of my daily life. Without it I cannot function.

All of these tasks must be scheduled into each day. And then there are the little unexpected pleasures like impromtu photo shoots in the park with Donna Murphy, Shawn Elliot and their 18 month old daughter. And then there are the surprise gigs like doing photos for Bobby McGuire (of BC/EFA) and Chris Davis (Of D.R.A.--Dancers Responding to AIDS) at events where I get to photograph dancers like Desmond Richardson (heavenly!) and stars like Hugh Jackman (WHAT a treasure of a human being he is!). And then there are surprise half hours spent completing tasks with people I run into like Annalisa, Bobby, Tommy Foster and other dear friends who drop into my day and week to brighten things up. And this week there were also many preparations for Hallowe'en.

My girlfriend LGG, of whom I speak often, and I communicate often but we could not get on the phone this week! I was always on the run. Instant Message chats with Brady were quick, quick, quick, as I typed a sentence and then ran to the other room to 'Git R Done!' Everyone sort of fell by the wayside as I attacked this week and accomplished just about everything there was to do and I must say that, when my head hit the pillow each night, I have felt the most peaceful feeling of satisfaction with my busy life, my work load and the way I live. I happened to catch twenty minutes of the old interview Dick Cavett did with my beloved, my favourite, Katharine Hepburn. It was on TCM and I missed the first half, much to my dismay, but I caught the last half, which was important. It was therein that I heard that famed quote--I have always read it and, indeed, use it in my MySpace profile--"..cold sober, I find myself absolutely fascinating". YAY! I finally got to hear it! I adored and adore her. It was also, though, in this interview that I heard Hepburn talk about how great it is to work. How good it is for the soul to be active, to not just do her work as an actress but to do the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, all the things that normal people do. I have such great satisfaction at hearing this woman whom I adolize say things that showed me that her philosophies on life and work were the same as mine. Yee Haw.

Today, I begin a new task. Well, it's an old one that I take up in the fall and put down in the spring. Pat and I are judges (along with Marci and AJ and some other friends) in the New Jersey Forensics League. We go to High Schools on the weekends and judge Drama Tournaments. I love doing. I love being a part of the education of these wonderful young people and using the knowledge that I earned in show business all these years to do something good that is about more than standing on a stage and being looked at. It is a true treat in my life, even though the travel to and from can be a struggle at times (the New Jersey Transit Authority is not run as well as I would hope). We begin our first tournament today, then rush back to the city to pump up so we will look good in our Hallowe'en costumes at The Roxy tonight. (Why I am putting on a costume is beyond me, since I will just end up dancing half naked on a box...)

Tomorrow Annalisa and I have a date to cheat on our diets. We always do after a night at the Roxy, since we just put in six to eight hours of cardio with our dancing. So we get to go to "crack-ho brunch" around one or two. I used to get eggs benedict or pancakes; always french fries with ranch dressing. Tomorrow I intend to have some fun but not go haywire. We are going to the newly opened Galaxy Cafe (best burgers in Manhattan, for my money--DEFINATELY the best onion rings; and I don't eat onions but I eat these onion rings) where I will have a cheeseburger deluxe (with jalapeno jack cheese) and onion rings. But I will not eat the bread. It's a good compromise. Then we will be going to Queens to go to La Guli, the amazing bakery I am love with, for maybe ONE pastry and definately TWO pieces of fresh, homemade, hand made marzipan. That will be enough for me.

Yes, it's been quite a week and I am extremely happy. There are few things that get me, personally, excited as much as productivity. I say 'personally excited' because I am talking about my personal life; I am, naturally, more excited about something great that has happened to a loved one--but in my day to day life, productivity rules. AND I got to go to the theater this week! I should probably blog about it. I saw one of my all time favourite actresses, Jill Clayburgh, and three other actors whom I LOVE --Blair Brown, John Dossett and Concetta Tomei--in a play with an actress I have never seen before but, now, love--Vanessa Aspillaga--in a play that I loved but that many people are saying the do not get: THE CLEAN HOUSE.

And with all that, I still feel like I haven't worked enough, that I could still get more done. Perhaps I can get something written on my book, titled Two-A, on the train on the way to Summit to judge the drama tournament.

Maybe I will sleep on the train....

please note: in the photos you see the headshot of Anita Gillette I worked on this week, a photo of Alan Cumming I printed for THE BOOK OF LAUGHS, a photo of Desmond Richardson taken at an event for D.R.A. and a photo (the I wish I had had better lighting for) at the same event of Mr Hugh Jackman with his lovely wife and the photographer James Houston.

I'm Not Going Like Elsie

I went to a cabaret show with my friend, Ken Bloom, last night. I haven't been in a cabaret room in years. It's important that I make this clear; YEARS. I have been invited to see friends in cabarets but I do not go. Oh. Hell. I made a mistake. I was in a cabaret room this summer. I saw one of the best shows I have ever seen--ever, ever, ever. It was called I'LL TAKE YOU DREAMING and it was a tribute show to Danny Kaye and the writer, creator and star of the show was Jake Speck who, I will go on public record as saying, is the most talented man I have ever met in my life. I have maintained that Pat Dwyer is my favourite actor (even though he has not been onstage in years) but Pat agrees with me that Jake is the most talented man we have ever known. He can act, sing, dance, do impressions--I believe there is nothing the man cannot do. So I was mistaken; I HAVE been in a cabaret room--and the only reason I went is because Jake is like a son to me; always has been. I would never have missed that show. I miss, no, I skip many shows. I HATE cabaret shows. It is a hatred that has been well nurtured over the years I have lived in New York.

When first I came here, I had seen only a little cabaret. In Dallas there be no such thing. People have tried it; it didn't work. Julie Wilson came through town and played the West End Cabaret. That's where we saw her for the first time. We also saw Jim Bailey as Judy Garland. They were both wonderful but that's it for my exposure to the cabaret world. The West End Cabaret closed. There are cabarets all over New York that have closed. Apparently, not only is life not a cabaret but cabaret is not alive. It is a dying....dying....dying....dead art form. There are hangers on around the country--PTown has a cabaret. There's one cabaret in the Catskills called Bradstan that is run by a very nice couple (I met them once), in the hotel that they have. There are one or two rooms in Los Angeles--hell, there are one or two rooms everywhere. And that is where the cabaret artists go to perform and to make their living. And it must be said: It CAN'T be much of a living!! I have watched as cabaret room after cabaret room have closed down in New York City. I have listened to the unhappy bemoanings of friends that perform in cabaret, telling me that there is no work, there are no rooms in which they can get bookings. I have read online heated debates about the validity of the cabaret artform and of the validity of the MAC Awards (Manhattan Association of Cabaret). I have stood on the sidelines for 12 years and watched the art of cabaret die. Ok. Not die.

But it IS on life support!!

I have had an association with the cabaret community. My work with the late, great Nancy LaMott gave me a connection to the New York cabaret community, when it was a thriving community, some twelve years ago. I did photos of LaMottski, the amazing (and, I might add, sorely missed) David Campbell, the force of nature known as Baby Jane Dexter, the legendary Karen Mason, the ingenius James Beaman (for his shows as Dietrich, Bacall AND James Beaman -- alongside Goldie Dver), the lovely Sally Mayes, the human trumpet Alix Korey and the delightful Steven Brinberg. I did photos for the likes of Jeff Harnar, Joyce Breach, Raven Snook, Marilyn Volpe, Courtney Knowles & Kim Cea, David Gurland, Barbara Anderson, William Kinsolving, Jennifer Pace, Susanna Bowling, Sammy Goldstein, Barbara Brussel, Valerie DiLorenzo, Anthony Santelmo Jr., Anne Roberts, Sigrid Sunstedt, Elizabeth Hodes and even two of my favourite songwriters in their own cabaret shows, John Bucchino and Carol Hall. I even did photos for Paul J. Williams-a standup comic (and that is a rare talent for the cabaret world). I have photographed these artists for postcards, cds, publicity releases; in the studio, in performance, on location and in the recording booths. I did photos (for THE SWEATER BOOK) of many artist from the cabaret world, including Ann Hampton Callaway, Mary Cleere Haran, Amanda McBroom, KT Sullivan, Andrea Marcovicci and Hildegarde! I even have a photo I did of Julie Wilson, in performance. I love cabaret. I love cabaret artists. I respect and admire them and I champion their work and wish there was more work for them.

But I hate cabaret shows.

Well, you may ask why... Why do I hate cabaret shows? Here it is:

I hate leaving my house at 9:30 pm to go out. I want to be in bed and asleep by 11:00pm.

I do not mind paying a cover charge--artists have to pay their bills and they deserve to be paid for their artistry. I never mind that. I hate being forced to pay twenty bucks minimum when I do not eat after eight pm and I do not drink anything but water. I don't drink soda, juice or alcohol. TWENTY DOLLARS for a bottle of water. Highway robbery.

I hate that it is more important for the G-D club to make money on the drinks than it is to enjoy the cabaret show. I want to HEAR Maria Friedman (oy. I went to that show last year, too. AMAZING) sing FINISHING THE HAT; I DON'T want to hear the waiters talking at the bar or the clinking of glasses as they attempt to navigate a maze in a room that has been packed to the point of being a FIRE HAZZARD. I want to SEE Karen Mason, not the sea of heads that are crammed in SO TIGHT in front of me that they become umbrellas on a rainy day. I want to sit, comortably, in a chair and watch a club act--but the clubs pack SO MANY people into the room that one must be a contortionist to fit into any space in the room. After last night's experience, I need a chiropractor!! I HATE PEOPLE TALKING DURING THE SHOW. People seem to think that just because the person on stage (seemingly) talks to them, they get to talk back--or worse, SING ALONG.

I hate -- no.... I think it is RUDE for a room to tell you that a show starts at ten thirty and then not start it until eleven pm. I think it is RUDE for a performer to do an act that is over fifty minutes long. We aren't talking about a Broadway show here; you can't just willy nilly get up and go to the bathroom when the drinks you are forced to order kick in. Getting to the bathroom is the equivalent of getting to a lifeboat admidst the debris after the sinking of TITANIC.

I hate the throng of people, after the show, who clutter up the aisles and exits so that they can schmooze and try to lay down the groundwork for their next appearance; I do. I hate the self-promoting and the self-agrandizing side of the artform. I'm sorry if that seems harsh, I'm sorry that they have to do it and I understand--a girl's gotta eat. But it's AWFUL. Loudmouth people standing around schmoozing while a man who has been crammed into a 2x2 space for almost two hours of a cabaret show tries to get to the bathroom to pee--it's not ok!!

I hate, hate, hate, the part of every cabaret show where the performer goes down a laundry list of names of the people who are in the audience that they think are important and should thank, publically, because it is good business. Write a note.

Here it is: perfect world. You go. You pay. Maybe the cover is a little higher so that the performers and the club can make their nut. Someone wonderful like Peggy Lee comes out and sings--and the audience SHUTS UP and listens and claps. The performer says a few things now and then but keeps the vebal diarhea to a minimum. When the performer talks, it is sincere and none of that phony unclever cabaret patter. Ech. The show clocks in at fifty, maybe sixty minutes and the audience member goes home and says "that Johnny Rodgers sure knows how to put on a show. I'm going to go online and buy his cds" and that audience member becomes a fan for life.

I love the image of clublife that you see in the movies of yesteryear, even in the movies made about yesteryear. I fantasize about seeing Carmen McRae, Nancy Wilson, Billie Holiday, Bobby Short. They knew how to do it, how to be smooth and professional and just plain great. Mel Freakin Torme. Oh, I know there are people out there who can still execute cabaret as it was back then, at its very greatest artform. I have seen them. In the ten plus years I have been here, in New York, I have loved the shows of Nancy LaMott, David Campbell, Karen Mason, Baby Jane Dexter, James Beaman, Carol Hall, Julie Johnson, Pamela Myers. Curtis Stigers was ASTOUNDING at the Algonquin. Helen Reddy and Cybill Shepherd put on WONDERFUL shows at Rainbow and Stars. I will never recover from Maria Friedman's show at the Carlyle. I am partial to Paul J. Williams' and Tommy Foster's shows but I am also a good judge and they were great. GREAT. Without bias--great. I know I have missed some shows that I should have seen. I never saw the great Shirley Horn or Elaine Stritch. In order to catch their acts, your last name must be Trump or Kennedy or Gates. Too expensive. I'll suffer in silence and I'll live. I will, always, champion these artists because their work behind a microphone is ESSENTIAL. Singers are ESSENTIAL. We need their music, and badly. They are truly special people in the art world and they deserve a chance to work. And I deserve (as does everyone) a chance to see them work.

But SOMEONE in club management and SOMEONE directing these shows needs to pick up the ball and make the experience of going to the cabaret an easier life experience. We WANT to come to the cabaret..

It's just too doggone much work.

please note that I did the photos of Nancy LaMott, David Campbell and Karen Mason but not the photos of Jake Speck.

Think Happy Thoughts

There is a musical by Stephen Sondheim called PASSION, the opening words of which are 'Some say happiness comes and goes'. Truth be told, I had never heard that expression before seeing the lush play about love and obsession. I had experienced the phenomenon but never heard it put into an actual phrase-ology, if you will. In the same way that Dorothy says 'people come and go so quickly here!'; so operates the emotion called happiness.

Why, just three days ago I was happy. I was more than happy--I was REALLY happy. It was one of those days when nothing could go wrong, my head, my heart and my body were all in a good place and I was able to spread a little sunshine. The next day I awoke, crankin. I was on an emotional downswing for which I had no apparent explanation. I laboured under the mood for several hours until I could no longer handle it. I felt that I deserved to have another happy day. After all, no one was sick, no one was dead, no client was displeased, no friend was on the warpath--there was NO reason for this unhappiness. I think I had (often do) PMS. That's Pouty Male Syndrome.

Desperate measures must be taken.

While doing my housework and office work and even some work on the computer for my boss, I turned on the movie SHIRLEY VALENTINE. It is one of my happy movies. I do not, in fact, need to be in the room when the film is on my television screen. As long as I can hear Pauline Collins/Shirley Valentine say "Talkin to a microwave! Wall! What's the world coming to?" or "Marriage is like the middle east..there's no solution", I have my system of support. Occasionally, I can run into the other room to look at the scenery of London and, then, Greece. And I WILL run into the other room just in time to see Miss Valentine turn to the camera to say 'Good job we're not having soup--or I'd put me face in it and drown meself.' Pat and I have often remarked on our happy movies and SHIRLEY VALENTINE is high on my list. I'm so very grateful that when they made the movie, the original creator of the character (who won a Tony award on Broadway for the one woman show) was allowed to play the part, rather than have it done by someone who was more famous. Pat and I drove to Rhode Island once to see Helen Reddy play SHIRLEY VALENTINE onstage. Every actress over forty, over fifty, over sixty, even (much to my dismay) over seventy seems to play Shirley. Brady and I quote the Willy Russell piece with alarming regularity, spot on Liverpool accents and peals of laughter. This picture was exactly what I needed.

It was not, though, enough. So it turned into a double barrelled assault and I got out STEPPING OUT.

I remember when STEPPING OUT was playing the cinemas. It was in one cinema in Dallas, when it came out. It was in one cinema--for one week. Both of us ardent admirers of the inimitable Liza Minnelli, Pat and I go to see every film (well, we did--she doesn't do that many anymore) that she made. People have allowed Miss Minnelli to become a joke, a charicature--and I guess that wedding photo of she and David Guest, Michael Jackson and Elizabeth Taylor is enough to back it up. I suppose the over exagerated mannerisms and physical appearance makes it easier, not to mention the catch phrases, the giggles and eveything else that has made La Liza into a drag queen. What people forget, though, is that the woman is a genius. I do believe I will save my thesis on the genius of Liza Minnelli for another day--today is about happy movies. And STEPPING OUT makes me happy. I know, I know--anyone who knows the play is offended by the tilm; they make so many changes to the script that it turns it into an entirely different story. You know what? I usually am bothered by this kind of thing, too; with regards to STEPPING OUT I just don't care. I don't care about the holes in the plot, I don't care about things that are not possible in reality, I don't care about any of the one implausibilities in the film. It's a movie about dancing so, right there, you got me over a barrel. It features Shelley Winters, Jane Krakowki, Bill Irwin, Andrea Martin, Ellen Greene, Carol Woods, Sheila McCarthy, (and an actress shows work I don't know, outside of this film--Robyn Steven), as well as my beloved and treasured Julie Walters. It's got Liza singing, Lilza tap dancing, a big closing number with a curtain call..it's a bunch of misfits finding happiness by doing something for themselves. It may just be a tap class in the basement of a church but they are doing something for themselves and making themselves happy, building a family of friends. I approve of this storyline. Oh, and it has a song by Kander and Ebb. STEPPING OUT cannot help but be a happy movie, at least for this (obvious) homosexual.

After SHIRLEY VALENTINE and STEPPING OUT, one would think I had a smile on my face. And I was in a better mood, yes I was. I was not, though, happy (yet). I would have to pull out all the stops and go for my secret weapon.

I do not know anyone who does not love Angela Lansbury. I believe that everyone--if they watch Broadway, film or television, has a deep affection, a true love for this star. I believe that, like Elvis or Audrey, Angela Lansbury is one of the performers of our society that, by simple virtue of her being here and her working, people will always fall in love with. For some people it is all about MAME or SWEENEY TODD. There are those who love Angela from her youthful performances as gorgeous villainesses in the movies. The person does not exist who does not know who Jessica Fletcher is. And let us not forget the movie that introduces every young person to Angela, for the first time: BEDKNOBS AND BROOMSTICKS. Angela Lansbury walks onscreen and you can't help it: you feel better. I didn't choose any of these options to make myself happy. I didn't go after NANNY MCPHEE or BLUE HAWAII or MRS SANTA CLAUS or THE COURT JESTER or any of her other many memorable films (and I certainly didn't go after THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE).

Rachel and I watched MRS 'ARRIS GOES TO PARIS.

Based on a novel by Paul Gallico, MRS 'HARRIS was a tv movie that Miss Lansbury did in 1992 that I was lucky enough to find on a shop shelf, when shops still sold vhs. It hasn't been released on dvd but soon.... In fact, none of these movies are on dvd. I'm glad I still have a vcr! Mrs Harris is a delightful character and in the hands of this treasure of an artist, one of my favourites. She is a simple charwoman who wants to own a dress by Dior. It is the 1950's and England has a new queen and Ada Harris works for three years to save the money for a Dior dress and she ends up stranded in Paris for a week while the fashion house makes her a dress, fit to order. There, she makes new friends and she manages to sweep up the mess of their lives, leaving everyone happy as she returns to England with her Dior dress, happy in her own right. The supporting cast is Diana Rigg, Lila Kaye, Lothaire Bluteau and Omar Shariff, the European scenery is absolutely heavenly and Angela Lansbury makes me smile and cry at the same time. She makes me happy. It doesn't matter what she is doing. Angela Lansbury is one of my happy thoughts.

There are few celebrities that I really, really, yearn to photograph, right now. Oh I want to shoot pics of many celebrities. But I ACHE to do a photo of Angela Lansbury. Also, Julie Andrews but she is the subject of another, a similar bit of blogging.

As the closing credits of MRS 'HARRRIS GOES TO PARIS began to roll, I realized that it worked. I was no longer in a pouty mood. I was happy, once more. I don't understand what it is that brings on the grey inside my head or why it can be sent off in a whiff of a film I have watched so many times that the images are a film of memory for me, rendering obsolete the actual video itself. I don't see the point in trying to analyze the system. It is like Mount Rushmore: it's there. I know this is how I operate and on the days that it becomes necessary, I give in and know that it will all be past me, as I reach for one of those happy movies.

please note that every photo in this story was pulled off the internet.

Post Script

I cannot believe I was able to find it. As mentioned in the story directly below this one... this was the one and ONLY touristy thing, the ONE and ONLY sightseeing thing on my list of things to do on my very first trip to Hollywood. And I was so busy working that I didn't get it done until I was on my way to the airport. Devotion to a great actress, a great beauty and a great star. I feel it was only natural that it was the last thing I did before leaving town. I still remember exactly where it is....


please note: the photo of me was done by Christine Stinson. and it is RARE that i show people a photo of me with hair... only for Lee Remick....

Lovely. Simply Lovely.

There is a wonderful kind of validation in loving someone that the rest of the world seems to pass by, quietly, (that is to say, loving someone's work or someone's presence--not necessarily loving THEM; that sounds stalkeresque) only to have everyone discover them years later and jump on your band wagon. It has always been my modus operandi to choose that artist as my favourite and cheer their career, then watch the rest of the world come around. As my favourite actresses I have (over the years) chosen Lee Remick, Judith Ivey, Leann Hunley, Judi Dench and Diane Lane. There have been others. I've mentioned, in past bloggings, that there have been women Pat and I have referred to as "stephen's Ladies". Anita Morris. Madolyn Smith-Osborne. Stephanie Beacham. I even went through a period where one of my ladies was Cybill Shepherd but I realized, years later, that (even though Miss Shepherd is extremely talented) my love affair was with Maddie Hayes, her MOONLIGHTING character, and not Cybill Shepherd. That is a distinction that must be made.

When it comes to Lee Remick, though, it was always about Lee.

It isn't as though the world didn't know about Lee Remick. Lee was considered one of this country's great actresses--but I do think that she was underappreciated in her lifetime; I have always felt that she could and should have had more roles in movies, more fame, more recognition. There was, though, recognition. Nominated for the Academy Award for THE DAYS OF WINE AND ROSES, Lee Remick moved (with ease) from the large screen to the small one. She worked onstage in plays and musicals. And she was named (in 1984) by Harper's Bazaar as one of the ten most beautiful women in America. She earned six Emmy award nominations and six Golden Globe nominations. She took home two Golden Globes. She even took home a cable Ace award for her performance in the musical I Do! I Do! (and musical theater was not considered her strong suit). There are a number of other awards for which she had nominations and wins. The awards, though, aren't what was important. It was the body of work...

I read somewhere that Lee Remick was 'supposed to replace Marilyn Monroe'. That is exactly how I read it. I remember thinking that was a strange sentence. You couldn't pick two more distinctly different actresses. I always considered Lee a serious actress and (even though I think Marilyn was one of the great actresses) I always recognized that, to the world, Marilyn was considered the sex symbol. Neither woman seemed to fit into the other's shoes. Yet Marilyn proved she was a serious actress with THE MISFITS and BUS STOP (for my money, Marilyn's subtle and understated performance in THE PRINCE AND THE SHOWGIRL will always stand out), while Lee was the elegant and classic beauty who would not (quite) fit into the shoes of Lorelei Lee. That was before I saw ANATOMY OF A MURDER and saw exactly what kind of sexiness Lee Remick possessed. It wasn't until years later that I read the clarifying statement that Lee was supposed to replace Marilyn when she was fired from SOMETHING'S GOT TO GIVE, that it all made sense to me. She did not, I also read, replace Marilyn because Dean Martin put his foot down on that little matter. I loved Dean Martin but I have to say it: yay for loyalty but shame on you, Dean.

This is not a history of Lee Remick's career. Anyone can read about her career on the internet.
No. This is a story about how an actress reached out through the television screen in the mini series MISTRAL'S DAUGHTER and grabbed me and said 'watch how it's done'. She was so luminous, so intense, so classy and when it came time for Kate Browning to turn into a monster, Lee did it without worrying about what the audience would think of Lee. Once I had been captured by that tidal wave, I had to devour as much of Lee Remick as possible. Fortunately, she made many television movies that I could videotape and watch over and over (indeed I have a Lee Remick library in my collection!). And thanks to vhs and dvd over the years I have had the chance to see Lee in ANATOMY OF A MURDER, THE LONG HOT SUMMER (sigh!), THE RUNNING MAN (ok, can it GET more amazing?! The gorgeousness of Lee AND Alan Bates AND Spain all in one film?!), JENNIE (I still remember the simplicity of the scene where she offers a city employee a candy with the words 'would you like a sweet?'), her heartbreaking 'What is a Woman' in I DO! I DO!, the scene where she and daughter Marlee Matlin finally communicate in BRIDGE TO SILENCE, every scene she has with Angela Lansbury in THE GIFT OF LOVE (one of my favourite Christmas movies) and, oh, so many other moments in so many other films...

I will admit this: I have never seen THE OMEN. I have a problem watching devil related films. Everyone wants me to see this movie. I may, one day, be able to. I know how Lee dies in the movie. I don't think I am ready for it.

The other day we were watching the dvd of FOLLIES IN CONCERT. Was there ever a more beautiful creation that Lee Remick in that clingy black evening gown? Observe the look of sheer glee and puckish flirtation as she comes down the staircase and laughs at Paul Gemignani during BEAUTIFUL GIRLS. Lee was not known for doing musicals. She did not have a strong singing voice. Even during HOW COULD I LEAVE YOU, it is clear that she is reaching for the high notes--but it isn't about the notes. She is committed to the song, absolutely. And when she just misses the notes by a single thread, it doesn't matter because she doesn't flinch--she doesn't apologize for being a hair under pitch. She is focused on being in the moment and meaning it when she asks if she could really leave you? That is great acting.

It's fitting that she should have played Phyllis in FOLLIES; one of Sondheim's greatest character creations. Her performance in the musical ANYONE CAN WHISTLE can be experienced, now, only on cast album--and because the song ANYONE CAN WHISTLE is one of Sondheim's most extraordinary compositions (so simple, so heartbreakingly honest) everyone has sung it. No one has sung it like Lee Remick. No One. It is fitting, for me, that this great American actress with a voice not made for musicals should play two parts and sing songs like HOW COULD I LEAVE YOU, THE STORY OF LUCY AND JESSIE, THERE WON'T BE TRUMPETS and ANYONE CAN WHISTLE--songs and musicals of such complexities, written by the most complex of musical theater composers of all time. She wasn't trained for this but she did it and she did it with full commitment and she delivered. That's my Lee.

I wept when Lee Remick died.

I don't really cry when a famous person dies. I don't think I cried when my beloved Katharine Hepburn died; though I wept when Audrey died and, in fact, last week I shed a few tears over the death of Ann Richards. I remember, though, like it was last week, when Lee Remick died. I was living in Texas. I had the television on but muted because I was doing housework and listening to music--Natalie Cole's UNFORGETTABLE--while doing so. The five o clock news was on and in the upper right hand corner flashed a photo of Lee Remick. I didn't need to hear the newscaster. I knew. I sat down on the sofa and I wept. It wasn't fair. She was so young. She was so gifted. She was so beautiful. It wasn't fair.

On my first trip to Hollywood to work on THE SWEATER BOOK, I didn't go to Universal Studios. I didn't go to get a good look at the HOLLYWOOD sign. I didn't go to Disneyland. I had one touristy thing I had to do. I called the city of Los Angeles tourist bureau and asked for the EXACT location of Lee Remick's star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and on my last day in L.A., before heading for the airport, I had Christine Stinson drive me there and do a photo of me with Lee's star.

When I worked with John Glover for THE SWEATER BOOK, he came to my home and we played Doris Day cds and talked about his life and work. Turns out he was a good friend of Lee's and he was gracious enough to share some stories with me. He told me that, during her final days, she opted to stay at home and her friends would come over and she would cook meals for them. Sometimes she would call him up and he would come over and hang out with her and rub her feet and they would talk for long hours. I am not, currently, in touch with John but, for sharing those memories with me, I will always call him 'friend'.

Last week I was showing Pat a new acquisition in my movie poster collection. I have searched for it on Ebay, bid on it three times, losing it to other bidders each time (it is - apparently - in great demand). I finally won one!! It is an original one sheet from the film THE DAYS OF WINE AND ROSES. As I showed him my new prize (in great condition too!), I said "I wish I could have seen Lee Remick play Doctor Martha Livingston. She did AGNES OF GOD in Boston. THAT would have been a treat." She was also set to play Desiree Armfeldt in A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC in Los Angeles; she died before it could happen. That is something that I have created in my mind--the full production of Sondheim's most romantic musical, starring the luminous Lee Remick. Thank heaven for the power of the imagination.

I miss Lee Remick. I hate cancer. I am so saddened that the light was extinguished.

I am so grateful that it burned so brightly.

interesting footnote: of the two photos of Lee that I pulled from the internet, the top photo is the one that hangs in my home office.

Clubland

It's funny how sensory recall works.

It's autumn in New York. That, alone, brings me many memories of certain times past and memories that cling to me, not to be shook off. The smell of damp ground and crisp dry leaves, the sight of dying grass and barren tree limbs illuminated by cold harsh bright October sunlight, the feel of the cold air on my naked scalp and in my sensitive nostrils. These three senses are strong enough to act as time machine; but the added sensation of the music of Kristine W. (who I have been listening to a LOT lately) combines to land me back in Tom's arms. I met him at the end of summer and the strongest and most emotional part of our relationship took place during the autumn months. The sun was, as today, bright, and the air icy; Kristine W. was the only music I listened to and Tom and I were, every day, together. It was three years ago--fall 2006. That is where the time machine has landed me today.

I'm more in love with my Pat than I have ever been.

Tom's man is visiting him from out of town next week.

We are, all of us, happy in our lives. That cannot be denied. I have no apologies and no regrets.

There are, though, memories...

THE STORY OF TOM


I was dancing on a box.

Maybe it’s a midlife crisis kind of thing. Maybe it was all those years of being overweight, overlooked and overcome with boredom but I was spending a lot of Saturday nights going to Roxy, taking drugs and dancing til the sun came up. Pat and I had discovered the party scene relatively late in our lives as gay men and although we did not go every weekend, we did go with a certain amount of regularity and we did enjoy ourselves—a lot. It’s a simple process: arrive after midnight but before one, take the drug of your choice, find a spot on the dance floor, take your shirt off and either dance or flirt or do something more salacious until either the drugs wear off or it is time to go home, whichever comes first. That is to say, that is the process for many people there. My own process included one other thing: finding a spot on the stage or on a box where I could dance and look at all the people and, yes, even be looked at myself. I don’t want to say that I am a good dancer and that people look at me when I am on the box—but if I said people looked at me because I am so hot, that would be more vain than the other. And untrue.

People look at me because I can dance.

I had been there a few hours and was having a great time with Pat and our friends, enjoying the music and whatever attention was paid to me, from time to time. The drugs that I take affect people in different ways—some it makes chatty, others it makes introspective, others it makes into a human pinball. It makes me want to find a spot under the mirror ball and dance. And dance, I do; for hours. It was late in the evening or early in the morning, I don’t know which, and I had reached that point. There I was. All alone. Dancing.

I was dancing on a box.

The drugs were waning but were still in my system. Between that and the thump thump thumping of the music and the flashing of the lights, it is a small miracle that I could see anything. The truth is, I wasn’t really looking to or for anything or anyone. As a matter of fact, I think I had my eyes closed most of the time.

Thank God I opened them.

There was box. I was on it. There was another box, a few feet away. There was a man on it. There were men on the dance floor beneath us. There was music and there was light, a lot of both in mind altering quantity. Through all of that activity and noise and blur, I saw the man. The man on the box. He was dancing. He was laughing. I never saw anyone dance this way, not one time, in my life. I was mesmerized. I could not take my eyes off of him. I dare not take my eyes off of him, lest he get off the box and I not be afforded the luxury of watching him dance, anymore. I continued to move on the box but I had stopped dancing. I needed my balance so that I could focus on him, through the flash of light. He looked at me. My heart jumped. He smiled. It jumped again. Instinctively, I began to move my hips, shake my head, flail my hands, along with him. He laughed. I laughed. We danced. We danced with each other, on our separate private boxes a few feet away from each other. We danced and flirted and strained to see each other in the mélange of activity. This lasted a good fifteen or twenty minutes until I could handle it no more. I reached out to him. He laughed and flirted with me. I reached out again. He laughed and smiled and beckoned me to his box.

I had been labouring for years under the handicap of being fat and bald and unattractive. I was not used to strangers flirting with me. I liked it and I was not going to let this chance escape. I leapt off of the box and was by his side in an exhale. He smiled and looked at me and kept dancing. Together, we danced and it was over.

I had fallen in love.

It had happened in under sixty seconds.

I spent an hour on that box. We danced like I have never danced in my life. I was so attracted by his energy, by his face, by his body. I was so attracted by his abandon. After awhile, I reached up and touched him. I put my hand on his sweaty smooth back and felt a shock. He did not pull away. I touched him with my other hand. He leaned back toward me. I slid my hands down his back. He leaned into me again. My hands were now encircling his waist and my fingers lacing so that I could feel what it was like to hold onto something so beautiful and alive. He did not speak. He did not stop dancing. He simply melded into me, as we became one, moving in time with the music. Never before have I had that experience. I will probably never have it again. It is frozen in my mind, in my heart, in the deepest reaches of my soul, for all eternity. Dance is such an important part of my life and while I have danced, and danced well, with some, with many in fact, I have never danced as two people as one. The fact that it happened, on this one occasion, has elevated my life to a joy of such extreme because I, now, know how it feels; it also levels it to a sadness of equal extreme because it was just that night. That night will never come again.

In my arms, after awhile, he slid his oiled body and gyrated so that we were face to face. I looked down into his smile, not his eyes, his smile. Eyes like his are dangerous but a smile filled with life and happiness is lethal. I was lost. Without speaking, without thinking, without moving, really, my mouth was on his mouth and his hands were on my body and this strong man, this survivor, this force of nature was lost. I became weak and, in that moment, I was no longer in control of my destiny. I was and will be, forever, his puppet. He had me in the palm of his hand. Once I had accepted that I was his, the rest was easy.

We danced.

We danced.

We danced.

That dance was a dance of our bodies, our spirits, our mouths, our souls. We did not speak, we only danced that dance. He was more drunk than I have ever been and I am a non practicing alcoholic. I was high on ecstasy. Whether we would remember this tomorrow was a mystery. I could not take that chance. Pat had been dancing by the side of the box, watching our dance with admiration and glee. He and I have, long, supported each others’ adventures but his have come easier to him; he has a personality and energy that attracts people to him for adventure, I do not—or did not, the jury is out on that one. He was, genuinely, happy that I was having this one and that I was enjoying it, so. I knew that I could count on him to help me out. I squatted down on the box to ask him if he had any of my business cards. He did not. I was disappointed. Ever the trouper, he disappeared. I stayed on my box with my box boy and, again, we melded into one another for what, I felt, was to be our last moments. It was getting late. Our friends were ready to go. Pat was ready to go. I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay and dance with this spark of life until dragged, forcibly, from the box, from the club and from his life, forever.

Then it happened.

In what was one of the most erotic moments of my life, the boy, whose shirt was off, allowing me to try to memorize something, anything about him so that I would recognize him, should we meet again (in my mind, I studied the post in his ear, the tribal band tattoo on his arm, the sunburst tattoo on his spine, the smile, the eyes, the face, the face, the face); the boy put his hand on my wrist, which had been next to his throat, for my hands were around his neck. He took my wrist and dragged my hand, slowly, slippery and sweaty, and sweetly down past his throat, down his chest, stubbly from his work with a beard trimmer, along his belly, to his waist, where his jeans were open and his zipper down, exposing his faded black underwear. There was a momentary pause, maybe for effect, maybe for caution, before he forced my hand beneath the rough denim and soft cotton and onto hard flesh. It was over.

I had to have him.

I don’t mean that I needed to have sex with him. I have had sex. I haven’t had as much as I want but I have had more than some. However, I have had years of rejection build up inside me to where my self esteem was irrepairable. I have had years of believing that I was not attractive, that I was only worth what people could get out of me. In one hour, a young and beautiful man with a truculent love of life had picked me out of a crowd, chosen me to dance with him, pulled me off of my box onto his, allowed me to touch him, to hold him, to kiss him and now he was initiating a physical act. It mattered not to me that we were both under the influence, all that mattered was that he had chosen me. I was attractive, to him; even drunk, he was attracted to me. That was enough for me.

The act had been started but that was all that there was.

My friends wanted to leave. I told him that. He said ok. I asked him his name. Tom. What do you do for a living, Tom? Graphic artist. We danced some more. We kissed some more. I thought I would die if I did not put him in my back pocket and take him home with me to be with me forever. I have to go, I said, my friends are leaving I said, I have to go, I said. Where do you live, he asked. On forty ninth street, I said, why, are you asking me to take you home, I said. No. I don’t do that. I’m with friends, I go home with them. Well that was the end of it. Or so I thought. For Pat was behind me with a piece of paper he had found and scribbled my name and profession, email and phone number on. I put it in the hurricane’s pocket, knowing I would never hear from him, knowing I would spend the rest of my life looking for him in crowds.
Off of the box, now, on the floor, we hugged and we kissed and we kissed and, again, he put my hand in his pants. Dying inside, I tried to please him, knowing that my friends were right behind me, ready to drag me away. It hardly seems possible but, yes, my heart was breaking and I could not stop it and I knew it was absurd because hearts do not break over a brief encounter in a disco. It was true, though; breaking. So I did what I believe one should do in that situation. Break, too. I took his head in my hands and pulled his mouth from mine and stood, looking into his face, trying to memorize it and showing, visibly, how enchanted I was by his visage, his smile, his ability to live. He laughed. I kissed him, I groaned and I walked, quickly, from the dance floor, out of the building and out of his life.

The preceding is an excerpt from a memoir I am writing (with Tom's permission). It is a piece of writing of which I am proud but it is all I am prepard to share, at this time....
SM

and, yes, I shot the photos of Tom.

Grace and Gratitude

In the play CLOSER by Patrick Marber there is a bit of dialogue that does not exist in the film. In a profound moment--and it really is just a moment--Dan asks Alice what she wants in life and she replies: "to be loved"

"That simple?" he responds.

"It's a big want."

I am sure that anyone who reads, with any regularity, any of my public ramblings is aware of my ongoing obsession with the work that is CLOSER; my obsession with the play, my obsession with the film, my obsession with the characters and the events of their lives, my obsession with Plain Jane Jones. I suppose, though, that I have been obsessed with love for most of my life, certainly for much longer than the period of time during which I have been aware of Mr Marber's literary and theatrical work and the characters and situations therein. Hell, I write about love or some consequence thereof all of the time. It is what preoccupies most of the world most of the time. Love, sex, money and power--these are our preoccupations.

I don't have money. I certainly don't have power. I have dealt with sex. To quote the great Andie McDowall (oh yes, she is, don't you dare argue with me) in the great Four Weddings And A Funeral, in a great bit of dialogue written by the great Richard Curtis (IMDB him and you will see the vastness of his greatness): "Less than Madonna but more than Princess Diana...". And then there is love. There is motherly love, brotherly love, the love between friends and the love between best friends. There is romantic love and passionate love, intellectual and platonic love, there is love of art, love of life and love of self. It just seems to be what guides us. Some, it drives with a force stronger than a hurricane, while for others it appears to be incidental.

I was watching the new television show DEXTER, starring Michael C. Hall of SIX FEET UNDER FAME. Sidebar: a delightful actor and so, so very handsome. The character he plays is a serial killer. He's either a psychopath or a sociopath or both but he is some kind of path..but not an empath. In his voiceover the other night he said something about being emotionally barren--I believe the exact words were something like "..if I felt anything inside, I would feel the most for my sister.." and it was one of those moments when I was taken outside of the storyline and placed back into reality. Sidebar: it's dangerous to write things in a piece that is so profound or thought provoking that it removes your audience from the storyline--what if they can't get back? I found myself wondering about the people who feel nothing. I have certainly felt a lot during my 42 years on this planet. It has, most assuredly, caused me to feel much emotional pain. There have been times when I wished I could feel nothing. It might make life a lot better, much easier. But the flip side is that without the pain, without the emotion, you run the risk of not being able to create art. Without the bad days you cannot appreciate the good ones. If not for the emotions, how could I pour passion into something I have written or some photo that I have created?

A close friend..one of my closest in fact..had a really rough week last week. She is someone who feels everything so deeply that the stakes are always, always high. The lows are as low as they can get and the highs are as high as they can get. She has had this situation in her life for a long time; I, personally, think that she needs some professional help with balancing things out a little so that she can begin to enjoy her life a little more. And I ain't just whistling dixie here: I HAVE been this person of extremity! It's exhausting!! It's much nicer to be able to live at an even keel and have very nice happy days and sort of acceptable bad days, rather than living a life that is like that ride at the amusement park that acts as a human pendulum. But here is the thing: she is also the greatest actress in my circle of friends. I'm not talking about my famous friends like Judi Dench or Donna Murphy; they are untouchable, iconic, legendary. I'm talking about, within the group of actors who walk among us every day, riding the subway, sitting on park benches, waiting in line to audition, she is the greatest actress I know. Now...if she were less moved by her emotions, if she felt things not quite so deeply, would she still be the great actress that she is? And what of the trade off? Her emotional fever pitch is part of her personality that makes her a great actress. Should she suffer in her personal life just so that her professional life should flourish? And if she should manage to achieve some calmness in her heart and her mind but lose some of her ability as an artist, is that fair?

Look at the artists as presented to us by the entertainment community. In AMADEUS Mozart loses his mind because he perceives himself to be a failure. In THE HOURS Virginia Woolf is shown to be what some might call certifiable and she winds up taking her life. In SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE Seurat loses everything in his personal life because he can focus on nothing but his work--none of which he sold during his lifetime. Great artists, every one; a writer, a painter, a composer all with this one thing in common. They must create art but are socially inept and suffer from varying degrees of emotional or mental instability (or both). Are they born crazy? Are they born with their unique brand of obsessive compulsiveness? Or does it breed within them? Mozart is shown to be eccentric; but he does not lose his mind until he is overwhlemed by a perception of failure. I have experienced that--NOT. FUN. Had the circumstance been different, would he have gone off the beam? If he had been the recipient of approval would he have lived a longer and happier life? And what is approval but love?

Why wasn't Leonard Woolf's love strong enough to save Virginia? It is made clear in both the novel and the film that she and Leonard were devoted to one another, that she recognized that devotion, that she felt that love. Yet, it wasn't enough to keep the voices in her head quiet. Was it schizophrenia? Paranoia? Some other chemical imbalance that made it so impossible for her to remain on this planet?

I cannot speak for these factual persons fictionalized by the artists of this era. I cannot, in fact, speak for my beautiful and brilliant girlfriend who seeks some deep inner strength. My perception and perspective is limited, only, to my experiences in this life. I have been very open and honest about the fact that I have suffered damage to my self esteem by my perceptions of failure as an artist and failure at the art of earning and deserving friendship and love. I have never glossed over the fact that during this life I have felt disapproved of, unloved and underappreciated. I can be open about these things because they have no power over me now. Well. They have little power over me, now. It is clear to me that I have some issues in my relationship with my father, who has found ways to make it clear to me, as recently as July 2006, that he does not approve of me, absolutely. I continue to struggle with emotional baggage left from the bigotry extended to me by children in the 70's decade and homosexuals in the 90's decade (even in the 2000's decade) for my status as a non-caucasian. Even last week I had to ask Pat to talk me out of the tree because I saw an article in a magazine about someone I knew, at one time, who is a succesful photographer now. He is more succesful than I -- and when I knew him he wasn't even interested in photography; he was a second rate actor who could not get a job. Sidebar: why do these people who keep failing at their own chosen professions decide that, since they cannot find work in their field, they should come over and steal work from people in my field? What if I suddenly decided to go back into acting and started auditioning and taking their jobs away from them. Go back where you came from, please! Please. Just get out of my talent pool.

All of these demons are a part of my daily existence. However, they are not what drives my daily existence. They are only moments of each day, they live only in a tiny pocket of my personality and though they manage to tiptoe out and leave a mark on any given day, they have no real power here. I have been saved. I am saved every day. I am reminded each day of the love and approval that I DO have. The most important is strong and powerful love from my spouse, naturally, but there is love shown in emails and IMs from dear friends; love in each time the phone rings and it is "..just Tom, calling to say hi.."; love in messages from people whom I have never met, writing to comment on a blog posting; love from clients who actually write lengthy passages in their blogs about what a great photo shoot they had with me. This love is, indeed, enough to (at least, for awhile) stay the demons in their pockets, thus allowing me to walk a little jauntier, smile a little sincerely and look up into the sky to say thank you to OB1, my God, my guide and friend. Also, though, there is a more important, a more valid love that saves me. It took awhile to find it. In fact, it was like pushing a piano through a transom. It has been found, though, and it is the buoy that bonds me to this planet, ready for whatever adventure or tragedy may befall me.

It is called love of self. And it is eternally graceful. It is a big want but a simple one. And for the Alice Ayers, for the Plain Jane Jones that lives in each of us; may everyone be so lucky as to find it.

I'm so grateful that I did.

please note: the photo above was shot (when I was seventeen) from a moving train as I traveled through the Swiss countryside. I had been napping on a rainy day and awoke to see the sun coming out. The sun always comes out...

Brighten Your Darkest Night

For the last several minutes I have been thinking about the headache that I have; I have been thinking about how tired I am. You see, today I was taken emotional hostage by a friend. I seem to have this uncanny ability to bring into my life people who lure me close and then surprise me with their toxicity; and today another one did it. It has been a hellacious experience--one that left me exhausted and crying and laughing simultaneously. And that brings me to now; where I have been thinking about these people, for several minutes. The ones I have written about on this and my other blogs, the ones that my friends tell me that they feel sympathy for me, after reading my blogs.

But I had this other thought. It passed rather quickly, like a Swiffer, as though sent to clean the debris out of my black and blue mind, heart and spirits; leaving a clear view of what is GOOD.

I DO, dear readers, have other friends; wonderful, special, glorious friends who are the friends we all dream of having. These people laugh and cause laughter. They ask and THEN they listen. They are the friends that dreams are made of. We have had holidays, vacations, parties, brunch, walks in the park....even that rare, fair day of just (spontaneously) hanging out. Oh. And some of them have shared themselves with me in a most intimate and individual way--they have been my models without pay.

I don't really have anything profound to say. I don't really have anything to say. I am too...what do the English call it?...KNACKERED. I just want to use this blog entry to pay tribute to just a few of the friends who actually know how to be a friend.

please note: in my portraits above you see Lisa-Gabrielle Greene, Brady Schwind, Karen Mason, Peter Calandra, James Beaman and AJ Triano; some of my brilliant and beautiful friends and models without pay

The Refridgerator

We moved into Two-A thirteen years ago. OH! Heavens. I completely forgot our anniversary. It was Sunday. HaHa. We moved in on October 1st. I guess I should run out and get a belated anniversary present--not one for Pat, not even one for me. I should get an anniversary present for the apartment. It's been thirteen years. What do you get for a thirteenth anniversary? Hmm. I know what I would LIKE to get... but, alas, that ain't gonna happen.

I want a new fridge.

We sort of got a new fridge this year. But it isn't new. It's just new to Two-A. It came out of storage for the building. I imagine it belonged to someone else....now it is ours. It's better than the last one we had. Poor thing. It was a wreck. Well...it wasn't new when we moved in. Imagine what it was like twelve years later. The light didn't work, not once; the crisper drawer was off its' runner, the shelves were crooked, it never smelled clean--even after I scrubbed it. But it kept the food cold..until the end.

I think the worst thing was that it was just. so. ugly. It was so old that the stains on the outside would not scrub off; and what did scrub off uncovered rust beneath it. It was an eyesore and we lived with it forfreakinever.

One day, though, several years ago, I remembered something Lee Roy Reems said on JERRY HERMAN AT THE HOLLYWOOD BOWL. He came out in a tux and a red feather boa and said;

"If you can't hide it....

DECORATE IT!!!"

So, after that, I decorated the refridgerator.

The freezer door being closest to eye level had to have a purpose, as well as being pretty. So I covered it with photos of the men who had the bodies to which I aspired having, myself. In the middle of the collage I made was a home-made sign that reminded me to stay on my diet. Together the photos and the sign were meant to remind me: anyone can have inner beauty. To have outer beauty, you must agonize, whether it be the agony of diet or the agony of exercise.

The door to the fridge, though, was not pics of hot guys to remind me to put the food back...

While we called the top door THE DIET DOOR, we called the bottom door THE DIVA DOOR and I covered it with photos of the divas of our life. The women Pat and I (and many gay men) love so much. Some are the standards: Liza, Ms LuPone, Kate the Great, Ann-Margret, Miss Peters and Gwen Verdon. There were, though, our PERSONAL divas.... Pat's beloved Kate Mulgrew, Queen Latifah and Phoebe Cates. For me, Marie France Pisier, Alexis Smith and Lee Remick. We HAD to have Jodie, Julianne, Geena, Angelica and Goldie, not to mention Misses Pfeiffer, Rosselini, Zellwegger and Zeta-Jones. Our redheads had to be there--Nicole and Mimi. And, of course, Donna Murphy. An astute observer will even find the tiniest photos of Julia Murney and Stefanie Powers up in one corner....

We ran out of room for Leann Hunley, Carol Burnett and Bibi Besch but that didn't matter because there are photos of us WITH THEM in frames in the living room. Oh. And Jude. That's Dame Judi to you...

That was the front of the fridge. Off to one side was more hot guys--my favourite being the Equinox ad of the boxer with the black eye and the saying IT'S NOT FITNESS, IT'S LIFE. And the other side of the fridge, which remained, forever, unfinished was to be photos from coffee table books of photographers who inspired me.

It was a sad, pathetic little fridge but it got the job done. And it looked good, all decorated like a Christmas tree. But its life on this planet had to end at some point and just this last winter, as the days were beginning to get their coldest, it died during the night. We awoke to find all our frozen foods thawing and the floor of the kitchen covered in water. We were lucky, though; it had snowed that night and we just put everything out onto the fire escape, in the snow, to keep cold for two days while the superintendant found us a new fridge. And you know what?

When they came to take our fridge away.....when I saw it on the street, waiting to be taken away by the trash collectors.... I got a little sad. I got a little misty eyed. I had to say goodbye to my fridge....

Sigh.

You should see the new one. It's covered with photos of Matthew McConaghey.

L'Homme Infidel...Mais Pas Ici

In order to write the story I want to write today, I must give you some backstory. It may take a little longer for you to get through this entire piece; but I hope the payoff will be worth it. Here are the facts, in order:

1--My dear friend, Richie, is one of my most ardent MySpacers. He loves to do the 'get to know your friends' surveys and so do I. I love to read other peoples' answers because I love to know what is in others' heads. I love to answer the questions with absolute honesty and see what I can learn about myself by a) how honest I am willing to be and b) what humour and/or profundities come out of me. Richie sent out a survey that claimed it was going to be difficult to get through. Indeed, for me, it was not. I enclose the survey here:

THE UNCOMFORTABLE SURVEY. (lets see if you can get through it. if not, you're too scared about your past)

-How many boyfriends/girlfriends have told YOU that THEY love you?
I haven't had that many. I have heard the magic words--and believed them--when they were spoken by Pat, Tom and Michael. Oh. Those have been my boyfriends. No others.

-Have you ever thought that you were going to marry a person
I have not.

-Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurt?
I have. I don't know why it hurt because love is a beautiful thing. Even when loving someone who does not reciprocate, the fact that you have a heart that can love, the fact that you can offer that emotion to someone, is a beautiful thing. Nevertheless...

-Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry?
I have. Tears of sadness are hard to take responsibility for. Tears of joy are elating.

-Are you happier single or in a relationship?
I haven't been single in over 20 years, I don't remember what it is like

-Have you ever been cheated on?
I have been betrayed by many people in many ways. Since I don't believe in monogamy (for gay men), it is difficult to answer the question of have I ever been cheated on....

-What is your favorite thing about the opposite sex?
That they are given carte blanche for being fabulous.

-Have you ever had your heart broken?
My heart has been broken. Did I have it broken? No. Did someone else break it? No. I broke it because it was the only way to get all the love out....

-Have you ever broke someone's heart?
I don't know. I don't think so; but if I have, the person has not told me so.

-Talk to your exes?
I don't really have exes. I refer to Tom as my ex but he was never my man to begin with. I refer to Michael as my ex but the less said about him the better. I talk to Tom almost daily and when I run into Michael I greet him, warmly.-If you could go back in time and change things with any of your ex's would you?I think I would like to have been less pathetic while courting Tom. I was ruled by my emotions and sometimes they were horrifically pitiful and needy. Perhaps, had I been less of this and more of that, I could have held on to him. I doubt it, as I was not the love of his life....and he deserves to be with the love of his life.

-Do you believe that you are a good boyfriend or girlfriend?
As a boyfriend, I treat my significant other as though they were the Satine diamond necklace.

-Have you dated people who were not good for you?
I have.

-Have you been in an abusive relationship?
I believe that every relationship will have some abusive quality to it. The key is to learn to handle it and make it go away.

-Have you dated someone older then you?
Pat is two years older than me. Oh. When I was 17 I went with a 30 year old. Hot.

-Younger?
When I met Tom I was 38 and he was 24. Hot.

-Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?
Not anymore.

-Believe in love at first sight?
Well I've had it with both Pat and Tom so, yes I guess I do.

-Ever dated two people at once?
I guess you haven't been reading this or any of my other surveys.....I spent Christmas with all three of the men in my life...three or four years ago, I think it was. It was work.

-Ever been given an Engagement ring?
I have not.

-Do you want to get married?
I do. I deserve it. WE deserve it.

-Do you have something to say to any of your exes?
I don't think so.

-Ever stolen someone's boyfriend or girlfriend?
I have not.

-Ever liked someone's boyfriend or girlfriend?
I have had the same crush on David Schmittou that everyone gets on David Schmittou. Mark Irish knows everyone falls in love with David and just laughs and laughs. It is one of the facts of life: the sun comes up, rain falls down, people who meet David fall for him. Accept it.

-Does heartbreak really feel as bad as it sounds?
Only for a moment.

2--Another MySpace friend, Lymarie, read the survey when I posted it and wrote to me, in a private email: Just curious... you say here you don't believe in monogomy and quantify it by saying "for gay men." Does that mean you don't believe in monogomy at all, or just not for gay men... and why? :)

I love the question. I love the intelligence and the inquisitiveness and the fact that someone actually read something I wrote and was caused to think. Rock the freak on.

And that brings me to today's thesis....

I don't believe in monogamy. This is not news to anyone who reads what I write. I am very open and up front about the fact that Pat and I do not engage in a monogamous relationship. We are devoted to one another, absolutely. We know that we will stay together for the rest of our lives--and, frankly, into any lives we may have beyond this one. There is never a question of our devotion and commitment to one another. However; I, that is to say, WE do not believe that monogamy is natural for the male species. I do not believe that it is in the genetic makeup of the species to remain sexually monogamous. I believe that men are more base, more animal--perhaps it is because of testosterone. Women are intellectual, women deal in reason, women deal in emotion. Men react, as the animal reacts, from instinct and from two physical places: their gut and their groin. Case in point: Men fall in love with a person for whom they have a physical attraction. Women develop a physical attraction for the person with whom they are in love. I should state here that I am aware that these are sweeping generalizations, that I know that women have animal instincts, that they can find a man attractive for the physical aspect, that there are men who remain faithful to their one and only love, be it a man or a woman and that there are women who can have sex like a man. I know all of this to be true. I am simply stating my opinion based on the law of averages that I have observed, in person and in print.

In, as Lymarie says, quantifying my statement by adding the phrase 'for gay men', I point out the following: I believe that monogamy is not in the genetic makeup of the male species--but I believe that the heterosexual male is more likely to remain monogamous (even though, as we all know, there are incidents of infidelity), while gay men are more likely to engage in sexual congress with more than one partner, even if he is in a relationship. Here is the reason why: the rules of society do not apply to gay men. We are not allowed to get married. We are treated as second class citizens, not given the rights granted to even the lowest members of our society. A convicted criminal is allowed to marry, while serving a prison sentence. I know a lovely gay couple, one who works in television and one who is a school teacher--model citizens, whose union a few years ago is not legally recognized by this country. Well. If we are not to be allowed to live by the rules of this society, I guess we will have to make up our own...

In as much as we do not get to be protected by the legality of marriage (tax cuts, inheritance, insurance etc.) then we do not have the restriction of having to live by the rules of marriage, as observed by heterosexuals. Marriage ceremonies always include a 'fidelity clause' in which the couple declares to keep themselves only unto each other..... We of the gay male population don't have to adopt that rule. There is, after all, no point in our having to adopt a lifestyle, a rule, a limitation, a restriction placed on heterosexuals, since we don't get the luxury of adopting all the benefits and priveledges granted the heterosexuals. So monogamy is not in our nature, our genes + we are not allowed to live under the standards of married life as created by society + we don't have to play by the rules of married life as created by society = we must make up our own set of standards; and within that set of standards is the OPTION of choosing a lifestyle of non-monogamy.

There are gay men who do not agree with me. Certainly, there are lesbians who do not agree with me. They choose to follow the doctrines of the heterosexuals, they opt to live their lives in the standards set by the straights. These gay men and women (and, yes, the bis, the transgendered, all of them...) want to be the couple living lext door to Lester Burnham, with Carolyn's American Beauty roses peeking out over the white picket fence as they walk up the walk with the basket of home baked muffins to give the neighbours. These gay men and women (and the rest) want to live normal (please put quotes around that) lives with two point five children and a border collie, with a BMW and a Dodge Stratus in their two car garage. I have no problem with these gays. This is what they have been taught to want by society and by LEAVE IT TO BEAVER. And as far as their getting what they want goes, I say: YAY! You Go!

Then there are the rest of us. We have our families--however they may be constructed--and we have our lifestyles; we have our standards and we have our rules. We have to make them up as we go along, which can be a lot, a lot, a lot of work but we are making the work work.

With regards to the heterosexual world, the men out there and THEIR sense of monogamy; I still don't think monogamy is natural for the male of the species. BUT. The straight guys live by a set of rules that they created. They live by a standard that they maintain. The women of the world want monogamy. My grilfriend once said to me that her biggest fantasy in life is to be with one man who wants only her for the rest of her life. I believe that this is how women think and feel. And as long as a man is going to live in the society that endorses marriage and the clauses and agreements that go with it and its' ceremonites and rituals, then he must put aside his natural desire to engage in sexual congress with many women and, in fact, keep himself only unto his one woman. Otherwise, don't get married. Remain a bachelor and a playboy. Women buy into the fidelity clause and women deserve our respect. They run this planet, in spite of what men would have you believe; without them we are nothing. And since they desire monogamy, they deserve monogamy. Unless a straight couple has an arrangement other than the one created by society at large, then they should remain sexually faithful to one another. They made up the rule, they should follow it.

In my favourite tv show, QUEER AS FOLK (the American version), Brian Kinney (my acknowledged fictional hero and idol) and his boyfriend, Justin Taylor, make an agreement that they will be a couple who does not commit to monogamy but who are committed to each other. They lay down a set of rules and they work at living by them. Oh, there are troubles, conflicts, resolutions--otherwise it wouldn't be good tv. When we watched these episodes during their first run, Pat and I cheered at the tv screen and said "they're us!!!"

In FATAL ATTRACTION, when Michael Douglas cheated on his wife (the gorgeous Anne Archer) with Glenn Close and got his bunny boiled--Hell, I thought he deserved it. He didn't have an arrangement with his wife; she was being true to him and he was screwin around on her. Shame, shame, shame on him. Play by the rules to which you agree to sign up with. By the way, I love Glenn Close like you cannot believe--but has anyone WATCHED the scene where Michael Douglas watches Ann Archer putting on her maekup and pefume?! H-O-T! Who cheats on this woman with anyone?

It's 2006. The world is a mess. There are bombs and wars and serial killers and rapists; there are kiddie pornographers and congressmen who are would be kiddie pornographers. There is a man in the White House who is the most detested man in the free world; he has garnered more hatred in his direction than any other president in the history of this country. There are certainly more important and interesting topics and problems than whether or not a couple sleeps around on each other; and, frankly, it's none of my business. All I can speak for and about is my own relationship--it's lasted over 20 years and for 15 of them, Pat and I have cheered each other on during our outside relationships and, yes, sometimes shared the outside relationships as a couple.

I wouldn't call myself an expert on this topic; but I would say I have an opinion and that 20 years is a pretty good letter of recommendation...

please note that the photo of Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor was lifted off the internet. The photo of the famed Christmas with me, Pat, Tom and Michael is from my personal collection.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

This is something I posted on my MySpace blog; but I have some friends who are on BlogSpot who don't look at MySpace, so I am posting it here, too. I think it would be fun to see what LGG would write if given this excercise.....

Annalisa tagged me with this task. You're supposed to tag people back but the last time I tagged people, most of them didn't play. So I am not going to tag anyone here, today. I am just going to say: If you are interested in doing this, I am interested in your answers...

Basically, you have to write out the 7 songs that you're currently really into and why.

1. "THE BLOWER'S DAUGHTER" by Damien Rice. I am obsessed with the song--it is hypnotic. I am obsessed with the play/movie CLOSER. It says so much about what I feel and think about life, love, sex, truth, betrayal, self authenticity, survival. I am obsessed with Natalie Portman and her performance in this film. I am obsessed with the words "thank you". I am obsessed with Plain Jane Jones. This song is good theater.


2. "CAN'T TAKE MY EYES OFF OF YOU" By the original cast of Jersey Boys/by The Four Seasons. It was originally sung by the Four Seasons and I have loved it since the first time I heard it. But ever since seeing the great play JERSEY BOYS, it has been stuck in my head, even more. I love The Four Seasons, I love the cast of Jersey Boys, I love the song. It's just freakin great music.

3. "SEXY BACK" by Justin Timberlake. I don't care if it's the original version or the remix by Rauhoffer. I was at Roxy the night it debut'd and it is INSANE and HOT. And the mood at the club was like liquid heat, like the colour red, like being inside the hottest, wettest, strongest ball of fire, like being in the middle of your dream orgy. The song is like having 100% self confidence, which is what I want, before the day I die.

4. "WE BELONG TOGETHER" by Mariah Carey. Like SEXY BACK, it doesn't matter if it is the original ballad version or any of the remixes. It's great music and Mariah, it has to be said, is one of a kind. This song brought her back into the public eye, really restored her career and really locked me in as a true fan. The rhythm and the lyrics and the pentameter are so complicated and wonderful, how could anyone not love it? "who else am I gonna lean on when times get rough, who’s gonna talk to me on the phone, till the sun comes up" and the entire passage about Bobby Womack and Babyface is freakin INGENIUS. It's hot. If you don't know this song--GET to know it.


5. "YOU MUST LOVE ME" by Madonna. I can't explain it but ever since the first time I heard this song it has haunted me. I have to admit, I don't know what it means. It was a song written to win an Academy award when the film EVITA came out; and I have been listening to EVITA since the white album with Julie Covington. I felt, when the film came out, that this was a song written and shoved into the film just for the Oscar. I didn't feel like it belonged--I could not figure out what it was supposed to say within the confines of the story; it showed a vulnerability that I did and do not feel Eva should show. She was a piranha, harsh to the end. This song shows weakness, it shows humanity--she should never give up, she is a fighter. Think of the song EVA'S LAMENT: "the choice was mine and no one else's..." even in her death, Eva stands on her own, she is accountable.. "i could burn with the splendour of the brightest fire or else, or else i could choose time". But in YOU MUST LOVE ME, she focuses on someone else.. "why are you at my side? how can i be any use to you now?" or the lyrics "deep in my heart i'm concealing things that i'm longing to say scared to confess what i'm feeling frightened you'll slip away". They are beautiful lyrics and ones I love but I don't get how they fit in with the story. She was a double die bitch. I don't believe she should be shown this way. It is too weak and too vulnerable. And what does the title mean? When she says YOU MUST LOVE ME....is she saying "You HAVE TO love me" or is she saying "I guesS you love me"? I don't know. I have never been able to figure it out--and I think it is clear that I have put some thought into this! BUT. I LOVE the song!!! It has hypnotized me and become the song that I hum whenever I feel like stretching my vocal chords or my emotions.

6. "DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER" by Dame Shirley Bassey. This is my favourite Shirley Bassey song and it has been for a long time. There is a mood, an ambiance, a feel that I get from this song; a coldness, a harshness, a mercenary feel that I wish for, in my heart and in my being. Having been hurt by so many people in my life, I wish for a personality that is impenetrable, implaccable. If only my heart believed "they are all i need to please me, they can stimulate and tease me, they won't leave in the night, i've no fear that they might desert me" then maybe it wouldn't be so easy for people to get in, to earn my trust, to take, take, take and then hurt me and walk out. "Men are mere mortals who are not worth going to your grave for" certainly sums up some of the people I have known. "i don't need love, for what good will love do me? diamonds never lie to me, for when love's gone, they'll lustre on". The song is a perfect marriage of words and melody, of arrangement and instruments; and then there is that one of a kind Bassey belt. Even if you don't have the emotional baggage that I attach to the song, it is just great music.

7. "FINISHING THE HAT" written by Stephen Sondheim but performed by everyone from Mandy Patinkin to Betty Buckley to Maria Friedman... but I have to admit that my favourite recording of the song is my own. For my 40th birthday, the guests were given a cd I recorded of songs that said something about my experience on this planet. I recorded FINISHING THE HAT because it speaks to me about my experience as an artist. All my life I have wanted to be an artist; but as a young person I did not realize the heartwrenching difficulties that come with the lifestyle of an artist. Oftentimes, as an adult, I have wished that I had been something, anything, other than an artist. I understand the obsessiveness this song speaks of, how you will let your entire life pass you by while you work to make your art perfect. I have stayed up all night, printing photos; I have missed time with Pat because I was busy planning the next day's elaborate shoot; I have turned down chances to walk in the sun with friends because I was busy writing. Unlike the character in the song, I do not have to deal with a spouse (or partner) who does not understand my need to create. My own spouse supports my artwork and encourages it and me. That difficulty does not exist in my life--but all the rest of it does; along with the immeasurable joy of looking at a piece of artwork that I created and saying "ok. That's right. That's it". I will also say this: the reason I like my recording best is because it had to be recorded LIVE. There was no track laid down that I could sing to, no chance of punching in a new recording over any mistakes. Since it is a musical monologue, I needed the luxury of emotion and pausing when it felt right; and my musical director, Joe Kinosian, was with me the whole time, watching me like a hawk, making sure we got it right. That song is some difficul sh*t to sing and it may not be perfect, it may not be Patinkin, but when I listen to that recording, I say "ok. That's right. That's it." For someone who has been told his entire life that he could not sing...that's something to think about in the cool grey of the dawn.

please note: I wanted to include artwork but I didn't want to go searching the net for pics of Damien Rice, Madonna, Mariah Carey, Shirley Bassey, any of The Four Seasons, Mandy Patinkin or Justin Timberlake. And I haven't DONE any photos of any of them. So I'm just using one of my favourite pics of myself--it was shot by Derik Klein