Gang Way World Get Off Of My Runway

The work was calling me.

There were piles of work, stacks of paper, lists of tasks that needed to be accomplished. As is my custom, I set up the card table in the living room and lined everything up to be, systematically, attacked. I would, though, require some company. It didn't take long to decide what would be playing on the television while I worked. It was as though it jumped out at me, off the shelf, and demanded to be watched. I popped in my vhs - yes, vhs, which I still have and watch because many of these items are (unfathomably) not available on dvd - of the Liza Minnelli Stepping Out concert that was shot at Radio City Music Hall in the early 90s. I worked and I watched and, occasionally, I stopped working to just watch; and when the concert was ending, I put my chin in my hands and began to cry. I love her so much. I am, and always have been, moved by her efforts, her artistry, her work. I remember (on the odd, random occasions that I tuned in to her show) how Rosie O'Donnell would go on and on about her love for Barbra Streisand and how Streisand got her through the dark periods of her childhood - and once or twice I think I even saw Rosie cry once or twice while discussing her idol. I remember going to see MINNELLI ON MINNELLI at The Palace Theater and sitting there, listening to the overture; I remember a large mirrored pillar (square, not round) upstage center and how, at the end of the overture, it parted and there she stood - Liza Minnelli. And I burst into tears. I realized, at that moment, that Liza Minnelli is my Barbra Streisand.

Much has been said about gay men and their divas. Similarly, about gay men and musical theater. I recently began reading a thread on TalkinBroadway, in which someone asked about the association between gay men and the musical GYPSY. I only read three or four entries because it became, quickly, tiresome. I recognized, though, that GYPSY is a musical that (almost) all gay men love - but that's a bit absurd to say because (almost) all gay men love musicals and the chances that a gay man who loves musical would also love the musical GYPSY are pretty dangnab strong, especially when you consider that (many feel that) GYPSY is the greatest musical ever written.

It is true, though. We gay men love our larger than life fascinations. Opera, musical theater, soap opera, divas. The only thing is - it's not larger than life. These loves that we pursue are not larger than OUR lives. Perhaps they are larger than life to John Q Public and Jane Doe, living in the suburbs with their picket fence, their American Beauty rose bushes and two point five children (not to mention the dog, the cat and the guinea pigs) but to those of us living an alternate lifestyle, opera, soap opera, musical theater and divas are EXACTLY the size of life. And that is why we love them, so. You see, we have lived lives during which (because of the person we walk down the street, handholding) we might be attacked (physically or verbally), even killed; when you live a life with a threat like that (or any of the other threats we face because of our sexuality), you must live life at a fever pitch - a little harder, a little faster, a little more excitedly, because the threat of losing it all is always a possibility.

I know that (as homosexuals) we do tend to be more artistic and more sensitive. That is of great assistance to us in our studies and appreciation of the art of being larger than life. It does seem to be part of the program; gays and the arts do seem to go hand in hand. It is a stereotype and it is cliche. It is these things because it is true and stereotypes and cliches become so BY being the truth.

There have been advancements in the field of gay rights. Not great advancements but advancements, nevertheless. Far be it for me to complain because nobody has it all that great. A woman may run for president but the same woman, working in the business world, will get paid less money than a man. A black man may run for president but in New York City he may not get a cab. I doubt any discussion of Easterners, Jews, gays and many other considered "minorities" is even worth the trouble it might take to open up that discussion. Suffice it to say that prejudice continues to rule the world and let's all just take a moment to pout about the personal prejudices heaped on our own people and our own persons. There. Now that that is out of the way, let's move on to my subject of expertise: gays and their divas.

We're looking at a collected mass of people who (historically) have been oppressed. While hiding in their rooms, their closets, their imaginations, they nurture (generally) an affinity for the arts. Unable to (fully) express their (forbidden!) love throughout the ages, they channel their feelings, their passions, their imaginations and their love of the arts into creating more art. All those feelings have to have some way out. All of that artistic longing has to have a place to go. Here, the gays of the last century and centuries before, are a bunch of men who have been ostracized and looked down upon and discriminated against and NOT been given a chance to show how they truly feel. Self loathing and fear has been this groups constant companion. They needed love and they needed to express themselves.

With regards to needing love: Everyone loves the person who is fabulous. The entire world loves the person who is beautiful, dressed fashionably and commands admiration and respect for their gifts of intelligence and talent. So why shouldn't the gays of the world think that, by being fabulous, they (too) will be loved? So they concentrate on being beautiful and on wearing the most stunning clothing and having the most admirable talent.

With regards to expressing oneself: If you were told it was forbidden to show your feelings, where would they go? Back inside the lockbox called your heart. After years, decades, centuries of being told you cannot show your emotions, what would be more exciting than letting them out? And what could POSSIBLY be more fabulous than letting them out in a completely unrealistic, over the top, larger than life way like bursting into song? If you are feeling neglected and unloved and embittered about the way life has treated you, would you rather throw a temper tantrum or sing ROSE'S TURN? What would YOU opt for?: begging and pleading for your man not to leave you or your own version of AND I AM TELLING YOU I'M NOT GOING?!

We gay men recognize that these divas who get to be looked at and admired and loved and respected, who get to wear fabulous clothing and emote in the most evolved and exciting way possible HAVE what we WANT. So we throw ourselves into passionately devoted relationships with our idols (usually from a distance) as fans. Sometimes we become our own version of the divas (observe the vocal stylings of Sam Harris, Billy Porter and Marty Thomas). Sometimes we become the divas (observe the great impersonators like Charles Pierce, Jim Bailey and Jimmy James or the great drag queens like Hedda Lettuce, Miss Coco Peru and Flotilla DeBarge). Sometimes we become the male version of the diva - the divO - by turning ourselves into the most stunningly beautiful male specimen possible and preening for all to see. Each gay male's personal journey is unique and beautiful (ok, maybe not beautiful because those of us who have encountered the gay male with attitude have seen the real picture of Dorian Gray and it is, indeed, an ugly countenance). The fact remains, though, that without our divas, we have no one to champion us to the world. God knows the politicians aren't doing it. Those little suckers use us for the votes and drop us like last night's trick. The religous right wants us exterminated. The milatry doesn't even want us to fight for them because they are too afraid we will be reluctant to shoot the enemy if he is too good lookin. Oh, we have friends and family and associates who either love us, accept us or don't give a rat's ass, as long as we show up to work and do a good job. But even though there have been advancements in gay rights, even though the era of self loathing that came with THE BOYS IN THE BAND has pretty much disappeared, even though there are 13 year olds who come out (but still - in most places - a teenager cannot bring their same sex date to prom), even though there are gays all over television and, often, become the favourite character on the show, we do need someone to light the way.

That's why we need Senta throwing herself into the sea. That's why we need Daisy and Violet demanding to know Who Will Love Me As I am. That's why we need Krystle and Alexis fighting in a lily pond. We need these delicious beauties to serve as our vessels for all the emotions we (still) cannot fully express and to show us how (we might one day get) to be fabulous. This way, the next time a middle aged gay man is pissed off because his parents didn't show him enough love and his lover of many years hasn't appreciated him and his adopted child treats him badly (and, no, these examples are not a vague representation of my own life-my parents loved me plenty, my spouse has always appreciated me) he can lock the doors to his home and turn on Ethel, Angela, Bette, Tyne, Bernadette or any other diva who has recorded it and scream at the imaginary people around him:

"someone tell me when is it my turn, don't I get a dream for myself??!!"

and when a person is feeling downtrodden and rejected and put upon by the world, what better way is there to demand something better than to turn on a cd or dvd and imagine yourself as that fierce diva, Effie White, DEMANDING that "you're gonna love me"?

The artists who create the emotions and the other artists who represent them for us may have more eloquence than most of us but without us to feel the feelings that they are describing, their artistry is benign. They need the gays as much as the gays need them. Stephen Sondheim needs an audience who will get "every day a little death..in the parlour in the bed.. in the curtains, in the silver, in the buttons, in the bread" and Patti LuPone needs an audience who will feel "so the sun god flew away and when the king came down that day he found his meadowlark had died...every time I heard that part I cried".

We live in a society that has made us numb. The news blasts out at us, from all angles, about something bad, someone hurt, somewhere dangerous. We battle disease, disorder and dysfunction. It can be difficult to allow our feelings to flow from us, freely. But who could blame us for weeping along with a diva in dispair or for cheering a defiant diva? Who could watch Cher accept an Academy Award in a bikini sheathed by chiffon and not wish that they had the gumption (and figure) to carry it off? Who could listen to Judy Garland sing Cottage For Sale and not wish that they could make others feel that sad, then listen to her sing Get Happy and wish that they could make others feel that glad?

I love and adore my divas and I am, deeply, sorry for the gay men who allow fear of stereotype and judgement to keep them from admitting that they love their diva, too. And it is, certainly, permissable to have a stable of divas. I am always interested to know who each gay guy's divas are. It says a lot about them and gives them (for me) an added dimension. My friend, Paul J Williams is devoted to Bette Midler and Karen Carpenter. Tom follows Deborah Cox and Kristine W. Peter is a Streisand boy, all the way. I once sat between David and Michael at a Shirley Bassey concert and you'da thought we were going to pee in our pants. Pat has a new found diva in the form of Beyonce and AJ has it for a jazz singer called Madeleine Peyroux. I am re-experiencing a Chaka Khan phase that I am enjoying a LOT.

I have a lot of divas. My Ipod has a playlist called DIVA and it features everyone from Donna Murphy to Mariah Carey. It doesn't matter what area of show business she comes from or if she is fierce or sweet; as long as a girl can make you feel and light your way to being who you are, who you want to be, she is your diva. And though you may add new divas, though you may go for awhile without paying serious attention to one or two of your divas - you'll come back round to them, though you may change divas entirely, every gay guy needs them and we will always be there, front and center, to support them. So stereotypes be damned and cliches converge -

God bless those fabulous women and keep them going. Because there are little gay boys being born all over the world and they are going to need their divas, too. Neither of us are going anywhere, not the gays, not the divas. That's why it is (arguably) the greatest diva theme song of all time...

And I am telling you I'm NOT going.

Please note: I shot the photos of Deborah Cox, Karen Mason and Kristine W. The Hirschfeld sketch of Judy Garland was pulled from the internet, as was the photo of Liza Minnelli. Much to my heartbreak, I have never photographed the great Miss Minnelli.

If You Are An Artist, Come In

I won't review it. I couldn't begin to. What I will tell you is this: when the film was over, I was weeping. I was weeping because there are still people out there creating art. I was weeping because I got proof that I am still moved by art. I was weeping because the artists who created this movie made me feel everything that I have wished I could make others feel through my own artwork.

If this film is playing in your city - I don't care if you don't like foreign films or if you don't like reading subtitles. Expand your mind.

And go.

Bless It and Release It

Remember on the cartoon Scooby Doo, when something puzzled Scooby he, his ears would perk up and he would go "rrrrroooo?!!??"

I have been making that noise a lot. Wanna know why? You have to know I am going to tell you and that I am going to do it honestly. But it is also something I've said many times before:

"Why are people so mean?"

Backstory: I used to visit the website TalkinBroadway; they have a chat board called All That Chat. I got into it because Brady reads it all the time and one day someone said something so funny that we wanted to respond to it. We signed up for a screen handle and we chose TheGirlFRIENDS, as a tribute to our friend, Happy, who does the most amazing immitation of Celine Dion, during which she refers to herself as "GirlFRIEND". We wrote to the person and, soon, we had an online presence. I noticed, relatively early, that the mood at the chat board was catty and bitchy, downright mean. I have tried for many years to put forth positive energy and I worked (hard) to become that person on ATC that put forth that kind of energy. Sadly, I wasn't always good at it. Once, I voiced an opinion about Joe Mantello and he wrote to me (your email address can be shown in your postings) to set the record straight. I apologized to him, publically, eating the biggest serving of crow you can imagine. To that end, I set forth a good example, even then. I left the chat board because people began to attack my friend, Donna Murphy, during the whole WONDERFUL TOWN mess. By that time, it was well known on the board that TheGirlFRIENDS was me (Brady rarely posted anything). So people attacked Donna (led by the columnist Michael Reidel) on a daily basis for missing shows. I tried to defend her because I knew that she was, truly, ill and couldn't go to work. Then they started attacking me. It wasn't just over Donna, either; they attacked me for things I wrote in defense of Stephen Schwartz, as well as some other people I had worked with, not to mention their attacks on me, outright. So I discontinued my screen name at the chat board and went away. I stayed away for a very long time. One day a friend called me to tell me that I had been mentioned on the chat board. I logged on to see why. It said "Stephen Mosher Sighting". I clicked on the post. Someone was saying "For those of you who were wondering where Stephen Mosher has disappeared to, I saw him at a play at NYU last night". I roared. It is the closest I have ever come to being famous. The day the chatterati start wondering what I am up to is a sad day, indeed.

I began, last year, checking in from time to time. Whatever else that chatboard may be, it IS good for information.

Donna Murphy is back on Broadway. During previews for LOVEMUSIK, the nastiness started. She had just come off of a famously revered performance in the FOLLIES concert, during which everyone (in the press and in the chat rooms) praised her (give or take a person or three). She started performances of LOVEMUSIK and people began posting very mean things about her. They criticized her work and made (endless and boring) jokes about her missing shows and Linda Muggleston covering for her (Miss Muggleston gained fame as the WONDERFUL TOWN understudy). There was even a two day period where Donna WAS out (along with some other castmates) because of flu. Those two days, the chatterati were merciless; they were mean to the point that someone posted that Donna's husband had suffered a stroke. This was false information that could have affected HIS career. Producers are often reluctant to insure an actor that they have heard is in bad health. The attacks on my girlfriend have been ongoing for weeks, for months, for years. And what I don't understand is this:

What did Donna ever do to anyone?

She opened a play called PASSION, a few years ago, to stunning reviews and the fans raised her to "goddess" status. She did some film and tv work and then came back to Broadway in THE KING AND I. For both of these plays she recieved a Tony award. The fans elevated her to "genius" status. She did some film and tv and then did the concert version of WONDERFUL TOWN. The press raved and the fans took her up to "icon" status. When WONDERFUL TOWN was to transfer to Broadway, there were difficulties in the timing and it took awhile. It landed on Broadway and Donna became (famously) ill and missed many performances and (because of a columnist and the chatterati) THAT is what people talk about. She never maligned anyone. She didn't say anything rude about anyone in print. She didn't harm ANYONE. She protected herself, her health, her singing voice. And still, years later, people want to make jokes at her expense. It's not like she is some horrifying politician or terrorist or publicity whoring no talent that people LOVE to vilify. She is a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend and an artist -- she is so many human things that never hurts anyone or anything and yet the chatterati have this compulsion for this incessant cruelty.

Mind you, Donna is not the only one that they do this to. I have read very unflattering things about my friend Max Von Essen, about Daphne Rubin Vega, about any number of celebrated artists of this community. I think that, looking at the big picture--seeing how many people are burned in effigy, I should not take it personally. It isn't REALLY about Donna. Or Max or Daphne or any other artist who gets skewered by the chatterati. It's about the writer. One of my valuable lessons of 2007 was to NOT carry other peoples' baggage. If a person thinks that being mean is being funny, if a person is bitter and unhappy, if a person is jealous, if a person's low self esteem is made better by an attempted destruction of another's image or character, then it is they who must live in a prison of negativity, one of their own creation, for their entire lives. I suppose it may be true that nothing makes the public more excited by their building up of, and then their destruction of, a celebrity. I suppose it gives them a sense of power, of importance.

Everyone wants to feel important. Everyone wants to feel powerful. Everyone wants to feel that their opinion is valid. That's why we voice them, in person or online.

I found the real power in not caring. It is being important to yourself, accepting that you have no control and knowing that your opinions may be voiced but they will change nothing.

I have learned my lesson. That is, I have learned a lesson. I don't know if I will ever learn what it is that makes people so mean - but it doesn't matter because I am, no longer, a mean person and THAT is what matters to me. I will shower Donna with my love and kindness and my friendship and THAT is what will matter to her; and, fortunately, there are many people who do that for her. So no matter what the powerless chatterati try to do, her happiness is intact.

Happiness. That's real power.

Please note: The photo of Donna is one I shot during Broadway Under The Stars a couple of years ago.

Even Late In The Game

I have been commanded, by more than one person (ok, maybe two or three) to get it in gear and write something. WRITE something! they have said. Write SOMETHING! they have said. Well. The truth is that I want to write something. But I have been working - and working a lot. On what? you may ask. I will tell you On what?..

Everything.

Remember when I lost my jobs? I ceased to be a personal assitant for anyone. I had already ceased to be a photographer in demand. So I had no career. But I found a career. Me. My life has become my career. I have spent so much time working for money and working for other people. I do headshots for a dime if someone cries poor hard enough. I do publicity stills for free if someone uses the magic word benefit. Hell, I even went back to my former employers home and did the laundry and housework for free just because I love him and knew it needed to be done.

But it became time to focus on doing some things, not for free, but for me.

I began chanting again. I put myself back on my diet. I started going to the gym again - at first for forty five minutes (and in tears) because that was all my body could handle after so many months off. Then it worked up to an hour, then ninety minutes, then two hours. I am now spending three to four hours a day at the gym - sometimes at a time, sometimes in two or three trips. I have started learning yoga and this week I start my classes in martial arts. I began to focus, once more, on what I love - health and fitnes and (especially) MY health and fitness. And being pretty. Because I am superficial but at least it is superficiality aimed at myself.

The work I undertook wasn't just on my body. I began focusing on the lessons I have been learning this year. I began focusing on my spirituality and my psyche. I began cleaning house. Cleaning MY house, the Stephen Mosher house. I learned to stop hating myself. I learned to forgive myself. I learned to begin letting go of the damage done to my self esteem by my relationships with others, including my father, my other relatives, the people from my past and my gay brethren. I admitted and accepted that I am worthy. I accepted that the role I was born to was that part named "struggling artist" and I am OK with that. Maybe it will change in the future but for now, I am fine..just fine. Whatever comes next, comes next. That is the adventure.

I have been learning how to break it down and work it out. Why, only today, I was at the gym. I had done ninety minutes of cardio and I was deliciously sweaty (I happen to love the sweat - I see people at the gym who need the fan turned on them while on the treadmill; NOT ME) and feeling proud and feeling jazzed from the endorphins. Pat and I started a hard back workout and about twenty or twenty five minutes into it I suddenly got angry. I filled with hatred and anger and doubt and self loathing and it was affecting my ability to lift the heavy weight. Pat asked what he could do to help and we talked through it and I broke it down and I started to feel better. Just then one of the HUGE and INTIMIDATING female trainers (pro body builder) came over and GRABBED my calves!! She said she just wanted a LITTLE of them for her own! Then she said she couldn't wait to see me dancing in the Gay Pride Parade in two weeks. I told her I wasn't dancing this year and she pouted. God knew I was feeling down and why I was and God sent me some love and some reinforcements. God and Pat and my ability to talk it out got me back on track.

I have learned how to be happy.

I was on the massage table and my massage therapist (one of two I see regularly) said "are you happy?" Yes. "Are you taking pictures" Yes, when it comes my way. "Are you taking pictures in a way that makes you happy?" I thought about it and I told him:

My happiness is not dependant upon my photography. My happiness is not dependant on my work, my finances, my acceptance from others or any other outside source. My happines lives, now, completely within myself.

I couldn't believe the words were coming from my lips. I couldn't believe it had finally happened. After a lifetime of unhappiness mixed in with happy moments, I had .. I HAVE .. learned how to be happy.

If one adds insult to injury, then one must add compliment to care. I wonder if my learning to be happy has, directly, affected this - BUT..

I recently had a physical. The doctor pronounced me in perfect health. Not only am I in perfect health (well.. they DID discover an inconsequential heart murmer and a congenital birth defect in my heart that, at this time, is also without consequence), with all my tests coming back with a clean bill of health, but my arthritis has been pronounced in remission and my chiropractor and massage therapist have noticed a change in the tension and knots in my left back (a longtime trouble spot). I am, though, waiting for the results of an MRI that the ear doctor did to check out my head - but I am confident that it, too, will yield good results.

I don't know how all of youse, out there, are doing. But I will say this: if you haven'd discovered happiness yet, it is worth the trouble to find. I am hoping to nurture it and make it last forever. It feels THAT good.