The 42nd Floor

In case you were wondering...

2011-12-30T17:41:00.002-06:00

My home has become a warzone.

I just got back from the Duane Reade with some sleeping pills.

Leo let his apartment out to his friends from Florida. Yeah. He's gone, but that doesn't mean I get a break from the noise.

They have NO IDEA how loud they are.

I left them a note. That seems to have helped (I asked them to keep it down after midnight), but every other minute of the day, they are coming and going, or hanging out in the doorway. I swear, it's like a hotel room. People shouldn't come and go like this! This is an APARTMENT BUILDING.

Having just turned the corner on this stomach bug, my stomach is still a little fluttery. The irritation from the constant stomping and slamming of doors on the other side of the wall wasn't helping. So I went outside to get a little brandy and some sleep aides to see if that wouldn't help calm things down a bit.

The noise of the helicopters was worse when I stepped outside. Holy cats. What are the helicopters doing up there? New Years isn't until tomorrow!

The crowds. Oh my LORD, the crowds. I know it's bad every year, but COME ON. It is a freakin' NIGHTMARE out there! All of Midtown has become a theme park. I'm hearing baristas in every Starbucks giving directions to nearby points of interest...it's like in my Six Flags days.

It's awful.

Why do I live here?

Some Updates

2011-07-29T12:39:00.002-05:00

I'm back from yet another trip to Precept in Chattanooga, TN. This time around was a study of Ezekiel (part 1... ch 1-32). It was intense and difficult and informative and incredible. I love going down there.

I'm back in New York now. Modeling work is at a halt. The schools don't do much in the summer and the artists I usually work one-on-one with are all busy with other projects. I've got a little something--another Jesus painting--lined up for August, a little school thing for evenings September, and a full-blown religious painting in October. I'll have to go to Connecticut for that one but it should be interesting. In November and December evenings will be devoted almost entirely to A Christmas Carol.

So the current scarcity means I'm looking in earnest for more part-time work. With previous office experience being the most easily marketable batch of skills I have, it's unfortunately not not as easy to convince employers that just because I have hair all over my head doesn't mean I can't WORK. Guys like me are stuck doing hippie work. I'll probably swing by Trader Joe's this afternoon and pick up an application. A friend at a video game news blog company sent my resume to her boss. Maybe that'll lead to something.

I feel like transitioning. Maybe it's just the old 3-5 year itch from growing up in an always-moving military family. But I feel like I'm ready to try new things. Maybe put the acting stuff on the side for a few years and go back to school. Get an IT degree or something and have a job where I can make rent and enjoy just being me without the stress of having to worry that I'm throwing away an acting career.

I know, I know. I've already put the acting career on the side, according to outside observers. I've spent the couple of years making an unexpected career out of being a figure model at New York art schools. But in my head I haven't put it away. In my head, I've been nervous, I've been stressed, I've not been able to shake the feeling that I'm failing every time I say "Yes" to another modeling gig. I've so enjoyed being away from the audition culture, being able to do what I want to do, look how I want to look, away from the fear, away from the constant rejection, away from being sized up all the time...

But the enjoyment of all these things is ruined when the "Acting Thing" rears its head. My stomach tightens. My pulse increases. "Enjoy your freedom while it lasts because next year you have to audition for soap operas and get your career back on track" casts a shadow over it all. Maybe for someone more self-assured, less wrapped up in nuance and detail of the intricacies of life, it makes no difference.

But I'm not like that. I'm an ISFJ. I'm the Little Old Lady of personality types. Everything is felt, everything is remembered, everything is stored away, but worst of all, everything matters. Things aren't so easily discarded. As the helpless, dependent "baby" of the family, what I want, what I really really want out of life, is to just be able to KNOW and IDENTIFY with some degree of certainty, is who Forky is and what Forky wants. That's it. Maybe that's why I don't have dreams. I don't have career plans. I don't have a 5 year goal. I don't have high hopes of starting a big family or becoming famous or whatever.

I guess, to some extent, that's a dilemma everybody faces. They just don't think about it so much.

Or maybe I'm just another of the 30-something indecisive man-boys that are so prevalent these days.

Whoa. Sorry for getting all deep on this post. How about we end on a silly note?

Who Needs Seminary?

2011-05-28T19:56:00.002-05:00

Gearing up for Names of God...

Prepping to assist with Central's Psummer of Psalms Adult Sunday School...

Getting ready to start my Ezekiel homework for this summer's trip to Chattanooga...

And just for fun, how about the Precept Joel Rosenberg Last Days study? Why not?

I barely have time for video games anymore.

I'm really surprised by how little I really know about the Bible and about God. I'm still something of a human train wreck, but man, I'm having the time of my life here.

Ack! Getting a migraine. And from my studies I know that God is sovereign over blindness and intense head pain and the inability to form sentences! Hallelujah!

Back at CrossFit

2011-04-28T15:30:00.003-05:00

Okay, I'm down to somewhere between 175 and 180. I've still got a little chunk around the middle but I've also put on a bit more muscle too. My diet has eased up a little and I'm going to CrossFit every other day or so. All in all, things are tightening up a bit, but I'm still bigger than I was.

So the next step would be to cut the french fries and donuts and go back to salads and organic eggs and chicken and that sort of thing. I may try to find a balance... do Paleo for 5-6 days a week and have a pizza day. Or something like that. I've never felt better than when I cut out the grains and the sugar, but at the same time, I was also never as LEAN. And while cutting all body fat is the goal of most people, in my line of work, a little chunk, a little MASS, a little SIZE isn't necessarily seen as a BAD thing.

Besides, pizza is WAY cheaper than organic everything.

In other news, I did the first week of the Precept 'LORD, Where Are You When Bad Things Happen?' study and I think we're gonna hafta switch gears. I'd been hoping to lead a group at our church in this study, but dang. This study.

See, you expect a Bible study to be all sweetness and pleasantness and rainbows and bluebirds and stuff that's just supposed to make you feel GOOD.

Like the last one I completed (the darkest Bible study I've ever done EVER 'LORD, Heal My Hurts'), this one is unexpectedly HEAVY. And it's heavy because it's not skimping on the TRUTH. The problem is...

THEY CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!

Seriously. I don't think they can. Instead of being in agreement, I'm afraid the folks participating in the study would throw their hands up in politically correct horror when she compares sacrificing Israelite babies to Molech with modern-day abortion.

I may not be giving them enough credit. But then again, I've moved WELL beyond the scars I acquired from Southern Religion gone bad. Instead of being quite so defensive, I've learned to separate the facts from a study from the editorializing.

The #1 thing I'm dealing with right now is commentaries. People would rather read commentaries or full books on God rather than studying the Bible. As a result, they know what C.S. Lewis thinks about God (which is FINE! I LOVE that guy!) but the problem is they don't know for themselves what the Bible says about God. They wind up Biblically illiterate. People think I've been to seminary. No. I just found a teacher that I liked and started doing daily Bible studies. Not just READING though...actually STUDYING.

Might I encourage you to do the same?

In other news, I did a google search for 'is Carol Channing a man' and got nothing.

And speaking of conspiracies, I just have to say ONE thing here.

Why is everybody on TV telling me not to look at that thing?

No, I'm serious. The man goes to such bizarre lengths to keep it under lock and key for so long. It's got people all upset. Then he releases it, and everybody on TV tells me, "It's out, OKAY? Now stop looking at it and let's focus on talking about fixing the economy which we can't fix anyway."

Why? No, really. Why? Isn't that why you release a high res pdf file for millions of people to see? Shouldn't they be ENCOURAGING people to pore over this thing? You want to see this thing? Go right ahead! You want to send in the forensic experts? Be my guest! I assure you they'll find it's perfectly authentic! Put all your doubts to rest once and for all!

Instead, EVERYBODY is saying, "Okay. It's out. Drop it. Now. And if you don't, everybody's going to hate you and call you crazy. And you don't want people to call you CRAZY, do you? Your reputation is VERY important to you and you wouldn't want anything to HAPPEN to it, WOULD YOU?"

Which naturally makes me even MORE suspicious of it! Why is everybody on TV telling me NOT to look too closely at this thing?!

Do you know what I mean? THAT'S what's making me crazy.

April Update

2011-04-08T10:34:00.009-05:00

So much to talk about. Where to begin?

BODY EXPERIMENT UPDATE

I'm now somewhere VERY close to 180. And we have a slight problem.

I'm completely unmotivated to re-enter the works-based religion of having a six-pack. I hate that stupid thing. It's funny. It's getting to be springtime up here in NYC and people are just itching to wear their latest not-clothes and show off their ripped bodies. Me, I continue to wear medium shirts that show to the world I'm magnificently average and have NOTHING to prove to ANYBODY. I'm not competing with you appearance-obsessed New Yorkers! I'm not playing your never-ending comparison game that only leads to self-loathing!! I feel relaxed, self-assured, and for the first time in five years my abs aren't constantly flexing.

That said, I'm done with the donuts and pizza. I'm going to see if I can maintain this current weight and put on some muscle mass while I'm wearing an extra 15 lbs.

For you Primal fiends out there, I did a TECHNICAL-Primal day yesterday.

Breakfast: 4 eggs with organic cheese, two spoonfuls of organic peanut butter, coffee with cream
Lunch: Small Tomato Cheddar soup and small salad from Hale and Hearty. Spinach, carrots, cucumbers, red peppers, bleu cheese, and a little shot of dressing
Snack: Organic baby carrots and two spoonfuls of peanut butter
Dinner: Chipotle burrito bowl with rice, beans, and guac

Yes. That's TECHNICALLY still Primal. I didn't eat ANYTHING (that I was aware of) that had wheat in it and I'm pretty sure the refined sugar was at a bare minimum. The 80/20 rule.

I didn't get hungry once yesterday. My energy levels were steady. I felt great. Yeah, I know. Beans, rice, peanut butter. First, I'm not paying $12.75 for almond butter when I can get the same amount of organic peanut butter for $3.50.

I'm just curious to know what's the ABSOLUTE LEAST I can get away with and still experience positive results. That and I'm not interested in having .3% body fat right now. I don't care if I'm eating legumes or dairy. My struggle has always putting mass ON, not taking it OFF. From my experience with Primal last year, this is NOT a diet that helps you bulk up. Everyone at CrossFit jumped on the Primal bandwagon and they all shriveled up. Yeah, the ones struggling to lose that bit of extra chunk now had totally flat stomachs, but the already-fit ones looked a little shriveled.

Job (the thing you do for money, not the guy from the Bible)

This is probably connected with the lack of motivation to get back in tip-top shape and remain a little chunky. But I'm tired of modeling. I'm really tired of it. I'm tired of the physical demands of the job and the pay not balancing out the costs of gym classes, protein shakes, etc., etc. I've been sitting for portraits this past month and it's turning my brain into tapioca.

Meanwhile, all my friends have families and babies and big-time careers. I realize I'm the most interesting friend ever--working at Dog Shows and NofriendoLand World and playing the ukulele and nude modeling--but I've just about had it.

Yes, you heard me. I want a boring office job. I want to type up memos. I want to do my work and get paid a nice salary and have health insurance and not have anybody yell at me. On the side, I'll write plays and do a show here and there and find places to be creative. Everybody else is moving on with their lives and doing stuff and moving into nice apartments and getting raises and having families... Meanwhile, I live as a pauper in NYC with no prospects for the future.

Plus, I can't afford CrossFit classes. How am I supposed to get back in shape without someone yelling at me, telling me to move my butt and pick up heavy stuff?

Bible Study

This is the best Bible study I've done yet. It's also pretty dark. Just when you think, "Okay, SURE, Kay Arthur. A sweet little lady like you couldn't possibly know anything about pain and suffering," she pulls out a story about someone who--I can't even say it, it's so awful. And not just one story. A BUNCH.

Suffice to say, this isn't the feel-good Bible study of the year, but it's changing the way I think. It's really excellent. And, surprise! it's all from the Bible. Sure, she ties it together with some anecdotes here and there, but the philosophy at Precept is getting people into the WORD--because man's words are just man's words and may be very nice and very true, but they're not the supernatural word of God. THAT'S what ministers to and transforms people.

I love these guys at Precept. Every Christian who is tired of impractical, overly-emotional Christianese needs to do inductive studies. I used to be majorly cynical about the Bible. Not anymore. It's really REAL. But until you experience it for yourself, you won't understand what I'm saying.

They're workshopping their new study of Ezekiel (part one!) in Chattanooga this summer. Anybody out there want to sponsor me? Or come with? I'm desperate to go! UFOs baby!

Portraits

Oh yeah. Here's what I sat for this past month.

Portrait #1 (above) is supposed to be a plainsman. I think I look like a very sad Mad Hatter

Portrait #2 is what I look like now. Shorter beard, long hair pulled back to avoid drawing comparisons to Renaissance Jesus as I knock people over on the sidewalks in Times Square

That's the update. Maybe I'll go for a walk to the pier on this Friday afternoon and think about life and where I'm going. Yeah. That sounds good. Oh yeah! And work on illustrations for my cool new book!

Fitness Experiment 3/24

2011-03-24T21:34:00.002-05:00

Just weighed in. With shoes on and if I stand right in the middle of the scale, I'm a whopping 178lbs.

One more week to go. Should I slow down or go for broke?

Fitness Experiment Update 3/17

2011-03-17T15:03:00.004-05:00

I'm really uncomfortable.

I've put on about 7 or 8 pounds since the last update. Almost ten pounds since the beginning of the month. Slouching toward the 15 lb goal. On someone who's as lean as me, it shows VERY quickly. I've got the unmistakable beginnings of a gut going on down in the spare tire area, the lovehandles are back, the six pack is on temporary hiatus, and I have to suck in a little to button my jeans.

Energy levels are a bit on the low side. Not SHOCKINGLY low...I'm not falling asleep standing up or anything... but I'm not feeling quite as perky, that's for sure. It's a lot more difficult to wake up in the morning and I have to be careful what I eat for lunch. Too much food/bread almost knocks me out.

Worst though--It's HOT. Uncomfortably warm. It's a sunny, warm-ish St. Patrick's Day in NYC. Not a cloud in the sky. And I'm HOT in this t-shirt and jeans, which is most unusual. I want to attribute some of it to my long hair, but there's an unmistakable uncomfortable feeling of hotness all over. It's enough to make me want to give up on this whole experiment right now. But, for the sake of the people who have long told me, "Yeah, diet and exercise work for YOU. You're MAGICALLY SKINNY. I could NEVER get in shape like that", I'm gonna try and ride this out.

I think I've proven that I DON'T have a magic metabolism. Muscle tone and six pack are not necessarily the result of insane genetics. I got those things because I ate small portions, was careful with my diet, and kept physically active. This month, I've let myself go. Bread, cereal, pasta, beer, lots of birthday cake, french fries, all that sort of thing. Normal foods. Big portions. The only cardio I'm doing is walking around NYC.

HOWEVER, I have also noticed that I have NOT lost any muscle mass in the past week of skipping the gym. I have stayed the same size. In fact, unless I'm mistaken, I'm filling out my shirts in more than just my gut area.

Also, my face looks healthy for the first time in forever. I've always had a thin face and slightly sunken cheeks. Not anymore.

ALSO, today I finally managed to make it back into the gym for some lifting and I was quite surprised to find that I was lifting, on average, about 10 lbs more than my usual!

I guess this is why a lot of gym rats go through the "bulking" phase. Normal folks don't really know this, but during the fall and winter, you often see muscle-heads starting to get a little bit on the chunky side. That's the bulking phase of the year, when everyone eats more, weighs more, and because of that, lifts more. And lifting more = more gains in muscle mass.

Then in the spring and summer, it's all about cardio and cutting the fat, while ideally keeping the muscle.

I'm really hopeful my friends will see what I'm doing here and realize I'm not making this up. You CAN change your bodies through diet and exercise. Don't misunderstand me--I TOTALLY understand that some people are more disposed towards being stocky or lean, but for those of you who thought I was "special" because I was blessed by the skinny fairy at my christening, hang on. I'm about to prove how normal my body really is.

Fitness Experiment

2011-03-02T07:50:00.001-06:00

On the train, headed to my March portrait gig. Yes, portrait. Which means I'm keeping my clothes on all month.

The cost of the CrossFit class I'd been a member of shot up 100 bucks just after Thanksgiving and I haven't been doing any significant cardio since then. I put on 5-10 lbs between Thanksgiving and Christmas (as usual) but because I haven't had my regular gym classes, that weight hasn't dropped off as it usually does by the end of January.

I'm banking it this month--lured out to Riverdale with promises of gold. So in April I'll have enough dosh to buy a $200 month-long unlimited CrossFit pass.

But that's still a month away.

The Cachinator and I were talking about this when he got a nutty idea that I kind of like.

I'm going to do a little fitness experiment. I know. It's a little crazy. But I think it could be really interesting.

So this month, it's all about eating the average American's diet, going to the gym for light workout every now and then, but not thinking of it as a priority. In other words, I'm going to see how out if shape I can get in a month.

In April, it's back to CrossFit. It's also back to the primal diet (no grains, refined sugars).

How long will it take to get the six pack back? I don't know. But I've got plenty of motivation, seeing as how I can't very well model for my gigs this summer with saggy love handles.

In the meantime, I'm bringing on the grains, bread, the occasional trip to McDonalds, five dollar foot-longs from Subway, big Chipotle burritos...the works.

I'm going to post diet and weight progress at least once a week. Probably Wednesdays (Weigh-in Wednesday. Has a nice ring to it!)

Can I do it? Will I lose my nerve? We'll see!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Radiator Update

2011-02-07T11:31:00.002-06:00

I just got off the phone with the landlord.

Again.

This time, I said, "No, YOU listen to ME. I am NOT your ENEMY."

He seemed to listen to me this time.

They SWEAR the radiator CAN'T run 24/7.

I'm here today to tell you that, somehow, it can. And it did.

But seeing as how it just shut off (holy COW! It SHUT OFF!), I was finally able to stand before that little metal doggie-door to HELL and screw the knob as far to the righty-tighty as I possibly could. I doubt that will stop the evil thing. But I'm not going down without a fight.

I'll take the freezing temperatures.

In other news. While talking on my cell phone to the landlord, I got crapped on by a bird. But not just once. Twice. What are the odds?

I feel like a winner.

Radiator

2011-02-07T09:46:00.002-06:00

What nightmares are made of

Last night I got really hot in my little New York studio apartment.

REALLY hot.

I'd noticed that, for about two days, the little radiator in the corner had not stopped hissing. Normally, those stupid things go on and off somewhat unpredictably and you spend the winter stuck in this sweat/freeze cycle as the thing bangs to life and blasts your room with waves of heat just after you've gotten all comfortable and cozy under three blankets. The blankets and Snuggie come off, the radiator shuts down, and the room returns to its natural state of iciness.

But this winter in NYC has been a little different. For all the snow we've had, it's also been unseasonably warm in between storms. Yesterday was one of those days that felt sort of like a chilly spring day.

And yet, my radiator was running FULL BLAST. Hissing. All. Day. Long.

I came home from church and was quickly forced to peel my clothing off due to the fact that I was, almost immediately dripping with sweat and having trouble breathing.

By evening, I decided enough was enough. I had heard people talking about their radiators a few days earlier. Apparently, (and this was news to me) the little knob on the side of the blasted thing can actually be TURNED. This either opens or closes the thing so you can decide if you want a little randomly erupting volcano in your apartment or if you'd rather play it old school and take a chance with the elements.

I touched the knob of the hissing radiator quickly. Yep. Pretty hot. Looks like I'll need a towel or something. Ow! One towel isn't gonna cut it. This thing is HOT.

My hands awkwardly covered with a towel and a thick pair of exercise pants, I began turning the knob.

Now which way is it? Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey. But is that right TOWARD me? Or right in relation to the KNOB? Hmm. This thing sure feels loose--

BLAM!

The knob flew across the room and high-pressure, boiling-hot steam LOUDLY blasted out of the radiator and singed my hands.

And it wasn't stopping.

Think quickly. You've got to plug up that hole.

I can't plug up the hole. There's hot steam coming out of it and a frightening rate. And it's LOUD.

I don't care. You HAVE to plug it up or stop it somehow.

Okay, okay. Uhh...holy crap. The apartment is getting really full of steam.

Yes it is. Quick. Stop THINKING and open the window as wide as it can go.

Done. Whoa! It's like a sauna in here! There's so much steam I can't see anything!

Don't just stand there! Open the door too!

Okay! Okay. That's a little better, but the steam is still blasting out of the radiator.

Find that knob and try to put it back on.

What? Are you crazy? How am I supposed to do that??

You HAVE to do that!

Uhh...okay. There's the knob. It's cool enough that I can hold it without burning myself...

Get that towel and maybe something else to cover your hand while you do this!

Okay. Here goes--bwahhh! It's like trying to stop the flow of a stream of water! I'm getting hot steam in my face!

Almost there!

THERE. It's back in. Sort of. But there's a lot of pressure behind it.

Whatever you do, don't let it go.

BLAM!

What are you waiting for? Call the super!

Yes! The super! I'll call him! Let me go outside. He won't be able to hear me over the noise of the steam.

Did you call him?

Yes! I told him it was an emergency but he didn't believe me! He said he'd come check it out tomorrow morning.

What??

I begged him to PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE come down NOW and check out what was going on! That this was a MAJOR EMERGENCY for the entire building! He finally sighed and said he'd come down here in a few minutes.

What??

Yeah. I know. Holy cow. There's the neighbor. He looks concerned that something bad may be happening to our building.

You might ask him if he knows what to do.

No dice. He's now standing in my doorway, looking at the steam and smoking a freakin' cigarette. Great. Now I've got steam AND smoke in here!!

Jerk!

Holy crap! My new TV! My computer!! They're being STEAMED!

Steam rises! Put the TV flat on the floor NOW!

DONE! Holy crap! I just paid it off YESTERDAY and now THIS happens! It's going to be destroyed! I just know it!

You can't win, Fork.

I can't! Oh man! There's the super! He's got a look of fear and horror in his eyes!

He didn't believe you! He's a jerk too!

He believes me now though. And...oh no.

What is it?

He doesn't speak English.

Quick! Use sign language! Pantomime!

I am! I am! I think he's starting to understand!

Quick! Where's the knob?

Here!

Give it to him!

Okay! He's got the knob back in!

BLAM!

It came out again! Oh GAWD, what am I gonna DO??

You could always call 911.

That's a dumb idea. What are they going to do? It's not a fire. Why can't this stupid super go down and turn off the boiler??

I don't think he understands how it works.

Wait, he said he'd be right back. He's leaving.

Well, you can't just stand there while your apartment gets steamed! Try to plug it up until he gets back!

Okay--OW! The knob is freakin' HOT.

TRY!! You have to TRY!

All right! I'll do it!

Did you get it? The hissing seems to have stopped.

YES. It's in. I'm holding it here but it's not on right. It's plugging the hole but I can't screw it on. Oh man. I'm not moving. I'm going to stay RIGHT HERE all night. I can't let this come off again. When the super gets back, I'll BEG him to go down to the basement and turn off the boiler so we can screw the knob back on without getting third degree burns.

Smart move.

The super is back. No, Pancho, everything is NOT fine. Go to the basement and TURN OFF THE BOILER.

He doesn't understand you. He just stood there and blinked.

Great. This is just great. I'm just going to sleep here tonight and hold the knob. I'm not letting this thing go again.

He looks like he's got a new knob.

It looks exactly like the old one. What difference will that--? NO! No. I'm not chancing it. What if he can't get the new knob on? What if one of us gets seriously burned?? We're not equipped to deal with something like this!

He looks pretty confident. Maybe you should trust him.

Maybe he should just TURN THE FREAKIN' BOILER OFF!

I don't think that's going to happen. Unless you know the Spanish word for boiler.

Boilerema? Boileremo? Boilamento?

Nope. Not working.

Okay. You're right. I'm giving it to him. But I can't bear to watch. I'm going downstairs to the front until this is all over.

I can't hear the steam blast anymore.

Do you think it stopped?

There's Pancho. Ask him.

He said, "Is good." Oh thank GOD. I was afraid he was going to say, "Is bery bad."

So the ordeal is over, huh? You can rest easy.

Not quite. The radiator is still running full-blast. It's not turning off.

Don't those things usually cycle on and off?

Yes. But this one isn't doing that at all. It's been hissing like this for two days straight and it's boiling hot in here.

At least the steam has stopped though.

Yes, that's true.

It was like that episode of I Love Lucy.

Yeah. But--shut up, this is serious. Now what do I do?

Sleep with the windows open and all your fans on. You can call the landlord tomorrow.

Oh man. This was the most horrible...I'm going to have nightmares about this.

Why?

Because I felt so helpless. It was so awful and there was no sign of it stopping. All that steam. No way to stop it... I mean...look. There are burn marks all over the towel I used to hold the knob in place.

It was a nightmare.

Yes, it was a nightmare. And on one level it still IS. What if Pancho didn't get the knob back in all the way? What if it blows out again while I'm sleeping? The radiator isn't cycling on and off like it's supposed to. What if there's something wrong with the boiler? What if the building is in danger?

Whoa whoa whoa...

I feel like I've been traumatized.

Well, you have been. A little.

And what's worse, in situations like this, I feel like God doesn't exist.

Whoa there Fork. I think you're just overexcited.

No, I'm serious. Why does this kind of stuff happen? This was utterly terrifying. My fingers are burned. My stuff has been damaged. I have NO control over this. I feel helpless and small and nobody cares. Where the crap was God when this happened? I feel like He exists at church and in spiritual matters, but when it comes to the physical, real-world problems...what the crap?

The radiator blew up because you don't live in a whimsical fantasy world where you make a wish and bad things stop. There's order. And sometimes that order results in unpleasantness.

Yeah, but what? What am I supposed to walk away with here? Was this some sort of life lesson? Am I supposed to think there was a REASON for this happening? The only person affected here was ME. And possibly the super.

I don't know. Maybe you'll see it a couple of days. You never know. Maybe there's something wrong with the building and this needed to happen so the landlord would come and discover the problem before something REALLY bad happened?

Possibly. I'm going to ponder this for a few days. In the meantime, the radiator is still hissing full-blast, the apartment is still super-hot, the fans are on, the windows are open... And I have no control. I'm helpless here.

You're being dramatic.

I'm being dramatic because I'm THINKING about this. I'm trying to rationalize. Good grief, you're just like my parents. They think I'm ridiculous when I try to process deep thoughts and feelings in front of them.

Just try and relax. Everything will work out. It always does.

Yeah. I guess you're right.

Entertainments

2011-01-05T18:56:00.002-06:00

Brief Encounter and the Pee-wee Herman Show were both great fun, packed with theatrical tricks and surprises. Too bad they're closed now.

As is the dreary Haunted, starring a dynamite Brenda Blethyn. Why playwrights insist on writing things nobody would WANT to see is a mystery to me.

The Illusionist--Sylvain Chomet's follow-up to his wonderful though somewhat meaningless look at the grotesque side of how we entertain ourselves, the Triplets of Belleville--does, indeed, have a moral. Points for that. The downside is the moral is--well. I won't spoil it for you. In spite of that, the film is still well-made, mostly dialogue-free and aurally rich (as Triplets was), and mature in the way that the really great anime films of Japan are.

Odd Couple

2010-11-18T21:25:00.002-06:00

Forkish review of Broadway play 'Elling'.

Wonderful show, delightfully performed by a cast of television and Hollywood character actors who--surprise, surprise--can do theatre. O'Hare is magnificent and Coolidge does her trademark thing to hilarious effect, even if the old folks didn't quite get it.

I've long been a secret fan of Mr. Fraiser as I've suspected he knows full well how absurd the Hollywood "thing" is as he seems only to choose projects that are fun. He's a far cry from his George of the Jungle days but he's clearly having a ball on the stage and gives the show much of its heart.

Scene changes are also helped along by a soundtrack that feels deliberate and part of the show, either fading into a radio playing in the background or stopping as soon as the lights come back up. Whoever came up with that, thank you. It feels so clean. The slow audio fade out as lights slowly fade up needs to go.

This Norwegian 'Odd Couple' is an absolute breath of fresh air, pure escapism in a time when such entertainments are sorely needed and greatly appreciated. Deftly directed, graciously apolitical, and mercifully NOT GAY, the story shows us a deep friendship between two very 'rare' men (to use their word) in an unassuming relationship that American men can no longer have with one another.

Loved it. I'd see it again in a second.

Driving Miss Crazy

2010-10-19T10:31:00.002-05:00

Fork-sized reviews of Broadway revivals La Bete and Driving Miss Daisy

Recession is here. Plays the new big thing on Broadway, minimal sets, tiny casts, hefty star-power. But is fame enough...?

La Bete, a revival of 90s play that ran for, like, two performances, stars David Hyde Pierce, Joanna Lumley, Mark Rylance. Shakespeare-type (Hyde Pierce) being forced by Queen (Lumley) to bring Shrek-esque buffoon (Rylance) into acting troupe because she thinks he's funny. Interesting piece on the hows and whys of society allowing low art to be elevated to high art, while high art becomes an object of scorn among the masses who, at the end of the day, don't care about iambic pentameter and just want to be entertained.

Sets, costumes, etc., etc., the elements are there, lovely, creative, perhaps a bit inconsistently literal. Hyde Pierce and Lumley simply spectacular. May inquire at box office to see how much it would cost to slip in for their closing monologues in the last 30 minutes of the 2 hour play.

Why just last 30 minutes? Because if I have to sit through Rylance's somebody-shoot-me-please-I-beg-of-you-I-can't-take-anymore AWFUL comedic stylings again, all the cheer and goodwill I have left will be permanently sucked out of me. What, I believe, should have been the embodiment of every handsome, self-absorbed, pseudo-intellectual actor you've ever disliked, is interpreted here as a Jerry Lewis/Adam Sandler (in his early days) type of mental retard who takes a dump behind Shakespeare's bookshelf, cannot make eye contact with anyone in an irritating childlike manner, drops the end of 2/3 of all his lines for comic effect which gets old after the first 45 minutes, farts, belches, spits, strips, basically delights the dumbed-down audience so Hyde Pierce can turn around at the end of the play and tell me and three other people who want to gouge out our eyes that we must defend art from the people sitting around us.

Successful? Sure. But this isn't Theatre of Cruelty. It's Broadway and most people are paying $121.50 to be entertained, not tortured ($35 for me. Thanks, TDF!) I've never had anyone shoot to the top of my MUST MISS list faster than Mark Rylance who pulled almost exactly the same shtick in Boeing Boeing, and how he continues to steal all the reviews is quite beyond me. 15 minute monologue delivered by actor, while dazzling the folks who still wonder how actors "memorize all those lines" utterly excruciating.

Hyde Pierce and Lumley, however, positively light up the stage (Lumley quite literally). If you can stomach the 21st Century's Jerry Lewis acting like an barking idiot for 45 minutes you'll be treated to a handful of wonderful monologues by these two.

Driving Miss Daisy. Vanessa Redgrave (THE Vanessa Redgrave!), James Earl Jones, Boyd Gaines. 90 minutes. Drab set. Unfortunate costumes. Okay. So the color and sparkle will come from Redgrave and Jones, right?

Sad to say, once again, another tiny cast with a weak line that, in this case, renders the show difficult to watch. Gaines is great in the thankless role of Miss Daisy's exposition-spouting son, and Jones defies expectations as Hoke, giving a swell, if a bit emotionally heavy-handed, performance which is likely to delight Star Wars fans the world over.

Unfortunately, someone needs to tell Ms. Redgrave that merely speaking with a false Southern accent does not a genteel Southern lady make. More to it than that. Don't know why they keep putting British actresses in roles which require Southern accents--they can never do the Rs and the As. When Redgrave first comes on stage mixing cake batter, looking extremely awkward doing so, you know this doesn't bode well. Moving too much, pantomiming, it's too much, too unreal, and, worst of all, too phoned-in. Tender moment teaching Hoke to read is reduced to Redgrave clowning and dropping all pretense of character. Two sneezes during the show reminded me of the studies done attempting to understand why actors "in the moment" NEVER SNEEZE on stage.

A little heavy-handed on the "THIS IS SEGREGATION" side of things. We get it, okay? We're not stupid.

Then again, based on audience response to Rylance in La Bete, maybe we are.

My job

2010-10-19T10:28:00.001-05:00

Aaand now I'm a werewolf with raptor feet.

I have the coolest job in the world.

*does more pull ups, crunches*

Howling

2010-09-27T14:30:00.002-05:00

A dog has been howling in a nearby apartment for days and days.

It seems whenever the owner of this stupid animal leaves, it begins howling. And the howling does not stop until the owner returns around 11pm.

If you live in Hell's Kitchen, right here in the heart of Manhattan, and know where this howling is coming from, please let me know so I can do what that person's neighbors SHOULD have done two weeks ago and called freakin' 311!!!!!!

But that's really the trouble with New York City, isn't it? Some unseen person can be smoking near their window in a downstairs apartment and sending the smoke into all the open windows above him. Someone can have a dog which howls every minute on the minute for 8 hours a day that the rest of the block has to suffer through. Some filthy person in some apartment has bedbugs and the entire building becomes infested.

What the crap are those of us suffering from these people's lack of consideration supposed to do about it? There's nothing you CAN do, it seems to me. Other than stare at the wall and wonder why you pay a zillion dollars a month for a little square room with paper-thin walls and neighbors whose noises, smells, and lives just WON'T STAY OUT when you could pay the same amount elsewhere and have a HOUSE.

I'm just saying.

New Sculpture

2010-09-26T21:44:00.000-05:00

Drawing Competition: Days 3 & 4

2010-09-02T21:10:00.002-05:00

Yep. My brain is fried.

You can't stand in silence for 8 hours a day with a room full of people staring at you and not walk away a little shaky.

It's been fun though. I decided to get to know everybody yesterday. I had had it with the dread silence. So on the little breaks instead of collapsing into a chair and taking a four minute nap, I walked around the room and struck up conversations.

Made everyone a little more relaxed, I think. Hey, I want them to be successful as much as I want to avoid going completely bonkers from this experience.

Almost over. This one's different from the sculpture competish. I honestly don't know HOW they'll pick a winner. The drawings are...

Well... you'll see.

Drawing Competition: Days 1 & 2

2010-08-31T21:04:00.004-05:00

At this point I sort of know if the new pose is going to be a huge mistake or not.

This one's not so bad.

Days 1 & 2 down of the Classical Drawing Contest at the Fancy-Schmancy School of Old School Art. School.

Three more days to go. That's 24 hours. Yes, modeling for 8 hours a day. Even I'M ashamed at how naked I am.

But I'm not always. I bought a designer bathrobe from Bloomingdales. It was on sale. So instead of paying $40, I got it for $18. Not bad. With the beard it makes me look extra-biblical. And by extra-biblical I mean, like, the Book of Enoch.

20 minutes on the stand with a pole in my right hand, slight bend of the right knee, contrapposto, head turned to the left, looking downward, like some sort of weary shepherd who's lost his clothes in the recent hurricane.

Other than that, I'm spending a lot of time on my super-lame iPhone 3GS (see above picture). It's incredible how Apple managed to, so effortlessly, turn this thing I loved into something I HATE. That's advertising!

So there you go. None of the colorful personalities from the sculpture competition two years ago. I'm also not allowed to take pictures of the drawings on my breaks so I can't post any progress shots.

I CAN say though, that this is one serious group of artists. It's SO quiet in there. So intense. Makes me crazy. Seriously. I have zero interaction with people from dawn to dusk. I just stand there on the stand, both TOTALLY isolated AND the object of everyone's COMPLETE attention. I think all the modeling is starting to make me a little crazed. Seriously. I'm getting TOO much time to just stand around and think.

I should be DOING things. Like lifting heavy objects.

Oh yeah. I'm having a fun time messing with some of the old timers. We'll be on break and I'll be looking at a drawing with one of the other artists I've worked with before and I'll mournfully whisper, "I am SO fat..."

I actually got one of the guys to become concerned.

I'm so mean.

Why Context Is Important

2010-08-12T17:38:00.004-05:00

I've posted this before but I thought I'd throw it back up here because it's just too funny. And a very good object lesson in why it's important to put things in their proper context!

My Take on the Cordoba House

2010-08-08T15:19:00.002-05:00

Mischief in Manhattan

We Muslims know the Ground Zero mosque is meant to be a deliberate provocation

My main reason for posting the link to the above article is because lots of friends on facebook have posted pro-Cordoba Institute articles and opinions. I think it's important to see the other side too--while some see this as a religious freedom issue, others see it as a political move.

I tend to agree with the writers of this article who are Muslims thems elves. I'm all for wanting to heal and build unity. 100%. A friend of mine wisely observed, you don't heal in someone else's cemetery. He mentioned to me the proposed convent that the Catholic church was going to build right next to Auschwitz, but when they saw the hurt the proposed project was causing people--people who needed to go there to grieve and heal--the church moved it a few miles away out of respect for those people.

Perception is reality. While opening a major Islamic center in that area on 9-11-11 is viewed by some as an attempt to heal and build bridges, it is also important to realize it is viewed by others to be an affront. It is too painful for them.

Instead of thumbing our noses at those people who are hurting, those who lost loved ones and family members in the attacks, and call them bigots, racists, and religiously intolerant--that they are monsters who are operating only out of hate and fear--I think we must show compassion. I didn't lose anybody on 9-11 but I can imagine what that would be like. I can watch the videos of people jumping out of those buildings, I can listen to the audio of people on their phones at the moment the buildings they're in begin to collapse.

I realize the attacks are not necessarily, in-and-of-themselves, a reflection of all of Islam. But I also have to recognize that many people, Muslims included, D O see it that way. Is that just their incorrect perception? Possibly. Is that just their problem? Maybe. I believe it's important to correct incorrect perceptions, but I wonder if there aren't better/gentler ways of going about it. Again, it goes back to compassion. If this is about healing the community, how can we all heal such that it benefits the most people IN the community?

So how near is too near? How soon is too soon? I don't know. I have to go with my gut on this one. And I do know that we typically see something like a ten-year anniversary of an event as a significant date. And the times we're living in, with tensions around the world, economic fears at home, people are stressed out! These are UNUSUAL, stressful times! I think we all can agree on that.

Just things to think about. That's all. No offense intended.

God and Toy Story 3

2010-07-09T20:41:00.005-05:00

From my understanding, Toy Story 2 was originally conceived as a direct-to-DVD sequel in which there is a worldwide Buzz Lightyear recall and all the toys team up to rescue their pal from exile in Asia.

Pixar didn't want to do a sequel. However, Disney gave Pixar an ultimatum. Either you do it or we do it. One way or another, it's gonna be made.

And we all know what happened there.

Pixar managed to touch on many of the eternal elements we all must come to grips with that made J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan the classic (and, as far as I'm concerned, THIS side of divinely inspired) that it is. Toy Story 2 ends with Woody and Buzz accepting the fact that someday Andy will grow up and the gang will all be thrown away. But at least they'll have LIVED. They'll be together in the landfill. And what a ride it will have been, huh? As Peter would say, "an awfully big adventure."

Fortunately, Pixar spared us the torture of witnessing Woody and Buzz tumbling into the landfill.

But then Disney told Pixar to make a third.

And a cathartic, melancholy masterpiece--a truly painful moviegoing experience as far as I'm concerned--was created.

We all must grow up. We all must put our childhoods behind us. And, just as our toys go to the landfill, someday, so will we.

But no one wants to SEE that HAPPEN.

Unfortunately, that's what Toy Story 3 is all about.

Last summer, my generation was forced to look their mortality in the face when Michael Jackson suddenly died. 30-somethings all over New York sat in coffee shops, living rooms, wherever, in a state of shock. Michael Jackson. Thriller. Bad. But it wasn't the weirdo entertainer who may or may not have had the Elephant Man's remains stuffed inside his hall closet. (I'm not sure where they ever settled on that one...) that we wept for.

It was what his music REPRESENTED. It wasn't just a record or a tape or CD. It was an ERA of our lives. An era that many of us never realized had LONG since passed us by.

And here we are. Suddenly realizing that we AREN'T kids anymore. We're not even "guys" and "girls". We're MEN and WOMEN now. We're freakin' ADULTS. And we ALL know what comes after that.

It's not that Woody is just a THING. Yeah, he's just a cowboy doll. But it's what Woody REPRESENTS in Andy's fatherless life (anybody else notice that?) that makes Toy Story 3 feel vaguely like a funeral. Like, a really SAD funeral.

And while I'm tempted to say Pixar went too far with this (my complete disbelief of the climactic scene was eclipsed when I was JUST able to choke down a torrent of tears over the *gotcha* ending), there's something a little bit healthy about remembering that permanence is an illusion.

Inevitably, all good things must come to an end. As Mr. Darling says of his children to Nana in the Disney version of Peter Pan, "They're not puppies, they're people. And sooner or later, Nana, people have to grow up."

*SPOILER ALERT*

At the beginning of the film, Andy has decided to put all his favorite old toys in the attic. Unfortunately, through a terrible mix-up, they wind up on the curb and narrowly miss being consumed by the monstrous garbage truck.

Woody, who is the only one to have missed this episode, tries to convince the other toys of Andy's steadfast love.

"Oh yeah?" says Jessie the cowgirl, "If Andy really LOVES us SO MUCH, how come he just THREW US AWAY?"

"Yeah, I know it LOOKS bad," says Woody, "But I promise Andy wants to SAVE us."

"No, Woody. It's over. We're LEAVING."

In the same way that this movie, perhaps unwittingly, wound up being one of my favorite film examples of what happens when we fall into temptation and the frightening consequences of opening doors we KNOW should remain closed, Toy Story 3--somehow or other--is a story about faithfulness.

Sure, the Andy=God, toys=humanity metaphor isn't ENTIRELY consistent (So is Bonnie the Holy Spirit?), but when it's on... golly bob-howdy. It yanked a couple of tears out of these baby blues.

Consider the toys arrival at Sunnyside Daycare. During their tour of this supposed paradise, Lotso the Bear explains to them that, "Here WE are masters of our destiny." They are free from questioning the whims of their fickle masters--THEY are in charge.

"Andy doesn't love you. Children never REALLY love their toys."

And though they are presented with an opportunity to escape and return to their master, the gang is convinced. Andy can't be trusted. This is their home now.

However, it quickly becomes apparent that Buzz and Jessie and the gang's decision to stay on in this new "paradise" was the wrong one. The promises of this world are revealed to be a lie. As one of the Sunnyside old-timers observes, our Toy Story friends "won't last a week" before they are completely savaged by the daycare toddlers and thrown into the dumpster.

Suddenly, a battered Mrs. Potato Head (whose other eye was lost in Andy's room at the beginning of the film) receives a vision. She sees Andy through her lost eye.

"It's Andy!" she cries. "He looks upset. Why--He's LOOKING for us!" (cue tears)

The reality of the situation slams them like a hyperactive one-year-old. The filthy, battered toys, doubting the goodness faithfulness of their owner, have willfully walked into a prison of their own choosing.

As I mentioned before, I almost question the tastefulness of the final climactic set piece--it's a bit TOO shocking--but when salvation comes, well. It's a pretty freakin' vivid example of what happens to us when WE obtain salvation. Plucked out of a sinking world...

Sorry. I can't help but see these things. I'll let you watch the rest of the movie yourself. Just bring a couple of hankies.

Oh the Humanity

2010-06-29T17:45:00.003-05:00

The summer months are all up on us.

And it's really hot in New York City.

This is a frustrating place to live.

No matter where you go there are people. And no matter how nice of a person you THINK you are, when you have to walk through massive crowds every day, eventually you get tired of it. And what happens? You become mean on the sidewalks. You just wish people would practice common sense and look where they're going.

You learn to HAAAAAAATE people.

Then there are the beggars. You get to know them. There are the beggars on 8th Avenue who are there all the time. Like the large lady who leans against the wall and croaks, "Spaaaare chaaaaange?" every single day. Or another beggar whom I overheard telling one of his buddies that you can't make a lot of money on this corner. Or another who gets a dollar from a tourist then immediately puts it in his pocket to make the cup look empty.

But the problem here is... some of them are actually REAL beggars, not career beggars.

And what do you do about THAT? Here I am with a pocket full of change and I walk past some guy who quietly asks if I have any change. I do the New York thing and pretend I didn't hear him. Then I realize, "HEY! He might have been for real! But I can't turn AROUND!! New Yorkers don't stop and turn around! They ALWAYS keep walking forward!" (I know. It sounds crazy. But it's totally true)

I guess the point is you use a combination of discretion mixed with faith that the Lord will take care of it. Keep your heart tender, don't buy them booze or crack. And when in doubt, offer to buy them a coffee.

Then there was the little old lady on the corner of 49th and Broadway.

All gussied up as if she just came from church. I'm waiting for the signal to change so I can cross. She bends over. It looks like she dropped something and is trying to find it.

Except she keeps going down and down until she's on her hands and knees. Then she totally barfs. All over the place.

The tourists said, "EW!" and kept walking. I kind of freaked out. I crossed and began to pass the poor creature. Then I stopped and made like I just got an email on my phone while I tried rapidly to think of what the crap I should do.

Fortunately, some older gentleman got to her and started asking if she was okay. That gave me the courage to run over and help him get the lady to her feet and offer to make a phone call.

Quivering, she said she was fine but thank you.

I started to walk away when it occurred to me she might not have just collapsed because of some violent illness, but maybe was just drunk from too many St. Thomas Bloody Marys.

But I don't know that! For all I knew she was DYING!

And then there are the couple of bodies I've seen on the sidewalk. Homeless guys. Just...lying there. Sprawled out on the pavement. And they didn't APPEAR to be breathing.

I mean, what the crap y'all? What's a person supposed to DO? The answers seem SO easy, SO obvious. But WAIT until it happens in front of you. It's really easy to just pretend you didn't see it or that someone has already informed the authorities or an ambulance.

I maintain that you can't really be a really REAL Christian, like, a mature Christian until you've been hit in the face with humanity. Like, THIS kind of humanity. The kind that says, "DO SOMETHING!" but you wind up feeling totally scared or powerless to do anything. And the voices tell you, "Just keep walking. They're probably drunk. It's not your problem."

But it IS your problem! But you HAVE to do something. That's the POINT. COMPASSION! MERCY!

And you think the strangest things when you're in a crowd... Lately, all I can think when I'm getting into a subway car is, "And all of these people expect to get Christmas presents."

All this said, New York is cool, but man. It's not an easy place to live. I miss being in places where the most interaction you have with strangers comes from accidentally locking eyes with them on the freeway.

Surprise

2010-06-23T23:09:00.001-05:00

I'm surprised by how VERY careful I have to be around people sometimes. I'm always pissing people off.

Goo

2010-06-09T10:59:00.002-05:00

I just did my first full-body cast for a studio that makes realistic mannequins for museums.

It was really cool. Except for the fact that I was basically covered from head to toe in petroleum jelly.

Now I know how that pelican felt. Only the pelican was just minding his own business. Maybe he was going to pick up some milk and butter from the store. I don't know.

One thing I DO know; he wasn't about to have a full-body cast of himself made while striking a heroic pose.

I also learned that dishwashing soap really is good for cutting the grease!

First, it's best to shave as much of the hair off your body as you can stand without feeling ashamed. Because when they peel you out of the cast, they're peeling your knuckle-hairs out too.

Fortunately, I've had a lot of experience dealing with pain in my life. So I just take a deep breath and keep reminding myself this discomfort is far less than the pain I'd feel if I were having shoots of bamboo jammed up my remaining 9 toenails.

Heroic pose. Soldier. The Everyman (5'9'', 150lbs, Caucasian, brown hair, blue eyes) Goes to War.

Once the pose was set, they fastened these padded bars all around me, sort of like a cage. A very TIGHT cage. Then I could lean on them and relax a little since it takes time for the plaster to dry.

Part 1 was the lower body. Part 2 was the upper body. They didn't get the green light to make it into a trilogy, however, because I have a big bushy beard. The studio director has begged me to shave so they can do body and face casts.

Hmm. Well. I don't KNOwwwwwwwwww. Seeing my heroic, athletic likeness in museums all around the world... or keep Theodore.

I'll keep Theodore.

But if he gets outta line...whoooooo. Just. WATCH OUT.

The Voice of Reason

2010-05-30T17:23:00.014-05:00

I has a beard.

Huh. So this is what it's like to have hair growing out of your face.

Most people ask two questions:

1. Doesn't it get hot?

and

2. Isn't it itchy?

These questions have very simple answers.

1., No. In fact, I often forget it's there unless I reach up to scratch my nose and my hand gets tangled up in it. Now I don't get the cool breeze hitting my face like I did when I was a clean-shaven poodle. But am I sweating under this thing? Do cats sweat under their fur coats?

2., It itches until about the third week, then it's over. It's mostly just really soft. And weird. I mean, it's hair but it's on your face.

It's just been such an interesting experience. Most people who haven't seen me in a while are fairly horrified when they see me. Well, maybe not horrified. Maybe just shocked. Like the guest pastor of our church and his wife. His wife is a proper Southern lady and I think she was a little repulsed.

But the thing is I couldn't go the short beard route. The density on my cheeks is pathetic. The only option was to go big and see if the hair would get long enough to cover over the thin spots.

And the only way to know if that would work was to give it the 10-12 week test.

Yes, 10-12 weeks.

I don't know where the crap men get the idea that you should be able to sprout a full beard in three weeks, but that's what I understood pretty much since I first started shaving.

That's like saying you should be able to go from bald to having a full head of luxurious hair in three weeks. Let's think about this y'all. The average human's hair grows at a rate of about half an inch every month.

The first couple of months were awful. I felt horrible about myself. Everywhere I went, everyone I saw...I could feel the judgment.

"You know, there's an easy fix for that. People wouldn't think badly of you if you just shaved."

Well I know that. But the experiment wasn't to see how fast I could wimp out. It was to see if I could grow a beard.

So yeah. I thought my face was a joke. That there was no way I could pull this off. I was doomed to having a little boy's face for the rest of my life. Every day I decided I'd just give it ONE MORE day.

It was a really emotional experience. After the second month I actually had nightmares that I'd look in the mirror and see a face that wasn't mine. It was really strange.

But what do you know? It came in. I have a beard now.

I just finished month 5 and I have developed a really big problem.

I like it.

I like my beard.

But the world is telling me to shave it off. It's getting in the way of all the showbiz stuff. No one wants a young man with a big beard to walk into their audition room.

Bill: Hey Mitch. How's the sign-up for the audition looking?

Mitch: Pretty good Bill. Got lots of people today. But man, I sure hope we don't get any young men with big beards today.

Bill: Oh I know. They're the worst.

Mitch: I know, right?

See what I mean?

"It's kind of like when you had that shoulder-length hair. You looked ridiculous with long hair. I mean, think of your facial structure. Long hair just doesn't work with your cheekbones. A few months after you come to your senses and shave off the beard, you'll look back on pictures of yourself and wonder what the crap you were thinking growing a big Santa Claus beard like that while you still had your youthful good looks. A waste of time if you ask me."

Well, honestly now, I'd probably just get bored with it and shave it off myself if it weren't for the fact that people keep insisting I do it. That's what I did with my ponytail. But people were more accepting of the ponytail because it wasn't growing out of my face. I cut it off willingly...gladly even! But with the beard I'm anticipating the day when the Delilahs hold me down and sheer me like a sheep--snip the masculinity from off my face.

As a result, I've wound up becoming very protective/defensive of it. I'd probably have shaved it off by now if it weren't for them.

The hardest part of the whole beard thing is I feel like I just can't go home and see my family. That's the hardest part. Because MAN, I've gotta get outta this City. My nerves are fried. Everywhere I go, there are people. Any time I try to walk somewhere, crowds. My new neighbor slams his door really loudly which shakes the walls--and he's always forgetting something so there are about four to six huge slams before it all stops.

When you casually walk into a crowded subway car and suddenly find yourself fighting the urge to start crying, it's time for a little vaycay.

But the whole going home thing is tricky. Because I've done something no other man in my family has done since probably sometime in the 18th Century. I grew a beard. And it's not little. It's big. They already think I stink. Adding the beard to the picture will just make things worse.

"You could always shave it. Then people wouldn't pick on you because you wouldn't look like a freak."

You can't make me. I'm going to keep it if I want to.

"Well, enjoy having people making homeless cracks and not being able to audition for anything."

...I hate you.

"Hey, I'm just telling you the truth. You came up to New York to become a professional actor, not find yourself. As it is, the longer you resist adopting a commercial look the more time and money you're throwing away to live in a noisy, filthy City that's probably gonna be nuked in the next ten years anyway."

I have issues! I just turned 30! I'm trying to figure out what the crap happened to my life! I like acting but I don't think I want to be an actor. I feel so empty!

"..."

Aren't you going to say something? Make some bitingly truthful comment?

"I think you already know the answer to the questions you're asking."

Why do people always say that to me? They always say that.

"Because it's true. If you want to go the rest of your life being some sort of hairy mountain man, you have to leave New York. You even said your nerves were shot. Living in Manhattan isn't going to get any more peaceful. If you're not going to do what you came up here to do you should leave."

But...I don't...I don't want to leave! Why can't I have it both ways?

"See, this is your problem, Fork. You're too childlike in your thinking."

I am?

"Yes. You majored in theatre. Why?"

Because you're supposed to major in things you love to do.

"Um. WRONG."

What?

"You're not supposed to do that. You're supposed to major in something that looks like it may lead to a lucrative career."

You are?

"Yes, Fork. Geeze. Didn't anybody tell you that?"

No.

"You know, most people don't actually like what they do. That's probably news to you."

Well, I never thought about that. I just figured people did what they liked. They went to school and studied subjects that were interesting to them and then they left school and did those things and enjoyed their jobs.

"Oh that's precious."

What is?

"What I've been saying. You're 30 years old and you still think and act like a little boy."

I'm not a little boy!

"Yes you are."

No I'm not! Do you see this beard on my face?! This is the beard of a mighty, mighty man! Guys stop me on the street to tell me how awesome it is! People wish they had the determination I have!

"..."

What??

"You know you're putting all this on your blog."

...yeah. So?

"Don't you think that's kind of weird? I mean, sharing all these personal feelings with the entire internet?"

Well you're the one who kept bringing it up.

"No. I was just saying what your readers were already thinking. I'm the Voice of Reason."

Hey! You're the guy who's been driving me crazy the past couple of months.

"One of them."

Why can't you shut up?

"Because if I shut up you'll be all alone in the Big City. A lamb among wolves. I'm the reason you practice restraint in your life and why you impose order on the chaos you've chosen for yourself. I'm the reason you haven't squandered all your savings on video games and iPads and TVs and digital cameras."

I have an iPad.

"But I made sure you didn't get it until I was certain you had more than enough cash to do it. And even then, I still think that was a stupid idea. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to live up here?"

Of course I do. I've lived here for almost four years.

"Then you should know better than anyone that summer is coming and your electricity bill is about to double. And, in some months, triple. And you just HAD to go out and buy a stupid iPad."

But...I like it...

"It's a toy, Fork. You can't eat an iPad. You can't turn it on and make your apartment cooler so you can sleep through the night or drown out the sound of your neighbor slamming the door at 3am."

I know...

"It's a money guzzler. Have you ever stopped to add up how much all those apps cost over time?"

I know...

"All you have to do is shave your ugly beard and you can audition again. Maybe you'll actually get cast in something that pays money. Maybe a lot of money. Then you can buy whatever you want."

But I don't care about buying whatever I want. It isn't the money. It's the stuff. It's the cool toys. Besides, I want to do something meaningful with my life.

"So you don't want to be an actor anymore. Then give up this charade."

I didn't say I wanted to do that...

"Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless."

Aw, don't listen to him.

Who are you?

I'm the Voice of Impulse. I'm the other guy you've been listening to these past months. I'm the reason people think you're spontaneous and cool and interesting. I'm why you decided to grow a beard. I'm why people back home always want to know what you're up to. I'm why you learned the ukulele. I'm why you got your personal training certification. I'm why you moved up to New York in the first place.

"Actually, that was ME."

I'm trying to help you figure out what you're supposed to do with your life.

Well hurry it up, would you? I'm supposed to retire soon. I'm supposed to have a wife and at LEAST one kid by now. Maybe the Voice of Reason is right. Maybe I should stop listening to you.

Aw. Don't do that.

Why not?

Because then you'll be lame! If you like your beard then keep it! Add another inch!

I can't! I'll scare my niece! My acting career will dissolve into thin air! I'll be through! THROUGH!

Oh quit being so dramatic. Lighten up a little. Your niece will love you. Santa Claus has a beard.

She is terrified of Santa Claus.

Geeze, what did you do to this guy?

"I didn't do anything."

Yes you did. He's fretting. Like an old woman.

"I'm just trying to make sure he accepts responsibility for where he's headed in life. This wishy-washy nature is getting him nowhere fast. He has to start thinking about his future. Saving money. Making plans."

Keep your beard. You like it!

"Shave it. You look ridiculous and you know it!"

Keep it.

"Shave it."

Keep it!

"Shave it!"

To be continued...

Super Mario Galaxy 2

2010-05-21T19:18:00.004-05:00

'Super Mario Galaxy 2' is the Wizard of Oz.

Let me explain.

This week saw the release of 'Red Dead Redemption', a dreary, violent sandbox video game Western of bandits, gunplay and...yes! whores! from the company that brought us 'Grand Theft Auto IV'--another dreary, violent sandbox video game vaunted into the stratosphere by gaming critics but generally loathed by disappointed gamers the world over.

Gritics (gaming critics) with an almost predictable determination, announced that Game of the Year was upon us and 'Red Dead Redemption' would sweep the awards doled out by various gaming websites--watching at the end of the year as each big-name site announces their pick of GotY is perhaps the last great award 'show' that is arguably not rigged (well, as long as YOUR game wins anyway).

The announcement that GotY was finally here comes after the release of a number of other high profile games which, upon their release, were also destined to be the defining game of 2010... 'Splinter Cell: Conviction', 'God of War III', 'Bayonetta', 'Mass Effect 2' among others.

Each one epic, each one violent, and, with the exception of the almost offensively flamboyant and silly 'Bayonetta', each one a rather bleak slog of protags each more angst-filled and badass than the other, filled to the brim with steroid-pumping machismo--tales of revenge, tales of payback, tales of interplanetary warfare. The player is given a weapon and plunked down in the midst of an unfriendly world on the very brink of ruin and utter destruction (literally or figuratively).

('Bayonetta' is perhaps the most disturbing of the lot--a Frankenstein's Monster of grotesque proportions and themes, not the least of which is the concept of twisting God and His angels into villains which Bayonetta gleefully dispatches with extreme gratuity to the tune of 'Fly Me to the Moon')

If video games are art, and art reflects life, well. What more need be said?

A cursory glance at the daily headlines and a grasp of world history should tell you that the brew is coming to a boil. The horrifying story of world conflict is repeating itself as fall unravels into the winter of crisis. Riots increase, natural disasters decimate whole countries, world economies are failing, Great Depression 2.0 lurks in the wings, America marches toward an unsustainable, socialized me-first society of entitlements after bailing out the Wall Street gamblers by selling our grandchildren into slavery, hostile nations acquire weapons of the "mustn't let this fall into the wrong hands" variety, lines are being drawn, countries are choosing sides.

'Red Dead Redemption' is lauded with praise. The game that represents the best of 2010 is here.

But suddenly, here is 'Super Mario Galaxy 2'.

'Mario Galaxy 2' does what no one believed was possible. It takes everything that was wonderful about the first game and makes it even MORE wonderful. The characters, the music, the level design, the various sights and sounds... The game has been streamlined too--instead of a massive space station serving as the gateway to the different 'galaxies' Mario travels to, he controls Starship Mario, which travels, Super Mario World-style, across a level map. As a result, there's less time spent wandering around the hub and more time launching yourself back into the action to uncover the next marvel.

And marvelous they are. Though Mario has remained true to the 'enter this level, get the power star, unlock more levels, get more power stars' style since Mario 64, it still never feels old thanks to the excellent level design.

Miyamoto, Mario's creator, said in interviews of 'Galaxy 2' that the developers of the first game had so many ideas that they just couldn't fit into the first game due to their complexity and time constraints. Thus, this sequel represents all the ideas and distilled creativity the designers had in them.

Which is why, as you play, the 'galaxies' and space theme set up at the beginning of the game quickly trickle away. What we are left with, then, are levels and worlds which represent not outer space, but the creative minds of the developers themselves.

'Super Mario Sunshine' for the GameCube was maligned for its departure from Mario form (in the same way Super Mario 2/USA was when it was released). I remember reading in an interview with that game's creators that the reason for the exotic locales and the squirt gun/jetpack combo came from them sitting down and remembering their fondest memories of childhood. Vacation. Vacation far from home on an island paradise. And squirt gun fights. Lots of squirt gun fights. And dreaming about flying. What if your squirt gun could turn into a jet pack?? According to the interview, the developers were constantly saying, during the 'Sunshine' process, "Wouldn't it be FUN if we...?" and tried to fit it into the game...with admittedly varying degrees of success. It may not be 'Mario', but they still tapped into the FUN. You can't hate a game like that.

Which brings us to today: In the midst of a video gaming culture obsessed with the next jump in graphics and physics, unlockable achievements (MERCIFULLY absent from 'Galaxy 2'--enjoying the game for the game's sake...what a NOVEL idea!!), and wowing the hood-rats with yet another game in which the badass anti-hero blows stuff up or cuts off people's arms while boinking digital vixens for experience points, Mario defiantly returns in perhaps the finest form in his 30 year career to reclaim the joy of video gaming.

It represents something to this gamer. 'Mario Galaxy 2', bursting with color, fun, and goodwill is a love letter to gamers of all ages--to those who remember when SMB3 came out and memorized the instruction book and those who jumped in at New SMB Wii.

It never stops asking "wouldn't it be fun if...?" But best of all, it answers that question with enthusiasm and aplomb level after level after level. And this time it succeeds at every unbelievable turn.

The simple act of picking up a controller and moving a little man through one obstacle course after another, never knowing what's coming next. Swimming in the sea? Exploring a cave? Whatever frustrations are generated by the game's challenge are of the positive kind--"One more try. I won't be so careless next time. Let me try it once more." 'Super Mario Galaxy 2' is perhaps the purest example of the reason why I started playing games in the first place.

It was 1939. The world was embroiled in conflict. Evil was on the march. The destiny of our planet was hanging by a thread.

And in this darkest of times, they made a fairy tale.

Technicolor. Music. Dances. An adaptation of the first truly American fairy tale. Wildly imaginative characters and settings that no one had EVER seen before. Villains who were unmistakably bad and friends who were always true.

It has been said that the Wizard of Oz has so steeped itself into our cultural consciousness that not a week goes by without someone in our lives quoting one of its lines. It's not perfect, but it is a masterpiece.

One month later, World War II began.

Judy Garland sang 'Over the Rainbow', about somehow escaping this life and finding "someplace where there isn't any trouble." When viewed in that context, the song never fails to bring a tear to my eye.

I can't help but feel 'Super Mario Galaxy 2' is going to be this generation's 'The Wizard of Oz'--at least for the gaming community. A storm is on the horizon. The future is uncertain at best and quite grim at worst. And here, just as the smell of rain blows towards us and we brace ourselves for what is to come, a video game masterpiece is released that, like 'Oz' before it, briefly takes us away from nukes and debt and collapsing economies and puts us in a world of color and fun. It is more than just a game. It is a joyful celebration of the power of human creativity.

Someplace where there isn't any trouble...

Hippietown

2010-04-29T15:49:00.002-05:00

Starting month two of Primal diet.

The most incredible thing aside from the boundless energy, better attitude, and amazing six pack? I don't fart anymore. I mean, at all. I have no gas.

What I bought at Hippietown Grocery

Almond butter
Cavemen Cookies (no grain) - tropical
Organic Green Tea
Raw dried mango
Raw organic sharp cheddar cheese
Raw shelled pistachios
Organic whole milk (grass-fed cows)
X-LRG cage-free eggs

I get my fruit from the fruit stand around the corner and go with bags of frozen spinach, broccoli, collards, and brussels sprouts. You're supposed to go organic with all animal products but if it's okay if you can't with the fruits and veggies. Frozen is actually just fine, they say.

Equivocation

2010-04-28T11:15:00.000-05:00

I hate this tour.

So Ophelia dumps Hamlet because her dad wants to see how he'll respond. Determine what's causing the crazies.

Hamlet then asks "Are you honest? Are you fair?" and basically says it's better to be truthful than to be pretty because if you lie it's like turning beauty into a whore.

Basically. That's the gist. The word whore is in there.

So the kids obviously have no idea what that means. They just hear the word whore.

So a girl asks if Ophelia really is cheating on Hamlet.

The answer is NO. Hamlet isn't calling Ophelia a whore, he's imploring her to be truthful to him. And when he determines she isn't going to be up front with him, he pushes her away and tells her to go to a nunnery.

We hurt the ones we love the most. If you've read the play and understand it, you'd say something like that.

But that's not the answer that was given. Instead, we gave a fifteen minute meandering response suggesting that maybe Ophelia IS cheating on Hamlet, Hamlet is just trying to "warn everybody". Warn everybody of what? That Claudius is a psycho killer?

That's what all our answers are like. Instead of just giving the answer Shakespeare has given us, we're treated to the actors' individual interpretations of the characters and their behavior.

We don't need that. This isn't about what cool edgy thing you think you're bringing to a centuries-old character. It's about educating. It's about doing a faithful production of 'Hamlet' for a bunch of kids who have never seen it before.

The other question I love is "Do you feel all the comedy you added in takes away from the seriousness of the tragedy?"

Well duh. Yeah! Of course it does. But we can't say that. We have to each give a ten minute response that, well, in LIFE there are funny things so there are funny things in Shakespeare's tragedies. And in all Shakespeare's plays there are funny things.

Funny things, yes, but even the Gravedigger/clown has a dark edge to him that's in keeping with the melancholy, dreary Elsinore. This isn't a farce.

Today I've officially stopped caring about this show. No more. No more. It's over. Just tell me where to go and I'll put in the costume and say my lines. Just keep the paycheck coming.

Showbiz.

-- Post From My iPhork

Location:Union Turnpike,,United States

Iceberg! Right ahead!

2010-03-13T19:10:00.002-06:00

We were supposed to go out on the Damlet school tour next week. This was supposed to be our dress rehearsal weekend, culminating in a public performance on Monday evening. First school show was supposed to be Thursday.

But not anymore!

The Union just informed us the rules for educational tours have changed and our three leads are no longer able to do the show.

Yay!

The whole thing is very fishy. After playing detective, the most likely scenario is that someone really wanted their Union card and ratted out the company. They were probably thinking the Union would then FORCE the theatre company to turn the show into a Union one--in which all non-Unionites would HAVE to join in order to participate.

Well, that's certainly one way to get your card. Wish I'd thought of it.

However, that's exactly NOT what happened.

See, Union shows are really expensive because not only are you paying the actors more, you're also paying the Union.

So the OTHER alternative is to let our three leads go and replace them with non-Unionites.

One week to restage the show with an almost entirely new cast.

Never a dull moment.

2010-03-10T23:12:00.001-06:00

The World's Most Unromantic Valentine's Day Post

2010-02-11T22:13:00.007-06:00

This bitter Valentine's Day rant by a single young man rapidly approaching 30 and not getting any younger has been cancelled.

Instead...a teddy bear.

Confrontations

2010-01-24T18:54:00.005-06:00

Part of embracing my dudeness involves doing things that adult dudes do.

Last night at 3:30am, my next door neighbor gets on the phone and has a very loud conversation. Thanks to the walls of this building being paper-thin, I'm able to hear his beautiful Spanish quite clearly.

"OH COME OOOOOOOOOON," I say at the wall.

"Paquito conchillo se jabla."

"DUUUUUUDE! It's 3:30 in the f*(#!#g morning!!"

"Con queso el dorado chile vamos ahora."

So I did what every frustrated New Yorker does at this point.

I tapped on the wall.

TAP.

TAP.

TAP.

"Ocho sinco sies con Santa Maria."

Maybe he didn't hear me. Okay. You wanna play rough???

TAP.

TAP.

TAAAAAAAAAAP!!

His reply:

SLAM

SLAM

SLAAAAAAAM!!

As if to say, "Ey mang! I hear choo! Chut up!"

For some reason this filled me with dread. I pulled the covers over my head, cranked up the white noise app on my tired iPhork and rolled over.

I decided I needed to confront him about this. Oh sure. I could have done the immature thing and given him a massive taste of his own medicine. But if my years in therapy taught me anything, it's that now we handle things like adults. We do not do things like scared little boys anymore.

Now, by "confront" I don't mean "throw down" (although I did make sure my beard was fluffed and I wore my construction worker coat to make myself look as imposing as possible). What I mean is give this guy a face to associate the nebulous "next door neighbor" with. After all, if he SEES me, he'll be more likely to acknowledge subconsciously that a real person actually lives in the room next to his.

But one must also take into account that he'll probably be none too happy to see me. How does one navigate so treacherous a mine field?

The thing is, I'm a ridiculously considerate neighbor. I have so successfully applied the Golden Rule to apartment living that people either don't know I'm there or they think the walls are so thick they can be as loud as they want.

I don't want to hear them at 3 in the morning, so I make sure they never hear me. That's why all parties at Studio Forty-Fork always end well before midnight. Because what if my neighbor has to get up early tomorrow? I wouldn't want to be kept up all night if I were in his shoes.

I knocked on the door to his apartment. It took him forever to answer.

When he opened the door, I was met with a massive CLOUD of cigarette smoke.

"Jes?"

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. He looked pissed.

"Hey, I'm from next door. Listen..."

"Jes?" He said.

"I just wanted to say, I'm REALLY sorry about last night. It was late and the walls in this stupid building are so thin that I--"

"I wus beein quiet, mang. I was on de phoneg. I wussin' makeen inny noiss."

"I know. I know. I'm saying I'm sorry--"

"I am always bee-een as quiek as I cang mang. I wus jus on de phoneg. Why joo gatta tap tap TAP on my wall like that mang?"

"That's what I'm trying to say. I'm SORRY. I could tell I pissed you off and I was all--oh shit, I pissed him off (threw that in for added "buddy-buddy" effect! Sorry Mom!) and I shouldn't have done that. I won't do it again."

".........oh."

It worked. I knew it would. The ol switcheroo! The tried and true "It's not YOU. It's ME. I'M the bad one! Can you ever FORGIVE me??"

This guy was expecting the Alamo. Instead, he got San Jacinto'd. And he didn't even know it.

"So no hard feelings, right? I swear I'm not gonna blast my music to get revenge, okay! Ha ha ha!"

"Uhh...Okay. Jes. That's okay. Jes. Jeah mang. Iss okay."

I realized something through this. Even if he does occasionally keep making noise at stupid hours of the night, I can thank the good Lord above for something even more precious:

That billowing cloud of cigarette smoke somehow manages to stay on his side of the wall. And considering how miserable the last apartment was because of cigarette smoke, that is no small blessing.

And besides, if he doesn't shut up I can always call 311.

Whoops

2010-01-22T13:38:00.003-06:00

You know, heh heh... I'm known to get carried away sometimes.

I'm a passionate sort of guy.

So imagine my surprise when I should discover just now that a DRAFT of a post about Pat Robertson--one which I didn't intend to post until after I'd given it a little more thought--actually made it onto the blog?

Heh heh. Heh.

Whoops! Looks like everybody hates me now!! Maybe my stone-age friends are right--maybe all these blogs and facebooks are a really really BAD idea.

In other news, here we are at the end of January. I'm about to wrap up a two month pose at Hoity Toity School for Gifted Artists. I'd be working on the Jesus Painting (the JP) but the sides of my beard are taking a while to come in so the painter decided to postpone till March.

Which is okay. I've got another gig at Hoity Toity lined up for February. No harm in stretching things out a bit, is there?

So that's pretty much the update gang. I'm scruffier than ever before (it feels funny but I like it), still got gigs lined up a couple of months in advance, 'Hamlet' rehearsals starting soon... Yep. Things are just cookin' along.

Except for the fact that the hippie lady in the sculpture class has tried to educate me about the dangers of food. All kinds of food. Bad. Bad bad bad.

Heating food in plastic = poison (I'd actually heard that one before)
Cooked/roasted nuts, especially peanuts = cancer
Toasted food or food that's browned or blackened in any way = cancer
Flouride hidden in America's drinking water = calcium deposits in the brain
Meat of any kind = Duh. She's a hippie after all
Milk and cheeses = cancer
Wheat = poison
Vegetables that aren't fresh = worthless

The list probably goes on but those are all I can think of off the top of my head. The arguement for a lot of this stuff is that many of these things aren't actually BAD for you. It's that our food isn't fresh anymore. It's all processed.

And that sucks. Because I like food. I like eating things that taste good. I hate super-organic health snacks because they all taste like how hamster pellets smell.

Happy New Beard

2010-01-08T14:41:00.003-06:00

It's 2010. And I'm going into the tens (or is it teens?) with facial hair.

I love having a goatee. I don't think I can express how much I enjoy it with words alone, so here's a song.

There's something about it. I don't know. I look at pictures of myself with it and think my face looks complete.

It's not purely vanity. There's the Jesus painting. There's the Orion painting. There's Polonius in the upcoming 'Hamlet'.

So I NEED facial hair.

I've been able to do a really good goatee for years. But the hair on my cheeks is still rather sparse.

So as I was scouring the internet for tips on how to handle this, I came across

THE BEARD BOARD.

It's basically a support group for dudes growing beards. They post about how their wives and girlfriends do or don't like their facial hair, "No man, don't shave it...you can do it. Give it one more month", that sort of thing. Also, pictures of their faces from the nose down.

It's intense.

And there's big drama right now.

Some 22 year old Muslim with bad English just joined the board. He's decided he's tired of ignoring Allah's commandment that men must never shave. And since all of us on the board like beards, we should look into Islam because Allah likes them too.

Yeah. Seriously.

More later...

Christmas 2009

2009-12-22T12:48:00.021-06:00

We survived the blizzard of 2009 and the streets have turned to sludge. The cold wind and sidewalks packed with tourists and piles of snow make walking around the city unpleasant. And here I am, scrambling to do SOME sort of Christmas shopping before I leave for South Cuhlina on Xman Eve.

But the Christmas shopping song goes a little something like this:

"Oh boy! I've got GREAT ideas for Christmas presents!

I hope everybody likes their gifts.

I hope they do.

What if they don't?

They probably won't.

Nobody's going to like what I'm getting them. It's a bunch of junk they don't need.

They probably won't really know/care about work I'm putting into this.

It's not like I have a car, you know. I'm trudging through this gross winter weather to gather all this stuff...

And I could be using this money to buy food and pay rent!

And it's so cold outside! MAN!

Why won't these people walk faster?? The sidewalk is on the ground, not up in the sky! Freakin' tourists!

I HATE New York! If I didn't have waterproof boots I would be SO pissed off right now!!

This is STUPID! I HATE CHRISTMAS!

I'm going to Chipotle and then I'm GOING HOME."

So I haven't gotten much shopping done.

In other news, tomorrow a group of us is caroling for a bunch of sick children at the Cosmopolitan l'hopital. And by "group of us" I mean two people. Since everybody who originally signed up bailed.

So I'm back to my original thesis that, during the holidays anyway, people are generally undependable and the idea of being generous at Christmas is well-intentioned but kinda stupid because, well, honestly, there's too much going on and everybody's busy trying to create picturesque Christmas memories for themselves.

Hey, I do not blame them. We all want lovely Christmases. And if you can pull it off, go for it. Deep down, if I'm totally honest with y'all, I'm still looking for a way I can get out of this.

Sorry to be such a Debbie Downer, gang.

I think it has to do with that first Christmas I spent here in New York, all alone. Something died inside of me as I cried into my Pad Thai noodles. Or maybe it woke up.

The next Christmas was in Texas with Mom and Dad. I managed to make it home this time. But it was minuscule. It was a little bit lonely. The Grandparents weren't with us. Forkette was working at the hospital in SC as she always seems to do. Forko and Waffelle were over in Europe. It was us. Just us.

And you sort of realized the warm, gang's-all-here Christmas that you thought was magic and would last forever wasn't real.

Hence, having passed through the Vally of the Shadow of Christmas Death still standing, I no longer try to take comfort in Bing Crosby or hope for cool Nintendo games under the tree or count on a curiously quiet Baby Jesus being born to a pristine mother with manicured nails in a barn that doesn't smell like poop.

I find the current state of Christmas--that is, the Christmas most Americans celebrate...you know, the one with rows of beautiful girls doing synchronized high kicks--to be empty and utterly unsatisfying. Words cannot describe the horrors of Christmas 2008 and seeing, as if for the first time, "After Christmas Sales" on the 26th.

Are we all such suckers that we can't see the Greed Machine plowing its way through our lives, teaching us to be discontent and to hurriedly move on to the next shopping spree? Christmas, that holy time in which we celebrate the birth of a person who came to rescue a bunch of lost, lonely, forgotten, and screwed up people, lasts for twelve days and yet, thanks to TV commercials and newspaper ads, the sun doesn't set on the 25th before people declare the entire holiday to be dead and buried.

That's one of the reasons I've tried so hard to get my family to observe SOMETHING of the Twelve Days. To stretch out this season of joy. To snap them out of the secular consumerist zombie mode that grips even the very buckle on the Bible Belt, where people wearing Scripture verse t-shirts stand in line at Gift Returns on "Two Turtle Doves".

I know what this sounds like. This sounds like one of those young, holier-than-thou rants where, in five or ten years I'll look back on this and think, "Oh how cute. I used to be such a fiery idealist."

But there's something deeper here. The point is Christmas. The point is that, in a world that's perpetually on the verge of blowing itself up, people are confused because, no matter how many gifts they buy at discount prices or how many times they listen to 'Mele Kalikimaka', they don't have that magical mix of anticipation and nostalgia they usually feel at this time of year--thanks, no doubt, to the generally accepted notion that, sooner or later, a nuke is gonna go off and WWIII will finally begin.

And in the midst of ALL this...

...Christ comes.

Bethlehem is packed with tourists. Mary and Joseph, dirty, tired, and with no hotel reservations, are just another couple of faces on the sidewalk. They don't have iPhones. They drink street vendor coffee instead of Starbucks Christmas blend. Joseph says tomorrow night they'll stay on his friend's futon. But the baby is coming now. There's no room at the hostel. So Mary has her baby on a subway platform without drugs. They put their baby in a cardboard box after dumping out the rat droppings. And out in New Jersey, angels appear to a drag queen and a couple of Muslim taxi drivers who barely speak English. Good tidings of great joy.

The Savior has come. And everything is about to change. Nothing will be the same.

Celebrate that.

Christmastime

2009-12-14T12:07:00.004-06:00

Hey gang. Apologies once again for not posting much lately. Been super busy with gigs and all that sort of thing.

This past Thursday I participated in the Nyah Nyah Academy's Christmas party. 600 people in attendance. And there, in the middle of the room, they'd set up what amounted to "art school entertainment".

Three models dressed in Santa costumes and four easels set up with artists working on paintings of us. The idea, of course, was to provide the guests and patrons (lots of student pieces were for sale that night) with a chance to see a painting go from blank canvas to fully realized.

I thought it would be funny to try a Michelangelo's David pose, what with all the Santa stuff on. I worked with an excellent painter named Steve and, well, this is what we came up with.

Nice to know that I've still got it in spite of all those Hot Pockets.

Pudge

2009-12-05T08:23:00.001-06:00

What a week. This Thursday I spent a grand total of ten hours without any clothes on. After the 6th hour, it becomes such a nothing thing. There's gotta be a way to make this interesting again...

Christmas fever has hit New York. It's time to buy, buy, buy. Tourists are here in droves. Meanwhile, I continue to be 7lbs heavier which is very apparent in the sculpture room as the love handles I worked so hard to be rid of are now making an extended cameo in the sculptures. But that's the trade-off, right? You wanna get bigger, you've gotta get a little fatter first.

And this was lit on Wednesday.

-- Post From My iPhork

Location:8th Ave,New York,United States

Sculpture Room

2009-12-03T07:36:00.001-06:00

And this is where I'll be working for the next two months. Fun times abound. All I want for Christmas is for the heater to keep working.

-- Post From My iPhork

Back to NYC

2009-11-29T11:45:00.000-06:00

The lady in the seat next to me smells STRONGLY. Guuuh.

Looks like we're going to be stuck on the runway in Atlanta for a long time just finding a place to park.

Kinda sad to be going back. South Carolina is so comfortable and clean. But there's a lot of work to be done over the next two months. And it's not going to get done if I stay in Columbia.

Sculpture in the morning, painting in the afternoon. And most nights busy with gym classes or more modeling gigs. Oh man. Fun times are ahead!

-- Post From My iPhork

Thanks, thanks

2009-11-25T07:50:00.001-06:00

On the plane with my darling Sarah on my lap. It's gonna be a great trip. Free Wifi. Incredible. I feel like I'm in the World of Tomorrow. There's an angsty kid sitting next to me who plugged his ears up with those lousy iPod earbuds. He gets the window seat. Appropriate. So he can glower at the world below like some sort of latter-day teenage Grinch.

I'm in the middle seat. I wonder who the person on the left will be.

I survived my trip to New York's most famous dermatologist, Dr. Zizmor. For a measly 500 clams he removed that pesky speck next to my belly button. It turned out to be a pink, non-cancerous mole that looked like a cross between a skin tag and a wart. And thanks to my tactile fixation after years of playing videogames, I couldn't stop picking at it. And artists were beginning to paint it in.

We can't have THAT. Snip, snip.

Our friend in 38D has yet to show his face. For a "full flight", it's looking a tad scant.

But back to Dr. Zizmor. This guy is a star, y'all. Everyone in New York knows who he is, thanks to his tacky ads on the subways. And who can forget his role as pioneer in the world of facials? Dr. Zizmor's patented chemical peels!

When he popped his head into th waiting room and said, in a quick, nervous manner, "Iddlebe five minnits, Jooahn," my heart went pitter-pat. It's HIM! It's really HIM! I was going to have my speck removed by a STAR.

And he did it. All while chewing a stick of gum.

Looks like the procratinators are all here. A family of red-dot Indians. Thanks for keeping us from an on-time departure.

-- Post From My iPhork

Letter to the Hamlet Director

2009-11-21T22:26:00.001-06:00

[Director],

Thanks for seeing me today. Sorry if I was a little on the nervous side. It was just one of those things that hits you all at once... You're an actor in New York City, standing outside of the audition room with 'To Be or Not To Be' in your hands, about to go in and read that centuries-old monologue and...well...it was just sort of staggering. Thank you for that singular opportunity. Best of luck in casting and I'm sure I'll see you around.

Thanks again,
[Fork]

November 1st: NYC Style

2009-11-13T11:10:00.004-06:00

As seen at Union Square the day after Halloween. (click the image for a bigger view)

Not wasting any time, are they?

Old Hats

2009-11-11T18:59:00.003-06:00

Bernadette was cute. But honestly, she was no Liza.

Maybe that's a good thing. It means she'll probably live a lot longer.

Star-studded benefit to raise money for dogs. You'd think she'd sing a few more funny songs. As it was, what started out almost as "the Best of Barbara Cook" turned into "Bernadette Sings the Sad Ones".

Hugh Jackman, Daniel Craig, Stephen Sondheim, Arthur Lawrence, and other celebrities were in attendance. Bernadette's best friend, Mary Tyler Moore, made a cameo. Mandy Patinkin was supposed to be there but couldn't make it. I don't know why. It's not as if anyone will work with that nutcase anymore, ever since he manhandled my beloved Toni Collette.

But that's neither here nor there.

It was fine. But once again, I felt out of place among the tuxedos and evening gowns. And the ghastly opening number--a slightly reworked version of the opening bits of 'Into the Woods'--was sung by a handful of people, some of whom didn't know the words and stumbled embarassingly and obviously over the language as they piped in at the wrong time and sang the wrong verses.

It's that sort of "hey Maude, let's get dolled up and put on a show for our bored rich friends!"

"Okay June! I haven't been on stage since 1964, but this'll be fun!"

And we're all supposed to be delighted when a bunch of rich has-beens galumph around on a stage, don't know the song, can't do the box step in unison, and have some truly crap-tacular comic timing. Mary Tyler Moore, we love you, but your ship has sailed. Stop talking. Stop trying. Just smile and let Bernie speak for you.

I've encountered this sort of thing now several times since moving to New York. The Broadway Nazis will call me a hater and promise to contact the acting coordinator to get me fired from ever working in this town again. But I mean it, y'all. This sort of thing cheapens the art. It cheapens theatre. Beyond the cheesy musicals. Beyond the tourist shows. Because it makes me realize what theatre actually is (most of the time--not ALL of the time). A bunch of people getting together to play make-believe in front of a bunch of other people. And it begins to seem utterly ridiculous.

Yes, theatrical storytelling has been around since ancient Egypt. I've sat in many a theatre in New York City, spellbound. When it's good, there is nothing like a live performance with real folks living out their experiences before your very eyes.

But this brand of "giving it one more go without paying attention during your one rehearsal because you're 105 and are used to 'winging it'" horrifies me. It's not cute. I'm not laughing with you that you screwed up your one part. I don't care that you're old. Carol Channing was BORN old and she still manages to get it right. Quit play acting and get off the damn stage!

Maybe I'm being too harsh. Maybe I should just let them have their fun in front of all the old Upper East Side swells who used to be showbiz bigshots but are now forgotten and powerless.

Maybe when I'm their age I'll feel differently.

But I probably won't.

Bearded Fanny

2009-11-08T20:29:00.004-06:00

Quick questch:

Can anyone explain to me why they don't sing Fanny Crosby hymns in the Presbyterian Church?

Modeling update:

Super-busy week coming up. At some kind of art school for several hours every day. Then December/January are already booked completely solid--four hours in the sculpting studio at FancyTimes School for High Brow Artists, then three hours as...are you ready for this? Jesus Christ. AND a ministering angel in Gethsemane.

I think the artist is going to use a different head for Christ and use my head for the angel. He says he has a bunch of friends who have great beards.

But I don't want to be a sissy angel. I want to be the (Son of) man himself.

So I'm trying to grow a beard. Aaaand it looks pretty awful. My goatee has always been pretty good. A source of pride, even. But the hair on my cheeks has always been really patchy. Hence "pretty awful".

But I'm not giving up. It's time to give it my best shot. Because at some point in January I'm also posing as Orion the hunter. So in addition to being 10-20lbs heavier (yeah, like THAT'S gonna happen without the help of anabolic steroids. I've worked all year just to gain five paltry pounds), I need to have that ultimate symbol of manliness, a Chuck Norris Beard.

Tomorrow I see Bernadette Peters at a benefit. I won't tell her I'm going to be in the audience. I don't want to make her nervous.

Forky's Week of 'Ween: And the 'Weener Is...

2009-11-02T10:10:00.003-06:00

It was a tough call. Paranormal Activity had me clutching my computer desk Spider-Man action figure, hoping that fiddling with its joints would distract me from my rapid heartbeat. Drag Me to Hell was a hilarious romp that ended with something so unexpected my brain kept rejecting what I saw and pretty much filled my Halloween-o-Meter to well-past full.

So who would have guessed that a little 1961 movie would surpass them all?

Yes, the winner of this year's Forky's Week of 'Ween is The Innocents, based on the popular story "The Turn of the Screw" by Henry James. Subtle, eerie, well-written and brilliantly acted, this is the only movie I saw this year that resulted in disturbing dreams. Watch it alone and in the dark...and prepare to be chilled to the bone!

Forky's Week of 'Ween

2009-10-28T11:28:00.003-05:00

2009 has been on the fast track to being the least spooky Halloween since 2008. No scary games released this month (last year's "Dead Space" on PC, coupled with a slightly opened window, a chill wind, and a set of Bose headphones salvaged last year's Month de Mort for me).

And it's pretty late in the season to start scrounging around for one of yesteryear's catalog of ghoulish games.

So it's time to go back to the movies.

This year on Forky's Week of 'Ween we have:

The latter-day Blair Witch Project that's got America's kids sleeping with the lights on, Paranormal Activity

Sam Raimi's hilarious horror hootenanny, Drag Me to Hell

The infamous Roman Polanski's 1965 disturb-a-thon Repulsion (movie snobs say it's the second most terrifying movie of all time--this particular "Scariest Movies of all Time" list DARED me to watch it by myself with the lights turned off. I accept the challenge)

And one other film.

But which will it be? Right now there are two candidates, the original Night of the Living Dead and arguably the most disturbing movie on Earth, Eraserhead. I've not seen either, but I've heard plenty about them.

Now's your chance. Cast your vote or write in a candidate. Hope! Change! Yes we can!

Spooky, idn' it?

Back

2009-10-21T08:08:00.000-05:00

Back from Disney. Fun times. A bit crankier this time around. Everything felt more expensive somehow. I think we were all dehydrated the entire weekend. Still. Fun times. It's not quite as "magical" when you go back so soon.

Oh noes! Modeling gig isn't 9-12. It's 9-3!! And here I was scheduled to be somewhere else at 12:30. Time to do some shuffling.

-- Post From My iPhork

I'm at Disney World!

2009-10-16T10:47:00.001-05:00

-- Post From My iPhork

Toy Story Double Feature - Mini Forkish Review

2009-10-09T09:32:00.003-05:00

Suspicions were confirmed last night in the previews before the Toy Story 3D double feature.

Toy Story 3 is about Andy going to college. And Woody, Buzz, and the gang are given away.

I mean, we all figured it would be something like that once Disney's own "Buzz Lightyear gets recalled to Taiwan and wacky rescue adventure 2.0 ensues" plotline was thrown in the garbage can from whence it came. Hey, the last line in part 2 even hints at it. But now that it's confirmed, watching Toy Story 2 just sort of pissed me off.

Because Jesse is right. Eventually all toys are thrown away and forgotten.

Or in the case of the trailer for Toy Story 3, donated to a preschool where they are destroyed.

And THIS is why Toy Story 2 pisses me off. Because I really feel like Woody should have just gone to freakin' JAPAN!

I'm going to call this one right now: Toy Story 3 ends with the gang narrowly making it back to Andy's room after a series of misadventures that result in even more Buzz Lightyear-thinking-he's-a-real-space-ranger silliness. Fast forward a few years, and now Andy has a kid. The toys take comfort in knowing they will be played with again. The End. Three-picture deal with Disney complete. No more rumors of nightmarish direct-to-video sequels.

But in keeping with Pixar's current trend of "They DIDN'T just do that! THEY DID!" plot surprises, one of the toys is going to be "killed" in the process. My money is on Slinky Dog. :^(

That said, watching the films back-to-back completely changes my mind about the two. Everyone says Toy Story 2 is better.

I used to think so as well, but now I think the first one is superior. It's simple. It's compact. And the line readings in part 1 are so much more interesting and chuckle-worthy than in 2. First one that comes immediately to mind: Woody's "(pleading) He's not a space rang--(anger)--errrrrrr!"

Granted, the animation for Utility-Belt Buzz in 2 is truly inspired.

In a funny way, I almost feel as though it's wrong to look at them as two seperate movies. Thanks to the merciful lack of exposition, most people think of 2 as picking up immediately where the first one left off. It doesn't feel so much like a sequel as an extension of the first film.

But as the story kicks in, the differences between the two films can be more distinctly felt.

Maybe it's because they really took their time with the first one (plotwise) and weren't dealing with cramming in two storylines and showing off the power of their fancy new computers bestowed upon them by the Mouse.

2 is still good, but when watched back-to-back instead of with those vital nostalgia-forming years in between (which imo, is why people love the second one--it's like the ultimate fan-service sequel--seeing an old friend after years apart and picking up right where you left things), it feels a little bit like what it really was: Pixar trying desperately to fix the HORRIBLE direct-to-video sequel Disney was about to shovel out.

As pretty as it is, it's a little half-baked in places. Motivations aren't as clear. Andy's about to grow up and throw the toys away. Everybody's talking about it. Everybody knows it's going to happen.

But we HAVE to get back to Andy's room!...so...we can be thrown away together?

It's similar to the conundrum J.M. Barrie presents us with in Peter Pan. Wendy isnt a child anymore. Soon she will be a young woman and must leave the nursery. She's growing up. But Barrie comforts us in the notion that, while the dread inevitability of growing older is something we all must accept, it's also beautiful and part of the awfully big adventure that is simply LIVING.

Toy Story 2 offers us no such consolation. Emily throws Jesse away. Andy will throw Woody and the gang away. But that's okay...because in the end...they'll all be in the landfill together. Yeah. Thanks Pixar. All we need now is a dialogue-free montage of a young couple falling in love, growing old, and the wife dying of cancer.

Oh yeah, and the 3D is great. The dated CGI in 1 (Andy still looks a bit freakish in both films. Thanks for teaching us how to do it right, Final Fantasy people) can be excused thanks to the marvelous sense of depth...the toys feel REALLY small now. Or maybe the world is just REALLY big.

Still great. Still better than every single one of Pixar's subsequent films (I just wasn't a 'Monster's Inc.' person and I still think 'Wall-E' is well-intentioned but ultimately unfocused and terrible. Sorry, guys). Good times. Go see it. Worth the cash, if only to see the first one again in 3D-o-vision.

But Jesse is still right. And Woody should have gone to Japan.

Peace Prize

2009-10-09T08:58:00.001-05:00

So apparently you don't have to do anything except not be George Bush.

At the Universe Diner. Exhausted from yesterday. 6 hour modeling job for a talented group at the Nyah Nyah Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants. It's always a pleasure to work with students who show great promise and instructors who work with you to create a good pose.

See? I can be positive. I like my job. I just don't like hippies.

So six hours of standing on one foot with a twist and a bend. Had to keep my eyes wiiiide open the whole time due to balance issues.

Then came the Toy Story double feature. Three hours of 3D.

By the time I got home, I could not WAIT to close my eyes.

Gym today, sculpture afterwards.

So that's teh update. My omelet is here.

-- Post From My iPhork

"Blog-a-Boomerang" or "Some People Are So Touchy"

2009-10-05T20:06:00.004-05:00

It's happened again! DAMMIT!

That's the second time in ONE YEAR! First Nutty MacDonald (who still hasn't paid me one red cent) and now the School For Art School People Club!

I didn't think anybody read this thing anymore! Dear LORD.

Come to think of it, nobody DOES. Except my family and cyber-stalkers who leave anonymous comments and attempt to ruin the personal lives of people they don't even KNOW! It was a JOKE, people! Read a couple of these posts before you reveal your nasty selves as artists who harbor secret disdain for models because you ASSUME we're all divas!

Man. Blogs are like...boomerangs. What goes around... Say nothing interesting and nobody reads em. One false word and the cowardly cyber-stalkers are on you like hounds. Maybe I should have paid more attention when I was going through my ABBA phase.

I'm not saying any more than that for now. There may be more later should we find ourselves unable to reconcile this little misunderstanding as I will most DEFINITELY want to set the record straight.

Not that it really matters. It's not as though this blog gets a whole lot of traffic anyway. This ain't the New York Times website people. Let's get a little perspective here. Oh, AND a sense of humor.

Every entry you're posting...
Is a boom-er-ang you're throw...sting...?

It I swear. As much as I hate to draw the comparison...it feels EXACTLY like...THIS.

The money is at 1.27

Welcome to October!

2009-10-01T08:43:00.002-05:00

It's here. Woke up this morning and had to reach over and pull on another blanket. New York always does these things in a timely fashion.

I feel like I never stop working these days. Going to the gym this morning, then it's Narcissus time, teach a gym class, then over to keep modeling for this book.

Yes, a book. On drawing the figure with/out clothing. So it takes twice as long because every pose has to be done twice--once with, once without.

The nice thing about Narcissus is the painter is only doing piece by piece. So yesterday she was working in my leg which meant I could do whatever I wanted with the rest of my body as long as the leg stayed still. So you can imagine all the stuff I tried to get away with.

Nah. I just read a book.

And I finished it just in time. Because October is Agatha Christie month! And this year is all about Miss Marple!

In other news, everyone keeps asking me about gym stuff and training and that sort of thing. Seriously, y'all. I don't know. You just go and lift stuff till it hurts. I dunno.

Okay. Time to get on with this chilly day! Looks like I'll have to dress warmly...uhh. Or...un-dress warmly?

-- Post From My iPhork

Shoot Me Now

2009-09-29T21:13:00.001-05:00

I'm doing my best to not chuck this slippery little weasel out the window, but man. AT&T needs to get their act together before I punt this 3GS into the Hudson. 5 bars, 3G, and no Internet, email, and every single call in the last three days has dropped.

No ma'am. It may have pumped my hip full of lethal doses of radiation, but at least my Blackberry WORKED.

Update for today...had to cancel a session with the Narcissus painting to go to a commercial shoot. It's an industrial so it will likely only air within the company...like on their jumbo-tron TVs at their secret headquarters in the North Pole.

But getting paid $625 to sit in a luxury camper drinking coffee and nibbling on French fries ain't half bad.

Wait. That's not true. It is half bad. Call time was 12:30 and they didn't use us till 5:15. Hurry up and wait.

We were playing office people--a commercial advertising some new network. I was apparently the I.T. guy because no other respectable New York businessman has hair like mine, even after the recent haircut.

So it was kinda fun. Shooting on 6th Ave in Midtown just as all the businessmen are hitting the streets.

It was cute when people realized they were about to walk in front of the camera. They'd duck about two feet before they actually reached it, then stand back upright JUST as they passed in front of the lens. Nice try, folks. Nice try.

So it's back to Narcissus tomorrow. And Othryades. I'm pulling double-duty tomorrow, friends! It's a good thing I worked my lats and dlats today!

Mostly Job Update

2009-09-17T13:33:00.001-05:00

This was supposed to be a really great post I wrote on the subway ride down to the art school. But my iPhork deleted it. So look at this picture instead.

Back to School

2009-09-16T08:52:00.001-05:00

It's awfully hard to care about showing up to classes on time when the instructor is always late.

Portraits. All day. 9:30-5. It's like a kind of punishment.

Portraits are the most unpleasant kind of modeling you can do. Because all you do is sit there.

Usually they out you in a comfy chair.

And the entire gig becomes about trying NOT to fall asleep.

It's awful. Especially in these classroom settings. There's no music. Nobody talks to you. You're on your own.

Remember those school days? It'd be right after lunch. You're in biology. And you want so badly to stay awake. But you just can't. And your head keeps tilting downward. It's awful. Remember??

I thought about putting a pin in the back of the chair. So if I leaned back too much it would start to stick me.

But that seemed like a dangerous idea. And while they don't call me Johnny Danger for nothing, I'd rather not self-mutilate any more than I already do.

So I have two 5 Hour Energy shots ready to go. And the iPhork is set to some peppy music for the breaks.

9:50. Class started at 9:30. And the instructor isn't here. New York City! Where everything's better and the artists are passionate!

-- Post From My iPhork

Three Years Later

2009-09-11T10:33:00.001-05:00

It seems my three year anniversary of moving to New York City is being totally upstaged by the whole September 11th thing.

I guess a couple of buildings falling down are more important than me following my dreams of becoming a star.

So while everybody over on twitter and facebook attempts to be profound and poetic with their "On this day I'm a New Yorker too" status updates, it looks like I'll just have to enjoy this cake by myself.

*nom*nom*nom*

-- Post From My iPhork

Thanks

2009-09-05T11:15:00.001-05:00

Oh yeah. But while I was still smiling from being called buff by a total stranger (my New York friends say I'm "obviously fit" as opposed to "buff"), along came a little boy with his arms full of beach stuff.

Being the buff stud that I am, I held the gate open for him.

"Thank you, but bad hat."

Whaa?

Then I remembered I was wearing my Yankees cap. Wow. Cousin Joey wasn't lying about the whole Yankee thing down here.

At the airport. Just finished a pulled pork sandwich and about to go through airport security. I'm going to do my best to carry this relaxed feeling with me for the next few days. We learned from the kayaking tour guide that dolphins in captivity live 30 years longer than dolphins in the wild (the ones that just die of old age).

The moral of the story is that stress makes you die faster.

Deep, cleansing breaths. What? Me worry?

-- Post From My iPhork

So Buff

2009-09-04T15:38:00.000-05:00

I was walking down to the beach this morning to meet Dad for a swim at high tide.

I met a rather dumpy woman with a deadpan expression at the gate to the cabana area. Her mouth hung agape.

"Whoa...How'd you get so buff?"

Heh heh. That's awesome.

-- Post From My iPhork

Beach

2009-09-02T09:54:00.001-05:00

At the airport waiting to board the delayed flight to Hilt On Head. The parents rented a villa for the week and the fam has been coming and going the past few days. Lameness abounds, however, as most everybody, including my niece and nephew, went back to work this week instead of taking a day off to see moi.

So it's just me and Dad for the next four days.

Me and Dad. At a beach resort. With a LOT of scotch.

This is gonna be awesome.

***

But first I have to get over this horrible urge to purge. When the computer lady called to tell me the flight had been delayed I thought, great! I can go grab breakfast at a diner!

I chose Renaissance because the quality is generally high and the amount of food you get for your dining dollar is also high.

But not this time. You'd thing breakfast would be prime business time for a diner.

There was soap in the water. The home fries tasted of day-old cooking grease. I could (though probably shouldn't've) barely choked down the omlete.

And now my stomach wants to empty itself.

But no. Must be strong. Just keep playing iPhone games. This too shall pass.

-- Post From My iPhork

Fat Trickery

2009-08-30T11:50:00.002-05:00

The Shaking-Spear-a-thon (have to be cautious--that Google search engine is a fell beast) is OVER.

It's MORE than over. It's OVAR.

Thank the LORD. I'm sorry, but two nights walking up 8th Avenue at 4:45am was enough to make me call that theatre company's artistic director and tell her that keeping actors until that time in the morning isn't only cruel, it's DANGEROUS.

Didn't I tell you about the robbery two winters ago? I was coming from an audition after dark, walking up 8th Avenue, when BANG! BANG! Two gunshots. Screaming. People running. Then two cars peeling out and zooming past me and a frightened family of French tourists.

But I digress.

YES! Danger! On the streets! I kept thinking about the gloomy predictions of those professional trend-watchers who all agree that New York City is headed for pre-Giuliani-ville FAST. It gives one pause.

In other news, Parker Posey was recently diagnosed with Lyme disease. Just like what I had. Maybe I should call it "our" Lyme disease.

Huge Mistake

2009-08-29T11:11:00.001-05:00

This fund raiser is the dumbest thing I've ever done.

No offense.

But when it's 1:30am and there's no audience, howzabout we all go home and *pretend* like we just read the play?

But no. We can't do that. Instead, everyone plays like we're all part of some grand thespian tradition of pushing onward despite the fact reason screams, "Don't! Everyone's gone home! You actors are all that's left!"

So when she starts saying, "Oh for a muse of fire!" everyone cheers, like, "Yeah! Our drama club is the BEST!"

They're already $1000 past their goal. I mean. Come on.

But no. Home at 5am.

On the bright side, everyone agreed that my scene reading as the French princess in Henry V was probably going to be the highlight of the entire 24 hours.

Off Broadway. Off Broadway. Eye on the prize... Must stay positive. The artistic director directs Off Broadway...

Okay. Time to roll out of bed and read these other two plays for the first time before the 10pm-4am portion of the day.

Oh, for a muse of coffee...

-- Post From My iPhork

What a Weekend...

2009-08-28T09:45:00.001-05:00

It begins now.

Went to the gym this morning.

On the choo-choo to New Jersey right now. Beginning work on the Ezekiel sculpture. This is gonna hurt. A lot.

After that? It's off to see some old friends of mine from Everycity, TX in their Fringe show.

After that, it's back to the gym to get/do the new kettlebell routine.

After that, it's home for a little while to print script pages and get organized for...

The Shakespearathon. That email I sent out was a total bust as only two of the, like, 20 people I sent it to could manage to make any kind of pledge. I know times is tough, but come on. Two bucks, people. I'm not asking for your life savings. I don't know why this is annoying to me. I don't even really LIKE this theatre company all that much. I suppose I thought attaching my name to something like this would generate a smidge more interest.

Whatever. It's all good.

And by "good" I mean "dreadful". The hurricane is here and New York City is set to be soaked all weekend. Which is especially lame because I'm participating in two very late nigh portions of this blasted fund-raiser. The first is tonight from 1am-4am, the second is tomorrow from 10pm-4am.

And with subways running once every half hour at that time of morning, there's an excellent chance I won't be getting home until 6am from both of these readings.

Which is why I'm praying the rain scares our audience away, if only for the late-night portion. If nobody's there when we start reading at 1am, will they really ask us to stay?

Why did I agree to something like this? Well, the woman who is running this thing is also a director of Off-Broadway shows. I guess I figured if I scratched her back she might scratch mine sometime.

Yeah. Or maybe I'm just a chump.

Anyhow, it's gonna be a wild 48 hours. Here we go...

-- Post From My iPhork

End of August

2009-08-26T16:06:00.003-05:00

August is almost over.

That's pretty good, if you ask me.

Things have slowed back down again, for the most part. The show is over, summer art classes are finished... tonight is my last night modeling for this Christian artists group out in Brooklyn.

Not much else to report. Well, actually, there IS, but right now I don't have time to write it all down. Stuff like the Shakespearathon, teaching the new kettlebell class, beginning a sculpture based on Ezekiel or Isaiah or something, intentionally gaining weight with a weight-loss app on my iPhork which I love, a trip to a beachside villa in September and Disney World in October...

Yeah. I'd write about all that stuff.

But I don't have time.

Gotta start moving toward the subway.

Nearly There

2009-08-24T14:23:00.002-05:00

Why am I not getting paid just to be alive? I'm so busy! I feel like I'm working for the man!

But I'm not. I'm working for myself.

I feel like I'm my own executive administrative assistant.

If I have to put up with any more of my own shinannigans, I'm going to start posting about how much working for myself sucks.

Booking travel, setting naptime, pirating video games...it's not easy, people!

Tonight is the final performance of our little show. Come on and see it! It's swell!

Gray Hairs

2009-08-22T16:24:00.003-05:00

I had to download one of those New Age 'Music with relaxing nature sounds' albums today.

I know. I always thought they were kind of cheesy.

But listening to the thirty second sample on iTunes, I was more than a little surprised at the way I very nearly passed out in my computer chair listening to a snippet of "Woodland Rainstorm".

Holy cats. Am I really THAT wound-up?

It's been confirmed by numerous people this summer: "Fork, you're the most high-strung person I know," they all say. This is usually followed by a comment or two about the increasingly visible and numerous gray hairs that are sprouting up.

"If you'd just learn to RELAX...to let things GOOOO..."

I texted my trustworthy massage guy. He's out of town till the 31st. I found myself typing, "Stressful summer. Can't seem to relax." That got me to thinking.

Good GRIEF.

This summer HAS been stressful!

*bites nails, worries over what to do about it*

Summer is Here

2009-08-19T15:46:00.004-05:00

And not a day too late. *Lots* of people even complained that we've had such a relatively cool summer. As if something was dreadfully wrong with that. In fact, it looked like we might get through August without hitting 90 degree weather here in the Big App.

Well, we finally got it. And waiting on the piping-hot 100 degree subway platforms only to have our sweat-drenched bodies frozen by the air conditioners in the subway cars is fun again. And did I mention the summertime smells of New York City?

Anyone for a hot tuna melt?

Babies on Parade

2009-08-18T15:19:00.004-05:00

In case you don't know, long time 42nd Floorer Bibb Leo File and his wife just received a little bundle of joy. Owen Arthur Leo File was born on August 14th, 8lbs, 6oz, 20 1/4 inches. The mother is doing well and I can only assume the father is too. Since he won't send pictures of the little squirt, we just have to imagine what the little angel looks like.

When out of money, a Fork is fine too

2009-08-18T15:12:00.003-05:00

Naw, I'm not really out of cash. But I'd have a lot more if Nutty would freakin' pay me the past month's rent like he's supposed to.

There's a word for this. When you take something without paying for it.

Anybody care to venture a guess as to what that word is?

Futon Get!

2009-08-12T20:01:00.001-05:00

Futon's here. I can finally stop sleeping on the floor like an alley cat.

In other news, we open our little show this Friday. I'm currently en route to one more rehearsal before the final dress tomorrow.

I'm really sorry for not having posted more about this one. I guess it just sort if feels like if you've done one you've done em all.

But this one was a little different, thanks to Our Leading Lady.

We have a huge make-out scene in the play. I'm not talking about a peck on the cheek. No, this is the kind where the director shouts out, "Grab 'er boob!"

OLL has been frustratingly icy. It's not anything personal and I get that. Hey, she really wanted her talentless boyfriend to have my role. I get it. I'd be mad too if I had to make out with me. Rippling muscles? Taught sinews? Who needs em?!

Her new thing now is directing the kissing. The make-out scene goes something like this:

Part 1: Surprise! I'm smitten with you! I hope you don't mind that I'm kissing you. I'll take it nice and slow and be very tender because I'm still not sure you're okay with this, but I want to make you comfortable so you'll want more.

Part 2: I take it you're okay with this. Now I want to eat your face.

Part 3: Goodbye. Hope you don't mind if I take a little taste for the road.

It's part 2 where the problems arise. I'm playing this like someone with a lot of pent-up sexual energy. As a result, I'm totally pouncing on her.

And she doesn't like it. Because it's not her boyfriend.

So she's decided that if I start kissing too fast, she's gonna pinch my back really hard. If I go too long with it, she's gonna push me off.

Way to be in the moment, Baby Doll.

We'll see what happens tonight. We're running that scene because the director thinks OLL is really stiff and doesnt appear to be enjoying it.

Me? I'm ready to throw down.

As for Nutty, I'm at a loss. I doubt I'll ever see that July rent.

I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve though...

-- Post From My iPhork

Back in Business

2009-08-10T14:34:00.001-05:00

The Internet man came. Oh wow. The iPhone just capitalized "Internet" for me. Whoa! It did it again! I didn't realize the Internet was a proper noun.

Yep. I decided the new TV was a little more of an extravagant Christmas-style gift so instead I went with...

An iPhone.

Now, some of you may remember a couple of years ago when I bought an iPhone 3G. I hated it.

But time heals everything and after becoming a big fan of the app store through iNez, my iTouch, I started warming up to the blasted thing especially now they've put it on steroids (what do you think the S stands for?) and made they keyboard bigger. But it wasn't until I figured out you could watch movies--yes, talking pictures--on this thing and that doing so makes a subway trip WAY more tolerable--that I decided I was ready to leave buttons behind.

And so far I'm fairly pleased. In true Apple fashion, the first time I tried to browse photos and use the camera the stupid thing crashed. But my first iPhone crashed every time a dead cat sneezed so this wasn't a huge surprise.

But now that the initial bugs are out of the way--man. This thing. I got lost looking for the restaurant I was supposed to meet Sethro and Syrup at for din din.

I was annoyed at first. Then, quite suddenly, I remembered I didn't HAVE to be lost.

I pulled out the iPhork and hit the maps button. In no time flat, Big iBrother had fixed his eye on me from outer space. And in old-fashioned Russian submarine style, it followed me as I walked to blocks east and found the restaurant.

I'm now convinced that every new New Yorker needs to be issued one of these things when they move to the City. It's like...the future, man.

In other news, the drama with Nutty has passed, but if he doesn't pay his share of the rent today he's in for a surprise. Because I know where his violin is.

-- Post From My iPhork

All Out of Internet

2009-08-07T09:48:00.001-05:00

I have a whole lot of money right now.

I've finally been paid--or am in the process of being paid (ahem. Nutty)--for all the gigs I've had this past summer and whooo doggies, do I have a lot of dosh.

So the question arose.

What do I do with all this extra green?

Obviously I lock some of it away.

But what about the rest of it? What about the fun money?

You see...I've fallen in love with someone.

She's from Best Buy. She's 40 inches. She goes up to 1080p. She's crystal clear, like looking through a pane of glass. She's LCD. She's paper-thin. She's the hottest thing on the market.

And there are children starving in Africa.

Oh who cares! You wanna judge me?? WELL I could also be a better steward of my dollars by living in Orange, TX where rent is cheap so I could have more to send to the African orphans!

In related techno-news, the internet has run dry on my expensive computer (which I paid off!!). Yep. Apparently, even though it was working before, NOW they need me to pay $40 to have some schmucks come and "install the internet" onto my machine.

And the earliest they can do that is next Thursday.

I'm sorry, but the next episode in the downloadable Monkey Island pirate adventure game series comes out on MONDAY. NOT THURSDAY.

So I called back three times asking--no--DEMADING an earlier time!

I wasn't saying something. It was absurd. Kept getting the same "Sorry but Thursday is the ONLY day" crap. It's New York. It's a five-minute job. I must not have been saying one of their key buzz words. But what was it?

Oh! Yeah!

"I need this for work."

Suddenly, they were SURE there were more times available.

So hopefully the internet man will come with his marvelous box and refill the internet on my computer. Because I'm all out.

And finally...

Time Out New York, the hip n cool weekly magazine at all the checkout counters wants to do an exposé on--guess who?--moi! Yes, I've hit the big time!

Apparently the whole nude modeling thing has become a source of tremendous interest to the public at large.

I was encouraged by the writer to go online and view the series to get an idea of what it's all about.

Umm.

"Art School Model of the Week"?

"Meet Candice"? "Meet Malcom"? "Click for photos"??

6-8 nude photos, all looking at the camera with a sassy smirk?

And an interview segment that reveals just how stupid and depraved Candice and Malcom really are.

This isn't artistic! This is them trying to use some loophole to get nudity in their mag!

It's like...Fancy porn! Ugh!

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Moved

2009-08-05T22:31:00.002-05:00

Nearly there.

I would post pictures, but I forgot to bring my memory card reader. I'm pretty sure it's at the other apartment.

And by Other Apartment, I don't mean the one behind the little door that seems really great but is actually a trap. I mean the one that I used to live in.

And every time I make a trip back there I wonder why I put up with it for so long. I guess because moving kinda sucks.

Seriously. It's not been the most fun thing I've ever done in my life.

But what AM I thinking? I've completely forgotten to mention the play I'm in rehearsals for.

It's an adaptation if this cheerful story. I'm playing Robert.

Yes. More feminist drama. And you know what THAT means. Yep. And we've got 'em. In spades.

It's actually kind of irritating. I don't think I've ever been in or read a piece of feminist theatre that didn't have some sort of lezbionic overtones. It's so weird. I know men are pigs and y'all girls want to be free and all, but seriously. SRSLY.

Okay. Time for bed.

Moving Day 2

2009-08-04T09:24:00.001-05:00

The moving guy overslept so I have an extra hour to do some last-minute packing.

It's incredible. I just can't seem to get moving until I have a specific time limit. Is it from playing too much Super Mario Bros. as a kid? If I don't hear the "da doo dee doo, doo dee doo, DOO DOOO!" signaling that time is running out, I barely move.

Well, that sound effect just played and I'm doing a killer job!

More later.

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Moving Day

2009-08-04T07:30:00.001-05:00

The mover is coming this morning.

Time to get to work.

But I'm so sleepy.

Sleepy because of what happened last night. Was up all night long. Man, y'all. Just...man.

I'll tell you later. Threats of legal action be damned.

As Rizzo says in the dreadful 'Grease,'

Some people are so touchy.

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Trains

2009-07-31T16:06:00.000-05:00

I'm telling you guys...the subway system in NYC is SO EASY.

Once you understand that the trains pretty much just go up and down (and that in Manhattan, downtown doesn't mean "where the most tall buildings are") it's a breeze.

Express trains stop at the white dots. Regular trains stop at the black AND white ones. And if you wind up going the wrong direction, simply disembark, walk across the platform, and catch the next train going the opposite way.

But these other trains...these actual TRAIN-trains?

Forget it. Using them requires a whole nuther level of understanding and observation.

I *naturally assumed* the train I was just booted from was headed to Manhattan.

I mean, don't all roads lead there? Isn't Manhattan like Rome?

Apparently not. As the Irish-Italian conductor so brusquely informed me. Nicky O'Carlo. He's a tough guy.

In other news, Heaven's sprung a leak. How'm I supposed to move all this junk if Manhattan keeps doing its best impression of Seattle?

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Oh yeah...

2009-07-30T17:33:00.000-05:00

And did I mention the sculpture of moi that's waiting for me...in Philly?! How the crap am I supposed to get there? If I don't pick it up soon, the sculptor is going to throw the cast away. And then my mother will be without a Christmas present.

I mean geeze! It just doesn't stop!

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It isn't any fun

2009-07-30T17:28:00.000-05:00

Moving sucks.

It really does.

I don't know what else to say on the matter. Just that moving all of your worldly possessions on foot makes me feel for people in the old days. You know. When people moved things by covered wagons or something.

Because just when I think I can make some serious headway, I have to stop and remember, oh yeah, I don't have any of the large pieces of furniture I need to put these things anywhere.

And I don't want to call the man-with-a-van guys yet.

So I'm concocting a plan to move these giant pieces of furniture...by myself. It can be done. It's *only* two blocks. I mean...how hard could it be to move a computer desk two blocks to the east?

This is stupid. Why don't New Yorkers have pickup trucks?!? I need one, stat!

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Moving

2009-07-29T14:02:00.001-05:00

I've got the keys.

I've got the apartment.

The problem is, we've also got a severe thunder storm warning.

No sooner had I finished trip #2 (I plan to start sleeping over here TONIGHT--the previous tenant left her air conditioner) than the rumble of thunder shook the buildings in Midtown and the raindrops began to fall.

Here's hoping it clears up after an hour or so. But according to weather.com (full 3G signal on my Blackberry--whew! I forgot to check that when I looked at the place) it looks like we're in for stormpocalypse. AGAIN.

Which is okay. Because this summer it seems as though every dog owner in the City is leaving their plastic baggies at home and the sidewalks become poopwalks in no time flat. So it's nice that the Lord is trying to keep things sanitary.

I think the rain has let up a little. Time to make a break for it...

More later.

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Back from Drama Camp

2009-07-28T12:05:00.004-05:00

Back from Connecticut. And I'm pretty sure those red spots on my ankles are ant bites. Because Lord knows I didn't set foot in the stupid Connecticut woods. I don't have a death wish, you know.

The retreat wasn't as dreadful as I thought it might be. In fact, it was a kind of fun bonding experience with a bunch of strangers. We got all the big group scenes staged and had a swell time living in this weird barn-like building that was built to be a hippie yoga/meditation/interpretive dance studio.

And...I guess that's all there is to say about that.

Just a few more days before I get the keys to the new apartment. Really anxious to see what the catch is. Because there's GOT to be a catch. The more I think about it, the more suspicious I'm becoming. Because it's so close to Times Square, it's a really decent sized studio, it's quiet, it's clean...and for some reason, it's cheap. That's why I'm suspicious. A place like this? They could have gone with $1675 at LEAST.

But then, after having heard about the weirdly wonderful deals people have been finding all over the place--what with the economy and all--maybe I should just quit asking questions and be happy I'll soon have an apartment that only needs one air conditioning unit to cool the whole thing off.

Theatre Retreat

Finally, the South Carolina Videos

2009-07-27T13:27:00.003-05:00

They're a little on the quiet side so you might have to turn them up a notch or two.

These videos include a tour of the new house and, of course, twelve minutes and fifty-nine seconds of completely inappropriate baby antics!

Wait, what?

2009-07-25T10:08:00.001-05:00

I was just informed the town of Mystic is very near Old Lyme, CT.

They're talking about going hiking in the woods later.

I want the city.

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Choo choo!

2009-07-24T08:10:00.001-05:00

On the Amtrak to Mystic, CT. Home of Mystic Pizza and the Draco's Egg structure where we'll be rehearsing.

At one point the train stopped for several minutes and some guy came on the intercom and mumbled something in a very low voice that nobody could understand. I don't have any idea what he said, but my imagination happily filled in the blanks.

"Two trains have collided on the tracks ahead of us. We may be stranded for days. Please be patient."

I took that opportunity to drink it all in. The woods on either side, the narrow car, the feeling of the seat I'd be stuck in for the next three days.

It was just like 'Murder on the Orient Express'! Only without a world-famous detective. Or a really cool train. Or snow. Or a murder.

Next stop on the Broadway Express, Theatrecamp, CT.

Rapture.
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Calm Before the Theatre Storm

2009-07-23T13:45:00.001-05:00

One down, two to go.

It's another one of those days where I wonder why I spent so much time coordinating my outfit this morning since it would spent the vast majority of the day folded up in the corner.

I'm trying to enjoy myself. See, tomorrow morning it's the 7am train to Connecticut.

I think the idea of having a theatre retreat is bizarre. The only retreats I've ever been on have been church-related and generally involve a little ponderous soul-searching or some meaningful moments of worship.

But not this retreat. No, this is a *theatre* retreat where the cast of the play hopes to knock out most/all of the scenes so we can cut back on rehearsals when we get back to Manhattan.

And there may be some substance abuse. But I don't know. Whatever. I'm not messing with that crap. Especially not with a bunch of strangers. Because that's really what they are to me. Strangers. I don't play video games with them = I don't know them.

I understand the director/playwright team thought this would be an awesome opportunity for everybody to do something fun and unusual. I get that. That's cool.

The issue I have is they planned the retreat to go from Wednesday evening to Sunday evening.

And if you know nothing about New York, know this: it's expensive.

And I'm not cancelling three modeling gigs so I can take the weekend to make zero dollars for a play I'm doing for free. In fact, we aren't being fed either. If we want to eat this weekend, we have to buy a weekend's worth of food at the nearby grocery store.

But who knows. May have the time of my life. The train ride should be fun.

And I have 'Coraline' on my iPod so if things get really bad I can relish in a stop-motion near-Christian allegory about the nature of temptation and how evil works.
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Don't Eat the Model

2009-07-21T10:05:00.000-05:00

The loony art instructor forgot she requested a model for today so I'm sitting here waiting to pose while this class of freshmen girls finish their paintings of two dozen donuts. With sprinkles on top.

These art schools are so weird. I wonder what their parents would say if they knew what their kids were doing with their money.

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Another Finished Painting

2009-07-19T18:33:00.009-05:00

Consider the lilies of the field...

Click for larger image!

Do you see the twist here? That Solomon is considering the lilies of the field? The lilies Jesus was talking about were probably bright red and not at all like the Easter lilies you're thinking of. If you look closely you can see them in the distance and also a couple on the dish I'm holding.

I'm only making $12.50 an hour. And in this town the cost of living is just WAY higher. I should ask for a raise. Especially since palace dress code is toga without any underpants. It's kind of embarrassing when the Shekinah Glory blows past. But hey, those concubines are kinda cute.

I'm also King Solomon's body.

It's good to be king. I think I'm going to use my kingly staff to skewer some bread and figs since they put the table so far away. Why'd they do that? And why did that pale slave put flowers on my dish? Does he think I'm going to eat those? I wouldn't consider those lilies of the field! And I really wish he would put on some underpants. Maybe I need to make it a little more clear that the no underpants rule doesn't apply to the dudes too. Hmm. Well, I don't want to embarrass him by telling him that in front of my concubines. I wonder if she remembers the time when we first met...

Maybe we'll make the cover of a Bible study! Or at least a daily devotional!

I'm Through: Nickhoalle Edition

2009-07-18T18:37:00.002-05:00

I'm through.

I know I've said it before.

And each time I came back for more.

But this time I'm really through.

Nickhoalle is no longer a part of my life.

So I'm sitting there, getting everything ready for the week. Sending out emails to Nickhoalle and Alvin about our training sessions and my availability for the next few days.

Now, I've got a *lot* of stuff going on this week. Modeling all morning and day, all week long for a summer workshop at Fancy New Art School.edu.

In the evenings, rehearsals, more modeling at Art School for Talentless Rich Kids and teaching the group gym classes.

And finally, on Friday is the weekend retreat to a place called "Draco's Egg" with the cast of the play. The idea is that, when people aren't drunk or high or talking about how much they love Obama, we'll knock out all the major scenes for the show and not have to rehearse so much in the coming weeks.

Yes, things are packed pretty solid this week.

I looked at my schedule and, sorry, Nickhoalle, but I can only fit you in two times. I'm swamped.

Email sent.

Nickhoalle, who missed a session and never called to tell me she wasn't dead, and who suddenly skipped town for a week-long business meeting, emails and calls back.

"You WILL give me three days this week and you WILL give me a better selection of times to work out. You work for ME!"

Readers who have been following my many misadventures will remember Consuela back at Eventual Practical Financial Services.

Consuela and I butted heads a number of times. There were a bunch of "I'm quitting TODAY" moments where I made sure I had all personal affects in my messenger bag as I left the office for the day.

But I was also seeing a therapist named Eddie at the time.

"Fork, is quitting your job because you have a conflict the *mature, adult* thing to do?"

"............."

"Fork...?"

"Nooo. It's not."

For a while now, I've been struggling with how to deal with Nickhoalle, worried that she was another Consuela. That I needed to be mature and just push through this. I mean, sometimes you hate your job. Sometimes you have to work with people who don't like you.

But you know what guys? Today helped me see that maybe this *wasn't* actually a Consuela situation where I was being an indignant child.

After all, being told that I'm Satan, asked if I hate my life, that I'm not as big as her *other* personal trainers back in Dallas, that my hair is ugly, that the exercises I give her are all stupid (and please know, 42nd Floorers, I stay up the night before our sessions working on routines that I hope this woman will like), that I'm trying to make her look like an idiot, being told I don't know what I'm doing, that exercises I give her don't work, that she won't won't WON'T do a warm-up or stretch beforehand, that I'm wasting her time and money, and threatening to take her business elsewhere if I don't give her exactly what she wants...

Having her call me a liar (from her email: "I understand you being busy, we all are, but I don't feel like you're fitting me in.") and demand that I give her more days and options made me realize something.

Life is too short to hate waking up in the morning because you know that, at some point in the day, you have to deal with an extraordinarily hateful hag from heck.

ESPECIALLY if you still haven't been paid for a *single session* of training you've done.

That's right, folks. Vinnie, the gym owner, has been on vacation and the manager Chris fed me some line about not being able to get on the pay schedule until Vinnie gets back from wherever the crap he is.

No, this isn't Consuela all over again. This is something different.

But you know, maybe right now is the wrong time to be a trainer. After all, with my schedule the way it is, I can't consistently meet with clients the same time every day. Sometimes I simply have weeks like the one coming up. And there's nothing I can do.

It'll be another thing when I finally move to Cackalackee and don't *have* to be at auditions or modeling gigs. But that's not how things are right now.

So I emailed Nickhoalle and told her I'd be talking to the gym manager about finding her a trainer who would be able to work with her schedule and...specific tastes in working out.

So that's it. It's over.

And...

...Man.

I'm...

...I'm SO HAPPY.

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Housey Update

2009-07-16T13:45:00.003-05:00

Guess what?

I got the apartment. WOOT!

Tomorrow I hand over two cashier's checks for first month and security deposit, sign a piece of paper, and they hand me a set of keys.

Expect a video tour of the new place in the next day or so. It's pretty incredible.

View Larger Map

Building number is 347. See that little grove of bushes? See that little walkway to the left of them? Well, at the end of the walkway is a gate. Inside the gate is an enclosed courtyard and a two story house (maybe a carriage-house in days gone by). My new studio (with a real kitchen area, two large, south-facing windows, an air conditioner, and a big bathroom with a REAL BATHTUB) is on the second floor.

Which means in addition to the cheap rent, the rent stabilization, being one/two blocks from most major subways, having a grocery store, my gym, a Duane Reade, Broadway theatres, the restaurants on 9th Avenue, I don't have to worry about neighbors clomping around upstairs. Here's hoping the next-door neighbor is a quiet Puerto Rican lady with no sub-woofers.

Normally, living right between 8th and 9th avenue would SUCK because of the tourists and all the people going to the restaurants on 9th. But because the apartment house is OFF the sidewalk and tucked away behind the Scientology building, it's REALLY quiet. That's what really sold me on this.

Now, it would be AWESOME if I could know for sure that there aren't dead kittens in the floorboards, but I guess that's part of the risk you take when you move into a new place, right?

Healthy Update

2009-07-16T12:21:00.003-05:00

UPDATE!

Got a call from the doctor who treated me for Good Tyme Lyme (that sounds like a new color of a Crayola crayon--or something you put in a margarita). And guess what? Remember how we weren't QUITE sure if it really was really REALLY Lyme disease because the blood tests came back negative?

Well, you can all breathe a sigh of relief because the blood test they did the day they gave me the antibiotics came back WAY positive. The lab technician also mentioned something about the bacteria having a huge party and dancing to Michael Jackson's disco albums.

I told the doctor the "day three and pox-free" thing and she was really happy the antibiotics were working so well. I think she was excited that it actually was the dreaded Lyme disease after all and not something boring like hay fever. The fact that we caught it super-fast was even cooler.

So yep. Turns out I was absolutely right in my diagnosis/paranoid suspicions. Thanks, internets! Maybe I should add "Web M.D." to my name.

And you know, this whole thing makes me wonder...why the crap are they reforming the health care system? I mean, I don't have proper insurance like everybody else with "real" jobs, I have this green card that says "self pay" that ACTS like insurance. I use it exclusively at this Hell's Kitchen clinic. So all I do is flash this card, pay $40, and I can be seen and treated rather quickly for Lyme disease.

So yeah. It's not ideal, what with the occasional runaway taxi and falling pianos, but then again, I always look both ways when I cross the street so I'm not THAT worried.

If they have a Health Care Tea Party in New York, somebody sign me up. I can't imagine what would have happened if I had to wait nine months to see a doctor.

This guy is kind of a freak, but the video is pretty interesting.

In other news, it looks like Nutty is going to have to call up Yoko and figure out some new living arrangements because this little Forky is going Wii Wii Wii all the way to a new studio apartment.

Well, to be perfectly accurate, I MIGHT be moving to a new apartment. I'll find out in two or three hours once the credit checks go through. Other than that, it just depends on what the landlady thought of me in the little "interview" we had this morning and if she thinks I'll be a good fit in the building.

Mom and Dad Fourchette were good enough to act as guarantors. If you have a guarantor, they pretty much don't care about YOU unless you seem like a dirty, bugle-playing drug addict with four labradors.

If everything goes through I'll post another update with all the deets on this place. No sense in typing it all up if Yolanda is just gonna call and say, "I sorry, is no good for joo." Let's just say, it's so practically perfect in every way, I almost wonder if there isn't something DREADFULLY wrong with the place. Like dead kittens hidden in the floorboards or something.

It's right behind the Midtown offices for the Church of Scientology. The comic potential here is a little mind-boggling.

She's Alive. She's ALIVE!

2009-07-11T18:18:00.002-05:00

Don't worry folks.

Nickholle is alive.

And the first thing she said to me?

"Your hair isn't as curly as it was last time. What, did you actually *brush* it? Curly hair is so ugly."

I wonder how long it takes to learn to become a court reporter. They say it's America's best-kept job secret.

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Day Three and Pox-Free!

2009-07-09T15:00:00.000-05:00

Well folks, here we are at full day number three of the Doxycycline and I'm happy to report that, aside from some lingering hip pain (the bacteria is known to attack large joints for some reason), all the rashes are gone or diminishing,

the lymph nodes are back to their mostly normal size,

neck is no longer stiff,

fever/chills have FINALLY abated--I can actually sleep the whole night through for the first time in a month and a half--and, most importantly,

my muscles have stopped shrinking. Do you have any idea how much time and money I've spent getting them to their pre-Lyme size?

Funny to think that one bacterial infection and BOOM you're back to having the arms of a Japanese schoolgirl.

So yes. The Lyme disease, the pox, whatever it was, appears to be withering away thanks to a ten dollar bottle of aqua-colored antibiotics. It looks like I'm cured!

At least until the sequel. When they discover that...something survived...

Nickholle?

2009-07-08T11:16:00.004-05:00

Nickolle didn't come in for her training session this morning.

I called and emailed. Nothing. Which is weird because she has a Blackberry and usually responds within minutes.

Oh I know. Since we met at 11 on Monday she probably got confused and thought we were meeting at 11 today instead of 8.

It's 12:30 now.

No Nickholle.

You know what's funny? During our last session two days ago we were doing box push-ups. She finishes and says, "Wow! These really get your heart going, don't they?"

"Yes. They're a really good exercise."

"Wow. My heart is just pumping! I can really feel it going! I don't think I've ever worked this hard before."

"Yep. That's why I'm here."

"My dad just dropped dead in a gym. Worked out every day of his life, was in great shape, but this thing in his heart killed him. Same thing happened to his father. And I'm JUST like my dad. Look like him, act like him, everything. And he was at the gym working out when suddenly he fell over dead. They tried to revive him three times but it didn't work. I bet I'm going to die in a gym too."

Still haven't heard from Nickholle....

Good Lyme Charlie

2009-07-07T14:00:00.001-05:00

Whoops. Maybe I spoke too soon.

The magic wonder pills haven't quite cleared up the constant ache in my hip. And the spots are still there. I guess you can't expect something like this to heal overnight but still. It would be nice.

Since the tests came back negative (which, it turns out, is not unusual if the tests are performed at the early stages) it makes me wonder if we diagnosed this thing properly. Especially since I got the tick off within 24 hours of being bitten which typically reduces your chances of contracting the disease a big, fat ZERO. Generally needs two to three days. Hmm.

Can't think of what else it could be though...any ideas? The most creative diagnosis wins a prize!

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Rosemary's Lyme Baby

2009-07-07T08:16:00.001-05:00

Remember that scene in that creepiest of creepy movies, "Rosemary's Baby" where Rosemary, who has experienced an unusually painful (and evil!) pregnancy, starts to suspect the witches next door have something to do with it ("Pain is a sign that something is WRONG!") and she threatens to go to a real doctor, not the witch doctor? And suddenly the pain stops?

That totally just happened to me. I don't know if it had anything to do with my threatening to go to a "real" doctor in case it turns out the one yesterday misdiagnosed me...

...Or maybe it's just the antibiotics are working.

Either way, something sinister is *probably* going on. I think I may be carrying the devil's bacterium.

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Twist of Lyme

2009-07-06T16:54:00.005-05:00

GUESS WHAT?!

The results are in!

The nurse was both horrified and intrigued!

More blood was drawn! An EKG was performed!

I am the lucky carrier of borrelia burgdorferi! a.k.a. LYME DISEASE!

Named for the tiny town of Lyme, Connecticut, Lyme disease was finally "discovered" in 1975 when a bunch of housewives banded together to figure out why all their little children had been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis.

The doctor who went over all my symptoms and checked out all my target-shaped rashes had the TIME OF HER LIFE. She said she specialized in infectious diseases or something like that and I was the second-ever person she'd seen who had (by her estimation anyway) the classic, textbook case of Give-This-Kid-Some-Antibiotics-STAT! Lyme disease. Big smile on her face the whole time. And since I was the textbook case, I got the textbook treatment.

Quoth I: "There's a rash on my foot, one by my knee, one on my groin by my lymph node, and one on my shoulder that's new as of this weekend."

"You probably didn't know you also have a HUGE one on your back, did you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, you probably can't see it. But it's very large and very pronounced. Wow. This is so cool. Does your liver hurt?"

I guess the guys at the lake this weekend thought I just had a target-shaped sunburn on my back. Or maybe that the target was to show New York theatre where to aim when looking for a bright new star. Or maybe to show people where to direct their gifts of money and expensive electronics.

I suppose what they say is true:

I get lyme with a little help from my friends.

Fortunately, one EKG later, my disease-loving doctor got a $10 bottle of Doxycycline into my rashy hands and the first of 42 pills has been ingested.

Hopefully it won't turn out like this. (watching) Oh man. That's not even funny. Oh my gawd. Uhh...I wonder if I can take two of those pills...

Okay! Start sending your get-well gifts and care packages!

Back in Town

2009-07-06T10:04:00.003-05:00

And not a moment too soon. Seriously, y'all. Something's still wrong. VERY wrong.

On Thursday before we started our six hour drive to Upstate New York Land, I called the clinic and left a message on the Queen Nurse's voicemail asking her to call me back if they had received the results from my blood test.

Well, somewhere during the drive up I wound up with a voicemail from her.

"Yes, your lab results ARE in and...umm...we really need you to come in first thing Monday morning. We'd also like to know how you're feeling right now--if you're okay. So yes, please make sure you come in on Monday morning and tell them we need to see you so you can make sure to be seen."

Well THAT was fun news to get after having JUST arrived at our lakeside retreat for the weekend.

With the extremely spotty phone signal we had at the cabin, I used my schmartphone to rule out viral meningitis, although my neck and jaw were/are extremely stiff and painful to move. The low blood pressure and the curious large red circular patches appearing all over my body are unusual as well, as are the sudden "itchy attacks" that happen once a day for about twenty minutes on the tops of my feet. And, of course, those nutty nodules are all starting to swell again.

It really makes me wonder why the idiot doctor I saw two weeks ago didn't just go ahead and prescribe some generic antibiotic even though he was pretty sure it wasn't lyme disease.

Anyway, pictures and videos of the wacky weekend to come. If I don't die first.

Getting Out of Town

2009-07-02T10:54:00.002-05:00

It's time for another nutty Fourth of July adventure. This time it's a return to the rustic charms of upstate New Yuck with Jimmy Crack Corn and company. We leave this afternoon, drive five hours, and get there just in time to go to bed. It's going to be awesome!

That is, if I don't die of viral meningitis.

Oh, and there's one hurdle I have to clear before I can depart on my weekend of fun.

Another session with Nickoalle.

Some Thoughts on Michael Jackson

2009-06-26T13:16:00.007-05:00

Does anybody else think the rapid deification of Michael Jackson is a little bit weird?

Granted, the guy DID just die. And there's no denying his achievements: the #1 selling music album in history... the moonwalk...

But let's not forget, he was also the trailblazing pioneer in the realm of washed-up celebrities prone to embarrassing meltdowns who seem to exist only for their next freak-show moment to be made public.

Seriously, y'all. Two days ago if I'd asked anybody what they thought of Michael Jackson, they'd have wrinkled their (normal-sized) noses and said, "Well, I like 'Thriller' but the man is a total perv who should have gone to jail for what he did with that kid from 'Home Alone'. Guilty, guilty, guilty."

But today, they've swept his baby-dangling episodes under the rug and all we're seeing are images of him at the height of his career in the bright and bouncy 80s. Nevermind the WEIRD goings-on at Neverland Ranch, his pet monkey Bubbles, his Frankenstein attempts at preserving his youth and beauty that resulted in his face melting off, and those curious rumors about the Elephant Man's skeleton hanging in his closet.

One friend said, "It really makes you think about your own mortality!"

I admit, even I was a teensy bit saddened by the news.

But now I understand why.

People aren't mourning Michael Jackson. They're mourning themselves. They're remembering those carefree childhood/adolescent days in the 80s when your Dad came home with individual copies of the BAD album for each of your siblings because you just COULD NOT SHARE something that rad. Michael Jackson's death really just reminds us that we're not children anymore. I'm not 8. I'm almost freakin' 30.

And that sort of thing makes everybody sad.

It's not like he was cut down in his prime, either. At least we'll always remember Marylin being eternally beautiful. No, with Michael we got to watch him decay into a pitiable sideshow attraction and are left with plenty of unpleasant memories of him.

It almost begs the question, if the Weekly World News online edition is to be believed, why he waited until NOW to fake his death instead of doing it YEARS ago.

Nhikchoalle Continued

2009-06-25T17:54:00.003-05:00

I've seen Nickhoalle a couple more times since I last posted.

"I am SO ugly. My legs are SO FAT. I can't believe how fat I am. My friend had lipo, you know. You're the devil. I hate you. I blogged about you, but don't worry, I didn't use your name. I called you Satan. I can't believe how fat I am. My best friend had lipo and she HATES working out and she's SO BEAUTIFUL now. I can't believe you do this for a living, that you put your body through all this to be able to tell other people to do it. You must hate your life. You must hate what you do."

I really REALLY don't like Nikchoalle.

Every time we meet it's like an hour of sunshine.

I'm starting to question whether the iPhone is worth all this abuse.

* * * *

In other news, I think I'm dying. I twittered about this, but nobody seemed to care since Michael Jackson also died today. Which makes sense because I always worry about the health of cracked-out celebrities over the health dear, dear friends.

I think I have lyme disease, the Silent Killer. The Weekly World News did an exposé on it years ago and I've never forgotten it. I was bitten by a tick while on an outing in the Jersey woods a few weeks ago and suddenly I've developed flu-like symptoms. Chills and hot flashes, aches, fatigue, occasional headaches...

Or it could be swine flu. I DID go on a crowded airplane recently...

Whatever it is, I think it's slowly killing me. And crap. Me without my medical insurance. Oh well, Obama is going to pull an Evita and change all that anyway. Free, free, free. So I guess I should be happy that everybody else gets screwed while I get free healthcare and every hospital in America becomes like a Primacare.

Oh LORD. The thought of THAT sends a chill down my spine.

Or maybe it's the lyme disease.

* * * *

Since I don't know which family members read blog, I can't post about the whole "Daddy's Dyin', Who's Got the Will?" shenannigans going on down ol' Carolina Way.

It probably isn't a good idea to talk about the Luv Gov's recent scandal either. But that's okay because my Mom doesn't actually work for HIM so it's not like this is really messing with her job anyway.

I CAN, however, tell you about what my roommate Nutty McDonald is up to these days.

Oh, maybe I shouldn't. It isn't very nice to air another man's dirty laundry on the internetz for all to see.

Oh. What the hell.

Yep, he's still sleeping till 4pm every day. He says he doesn't need a job because he's busy studying for the MCAT. He wants to go to med school, you see. Which makes sense because he's never had a REAL job and has no savings. He's utterly penniless. He eats Milk of Magnesia because he can't afford anything else.

Anyway, Psycho Yoko is all nervous about the upcoming piano recital. She proposes consuming two pots of coffee so she can stay up all night practicing.

Ever the helpful gentleman, Nutty tells her, "No, dear. Don't drink coffee. Take some adderall."

What happens next is the stuff that after-school specials are made of.

Not satisfied with Nutty's laughably small recommended dosage of a fourth of one of the teeny-tiny pills (she's REALLY nervous, y'all), Yoko takes a half. Feeling no affect after five minutes, she takes the other half. Still nothing. So she takes the other pill (yes, instead of giving her just that fourth of the pill, Nutty gave her two whole pills).

I could tell you what happened next, but I think this video does an adequate job. Let's just say we knew there was trouble when Nutty got a phone call from Yoko screaming, "MY SKIN IS ON FIRE!"

Then again, Nutty REALLY didn't want to stay for Bible study last night so there's a chance he was lying about the whole thing. He lies. A LOT.

I'm free from personal training tomorrow and have taken two sleeping pills to see if I can sleep through the night without being woken up by a case of the shakes.

R.I.P. Michael. You're the lucky one. You got out before things got--

Whoa! My tooth is really aching!

Getting old SUCKS!!

The Train in Spain...

2009-06-23T14:09:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was my first day of personal training.

I have mixed feelings.

It's a little awkward. Because you're a trainer in New York City. It's different than been a trainer in Poughkipsie. They expect something different. I don't know--more polish? More confidence?

And if you've been lifting logs for the past year, it can be hard to grasp the notion that other people *can't*.

But despite how awkward it is, one thing keeps me moving forward with this, keeps my eye on the prize and gives me the boost I need when I feel like giving up:

The iPhone.

Client #1: Hektor Salsa-Verde

Hektor used to be in really good shape. Then he became a serious drug-addict. Now he's a born-again Christian working at Times Quare First Happy Clappy Church of Ecclesitonians. He's raising four children on his own and on the waiting list for a liver transplant.

He clearly can't afford the $1400 40-session package. And what's more, he doesn't need it. At most, we just need three sessions to teach him proper form and how to use the elliptical machine.

It won't make Them happy, but I don't care. I got in this business to help people. The iPhone can wait.

For now.

Client #2: Alvin Simon

Alvin is pretty hopeless. He's from Australia but has an accent I simply cannot place. He's in New York for five weeks with an internship at the Untied Notions building.

He's about my age, a lanky beanpole, and, of course, has a secret desire to get buff.

But towards the end of our session he almost passed out. Like, "What the crap is wrong with this guy?" passed-out.

I sat him down and got him some water. "Did you have anything to eat or drink before you came here?" I asked. He, sheet-white, replied, "I had a hotdog and chocolate croissant at 2."

It was 6. Dude. We've got our work cut out for us.

And finally,

Client #3: Nihkcoalle

I kind of hate Nihkcoalle.

She was the one that made me think personal training wasn't for me.

Brassy, sassy, hateful, rude, with a mouth like a sailor, middle aged, flabby, unwilling to change her diet, entitled white princess from Dallas, she pissed me off so much I put her through a circuit I knew would make her sweat. But do you think she stopped talking for two minutes?

Nope. Instead I heard about her exercise-loathing hog of a best friend who used to be 260lbs and then had liposuction and is now, like, 125.

I mean, just LOOK at the RIDICULOUS way she spells her name. RIGHT AWAY you should know what we're in for. A woman who, all her life, has said in thick "Dally Girl" voice, "Ex-CUSEME. It's not spelled Nicole. It's spelled NHIKCHOALLE."

But she really wants to lose weight. So we're meeting two more times this week, which means I have to see her nappy face for two whole hours. Ugh. I don't wanna.

iPhone.

Too Juicy

2009-06-22T15:47:00.002-05:00

The post I originally had up here has to be removed. See, I don't know which of my family members reads this thing. Which is a little annoying because MAN. SOMEONE needs to be writing all this crap down.

If you didn't read it earlier, basically the plot from "Daddy's Dyin', Who's Got the Will?" is playing out right now down old Carolina way. IN REAL LIFE.

There. That shouldn't offend anybody. And if it does...well...

Tough! Truth hurts, don't it?!