2002-07-31 - 11:31 a.m.

Yes, I finally update, and just in time to have a full THREE entries for the entire month of July! I've been a tad busy, my friends. Allow me to elucidate.

First off, the play is finished. Done, done, done. Thank God. I drive up to Stuart but once more today for a general post-mortem/final goodbye, and then, most likely, never again. I have made several friends up there, I wish them all the best, but God DAMN it, it's a long fucking drive. An hour and a half each way, assuming traffic to be at relatively normal levels. That, and also there is honestly something poisonous about a small community theater group. It becomes a world to itself, totally concerned with itself, the measure of success, and the refuge of last resort. It seeks to maintain itself even at the expense of its members: the group becomes primary, and any reaching beyond it becomes a betrayal. It can impart meaning, but only if you've admitted to yourself that you're out of the game: you have a day job, you will never move to NYC, your dreams start and end here. That's scary.

On top of volunteering my time to this show, and burning uncounted dozens of gallons of precious crude on its behalf, I also had a horrendous experience on Wednesday night. I had been told by the producer, 'Spaz', that I would have a room up there for the week of the show: turns out that meant a hotel room one night, and then begging various people for a sofa or spare room every other night. A tad degrading, yes, but nothing compared to what happend. On the night in question, I was referred to a certain Rick Little by the aforementioned Spaz, who had an open room and was willing to put me up for the night. I got there at about midnight (the cast had gone out for drinks following the successful preview), and my host promptly kept me up for several hours of pretty inane, and I thought, harmless small talk. Bread was broken, salt taken, oregano smoked. Not terrible, but I was pretty tired, and since we were opening the show the next day, I did feel a little put out by having to entertain the schmuck for my room. When the time comes to finally stumble off to bed, he claims he's too high to make it there on his own: like a good guest, I help him to his room, thinking something along the lines of 'Oh Fuck, he's gonna try something, isn't he'. I was of course right: he insists on hugging me, putting his hand on my backside, as if by accident. I promply disengage, and say goodnight, but he then says 'Oh, I left my pillow on the sofa!' Burning with indignation, I go and get the fucking thing, and toss it to him at a small distance. He holds out his hand, which I interpret as a tacit apology, so I give him a small handshake of bonhomie, which he uses to try to pull me into bed. When he finally figures out I'm not having any of it, he gives up and says 'goodnight'. Then I get back to my room, which does not actually have a door, and spend the next several hours worrying, and waking up at the slightest sound. Needless to say, I did not feel like spending the rest of the weekend with him. What really galls me, is not just that he felt entitled to me, not just that he casually treated me like a man-whore, not just that he never even bothered to find out my sexual orientation before launching the assault, but that he broke the basic rules of hospitality (the actual sin of Sodom). The Old Testament is quite firm on that subject, seeing as God destroys two whole towns over it. Dante puts betrayers of hospitality in the lowest circle of hell. Macbeth is 'Thrice-danmned' for that crime, which is counted as serious as regicide and disloyalty (the other two crimes). Then there's the fact that he was a ridiculously arrogant, unattractive, 40-year old overweight git. Shit, even if I was gay, there would have been no way in hell. I know why there are women who hate men: the anger and hatred that well up in you after you've been taken advantage of are incredible, asnd that's the sort of shit women are expected to put up with on a regular basis, and they are even asked to see the agressor as victem when they are rejected. It's a bit fucking much, honestly.

Anyway, even after I refuse his further hospitality, going so far as to drive home the next night, and then quite openly stay at other, more civilized people's apartments for the remainder, he does not take a hint. For the next several days, the bastard sort of hovers around me, whenever he thinks there's a chance of getting me alone. At the final cast party on Saturday night, I find out from the director that everyone else had heard of my stay chez-asshole, and they were wondering if I had been taken advantage of. They asked me 'didn't you know he was a child molester?' When I mentioned that that information might have done me some good if someone had mentioned it BEFORE I unknowingly walked into the scum's apartment, they replied that they would have done so, had I mentioned my upcoming stay to them before doing it: they had had no idea. I told them Spaz had referred me to him. They said 'SPAZ referred you to him. You're gonna trust a guy named SPAZ?' Good point.

But good things happened, too. I met a beautiful 38 year old woman named Susan at the party spent hours talking to her, flirting, generally getting to know her. She's a member of the NYC Arts Council, in charge of public relations, has worked with the Clinton's (lovely people) and the Gores (spoiled brats all). She was very in to me. God Damnit, it's fucking great to be sexy. (momentary pause while the author basks in his imagined sexiness) Ahh, that's better.

Also, bought a spectacular book by Karen Armstrong, a specialist in the middle east and Islam. It's a history of fundamentyalism, called the 'Battle For God'. It's brilliant, and a great read. It basically makes sense of the non-sensical, and pretty much disescts the last 300 years of religious development in the west. Good stuff.

Anyway, the long nightmare is over, and I'm auditioning for paying gigs this season: I'm pretty sure I'll be a working actor this year, and won't have to go back to waiting tables for at least six months. A temp agency I applied to back in summer of 2001 called out of the blue, set me up with a job for 5 days 2 weeks from now. So, between this temp agency and acting, I should be able to pull in enough dough to keep me from starving, and hopefully allow me to pay off my debts and save money for the great NYC move, newly rescheduled for September, 2003. And that should bring you all up to date! I SWEAR, on my honor as a scholar and a gentleman, that I'll update more frequently in August. Until then, Ciao!

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