Home | Must See HTTP:// | The Daily Brad | About Brad | The Cute List | Other Words | Colophon |

Wednesday, October 17, 2001

A Conversation From the Bar Scene

Steve: I think I'd really enjoy working for Microsoft. I read an article that said Bill Gates treats his employees like family.

Brad: You know, every time I hear that, I'm reminded that Joan and Christina Crawford were a "family" too. Sort of puts things in perspective.
October 17, 2001 at 9:56 PM | Permalink
Categories: Conversations

Friday, October 12, 2001

Skyfall?!

I wasn't at all apprehensive about boarding a plane and heading off to New York this weekend. Frankly, although I fly all the time and hardly give it a second thought, I've really never entirely believed in airplanes.

Sure, I understand the rudiments of science that make jet travel possible, but I've always operated on the assumption that planes were nothing more than long, metal bumblebees, physically incapable of sustained flight and held up not by lift and jet power, but by faith. They are held aloft, I thought, by our collective belief in them, the same way the national economy is — more or less — held up because everyone seems to share the delusion that little green pieces of paper have some worth.

So, yeah, winging off to New York tomorrow didn't concern me in the least.

And then the FBI announced that they heard from a guy who knew somebody whose brother's second cousin's girlfriend said there might be another attack or two on the United States "in the next several days." The code name they assigned to this tidbit of "information"? Skyfall.

Skyfall! Great mother of Chicken-fuckin-Little, can you imagine being the public relations officer on watch when that beauty hit the papers?

So for most of today, I was as skittish as a hen about boarding TWA 468. More than twice I considered scrapping the whole trip, excited though I was about hugging old friends, seeing a couple of shows and a city I haven't spent more than a couple days at a time in for more than two years.

At 5:04 p.m. today, though, my nervousness vanished and my resolve to live my life unmolested by terror returned.

Why? Because the gods smiled upon me and said, "You wanna see The Producers, eh? Sure, why not? Will third row mezzanine seats for the Sunday matinee be OK?"

"Yes," I answered in humble suplication. "Yes, that will be very, very OK."

I'm going to see The Producers on Sunday afternoon at three. And that means I'm getting on that plane tomorrow. That means if anyone, for any reason, tries to bring that plane down and kill people and cause mayhem and fuck with my vacation and my chance to see the hottest show on Broadway, I'm gonna scream like a banshee and kick 'em hard in the nuts.

Give my regards to Bialystock and Bloom, and tell 'em I'll be there 'ere long.
October 12, 2001 at 9:57 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Thursday, October 11, 2001

A Conversation From the Bar Scene

Mark: I'm taking my sister to see Jerry Seinfeld when she's in town. Did you see the top ticket price on that show?

Brad: 80 bucks, right?

Mark: It's not even a Broadway show. He's a comic.

Brad: He had a show on Broadway, though. A couple of concerts?

Mark: 80 dollars. For a comic!

Brad: Maybe they're billing it as "Jerry Seinfeld — The new MEL BROOKS Musical."
October 11, 2001 at 9:57 PM | Permalink
Categories: Conversations

Wednesday, October 10, 2001

Observed

An observation about chain bookstores: The "humor" section is almost always immediately adjacent to the "religion" section. It's a good thing they put up signs.
October 10, 2001 at 9:59 PM | Permalink
Categories: Half-Baked Humor

Tuesday, October 09, 2001

Prescription

When faced with three choices for dealing with a cloudy day, chilly night mood funk, I'm pretty much always gonna go with "C":

(A) Play long games of tug of war and mad ears with a rambunctious nearly-three-years-old "puppy", followed by a vigorous and much appreciated belly rub applied to same;

(B) Drink lots and lots of beer with several homosexuals in a confined space;

(C) Both A and B.
October 9, 2001 at 9:59 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Monday, October 08, 2001

Todd

He asked me why I was sitting inside on such a lovely night. "I enjoy the music," I said, "and this comfortable sofa."

I did not add that the main reason I’d chosen this particular seat — indoors when the tables outside were packed with college cuties — was the vantage point it afforded me, an unimpeded view of him behind the counter, making exotic coffee drinks and generally looking just effortlessly fabulous.

"And," I added, "I really enjoy being asked about the occupancy status of the bathroom every five minutes."

The couch is situated right next to the door of the unisex bathroom, and every potential user of the facilities approaches me with a look and a somewhat sheepish nod that silently inquires, "Is anyone in there?"

I answer either "yes" or "no" aloud and they wait or enter accordingly.

Once inside, they each fiddle with the stubborn lock on the door, as if I — a total stranger, granted, but a total stranger with what I would like to think is a very kind and honest face — as if I would betray them when they were at their most vulnerable and just send the next person to approach me right on in.

For the privilege of observing — Todd, the nametag said. For the privilege of observing Todd, I was the de facto Toilet Sentinel for the evening. It was, at long last, a job for which I was both qualified and available.
October 8, 2001 at 10:00 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Thursday, October 04, 2001

Observed

We want to do the moral thing, the right thing, because we want to believe that in the future we will be rewarded for our virtue. We want to believe that people who appreciate moral behavior are the ones doling out the jobs, granting the loans and keeping the gates.

This is not the case.

We are constantly disappointed by the immorality of the world, by the people who tell us it is easier and better to go along to get along, to tell the white lie that will save us, but that cannot save us from hurt.
October 4, 2001 at 10:00 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Wednesday, October 03, 2001

An excerpt from the discarded first-draft of The Novel

Julie whirled around the catch the waiter's attention and then, failing that, called to his departing back, "Another, please!" She was down to the ice of her third gin and tonic and I was still nursing the Bud Light which had arrived tepid and was rapidly approaching undrinkable.

Satisfied her cocktail was on its way, she returned her attention to me.

"Brad, look me straight in the eye and tell me you're happy."

"I can't do that."

"Aha! I knew it!"

"No," I said, exasperated that the subject of my presumed deep depression had come up for the third time in as many hours. "I mean I can't look you in the eye. My contact lenses are still burning."

"It was an accident. How could he know you were going to look down just then?"

"That's not the point," I protested. "Rushing up in a crowded store, shouting the name of a cologne and then squirting me with scented napalm is not the best way to endear me to your product."

"You're changing the subject. What's wrong?"

"Jesus, Julie, nothing's wrong!"

"Bradford Lee Graham, I've known you for almost ten years. I can tell when you're unhappy. It's no good trying to lie to me. I didn't come all this way just to get lied to, you know."

That much I did know. What I didn't know was why Julie had come to St. Louis. Since she'd up and moved to Chicago five years ago, I could count on a surprise visit every three or four months. Never a phone call or letter announcing her imminent arrival, just a knock on my door and an invitation for drinks.

One Friday shortly after her move, I'd come home from work to find Julie and her boyfriend sprawled asleep on my couch. To this day I have no idea how they managed to get into my apartment.

"Look," I said, fingering the neck of my beer bottle and studying its label in detail, "I'm not lying. I've never been very good at it anyway. But I'm not unhappy either. Maybe I'm just..."

"Just...?" Julie prompted.

"Maybe I'm just not very happy."
October 3, 2001 at 10:01 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Tuesday, October 02, 2001

Requiem for pants in C minor

A moment of silence, please, in memory of a dear, departed friend: Tonight, I bade farewell to my favorite pair of blue jeans. Excepting human beings, I believe my relationship to this particular pair of Levi's 501s is the longest standing of any I have enjoyed.

Purchased in 1988, probably at Colonel Day's, button-fly and polished to a buttery state of near translucency, waist size 29 (!) and wire-brushed with an emphasis on accenting the merchandise. They were lucky jeans before there were Lucky jeans, the uniform of choice whenever this army of one chose to "go commando." Frayed, snagged, torn, worn, holey, holy, comfortable and comforting. They have outlasted three serious boyfriends, 13 years of barroom backchat (and at least a dozen bars that expired before them), countless tricks and the occasional treat.

My denim friend finally succumbed to a washing that left it far more threadbare than thread. Survived by a Chess King pullover that thankfully doesn't look like a Chess King pullover and a leather poppers case of roughly the same era. Memorial contributions may be made to The Gap, Eddie Bauer or Land's End.
October 2, 2001 at 10:02 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Monday, October 01, 2001

A Conversation From the Bar Scene

Jeff: Oh, God, there's Steve!

Brad: Why are you trying to hide behind me?

Jeff: He invited me to one of his boring dinner parties tonight and I didn't go. If he sees me here, he'll know I just bailed.

Brad: You could tell him something came up. You got sick?

Jeff: I used the sick thing with him before. You think he'd believe I was having transplant surgery?

Brad: Doubtful.

Jeff: Yeah, yeah. I could tell him my doctor said drinking beer reduced the likelihood of rejection.

Brad: I thought that's why you drank every weekend anyway.
October 1, 2001 at 10:03 PM | Permalink
Categories: Conversations

Thursday, September 20, 2001

Hurry home, hurry home…

About two weeks after he and Craig split up, The Actor took a sublet in Chicago and made what he assured us all would be a temporary move. The bulk of his commercial work, after all, was up there and it just made sense not to commute back and forth. He'd be back, but what also made sense to him at the time was time, space, distance and healing. He had loved and lost and needed to get away.

This I understood completely. I've been there. But I always ended up staying here.

The Giant Queen just called. "Have you heard from The Actor recently?" he asked. "This week, maybe?"

I hadn't and said so. A quick round of calls to The Twins, Terry, Michael, the other Michael, Matt, Gerry and Jim determined that no one else had either, most of us not at all since his self-imposed exile.

We are now beside ourselves with worry, because of a damned headstrong, heartbroken man, who we still love very much, and an answering machine, which we do not.
"Hey, this is [The Actor]. I'll be in New York for auditions this week and next, but I'll be home September 16. Leave a message and I'll call ya when I get back. OKthanksbye!"


There is a long string of shrill beeps and then the line disconnects. The tape is full of messages and we are forcing ourselves to be full of hope.
September 20, 2001 at 9:06 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Wednesday, September 19, 2001

A Conversation From the Bar Supermarket Scene

The phone rings.

Brad: Hello?

Mark: I'm at the Esquire Schnucks. Where do I go?

Brad: I'm going to regret having helped you pick out that cell phone, aren't I?

Mark: You've been bragging for years about picking up guys at Schnucks.

Brad: Years?

Mark: It seems like it. So where do I go?

Brad: You might as well head over to the aisle where they sell "Soup for One".

Mark: Why? Are there cute guys there?

Brad: Never mind.

Mark: I'm disappointed. Where are all the cute boys you keep talking about?

Brad: Try the express lane.

Mark: How do you pick up a guy in the express lane?

Brad: When you spot one you like, get in line behind him and whisper seductively in his ear, "So, do you have twelve...or less?"

Mark: Shouldn't that be "or fewer"?

Brad: Being pedantic about grammar never got anyone laid. Trust me.
September 19, 2001 at 9:15 PM | Permalink
Categories: Conversations

Tuesday, September 18, 2001

His hair is red…

His hair is red. His skin is warm. His eyes are deep. His mouth is wet. His voice is low. His face is flushed. His breath is shallow. His gasp is music. His body is religion. His kiss is hard. His gift is distraction.

These days, I am grateful for distraction.
September 18, 2001 at 9:16 PM | Permalink
Categories: Mad About the Boys

Monday, September 17, 2001

Observed

A few observations and comments:

  • I am an American and, as such, bound by honor to support my President in times of crisis. On matters of almost every type of policy, I disagree to some extent with George W. Bush. I fervently hope, however, that he finds wise counsel and strength from his peers and the citizenry. Smaller tragedies have made greater leaders of lesser men. It can happen again. One thing I know certainly: I wouldn't want his job.
  • I support the reinstatement of the draft in an extremely limited form. Specifically, I think the President should draft Aaron Sorkin as his speechwriter, and should petition the Congress for sufficient funding to keep Aaron supplied with 'shrooms or whatever pharmaceuticals he needs to craft the inspirational rhetoric he gives the fictional President on The West Wing every Wednesday.
  • Recently, the President and several government spokespeople have asked the nation to prepare for a fight against terrorism that may last "several years." I keep expecting a reporter to ask Mr. Bush just how many years, exactly, he's thinking it will take. "Oh, I'd say about eight," I imagine Bush replying. "Maybe twelve, if Dick's ticker holds out."
September 17, 2001 at 9:16 PM | Permalink
Categories: Bawdy Politic

Friday, September 14, 2001

Everywhere, signs…

I have nearly 3,000 songs compressed in MP3 format stored on my laptop computer's hard drive, essentially turning my expensive portable computer into a Walkman jukebox containing a good chunk of my CD collection. Most of the time when I'm at my desk at work, the computer is plugged into a set of small speakers and the whole selection of tracks set for "shuffle" play, meaning any random song can pop up at any time.

A couple of weeks ago, a version of the old Julie Brown comedy song "The Homecoming Queen's Got a Gun" recorded by The Flirtations started playing. After I'd begun singing along, I caught myself thinking that, in light of events such as those at Columbine High School, it was unlikely that this trifle of a song, parodic and outlandish when it was created, would ever see airplay again. It just wasn't funny anymore.
Debbie's smiling and waving her gun,
Picking off cheerleaders one by one:
Oh Buffy's pom pon just blew to bits,
Oh no, Mitzie's head just did the splits.
God my best friend's on a shooting spree;
Stop it Debbie, you're embarrassing me!


Today, seeking a respite from a week when my radio was seldom switched from NPR news, I opened my laptop and started the music playing program, then began working on a proposal I'd been putting off for days.

Did you ever have feeling that there are elemental forces at work conspiring to screw with your head? Sometimes I truly believe that. Today, for example, Fate clasped hands with Shuffle Play, and Karma and Coincidence got jiggy with it.

While I tapped away at the keyboard and silently muttered curses at Microsoft Word, three songs came up in randomly-selected succession: Styx's "Angry Young Man," Elton John's "Take Me to the Pilot" and, finally, John Cougar Mellancamp's "Crumblin' Down".

My hands were shaking as my concentration drifted from my work and I heard the lyrics of the chorus, divorced from the context of the song:
When the walls come tumblin' down
When the walls come crumblin' crumblin'
When the walls come tumblin' tumblin' down.


I shivered. I decided the universe was trying to tell me something. I shut off the computer and went outside and sat under a tree and lit a cigarette and cried for a while. It just wasn't funny anymore.
September 14, 2001 at 9:17 PM | Permalink
Categories: Pop Life

Thursday, September 13, 2001

Three days

On the first day, I stepped off an airplane and drove home where I showered and shaved and dressed and turned on the television as an afterthought to check the traffic and weather. What I saw was a far grimmer forecast than I could have ever imagined. On the first day, I sat at my desk and tried to find all of my friends and family over the wires.

On the first night, we cancelled the show and I went out and had a drink and held my friends close and couldn't sleep at all.

On the second day, a missing friend was found and the show went on and I made a donation and I got angry because my brown friends were catching shit from idiots and I tried to work and got nothing done.

On the second night, I went out to dinner and talked of fear and frustration with a gentle man and called my mother and chatted with friends and slept fitfully for three hours.

On the third day, I had stuffy nose and a headache and I wanted to flee, to go to the place where people were hurting and hold them and bring things and feel like I was useful. But I sat at my desk and actually worked and copied and FAXed and tried to make a dent and learned that a friend had fallen from the sky.

On the third night, I watched the news and looked into the eyes of a mother who loved her son and for the first time in three days and three nights I cried. And now I can't work and now I can't sleep and now I can't stop crying.

As awful as it was, I liked the first day better.
September 13, 2001 at 9:20 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Wednesday, September 12, 2001

I wanted to say this yesterday, but, well…

There is something to be said, I think, for sharing stories with old friends and new ones in a funky art space with a supportive audience applauding and laughing and crying and hugging.

There is something to be said for lifting a glass and dancing with abandon and meeting a boy and sharing a smile.

There is something to be said for trains that take you to see old friends you haven't met yet and learning the immortal lesson that everything is funnier if it involves pirates.

There is something to be said for a lazy breakfast and a leisurely walk through a sunlit park with someone who knows this city and loves it like no other and realizing that it is still possible to step off a path and share a joint and go back in time.

There is something to be said for all of these things, indeed. And that something is "Thank you."
September 12, 2001 at 9:21 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Tuesday, September 11, 2001

The intersection of grief and grace

I am hurt, but hopeful. Today I have seen the magnificent potential of human compassion in the midst of violence. I am reminded that too often in these times we meet each other at the intersection of grief and grace, and that we walk away from that place, together, wounded but stronger. If we cannot find peace in the world, we must find it in ourselves.
September 11, 2001 at 9:21 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Thursday, September 06, 2001

On the radio

You know your life is a bit out of whack when, in order to spend time with one of your dearest chums, you have to arrange to be interviewed on his radio show. Still, it was a convival hour and certainly the longest conversation Thom and I have managed to have since his return to St. Louis. Somewhere in the midst of the laughter and quips and catching up, I still managed to actually do my job and plug the theatre season.

It's been a bit over three years since Thom and I got naked together, and thereby hangs a tale. I'd been going back and forth trying to decide which True Story I wanted to trot out to tell at Fray Day this weekend in San Francisco and recounting for tonight's listeners the circuitous path by which I came to lose my trousers in such charming company tipped the scale in its favor. Consider that fair warning, all of you on the Left Coast!

We made an appointment to meet for dinner next week, Thom and I, and I really hope this one comes through. I canceled the last, pleading fatigue, and he tonight, citing a work obligation. Still, how weird is it that the the only chance I get to connect with an old friend is while thousands of folks are eavesdropping in the ether?
September 6, 2001 at 9:22 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Wednesday, September 05, 2001

Miss Electra

It took me a while to get to this career, but I plan on staying for a while. There are transcendant moments when I absolutely love my life in the theatre without reservation.

Tonight, for example, when I stood in the back of a darkened auditorium, holding my breath and standing quietly still with only one question on my mind: Will her brassiere light up and twinkle on cue?

It did. The audience gasped. The audience laughed. Everyone applauded. I breathed. I loved.
September 5, 2001 at 9:22 PM | Permalink
Categories: Work It

Tuesday, September 04, 2001

Life fakes you out…

Last Wednesday evening felt almost entirely fictional.

Lucas (not his real name), Jeff (not his actual hair color), the Giant Queen (not really giant at all) and I got together for coffee (not our usual beverage).

We talked about Jeff's new job, the Giant Queen's new romantic interest — on which subject we were able to reach a rare consensus approval among us — and my new laptop computer. And then, just as casually as if he were ordering a second slice of cheesecake, Lucas said, "So, there's this thing..."

This "thing" was spotted by his doctor during a regular physical the day before, a growth where things aren't generally supposed to grow. GQ, Jeff and I sat nonplussed while Lucas sipped his latte and remained stoically and damned annoyingly plussed.

I lay awake that night until nearly 4 a.m., thinking about Lucas and the way he finally allowed his composure to slip as we clasped his hands and lingered over the second slices of cheesecake we all had eventually ordered. "I told the doctor that the only thing worse than having to face this," he said, "would be having to face it alone. He asked me if I had family in town and I told him I had something better. I had you all."

Lucas had gone out of town for the holiday — delighting, I presume, in the denial afforded by the fortuitously-timed Southern Decadence — but finally called tonight, ending the almost daily round of voicemail tag Jeff and the Giant Queen and I played for a week: "Have you heard anything? Call me. No. Have you?"

The "thing" was harmless, Lucas said, and I realized I'd been holding my breath since spotting his number on the Caller ID. I exhaled sharply, made a date for lunch next week, hung up and trembled for the next 20 minutes.

There are time when life feels fictional, true. These are often the times when life actually can't get any more real.
September 4, 2001 at 9:23 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Thursday, August 30, 2001

I want to know

I've never had a sweet tooth, and I don't particularly like mint-flavored things.

This is the 21st century. There are human beings living in space, we can create powerful computing machines the size of a dime, we have mapped our genetic pattern and begun paving the way toward curing disease and eradicating hunger.

So why can't someone make a mouthwash that fights tooth decay, freshens your breath and tastes like tomato soup?
August 30, 2001 at 8:51 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Wednesday, August 29, 2001

In which I use the word “dongle”…

It's done, finished, over and out. In my line of work, it's axiomatic that "done is better than perfect," and tonight's presentation — the result of three weeks at hard labor slaving over a steaming pile of digital video and audio to cull eight brilliant minutes — certainly proved that rule. A few tips for those with corporate presentations looming in their future:
  • Allow twice as much time to assemble the multimedia portion of your talk as you think you'll need. Then double it. Add four days. That should be almost enough.

  • Have a dress rehearsal. No, seriously: put on a dress, preferably something like Jennifer Lopez would wear to the Grammys. It will prepare you for feeling naked and vulnerable during the actual presentation.

  • Don't leave home without your dongle. No, seriously: If you don't routinely carry every variety of monitor cable, gender changer, triple tap, three-wire adapter and RCA audio wire, you're in for a world of hurt. (Plus side: The union electricians will learn some new swear words from you.)

  • Finally, and perhaps most importantly: If you're using a new suite of video editing software and you want to experiment with its features before you receive the actual footage you'll be using, do not use porn as the sample footage. The Chi Chi LaRue corollary to Murphy's Law states you'll mix up the tapes at the optimally awkward moment.
August 29, 2001 at 8:52 PM | Permalink
Categories: Work It

Tuesday, August 28, 2001

In which I let a “Dark Lady” brighten my day…

Feeling a little blue, a victim of a vague, ineffable late summer funk? I can recommend no better tonic than to down a beer or six in the company of many, many buoyant homosexuals and then to dance with abandon and without regard for the stares of others to Cher's "Dark Lady"...

Dark Lady laughed and danced and lit the candles one by one.

(Clap, clap!)

Danced to her gypsy music till her brew was done.

(Shimmy, shimmy.)

Dark Lady played back magic 'til the clock struck on the twelve.

(Clap, clap!)

She told me more about me than I knew myself.

...and so on. It's cheaper than therapy, and slightly aerobic into the bargain.
August 28, 2001 at 8:53 PM | Permalink
Categories: My So-Called Lifestyle

Monday, August 27, 2001

Baby got backpack

A back-to-school observation: You wouldn't think it to see them just dangling on a department store rack, but you should never underestimate the erotic possibilities suggested by a Jansport backpack, especially when it is yoked across a back corded with muscle and hanging over tanned calves dusted a downy blond. I'm just saying.
August 27, 2001 at 8:53 PM | Permalink
Categories: Mad About the Boys

Page 9 of 17 pages « First  <  7 8 9 10 11 >  Last »