Sunday, May 4, 2008

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Cleaning house

Like the coming of spring, cleaning house is supposed to make you feel good. And then you move a pile of old papers from the bottom of a box in a closet and you find a letter.

The letter.

And suddenly 15 years melt away and you feel hurt and vulnerable and as utterly cynical as you thought it was never again possible to be.

And then the tears come.

Which is a kind of housecleaning too.

Monday, November 26, 2007

“I know it’s crazy, but it’s true.”

For a fairly resolute non-monogamist such as I, three months and change is a pretty good run. But all good things...well, spread the word: I'm back on the market and priced to move.

Oh, and save the sympathy. The stretch just ended was casual as casual can be, came to a close amicably by mutual agreement and leaves in its wake a very tight friendship...with benefits. Just like baby shampoo, no tears and no tangles.

Lessons learned or reaffirmed? A couple. First, the people who tell you long-distance relationships are a challenge? They're absolutely correct. The most challenging of all? The ones that begin as short-distance romance and bow under the strain of eventual enforced geographic separation. But almost equally vexing is the medium-distance relationship, where one party or the other moves away but not so far that you have to take a plane there, for example. Then a lot of your conversations become who's driving over this weekend or why don't we meet in the middle or gas is up to three bucks a gallon and yeah, we're sure racking up the hotel points but neither of us is made of money...and so on. Even if you don't let the logistics become a strain—and falling for a fella who is your equal or better in creative problem solving and romantic distraction is a plus here—it's still awfully wearing.

Second: "All my exes live in Texas" is a great rhyme, but it's not true. Only one does; the rest are all in New York City. Somehow they all end up there and I refuse to. Nothing against the city per se, although more than a few weeks spent there consecutively tends to drive me starkers, but I've yet to meet the man who'd make me chuck St. Louis for the isle of Manhattan. If you ever get a change of address from me that includes a 100XX zip code, you'll know it's love everlasting.

Third: The past few weeks have fortified my belief that there's not a lot of room for a serious relationship in my life. Not that I've ruled it out entirely—I never have, though some think elsewise—but my priorities are on other things right now: health, family, career. "On your own with only you to concern yourself doesn't mean you're lonely, just that you're free," as the great man wrote.

Of course, another one said, "When you get caught between the moon and New York City..."

Sunday, November 25, 2007

39

It's just a number, right?

An astonishing number of the cards that arrived in yesterday's mail sure made it seem like turning 39 was something to be dreaded or denied, but let me tell you, it feels pretty damn good. I know I repeat it every year, but that's simply because it's true: my life gets better and richer and more fulfilling day by day. I'm greatly blessed, with so many dear friends, relatively good health, a career that I love, a marvelous home in a beautiful city...it's an embarrassment of good fortune. Why wouldn't I welcome another year of the same?

And so we begin the traditional Season of Bradvent, the 10-day celebration of my birthday. Thank you to everyone who has sent along good wishes by post, text, e-mail and stripper-gram. I couldn't ask for a better way to bring in my 40th year!

(Photo courtesy of Leo Reynolds and the Creative Commons.)

Saturday, November 25, 2006

38

I thought I might have something more profound to say today but, as I continue to slouch toward 40, the most apt thing I can report is that the ride never fails to get better with each passing year and, this year as last and the one before, I've never felt better or happier or more fulfilled than I do today.

Here's hoping that in another year, I can still say the same. I have a hunch that'll be so.

Today, my birthday, of course, marks the beginning of Bradvent, the 10-day celebration of my birthday filled with glass-liftings, pageants and other assorted folderol and, of course, concludes with the merry Feast of Bradvent where, surrounded by the most wonderful friends in the world, I'll toast the first few days of my 39th year on this earth.

How do I feel at 38? Better than yesterday and not as good as tomorrow. Onward!

Monday, September 11, 2006

I remember

The day. The day I stepped off a plane and into a world irrevocably changed.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And a month after that.

And a few days later.

Those are things I remember because, for some reason, I wrote them down.

There are other things I remember because they put a dent in my heart. I remember that was the day we found out Mark died a horrible death in a field in Pennsylvania. I remember that was the day we began to worry that Michael, the artist formerly known as The Actor, might be lost too. I remember that Terry called me from San Francisco and cried on the phone with relief when I told him my flight had landed safely. (And I remember that I didn't remember to call my mother and tell her I'd landed until three hours after the second tower fell.) I remember wanting so desperately to be in New York to find and hold my friends close and feel like I was doing something.

And I remember wondering if I would always remember. And I do. And I always will.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

I reached the finish line!

A few brief notes:

1. I will be in Chicago for the next nine days, largely to attend the Gay Games. I'll be participating in my usual event, the Seven-Day Freestyle Sodomy which is, of course, a relay, but only an exhibition sport, not an actual competition. Which is good, because I'm still not entirely sure what to do with the baton.

At all cases, that means there are roughly 216 hours during which I am potentially available for glass-liftings, noshes, kick-backs and other leisurely pursuits with friends old and new. If you don't have my phone number, an e-mail flies just as swiftly to my portable communications device. Do let's get together.

2. I find myself in possession of one extra ticket to the fabulous closing ceremonies of the aforementioned Games, to be held Saturday, July 22 in the friendly confines of Wrigley Field and featuring a raft of entertainment including the likes of BETTY, Cyndi Lauper, ANT and bleachers filled with hot homosexual athletes. It's either a very good seat or a great seat, part of a premium package and, of course, comes with the opportunity to sit by me! (If you haven't anything nice to say, etc. etc.) Asking price is $90 and includes my convivial companionship during the ceremony and the possibility of post-closing partying in adjacent Boystown. Interested? Be in touch, sugar!

3. I only get to make this trek because I finally—more or less—finished the enormous project that has been hanging over my head like the butter knife of Damocles for the past few weeks. There are still phases two, three and four awaiting me upon my return, but the biggest chunk is done, done, done and I'm ever-so-pleased.

Tuesday, April 4, 2006

Evergreen

People often wonder why I don't go out dancing on Saturday nights as often as I used to. In the last part of his Black Party roundup, Joe nails it.

We are survivors, all of us, a fact underscored, amplified, by the 20, 25, 30-year old tunes being played, each song removing us to a place and time back when we danced with The Lost. In the music, we find our truths, we find our souls, we find ourselves, we find The Lost. It's not uncommon to notice someone dancing with tears rolling down his face. Still, he dances.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

The serenity of margaritas

"Hold still," Andrew said. "I'm going to take your new headshot."

"What?" I said, partly because I believed I didn't entirely hear him correctly, partly because I was distracted by the stunningly attractive Brit seated at my left arm and partly because, if I had heard correctly, he was due a correction, because I didn't have an old headshot.

Well, that's not entirely true. I do, in fact, have an old headshot. It is, in keeping with the unwritten regulations of the Actors Equity Association (of which I am not a member) regarding headshots, at least ten years out of date and actually closer to 15. It looks nothing like me.

"I said," he said, "I'm going to take your new headshot." And then he did.



I like it very much. It looks like me, although not enough like me that I actively hate it. It captures me in my natural and preferred habitat: at a bar, in the company of friends, with an attractive man open to guileless flirting at my side. I like it because it was taken by a smart, witty person in Austin, Texas, my third favorite place in the world, just like my last—and still—favorite picture of me.

My only regret is that rather unbecoming white lanyard. Nooses or neckties, lanyards or layers of worry...there's always something around my neck, I suppose. I only wish it'd been the arms of the Brit.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

SXSW Photo Hunt

If you can find me and you ask nicely, I'll get you two points in the SXSW Photo Scavenger Hunt.

Thursday, March 2, 2006

I have to say this comes as something of a surprise…

You scored as Capt. Lee Adama (Apollo). You have spent your life trying to live up to and impress your Dad, shame he never seemed to notice. You are a stickler for the rules. But in matters of loyalty and honour you know when they have to be broken.

What New Battlestar Galactica character are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

I would have settled for being Boomer, if only to get rack time with both Helo and the Chief. Ah well, if I must be Commander Hottie, I suppose I must.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Confession is good for the soul

I am not embarrassed to tell you

• That ridiculously expensive spring water you may have seen me drinking recently? I've been refilling the bottle from my Brita pitcher for weeks.
• I screamed like a girl this morning when a spider dropped onto my head.
• I watch Four Kings every week, but only on TiVo triple fast-forward in case Seth Green takes his shirt off.
• I laughed until I snorted at this George W. Bush joke.
• Apparently, you can you can buy me at Wal-Mart.

Tuesday, February 7, 2006

Dan Says and I do…

Mr. Budiac has requested that I fill out my AOL member profile.

Four jobs I’ve had:

1. Publicist for a leading American resident theatre company. 2000–present.
2. Director of marketing for a community arts education center. 1997–2000.
3. Promotions associate and editor for a public television station. 1995–1997.
4. Freelance journalist. 1989–the occasional present.

Four movies I can watch over and over:

1. The American President
2. Airplane!
3. The Producers
4. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Four places I’ve lived:

1. St. Louis, Missouri. 1994–forevermore.
2. Richmond Heights, Missouri. 1990–1994.
3. Webster Groves, Missouri. 1987–1990.
4. New London, Missouri. 1968–1987.

Four TV shows I love:

1. The West Wing
2. The Dick Van Dyke Show
3. Battlestar Galactica
4. The Big Valley

Four places I’ve vacationed:

1. San Francisco, California
2. Las Vegas, Nevada
3. Parke County, Indiana
4. New York, New York (the city so nice they named it twice)

Four of my favorite dishes:

1. Stuffed lobster, Shaw's Crab House, Chicago, Illinois
2. Boeuf bourguignon, Chez Leon, St. Louis, Missouri
3. Poached asparagus, anywhere, anytime
4. Creme brulee, 609, St. Louis, Missouri (among many exemplars)

Four sites I visit daily RSS feeds I devour whenever they update:

1. Towleroad: pretty, witty and gay.
2. Any move Lance Arthur makes: C'mon. It's Lance.
3. My Flickr friends photos: A dozen little reunions every day.
4. Broadway Stars: A quick précis of most things I have to read.

Four places I would rather be right now:

1. Lifting a glass with my pals at any of a dozen watering holes in Chicago, Illinois.
2. Hanging out with the big, beautiful brains of my pals at the South by Southwest Interactive conference in Austin, Texas (soon, my pretties!).
3. In London, at the Royal National Theatre, seeing Once in a Lifetime.
4. In a post-coital snuggle between Taye Diggs and Jesse L. Martin.

I hereby tag the following people:

1. RuPaul
2. Ben Roethlisberger
3. Barney Stinson
4. Rosie O'Donnell (in verse, please)

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Death by Dew

Proposed epitaph: "He died the way he lived: alert but twitchy." It would take 192.34 cans of Mountain Dew to put me down.

How much of your favorite caffeinated drink would it take to kill you?

Friday, August 5, 2005

Swamped

Rehearsals start Tuesday for the season, a front-loaded whirlwind that includes seven openings in 12 weeks starting next month. (Get a glimpse of the madness: the mini-site for our new series—a site, incidentally, built in one manic day by yours truly and before anyone says a word, the splash page was not my idea—or see the whole shooting match on our mothership site.)

I just did my daily review of my to-do list for the next two weeks, and my calendar through December. There is not one free day, weekends included, until well into November. Fortunately, I'm too tired to cry.

And I've never had so much fun in my life.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

…make Brad something something

The late spring and summer, usually a bit of a respite from the hustle that attends the theatre season and the academic term, have shaped up this year to be extraordinarily busy for me. The past two and the coming three weeks are particularly packed, as two rather significant projects come to a climax. I didn't leave the office until after 11 this evening, and there are a few more late nights in the offing.

Among the tasks on my to-do list is refashioning a rather large website and I'd really hoped to do it up right. But after spending two days and change attempting to craft a set of CSS-based templates that would look halfway decent across multiple browsers and platforms, I folded. A couple of hours later and the whole thing was on track with table-based layouts and a soupcon of CSS to paste it together. Le sigh. Maybe someday I'll understand classes and the box model and floating and all that. Not today.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to restore the house to some semblance of order after neglecting a fair amount of chores and general tidying for far too long. I'd hoped to remodel my home office, but my inability to find suitable furnishings (my preternatural pickiness combined with some bizarre room dimensions) has returned me to my original plan of commissioning some custom cabinet work that will, alas, probably have to wait until the fall or winter.

And! I discovered last weekend on a trip to buy some storage containers of which I'm fond that Organized Living is closing! Where will I go now to indulge my cabinet and closet porn festish? I mean, sure, in the short term I'm loving the discounts on things I've put off buying for awhile, but in two or three weeks when there's a vacant storefront where my mecca used to be—what then?!

The take-away message? Busy. Very busy. Further bulletins as events warrant.

Sunday, January 2, 2005

Ya Say Ya Wanna Resolution? (2005)

A few things I'll be keeping in mind to keep me in line in 2005.

• This year, I will spend more on dry cleaning than dry champagne.


• I will try not to make too much of the fact that there are some bartenders in at least five different cities who know me by name and preferred beverage.


• I will stop shopping for new bedroom furniture and actually buy some.


• I will develop a good post-workout cooldown strategy. Of course, this will mean actually working out to begin with.


• I will ask out the cute guy at the Kiehl's counter and I will not make one single "clever" remark involving the word "facial" in the process.


• I will endeavor, as promised, to encourage Tagert to leave the bar by midnight on Tuesdays. I will not, however, commit to midnight in a specific time zone.


• I'll get that looked at.


• I will organize my home office, at least to the point where the tangle of cords behind the desk doesn't look like a warning illustration from Underwriter's Laboratories.


• I won't wait until it's my turn to buy a round.


• Eight years is probably long enough. I'll be adult about it and give him a call.


• I will host more dinner parties. By which I mean at least one.


• I'll finally confess to my mother what I mean when I say all my money is tied up in CDs.


• I will eat vegetables other than the ones that are used to garnish my drinks.


• I won't back down.


• I won't back up either.


• I will back my friends. As always. With love.

Monday, November 29, 2004

What a turkey…

Your Thanksgiving and/or birthday week was automatically better than mine if it did not involve one or more of the following:

• Minor surgery
• A bad spill on slick pavement
• Santa Claus scaring the piss out of you
• Bill payments and greeting cards accidentally incinerated
• A citywide power outage with Thanksgiving dinner an hour from completion...in and on an electric stove
• Ladybug infestation
• More than one trip to Wal-mart
• Long-distance 56K dial-up
• Non-minor yet non-major surgery
• One or more long drives in a snow storm

This week has got to be better though, right?

Yeah, you'd think. But that's the problem with weeks. They generally start with Monday. Oy.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

Today is My Birthday

It's been a long week of unexpected events, both good and bad, and today I'm feeling each of my years rather acutely. Still, it feels so thrilling to get older! No, seriously. I look forward to my birthday more with each passing year because it means that I've survived, that I've learned (however little that may be), and that I'll get to do it again. Woohoo!

Thanks to everyone who has sent along good wishes, including John, who turned me on to the Perry Bible Fellowship, a darkly witty comic where, coincidentally, the above image popped up today as the random strip when I visited the site.

Saturday, November 13, 2004

Ya are, Blanche…

Ya are, Blanche...: I use my Amazon.com wishlist as a shopping list, bookmarking things I want to come back and buy later when I'm ready to read or watch them.

Which is why it's a little disturbing that this book has been on the list for over two years.

Maybe I'll order it next week.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

A few things to which I am looking forward

A few things to which I am looking forward:

• Commencing workouts with my new trainer
• Spending this weekend with my favorite big, silly goose
• Catching up with an old duck who's learned some new songs
• Opening night and, of course, the consequent opening night party
• Seeing the fella I'm fooling around with tricking regularly with dating after a three-week separation
• My twice-postponed regular "day of beauty"

Dispatches from California if events warrant.

Friday, July 9, 2004

Checking in

There's no cure like travel...so they say. It's been an uncharacteristically busy summer at work for me. The off-season is not one big four-month stretch of leisure — you'd be surprised at the number of people who are astonished that we who (stand behind the folks who) don the cap and bells actually don't get a massive break after each April. "You work year-round?" they say, a bit flummoxed. "What on earth do you do when there's not a show?"

We do, friends, what we do every day: write, file, budget, plan and, from time to time, actually make an effort to advance the art or, at least, The Arts.

And it has been, as I mentioned, a busy summer so far. Greetings from the midpoint: one month until rehearsals begin anew, two months until opening night. Then hold on tight and enjoy the ride until spring.

I worked through Pride. I worked through The Fourth (Fifth, actually) when my planned escape to points west got water-logged. This seems as good a time as any to take a pause, so I'm giving myself a couple days off and heading to Chicago.

It's only fitting that, as I celebrate the successful completion of two rather large, short-term projects, I return to the city that nursed my psyche a few short weeks ago as I mourned the unfortunate conclusion of another, rather larger, long-term project I'll have to begin anew all too soon.

Cryptic? Of course it is, dears. There's a certain aspect of my line of work that relies more on what I don't say than what I do. Politics. Diplomacy. Brinksmanship. Who knew?

Anyway, let's just say that the last visit to Chicago, even though it came on the heels of disappointment, provided everything I ask of my second home, and I've every reason to suspect the days to come will surpass it in terms of sheer enjoyment.

Plans include stops at several notable local homosexual watering holes, a few good meals, a few good men, a little hair of the drama dog (namely this and, if time permits, this) and the always convivial fellowship of the Sisters all along the way.

Oh yes, and then there's the matter of catching up with her.

I'll see you on the other side, darlings. And I'll see you, you and — maybe you? — in my dreams.

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Pride redux

Any day that begins with mimosas and friends...



...is bound to be a day on which you can be proud.

See also: Gay Pride Floats You Won't See.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Brad, Texas

I've been to paradise, but I've never been to me.

This might be worth a summer road trip.

Thursday, April 1, 2004

More Fool I

Almost nine years ago, I wrote a book, a mostly-autobiographical story about a twenty-something guy named "Brian", two failed romances and the pursuit of a perfect third that I called Falling in Love with a Poor Man. I mainly did it to prove to myself that I could, having earlier aborted two other long-form stories.

But finish it I did and, having accomplished that, I would have put it in a drawer and forgotten it (remembering one professor's admonishment that "every journalist has a novel in him, and that is precisely where it should stay") if a generous friend hadn't read it and insisted I let him pass it along to a literary agent of his acquaintance.

The agent was encouraging, although that encouragement came mostly in the form of suggestions for tweaks and edits that wounded my pride of authorship more than slightly. I made two or three revisions over the course of several months and, for a while, entertained dreams that I might actually have written the Great Gay American Novel and would see it published.

After about three years, during which I imagined my neatly bound manuscript languishing on the desks of editors at every major and most minor publishing houses, I had all but given up that dream.

In 1998, though, I found myself sitting in a hotel bar at a conference in Atlanta with a friend who'd recently had his first novel published, plucked off the slush pile by a wunderkind young editor. He encouraged me to call my agent right there and then and see that Poor Man got into the right hands.

And that's how, six months later, I found myself sitting across the table from Rob Weisbach, listening to him enthusiastically praise my writing and making me an offer to publish it under the auspices of his eponymous imprint at William Morrow. I was on Cloud 9, visions of catapulting onto the New York Times best-seller list before I was 30 returning to my mind.

That high lasted about as long as it took to recover from the hangover I'd earned from round after round celebrating that night with friends in the West Village. Weisbach's tenure at Morrow ended shortly thereafter and Poor Man returned to being a pipe dream. Shortly after that, having more or less abandoned my freelance career to become a PR flack for a local arts center, I stopped answering "writer" when people at parties asked me what I did.

I hadn't thought about the book in a long time, not in its substantial form anyway, although I'd occasionally trot out bits of it as excerpts on this website or to perform for readings, notably at Fray Day or PROMO's Words of Love.

And then last July, out of the blue, I got a phone call from a woman I'd never met, offering to change my life.

Chloe Solomon introduced herself as an agent with Curtis Brown Ltd., mentioned some names I recognized, explained the circuitous route by which she'd come into possession of my manuscript and asked if I'd consider letting her pitch it to someone she thought might have an interest in the story.

"Sure," I said, refusing to get excited and assuming nothing would come of it.

Something came of it.

In late February, I signed a contract with HBO Films. Falling in Love With a Poor Man or, at least, a screenplay based on it by a marvelously funny and gifted Chicago screenwriter named Kelly Powell, is going to be a movie. The working title is More Fool I and, if everything goes as planned, you'll get to see it in the fall or winter of next year.

(Yes, I'm shivering as I type this.)

It's been a whirlwind these past few months, a chaos of daily e-mail exchanges and occasional trips to the Windy City to consult with Kelly. Through it all, for both legal reasons and because I became suddenly, rabidly superstitious, I've shared the ongoing process with only a couple of my closest confidantes. Anyone who knows me can attest how difficult it is for me to keep good news to myself. It's been utter agony not to crow at the top of my lungs every time someone asks at happy hour or the grocery, "So, what's new with you?".

There's more.

For years, I've sworn I would never leave St. Louis. As I've often told anyone who'd listen, I've traveled all over the country and have yet to find anyplace I'd rather live. My family is here. My chosen family is here. Ted Drewes is here! I love this city and always will. It will always be home.

But in late May, I'll be moving to Chicago. I was fortunate on my last visit to find a great apartment in East Lakeview (the sole disappointment of the past few months was not getting the one I really wanted in Boystown proper) and I finished all the paperwork yesterday.

My agreement with HBO includes an option for a second film, based on the outline of a story I submitted last year about a group of friends who, coincidentally, somewhat resemble my buddy Jeff, The Giant Queen, The Twins, Jill the Lip-Schtick Lesbian and a thirty-something guy named "Brian", the same romantically cynical fellow at the center of More Fool I.

Kelly Powell and I will be collaborating on the second screenplay and on the ongoing work based on Poor Man. In addition, the plan is that principal filming of More Fool I will be done in Chicago -- where the story is now set -- and (how weird is it that this is what I'm most jazzed about?) I'll get to have at least a small part of my own in the movie.

So that's the news. I've got six months worth of stories saved up about all the confusion and craziness this wonderful, scary, thrilling thing has brought into my life. More than a few of them will spill out here in the days and weeks to come.

Those same days and weeks, however, will also be filled with more mundane concerns, such as finding a mover, wrapping up my job at The Rep (a move made all the more complicated by a recent, unexpected staff departure in my department) and about three million details. And, of course, a few teary "so-long" (not goodbye!) happy hours and dinners with the folks who make St. Louis so hard to leave. So if there are the same long gaps hereabout that have marked the past few months, I apologize upfront.

I'm just stupidly happy right now, and enormously grateful for the love and support I've felt every day, from my family, friends, dog, drinking buddies and you, the readers of The BradLands.

"Thank you" just doesn't say enough. I once thought it might but, well, "More fool I."

Further: If you've read this far, I encourage you to read this as well.