Keeping house but clutching a copy of Life--

It's been two weeks now since I closed The Seagull. A demanding process, and one that stretched on for what felt like an interminably long time due to where it fell in the academic year (the rehearsal period was split down the middle by winter break) but there was a solid show in the end. And afterward -- after all of the roomfuls of people battling frayed emotions and the working in the office until three in the morning and wearing stress of constant vigilance -- the great, underwhelming sense of emotional neutrality that really should not surprise me at this point. I had thought that I might do a great recounting of the experience, ruminate on what I had learned of myself, my craft and my world. It turns out that I'd moved on far before reaching the end, and going back was not (and still is not) high on my list of things that I want to do. Perhaps at some point, but when it can be a nice, long look back, not getting caught a tight turning in circles when I could actually be breathing the fresh air of having a life.

Speaking of having a life, I once asked a question to the universe, and I'll repeat it again here, along with my illustrative anecdote.

Is there anything that you wish there was a word for? Some very distinct, specific action or concept or description that is commonly-used by or of such significance to you that you feel that it deserves its own word?

There's a particular emotion that I've always been bad at handling: regret over wasting time on a particular activity that wasn't worth it when there was some other, better option that definitely could have been taken. My oldest memory of that emotion was when I was elementary school-aged and was waylaid on my trip upstairs into watching a television movie with my dad. Our house has a one-room half-floor between the first and second levels, so you pass by it when going up the stairs, and given that it's always been the primary television room, it has always been something of a menace as far as temptation goes. The bathroom with the shower is at the top of the stairs, and I'd been heading there before making that unplanned cinematic pit-stop.

The movie was bad. Inane. I think there was a monkey in it.

And afterward, I was just so angry that I hadn't taken a shower and now it was my bedtime, and rather than having a wonderful hot shower, I had spent my time watching an awful movie.

Angry. Full of shame. Wanting to punch things. Wanting to punch myself. Sick to my stomach. Overcome by regret at wasting time that could have been spent on something better.

I'm feeling that a bit right now, having spent the past five hours serving the Roman Empire, i.e. playing Caesar III. I don't game often, but when I do, I tend to binge. Maybe if I played more often, things would be different. Who can say? It's a moot point anyways, as my life schedule doesn't allow for it. So that's how it goes -- I don't play for a year or more, and then I'll log so many hours within the span of a few days. With Caesar, I usually do one level per sitting; with Civilization, I like to do an entire game in one sitting. Part of that is due to the practical aspect of my tendency to forget where I left off -- was I building a granary? did I need to take care of some crime? was there tribute due to the Emperor? -- but there also is just that part of me that wants to gorge itself.

Perhaps somewhat related, it's now Day 11 of my "Don't Be An Alcoholic" diet, swiftly moving into Day 12. I'd hoped to resume writing long before this, but the glut of time that I suddenly found in my hands when the show closed seemed to be best used by restoring myself to health. Sleeping, exercise, eating right -- and also not drinking all of the time. I'd arranged well in advance for the last day of January to be a hurrah of sorts, a way to shake off the remnants of the past and cleanse the palette before moving forward.

And that hurrah was great. I got the fuck out of town and spend the night with my friend Kate, hanging out in the bar in the Empire State Building, which was far too swanky for either of us. I'd gotten one of those email list deals for it, though, so we infiltrated the suits and had fancy cocktails. (For the record, absinthe and whiskey? Amazing combination.) And we then skedaddled to a place somewhat more befitting of our station and grabbed some Korean fried chicken, which I still always typo as "Korean friend chicken." It was only a few hours out of town, but it was wonderful and very needed.

I doubt that it's a surprise to anyone that theatre is a very alcohol-heavy industry. You get out of work at the end of the day, and if it's early enough, then the only places open are the bars. (If it's a late night, then everything is closed.) And it's both a high-stress job that requires some way to unwind and a highly social job, where you want to form friendly relationships and enjoy the ones that you do have -- and have limited time in which to do so. On top of that, I definitely self-medicate. Bad rap though it may have, to a certain extent, I feel that a drug is a drug is a drug. My weather sensitivity has a tendency to manifest itself in panic attacks when I'm in a mentally vulnerable place due to stress, and let me tell you, I am a much happier and more productive person when my energy isn't whipping itself into a whirlwind that wants to throw itself off a building. Not the healthiest of solutions, I know, but given that it occurs only occasionally and when time is crunched? I'll stick with what's effective. And also tastes good. Have I mentioned that I really like alcohol a lot?

Somewhere back there I was saying something about being healthy. Long and short of it is that I hadn't had the time to exercise in a couple months (not if I wanted to also get sleep, which didn't always happen but I did do surprisingly well on that front overall). And alcohol does stick to the waistline. I first went on my Don't Be An Alcoholic diet back in 2009, when I was starting stage management as a career with my first internship and drinking more than I ever had. Between that and eating excessively large amounts of food (though homemade and healthy, my crazy schedule had me fearing becoming hungry later, so I'd always stuff myself at each meal), I found myself weighing more than I ever had. So I cut back to one drink per week (as opposed to one drink per day) and was a little embarrassed at how big of an impact that made.

I forget how long that went on for. It's never something meant for extended periods of time. Either it will stop being a diet and just be me doing my life (since despite how much I talk about it, I actually am not drunk all of the time -- I just often wish that I were and enjoy it greatly during the limited times when I am) or I run into a situation where it would be simply a matter of principles self-deprivation, which I am not much a fan of.

This time around, I have gone completely dry, with the ending point in late April (when I head into tech for my next big production) and a few pre-designated "break days" in between.

One of which is Valentine's Day.

As mentioned earlier, I'm quite into those e-mail lists that send you daily deals. Some days ago, one came up for a discount to a ticket to a singles party hosted by a dating company called SinglesAndTheCity.com. Because I'm always curious about it, I checked out the site to see just how heteronormative the company was.

To my surprise, there actually was a section for services for gay singles. I was impressed! And then I read more, including their Practical Tips for Gay Singles Events...

Gay dating has managed to enter the mainstream dating scene and is now considered as regular social events of singles. Gay singles events are now accepted norms and if you intend to join one, then you can do it without the fear of being labeled as a deviant or an outcast.

A more profound and deeper approach to gay dating emerged in response to the changing landscape in gay relationships. Though, gay relationships will always retain its sexual undertones, it will also need a fair level of commitment and fidelity by those engaged in such kinds of relationships. With these prevailing conditions, gays slowly sought long term and more intimate relationships.

...goodness! Glad to know that I needn't fear being labeled a deviant for joining a gay singles event.

But I'm sure that you're now itching to find out the tips themselves. It would be silly for me to quote the entire page to you, but here are a couple of them.

1. Be discriminating
The main reason why you join gay singles events is to increase your search perspective for your ideal date and even your longtime partner. You may want to broaden your option and set up dates with a many gays as possible but prudence would require you to be discerning of your choices and limit your pick to 3 to 5 dates a month. With enough patience, you will ultimately find your perfect match.

And also:

4. Take your time
You don’t have to go to the customary intimate physical contact on your first date. Both of you can agree that sexual gratification can wait and can be pursued in succeeding dates. This would give you and your partner the opportunity to assess if you are going into a more permanent commitment or not.

Both of which seem to boil down to "Don't be a slut," with the connotation of "Just because you're gay doesn't actually mean that you have to be a slut! Aren't you glad that we informed you of that?"

I sure feel enlightened now. The more you know.

(Which is to say, honey, as long as you keep it safe, feel free to slut it up as much as you like. But I find the pedantic, patronizing tone to be unbelievable to the point of hilarity and can't help picturing it being presented as a kindergarten lesson. "Remember, boys and girls: don't be a whore! Okay, it's naptime now -- everyone on your own blankets.")

In any case, on Valentine's Day, I will be teching a show and hopefully working too hard to become too maudlin (I do find pleasure in being just a tiny bit maudlin every once in a while) but probably still greatly desiring a drink.

But until then, I have plenty to provide me with a bridge over those troubled sentimental waters. Most of you have probably already seen this video; I first watched it myself a long while ago (by the memetic scale of time). But a NYT articles about Charlie Bit My Finger led me back here, and I must confess that I watched the entire thing with rapt attention.



Bounce on, small child. May I, too, be unafraid to join the party and dance like the entire internet isn't watching.