So 2nd Story and I are like this(right now, take your fingers and cross them). We're tight. I mean real tight. And in that comes meeting really great people that you get to become tight with too. Once a month, as someone who helps "teach" people to write for 2nd Story, I get to have three people come to my house and sip wine or drink water and listen to the stories people are working on to perform. We give pep talks and suggestions and it's almost as good as therapy. It's great. It's Oprah sans the whole "I'm GOD" deal. Love you Oprah, just playing.
Anyway, last night was my last meeting with the group I have been working on since January. This was hard because a) you get so attached to your group before you have to switch them out for new people to join and b)because I got a slap in the face.
The writing, yes, the writing is amazing. These people can write... but it's the stories. The stories! OK. I'm going to give you a quick recap of what the three people are writing about:
1) Her mother died when she was young and out of nowhere her little niece is like, "Who's this...?" and points to the mom's picture... because she never met her and everyone realizes the force of death.
2) A hero of mine is a parent of a brilliant five year old and tells the story about how she never wanted to be a parent and when she adopted this amazing little girl she realizes she has a much bigger purpose in the world.
3) An adorable middle age woman tells the tale of making out with Jim Morrison after he just puked.
Yah, I know. Shit.
What am I getting at here? Well, after these people left I started to think about my stories... and about my life. And panicked thinking about this: Am I boring?
I mean, stories one and two and three are insane. They are amazing. Mothers and parents and kissing a rockstar. I'm none of that! I've only made out with guys who are mediocre bands that usually break-apart after a month of playing at lame-name venues. And I'm not a dad... I mean, I babysit the cutest baby in the world... but I'm no dad.
PAUSE.
So, I know what you're thinking. You thinking this: Byron, shut the "f" up. You're not boring...
OK maybe it's not about the boring... it's about the things we remember and the things we want to share with others. See, I'm getting older(Stop it. I am... and I am realizing that my memory at twenty-five is not what it was at sixteen) and I only imagine as I get older the stories that I am going to want to tell are going to get a little cloudy and the details a little shifty and the nuances a little hazy. And in that moment I realized why I am a writer. Not just to tell stories but to document experiences and to share them with others so they can remember their experiences and document them and then we have about bunch of documented experiences that people can look back on while they are talking to holograms and flying in cars and say: Wow, people were awesome back then even if they didn't have flying cars.
So maybe I'm not boring, I just need to share the stories I keep tucked away. And it's kind of cool to figure out why you love doing what you do.
And screw it, I may not have made out with Jim Morrison, but how many people do you know have served martinis with Drag Queens lip-syncing Beyonce behind them? Yup. No so boring.
Josh and I are sitting outside at a coffee shop patio. We have our computers and have our feet up on chairs basking in the sun.
As we do this cars on the street next to us zip by and slow down at the Stop sign to merge on to upcoming traffic. These people have their car windows open. These people are listening to music as they drive.I can hear just pieces of each song as they turn... it's like a remix. This is awesome.
Car 1: Red Toyota Corolla, Older woman with large sunglasses playing Roxette, "Dangerous"
Car 2: White Honda Civic, Younger guy with backwards hat playing JZ, "Big Pimp'n"
Car 3: Green Honda Element, Young guy in mid twenties playing Britney Spears, "Gimme More"
Car 4: Black Mercedes, Older guy wearing a visor playing Frank Sinatra, "My Way"
And some how, it's the last song "My Way" that makes me see how fricken lucky I am that I get to spend a Tuesday or a Wednesday or a Thursday or a Friday doing something like sitting outside writing on my laptop in the best city in the country on a beautiful day as my job. This is why I am not 9-5.
I have this friend that is a gay rapper. Johnny Dangerous. Know him. He's brilliant. I'm not just saying "Holy cow he's so great because he's gay and he raps and he is a friend" kind of brilliant. No. I'm saying: "The man is one of the hardest and devoted workers devoted to his love of rapping" kind of brilliant. Plus, it has paid off and now he is been on Logo's Top Ten Music Videos for the last month or so.
So, it's an honor to even say that I have gotten to be a part of his latest single/video situation. I even make out with a girl. Sort of:
My mom is proud. I know.
But the best part about this guy is that he reminds me about stereotypes. When I was a kid, man, let me tell you what an adult gay man was supposed to be like when he was older. On second hand, just let me give you a list of examples I had only seen in movies and television: The Bird Cage Richard Simmons Jack Mcfarland Bert and Ernie
OK, the last one... it's a stretch. But for a kid growing up in the 90's having an "'mo-dol"(you know, a homosexual idol) wasn't really as popular as it is today. And so when I was young and knew I was going to get old, I thought: "Shit, I'm going to be a squealing girly-girl who wears tight jeans and will constantly be the butt of really REALLY bad jokes."
I absolutely totally thought this.
But, man I was wrong. Because now there is a list. There is an entire list of famous gay people that young and old can identify with... and know that they aren't going to have to be hairdressers or make-up artists or butt of bad sitcom jokes. No. We get to be ANYTHING WE WANT like gay rappers and senators and doctors and people that people can't make fun of at all because we are great. And if I was fourteen again, this list would remind me that the stereotypes are as dumb as the people that create them. So, if you are a random gay teenager that stumbles here(sorry about all the swearing) and thinks they've got nothing to look up to... check out this list. Seriously. Then, compare it to mine.
Megan. You know her? No? Then what are you waiting for. Seriously. Anyway, Megan is awesome. I adore her and she inspires me. She knows this. This isn't news. But she recently inspired me with one of her blogs. Here: This is the inspiring blog that Byron is talking about.
We are both in 2nd Story. We both perform and write and work with awesome directors and music-geniuses(I hyphened that because, um, they are totally both at the same time). And when it comes to telling stories about your life and setting them to music you start to really ask yourself: "What music is the right music."
And we do this all the time. When we are getting married and need that perfect song as a couple. When we are first dating and need that popular song we both adore so we can think of each other wherever we are when we hear it(or, ahem, when we break-up and then cry every time you hear it in the frozen food section at the grocery store in "Muzak" form). We do it when we lose someone close to us. We do it when we are furious and need to blow steam. We pick music to live our lives right.
Now, when you are doing this while telling a story--setting scenes of your actual experiences in life-- you want to make them rock and usually our music-geniuses do this... but sometimes they ask YOU what you think is the perfect song.
For most people, they may not really care. But I'm slightly obsessive compulsive control freak(hey, what can I say... I'm the oldest) and so I really take time to figure these things out.
And because, well, I thought you might be interested, I have compiled a collection of periods in my life where--if I were a biographic movie--these songs would be played. I know. I know... what's worse is I am doing this on a Saturday night. I know.
Sixteen years ago when I discovered "I think I'm a little different..." but had to pretend I knew nothing...
Eleven years ago when I fell in love for the very first time: This song.
Eleven years ago and one month when I felt my first broken heart:
This song.
Six years ago when I moved from Wisconsin to Chicago:
Four years ago when I lost my grandmother:
Six months ago when everyone kept saying: "How are you dealing... you know, with the break-up?"
Four months ago when things started to get better:
And now... well... now... this song is so so me now...(THIS SONG BLOWS MY MIND)
Ok. So we need to talk. Now, we all know my sweet fondness towards Sex and the City, right? I'm sure you do. But, lately--and this is so tough to admit--something has been, um, sort of replacing that affection.
Stop booing.
Samantha, Who? Know it. Don't? Here:
But this isn't about how I have a new show that I am in love with. This is about how I want to be a t.v. character.
I know. I know. But the thing it is somehow I always identify with certain characters on television... and, um, usually they are...well... the main characters. You know, I thought I was Zack from Saved By the Bell when I was in middle school. Then it was Brandon Walsh from 90210(it was the cute hair and the writing thing that made me think I was him--my mother, thanks mom!, was so supportive with the whole buying me gallons of hair product to get my hair where I needed it) and then there was Felicity. Stop laughing. Then there was Dawson. Stop laughing. Then there was Carrie Bradshaw and now... it's Samantha on Samantha Who.
Let's pause here for a quick sec and discuss: What does this all mean?
Well, first it means I identify with stars. That's fun. Also, it means I like flashy people and like being flashy. But, what it's really about? The stories.
I like telling stories. I like writing stories. I like talking. I like listening. I like figuring things out. I'm a writer. It's what I do. It's what I live to do. And what it comes down to is the main character is always trying to figure something out while sharing their perspective. While you share your perspective you get to tell it the way you see it and feel it and know it. You get to set parts of life to music. You get to angle the camera just right so when you are doing that romantic first kiss scene, but in real life, you have lighting that makes you glow and you have shadows that make it ooze with charm. And when you're in the crying scene you get the chance to have multiple takes to perfect the sad bite lip that doesn't show insane... it shows true emotion.
And when you are a main character on t.v. you get share your story... because isn't that why we all watch t.v. and go to movies and read books and have friends and live... to share it all together?
Plus I think a television show named Byron Who? is just so damn endearing.
It doesn't happen often, but when it does you get this feeling that, like, ten years ago you knew to expect something good, but just didn't know what that "good" was yet. People say this when they find the love of their lives or the job of their dreams or even the apartment they've wished for. There are no worries it all just makes sense to be in that place .
Two years ago I joined what I thought was just going to be a writing group that involved performing and meeting cool people. And what I realized, from last Saturday, is that we are a lot more than that. It was my first year of joining the 2nd Story and Serendipity staff in the "Rebuilding Together" program. It's basically a foundation that helps underprivileged to get the maintenance on their home that they deserve. This ranges from painting to putting in new pipes to yard work. Professionals and volunteers come together turn someones home around. In the end, they have their home in a place they may have not been able to get it to on their own.
In the end, I can not tell you how in place I felt by taking part in it.
In the end, I can not tell you how seeing what others don't have put me in my place.
04.28.08
Hey is for horses. American horses, apparently.
In Belize they speak Creole.
It's a mashed up language that involves a mixture of different languages all combined in to one.
Now, I'm going to tell you that you can try to learn this language, but there is only way to do this and it involves beer. Lots of Belizian beer.
While having a quick lunch in a hole-in-the-wall joint in a small town in Belize I started talking to a woman who was a tour guide of the city. She bonded with me, because get this, apparently the only American t.v. channel they get there is WGN... you know, channel 9. And they adore the Cubs. She nearly gave me her first born when I told her I live, like, two blocks from the stadium and we bonded over this. I didn't have the heart to tell her I hate baseball.
Anyway, I'm drunk and she's trying to teach me Creole.
"What do you want to learn to say?" She says in this heavy accent while I stand next to hear basking in the sun and buzzing with my aviators on.
"How about... just how's it going?"
Now, here's the thing about this language. It makes what you are going to say ten times longer than what you are used to. So, for us, saying "how's it going" takes what? Three seconds. But their language makes it ten minutes. I'm not joking.
So, she says how to do it and I try to say it and then I say: "Um, that seems like a lot of work to just say hello to someone. And she says: "Well, how do you guys say it?"
"Hey." I say back to her.
"That's it?"
"Yup."
"Huh."
She then tries to teach me to say that I think someone is hot. It's long and difficult and I shake my head and say: "That also is a lot of work."
"Well, den, how do you say it?" She asks me shaking her head in confusion.
"Heyyyyyyyyyyyy." I say back. She doesn't get the joke. She actually looks even more confused.
She then tries to teach me how you get someone's attention. It's all jibber jabber and cool and stuff, but I shake my head and say "Wow, this is tough."
"Well, how do you do it?" She asks already knowing the answer.
"HEY!"
She walks away from me. I realize that I can not spread American culture while intoxicated on Belizian beer. Well, I can... but you wouldn't be proud of me.
04.27.08
Birds of a feather... um have sex at five in the morning? Yeah. That's it.
This morning I woke up to the sound of pigeons having sex.
Now, to be fair, I am not a scientist and actually don't know if the sound I heard was really that of two pigeons doing the nasty at five in the morning, but the cooing didn't sound like they were just having a first date. And let me tell you, it wasn't just a cute coo. It was like a "I haven't gone to town in, like, months with another pigeon" kind of sound. Which if you're wondering what this sounds like... it sounds like this: Coo! COO! CooooO! coo! COOOOOO! Co. Co. Co. COOOOOOOO!!!
You might be asking yourselves, now, what does someone do with a situation much like this one? Well, when it is five in the morning the only real answers you are going to get are from Google.
What I googled this morning at five in the morning: "Pigeon sex".
Now, if you're a first time reader or, you know, are the feds trying to watch my back then realize two things: a) I googled this phrase because I wanted to be accurate in this blog knowing whether I heard pigeons having sex or if it was just trying to talk to me. And b) I have fetishes(we allllll have fetishes) but mine do not involve pigeons. Clear? Clear.
Anyway, I find this:
It's a video entitled "Pigeon Porn". Yes. Pigeon porn. One more time for the cheap seats in the back... pigeon porn. By now it's five fifteen and I am watching pigeon porn in bed. I would like to state two facts here: 1) If I were not alone in bed, this would have never happened. I would have rolled over and covered my face with a pillow and 2) People tape pigeons having sex.
So, it got me thinking about being single. Of course.
Sometimes there are those moments in your life that you will not share with someone. You know, the moments when you are completely alone and the only other person there to appreciate it or go through it with you is yourself. It turns in to this moment of "DAMN! No one is ever going to believe this or think this is real..." and it's just this weird bond you have with yourself... that inside joke only you and yourself will ever get. Lately, these moments have been happening more often because, well, I'm alone more often. And the great thing about that... it's OK. Growing up with a close family and living with roommates... you never get to have those kind of moments.
But I also got to thinking about how I like to sleep. Being the new bartender I am, I know how to stand my ground a bit more these days. So, I open the window land scream at the supposed horny birds: "SHUT UP! It's five in the fricken morning!!". I see them two window sills down. They do actually shut up and then fly away around the corner of the building down the alley and all is quiet again... until I play the pigeon porn before I fall back asleep... then the room is filled with my laughter... and cooing.
Josh(hi Josh!) is awesome. You know this and him from his blog and that he is my business partner and he's funny and he is witty and, now, he has his own show. A local Chicago magazine (UR CHICAGO)picked up his idea dubbed "Other People's Bookshelves" in which he, um, goes to other people's bookshelves and discusses what's on them. He came to my house. It was fun. We drank wine at eleven a.m. That was even more fun.
04.12.08
A List of things that Byron promises to write about when he returns.
It's true. I've been busy and doing this thing every day called, I think, living life and haven't had a breath of blog air in, like, what? Almost two weeks. So, to keep you believing in me I will take a blog promise... a blogmise if you will... and make a list of things that I have written in my journal to tell you all about and will do so upon my return from BELIZE. Yes, you read that correctly. I am going to be somewhere where you can't get frostbit... except, maybe, from holding an ice cube from your mojito on your body too long. In that case, bring on the frostbite.
List:
1) How I am going to be in Vogue!
2) The first time I saw grass this spring and how relieving it was.
3) If I was Hulk Hogan's son what would I do?
4) How I got asked if I was famous and lied.
5) How I lost two umbrellas in one day... and it doesn't involve drinking booze. Sort of.
6) Meeting my upstairs neighbor... the one that sings Mariah Carey at 2 a.m
7) Teaching a baby all about America's Next Top Model (Hi Caleb!--cause, he reads this blog.)
