There's the Rub

I find it terminally hard to talk about the things that bother me; even when I'm writing them here - even when I'm writing them in my paper journal. Some things just seem too hard to put words around.

We don't have a language for unhappiness in my family, and I'm not sure why. I think it has at least something to do with having been born Catholic, and Irish... there are a couple of lines in Aristocrats that strike me every time: "This was always a house of reticence..." and "Alice expresses her passions in oblique ways."

It seems to me to speak a great deal about my own family, and the tendency many of us share to allow the things that wear us down - the worry, the anger, the fear - to go unexpressed. At least in healthy ways. I've noticed about myself that mine tends to be expressed through food. Others of us do it through alcohol. Another of my big ones is procrastination. I tend to freeze up in the face of the hard stuff; the stuff that scares me.

But one wonders - and I suppose that's the point of this entry - how long that sorta stuff can go unexpressed without doing permanent damage; without doing irreparable harm. I mean, fear's a good thing, right? It's part of our survival instinct - it keeps us alive in dangerous situations. When does it get to be too much?

I should probably point out that the things I have to fear are miniscule compared to the things that some people have to fear. I mean, something like 25,000 people die around the world every day because of famine and war and persecution - I'm not really in a position to worry too much because I'm worried about how I'm gonna work out doing both my new job and my commitment to Dave Flick at the Ren Fest, for chrissakes. But it's also true that small or not, people's problems are their own - and they seem big to them. Everything's relative, I suppose.

We're just coming off of two days off from the show - PICT runs an unusual Wednesday through Sunday schedule to which I'm not used. So I've spent much of the day in the county office building searching for names of condo owners associations on a project for Gordon Rosenthal, and finally after my eyeballs were crossed and got through the list I came over to the South Side, since I have to be here later on for a show.

Oh - I don't think I told this story: You all know that I'm a burgeoning photographer (I'm still loathe to use that word to describe myself - I still go for "shutterbug" more often than not), and I think I've finally passed a milestone. I was out last Sunday evening after the show shooting urban landscapes downtown and had my first experience of a homeless crack addict trying to extort money out of me 'cuz he thought he was in my picture. I did my best to assure him that he was not, in fact, in my shot, 'cuz I was getting the building and not the place where he was sitting. He was doing a pretty good version of the "you can't take my picture without my permission" rant, and was pretty convincingly getting upset, but I kept my cool and finally just flat out told him, "Look man, I'm not some hayseed here. I know how these things work - even if you were in my shot, I'd only have to have your permission if you were identifiable and I was planning on publishing it." He started to get even more indignant; luckily my bus came along and I was, like, "Dude, you're not in my picture. Get over it."

Guess what? Turns out he was in my picture. One of them. I posted it above, 'cuz he's so tiny you can't identify him - thank god for the relatively lame resolution on my camera. To the right I've got the tiny portion of the photo he's in at it's original size: Thankfully there's absolutely no chance of identifying this guy. I wonder what the going rate is for a homeless crack-addicted model for a photo shoot?

I've been going back and forth lately on whether or not I care if I ever meet another man again. I have this weird, complicated relationship with the whole "getting involved" thing. Hell, I have a weird, complicated relationship with the whole "saying hello" thing!

I keep seeing guys to whom I'm attracted, and my first thought is "way outta your league, bud." I've discussed my Hierarchy of Homos™ Theory with you, haven't I? Well, I continue to refine it, as days go on. Soon I'll have a graphic presentation to show you all - I may even publish in the scientific journals.

Anyway, suffice it to say that I often find myself attracted to guys higher up the Hierarchy than I sit. Even with the recent (and by recent I mean over the last couple of years) change in my lusting habits toward a more "realistic" catch, I still find myself eyeballing the wrong guys. Granted, they're closer to my level of the food chain, but they're still above me on the Hierarchy by several steps, and hence untouchable. It's not terribly unlike living in India as I imagine it must have been in the last century. Hell, it may still be that way today - I don't know enough about India to admit to anything more than some serious talking out of my ass.

There's a perfect example of what I'm talking about sitting in the coffee shop with me now. He's here on a study date with a girl, but this guy has a serious problem with concentration; he hasn't spent more than two consecutive minutes cracking the books before being distracted by his postcard purchases or some magazine he keeps pulling out. Granted, it's calculus he's studying, for chrissakes, so he can hardly be blamed. Still.

Anyway, he's (I'm guessing here - everyone under the age of 30 seems to me to be 12) around 23 years old and he's taller than me; slim without being too skinny, nor is he overly buff. Short hair, blue eyes, strong jaw line (I'm such a sucker for that). Very much the corn fed blond-haired Midwestern looking kid.

In short, the kinda gay guy who wouldn't touch me with a ten foot... pole.

And the thing is, I'm not even entirely sure he's gay. Pretty much every move he makes screams "gay" to me, but then I keep catching him following women around the coffee shop with his eyes. He's watching this woman across from him particularly - but I can't decide if he's hot for her or if he's just eavesdropping on her cell phone conversation. And we know how my track record with the ol' gaydar is, don't we?

[Coming back later:] I think I've got him figured out; definitely gay, but he likes the big bruiser type - I was thrown off the trail 'cuz every time one would go by he was walking with a girl of some sort. This kid has my chronic problem: Falls for straight guys!

Had a surprise call today from Nancy Mosser, an old friend and casting director from Pittsburgh. She knew I was in town to do the show and wanted to see it, but she also wanted to know if I was available to be a photo-double for an episode of The West Wing that's shooting locally next week. I'm usually snobbish about doing extra work - ever since I saw how the extras were treated on Sudden Death - but she managed to come up with the one TV show I'd kill to have any part of... I love The West Wing undyingly. Don't think my fantasy life didn't go into overdrive the moment I heard Rob Lowe was leaving the show!

Speaking of Rob Lowe - I wish him well, and hope he's happy, but I can't imagine what was going through his mind when he made that decision. He'd had, clearly, some nice secondary parts in movies over the last couple of years, most notably the Austin Powers franchise, but it's not like he's been rolling in the heavy-hitter category. I'll be very interested to see what's next for him, now that he's gone so far as to take a TV show and get himself labeled as a "TV star." I wonder if he plans to stay in episodic television or if he wants to jump back to movies.

Ego's a crazy thing, though. I see it - hell, I've felt the same way - even on the level at which I've worked. You see actors who you think don't work any harder than you or who (in your opinion) aren't any greater draw than you, or even - God forbid - actors who aren't nearly as talented getting more money for a project, and it feeds the green-eyed monster. And the green-eyed monster of envy will make you do stupid, stupid things.

Overheard at Tuscany:

Person One: "How did I get here before you guys?!?"

Person Two: "I had to stop at the angel shop..."