A Reunion

Whew.  This week has been a bit trying.  Mostly (actually, almost exclusively) because of this allergy-post-nasal-drip-turned-into-a-nasty-head-cold thing that I've been suffering through.  I'm one of those people who doesn't get sick very often, so when I do, I tend to be a bit of a crybaby about it.  I said as much to one of the women at work the other day and she replied, "Sounds like pretty much all men to me."

See, we have more in common with our straight brethren than they'd like to admit.

Last night I went to a little party at the Bull Moose Saloon on 44th Street; it was a gathering of people who've worked at the Mountain Playhouse in Jennerstown, PA - where some of you might remember I did Picasso at the Lapin Agile way back in 1999.  Before I did it at the Arden, in Philadelphia, that is.

Anyway, it was a wonderful chance to get together with friends I see semi-regularly but not enough (like Doug Rees and Janet Dickinson) but those that I don't see nearly enough, like Biff Baron and Nick Ruggeri and Susan Jacks.  And it's been an age since I've seen Teresa Marafino - the producer at the playhouse.

So it was wonderful to see all those folks, and I can't tell you how delightful it is when I see them to see how genuinely excited they are to see me, and to catch up.  Which kind of makes what I was feeling during the party a little strange.  I had a recurrence of a very old phenomena - one that I haven't noticed in quite some time; one that hearkens back to the days before therapy, when I (at least in theory) made progress toward being more interested in what I thought of me than what others thought of me.

I was sitting at the table, listening to several different conversations going on around me, and suddenly realized that I wasn't involved in any of them - that I didn't, in fact, know the people involved well enough or have enough of a personal history with them to have any sort of salient contribution to make.  And suddenly I recognized a very old feeling - the feeling of being utterly and completely alone in a crowd of people.

I was really taken aback; because I haven't felt that way in quite a long time - and it's something I've always equated with the darkest times of my clinical depression.  On those rare occasions when friends would drag me to parties, I'd find myself off in a corner, watching everyone around me having fun.  This was, of course, back in the days before I realized (a) not all those people are having all the fun they seem to be, and (b) I'm responsible for my own damn fun & can't be afraid to engage other people for fear they're somehow going to judge me inferior.

It was a nice lesson in how far someone can grow over the years; and too, a nice lesson in not letting yourself backslide when you're feeling down, or feeling sorry for yourself.

It's true, though, that - even emotionally - you can never go back.  I'm never going to feel alone in a crowd in quite the same way I did before my eyes were opened and my outlook on the world changed.


So you wanna know what the big disappointment of the night was?  My goddamn camera, that's what.  I took it with me, 'cuz I'd fallen out of the habit lately of having it with me on social outings... more than one longtime reader has noted the paucity of photos in the online journal lately.

I took the camera and snapped a LOT of shots during the evening, but almost all of them came out blurry - owing mainly to the lack of light and the pre-set focal length on most digital cameras.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  I am so not a great photographer, but I sure have outgrown the piece of trash I'm using now.

Anyone out there with $2.5K to spend on a charity case needs to give it to me, so I can get my dream camera:  The Nikon D-100K package.  In case you're wondering why the extra money... I need lenses.  This thing works with SLR lenses, and consequently - like most regular high-end film cameras - the price only includes the body.  You gotta buy the lenses you want separately.  Someone please make me rich.

Anyway, for what they're worth, here are some of the more salvageable shots of the evening:

Here's Biff Baron, who I miss most acutely (oddly) when I'm with him.  I think I tend, like most people, to get caught up in the grind of day-to-day life, and only realize how much I really fucking enjoy Biff when he's right there with me... does that make any sort of sense whatsoever?  Most likely not.  How to describe it?  Well, it's like this - I worked all day today (and, truth be told, for most of last week, and the week before and who knows how many weeks before that) without thinking about Biff; but last night, just being in the same room with him made me smile.  And every time I flip back through this journal, and think about the day back in December of 2002 when I forced Kevin & Kirsten Lageman to stand around in the cold while I snapped off shots of my one of my favorite buildings in New York, I'm reminded that it was Biff, of all the people in my life who actually read this journal, who knew what that building was, and was able to tell me the background on it.  He sent me an e-mail not long after that entry appeared, and I've been meaning to share it for some time:

 Just wanted to say Hi and tell you (if you didn't know) that the building on 72nd & Broadway you refer to in your 12/7 missive is the Ansonia Hotel. Famous for being an old "theatrical" hotel. It had studios and a theater in it when I lived on 82nd and was THE place for auditions. It is also where "The Sunshine Boys" is set (one of the old vaudeville comics still lived there). It is also the infamous location of "Plato's Retreat" - a "swingers" club in the 70's.

It pays, my friends, to have friends with encyclopedic knowledge of your home.

Speaking of encyclopedic knowledge, here's quick picture of Doug Rees (in the middle) along with Janet Dickinson and her friend Michael Smith, whom I met for the first time last night.  At the risk of sounding like a complete freak, this man is maybe the most handsome person I've ever met in person.  This picture doesn't even begin to do him justice, but it was the only one of the evening that turned out.

I confess:  My old voyeuristic tendency to snap photos of people who don't know I'm doing it almost began to reassert itself in Michael's presence, but I managed to contain myself.  I thought, "Why not just paste Stalker Freak on your forehead and get it over with?"  That brought me back to my senses.  After he'd left and I was saying my own goodbyes, I remarked to Janet that he was a really good looking guy - way too good-looking for me.  In response to her question, "What makes you think that?!?" I told her, "Remind me some time to show you my Hierarchy of Homos."  I'm going to dig that out in the next couple of days and post it here.

One of the perks of the Mountain Playhouse reunion parties each year is the chance to see folks like Guy Stroman, who often directs there.  I enjoy Guy a lot - I think he's a very talented director - but I often get the impression he doesn't know exactly what to say to me, since he's never been able to hire me (actually - maybe he didn't want to hire me, who knows?).  But he's never been anything but really nice to me, and he's got so many great stories from his years in the business that I just love to sorta hang around on the periphery of his conversations, just to listen in.

To Guy's right is Susan Jacks.  I have a bit of a bone to pic with her.  Every time I aim a camera at her, she makes a face at me.  Someday, when I have a better camera (and more skill!) I'm going to force her to let me take a serious portrait, 'cuz I just love her face.  Next to Susan, as you know, is the delightful and talented Janet Dickinson.  Sings like an angel, folks; funny like Lucille Ball.

Here's the last of the photos that even kinda turned out:  This one is of Mountain Playhouse's Box Office Manager, Lori Berkey (left) and the delightful Amy Barker, one of Janet's friends and yes, a Mountain Playhouse acting veteran.  Amy gave me three chances to get a picture that captured her beauty correctly, and I muffed all three.

You know what I really regret?  Sitting across the table from Amy was Kathy Gilmore, another of Janet's really good friends who's been kind enough to include me in their revels since my arrival in the city.  I had a couple of chances to shoot her, too, and blew them as well!!!  I hate me.

So all in all, I guess the big lessons of the night were two-fold.  First, I'm never really alone in a crowd - in fact, I've come to believe that I'm never ever really alone - in a Buddhist sort of way.  Second, I've got to get a new fucking camera before I throw this one against a wall!