A gay ol’ time

wrestling1

 

  So I have this casting director friend here who told a story about a guy who recently came by the office to drop off his resume, which was packed with assloads of Broadway Credits. Under the “Broadway/New York” category, the guy had like 25 shows with “Original Cast” next to it. Why is this even remotely interesting you ask? Because half of these shows happened before 1975. He was 22 years old. Apparently this adorably delusional psycho honestly believed that he had created these roles…roles that existed long before he was even in Utero. I mean, let’s be honest…..most actors are completely nuts….but this is above and beyond the “I’m a fucking nutbag” spectrum that most of us fall somewhere in the middle of. It also made me wonder what separates us “normal” folk from the crazies in the psych ward where I intern. Most of the internship involves talking with patients one on one, so I have gotten a chance to know them a little. Many of them have simply had a bad year, become depressed about their current situation, and just needed a place to go where they could get help and have people to talk to. Ummmmm…..this sounds like 95% of the people I know. I mean, if I look around while I am at any given audition, I will see a weird guy doing ballet barre in one corner, a girl wearing the whore-gear equivalent of a bra, underwear, and fish net stockings under the guise of “dance wear” doing a comedic monologue to herself in another corner (which basically looks like she is having a really hilarious conversation with a wall), and a “I was a geek in high school, but now that I’m a straight man in theater I get more ass in 1 week than most men get in a lifetime” guy singing a ballad to himself on the opposite side of the room (more to attract actresses who’ll eventually be dropping their panties when they realize this man likes to touch boobies, than to practice for his Miss Saigon appointment). If you think about it, Chelsea Studios is more of a psych ward than the New York State Psychiatric Institute.

On this note, I think it’s kind of funny that boys who perform in theater during their adolescence are generally made fun of for taking part in a “gay” extra curricular activity. But what their naysayers don’t realize is that being a straight man in theater is the proverbial Cash Cow….it’s basically like shooting fish in a barrel. Go ahead and slap it with the stereotype of “effeminate”, but I guarantee you these less-than-extraordinary-looking guys are getting twice the amount of the sexy time than any other guy out there.

And the funniest thing is that manly sports like football, wresting, and gymnastics are actually much more gay than singing and dancing.
Take wrestling for instance….so you have two guys wearing tiny spandex onesies rolling around on top of one another with the other dude’s balls in their face. Ummm…k.
And football….again with the spandex and balls in your face as you jump on top of other spandex-wearing dudes.
And gymnastics? Learning a choreographed floor routine in…..what?…..yup, you guessed it!…..SPANDEX. Im sorry, how are these not homo-friendly extra curriculars? 
Lesson learned today?
1) Join the local drama club and, unless you are a short-bus-riding douche, you will get laid….and probably by a girl that is much more attractive than you are.
2) If you are going to lie on your resume, make sure you research the dates of the roles you “created”. Oh, and make sure the people who actually DID create the roles aren’t extremely famous.
3) If you are a connoisseur of balls, you should join the wrestling team
4) If you are a crazy person you have 1 of 2 choices; commit yourself to a psych ward, or go into theater.

Sexercise!

gym

 

    On the rare occasions that I do drag my ass to the gym, I usually follow a fairly simple routine…

1) Insert headphones.

2) Turn on music

3) Begin movement on elliptical machine

4) Glance at the clock every minute in complete shock that it’s only been a minute since I last glanced at the clock, and

5) Wish the entire time that I was sitting on my bed watching Millionaire Matchmaker and eating a snickers bar.
    Well, today I got there and realized that I had forgotten my IPOD. I SERIOUSLY considered turning around and leaving. But, since my clothes have gotten deceptively tighter the last few weeks, I resolved to stay. Go me. I thought it would be pure agony (even more than usual) without having Britney’s thumping beat underneath me, but it was actually kind of amusing. Instead of zoning out to “I’m a Slaaaaave….for you” remembering the days Britney wasn’t completely bat-shit-crazy performing on MTV with a giant Python around her neck and making even the most flat-ab’d 20-something female feel like an over-the-hill sumo wrestler, I got a chance to really look around my gym for the first time. I had no idea NY gyms could be so hilarious.
    In one corner, there are the “I am short but I am going to overcompensate by making my muscles really really giant so that my arms don’t touch my sides” men. I love these pint size He-men….watching them is simply fascinating. Every single one lifts a GARGANTUAN barbell, grunts enthusiastically, sets the weight down, immediately goes to the mirror to and flexes their too-giant-for-my-tiny-body muscles, sighs proudly, then goes back and does it all again. Poor bastards….I fear they may be compensating for other….um….shortcomings (no pun intended).
    Then on the opposite corner you have the “too cool for school” girls who walk on the treadmill so slowly my 99 year-old grandfather could breeze past, while wearing black aviator sunglasses (my gym is in a basement….and has no windows), sipping on a grande triple shot mocha latte, reading Usweekly, and talking on their bedazzled blackberries. I giggled when I saw that one of them was wearing huge gold hoop earrings and repeatedly saying, “Shut up!!! No YOU shut up!!!” into her iphone as she “worked out”.
    Then you have the gays blatantly cruising one another while bopping up and down on stair-masters (my gym is in the theater district…nuff said). I love watching homos eye-f*** each other with the subtlety of a 350 lb. woman at a nudist colony. I mean…..it’s actually kind of refreshing. There’s none of that “does he like me?/Is he looking my way” bullshit that most women have to deal with. With them it’s more like, “I am mentally putting your dingaling in my mouth and ***content censored because my mother reads this***. I kind of envy their oddly aggressive dating behavior, although I always think it’s nasty when guys hit on me at the gym when I am sweating like a whore in church.
    And since my gym is blessed with tanning beds, you have the constant stream of tanorexics hoping to turn their brown/orange leathery skin just one shade darker to achieve the perfect I-live-in-Sub-Sahara-Africa tan….in new york. In march.

    So next time you are caught at the gym without your IPOD, open your eyes and look around….there is a whole gym full of weird crazy people just BEGGING to be seen.