An Undated Note...

(I’m unsure when this was written, as it is an undated note, but it was written in the summer of 2007.)

“Why is Joseph wearing this fruity jacket? He should be wearing something macho—leather or combat fatigues” –Advertising execs at Christian Booksellers.

“Do we want kids to turn out gay because of the Bible story with a fruity coat?”

OST's and OGT's

I've been meaning to create this post for a while, but I haven't gotten around to it until now. Everyone talks about these "Obviously Gay Traits" and "Obviously Straight Traits", but what it should be is "Stereotypical Straight Traits" and "Stereotypical Gay Traits" since it is clear that we are all gay in this sphere, yet we have a pretty balanced mix of "gay" and "straight" traits.

But it's fun anyway.

Stereotypically Gay:
-My voice pitches up when I get excited
-I've never been into watching or playing sports
-I sing showtunes and other songs in my car
-I can't live without frequent hugs and massages
-I am hyper sensitive. Disney movies and sappy endings make me cry, I'm easily upset by the suffering of others, etc.
-I cook, and love to teach myself to cook new things
-I have been doing my own laundry since I was in 6th grade or so
-I've never dated/kissed/made out with a woman
-I don't mind asking for directions
-I did musical theater productions in high school
-I was in choir
-I was never athletic

Stereotypically Straight
-I drive a manual transmission
-I love being outdoors, hiking, swimming and exploring
-I have mostly straight male friends my whole life (up until the last year or so
-My sense of direction is excellent
-I resent needing to ask for help
-I can open stubborn jars and bottles
-I'm not flamboyant
-I find history and politics fascinating
-I don't read fashion or gossip magazines/websites

I'm sure there's plenty more that I'm forgetting... Let me know if you can think of them

If You're Not A Homo

This tickled me.

I fully intend to do a full write up on my trip to Salt Lake City this weekend, so be not alarmed.  I will provide that update shortly.

F*ck You Very Much!

BEWARE: F-word abounds, but it's totally worth it.



I love this song, and now it's stuck in my head.

Ezra is MORTIFIED

In case you weren't in the Bay Area on April 17th, here's an audio recording of my performance. I recorded it with my digital still camera, which was sitting behind a booth. If you find it hard to hear--tough cookies, If I could have gotten a board feed I would've!



For those who might not want/care to listen, you can download a PDF of the piece, here. But trust me, it's more fun to hear me read it and hear the audience reactions.

Helpful Tips for Dating Returned Missionaries (Repost)

Troy Williams Posted this amazing article that makes some great points about the frustration behind being gay and mormon. I have reposted the first few paragraphs with permission, but I highly recommend reading the whole article.

"Last week my roommate came bursting through the front door, “What is it with gay men hung up on Mormonism!?” Ah. I could only assume the obvious. He was experiencing the frustration of dating a guy still trying to reconcile his faith and sexuality. “I think its fear,” he continued. “That and privilege” I responded. “Mormon men have been told since childhood that they are the elect of the earth. Coming out as a big nelly fag stripped them of their divine birthright. The trauma is just now sinking in.” Yup. As Mormon men we were once the first of the first class citizens – but now, suddenly, through a quirk of desire, we have been stripped of our chosen status. Saturday’s Warriors have become Friday Night Infidels.

Gay LDS men have a seemingly more difficult time getting over the Church than gay Mormon women. Within their theology and culture, women have always played a subservient role in both Church and household. The stigma associated with being a lesbian isn’t so different from being ranked below a man in all other sectors of society.

This point came home after I read an interview with the African-American author James Baldwin. Richard Goldstein from the Village Voice asked Baldwin why white men seemed more outraged over homophobia than black men. Baldwin responded, “[As a white gay] you’re placed outside a certain safety to which you think you were born. A black gay person is already menaced and marked because he or she is black… I think white gay people feel cheated because they were born into a society where they were supposed to feel safe… Their reaction seems to me in direct proportion to the sense of being cheated of the advantages that accrue to white people in society.” (Homocons; Goldstein, p. 32)"

See the whole article here.

I know it's not the in-depth follow up/update post that you've been eagerly waiting for, but I feel like our moho community would enjoy Mr. Williams blog.

SSA Hiring Initiative

I opened my inbox this morning and was greeted with an e-mail from my EQ Pres with this subject line:

"Fwd: SSA Hiring Initiative: Free Teleconference"

SSA=Social Security Administration... not Same Sex Attraction.

LOL.

Longer post sometime today, I promise.

Ezra

Another Amazing Happenstance

So my life is very odd--coincidences happen to me all the time, and once again I've found myself privileged to be be a victim of happenstance.

Some of you may recall a recent post in which I spoke of my growing stalker tendencies. This post was a result of being ignored by another guy on OKcupid.

Well, about two weeks later, I was "matched" by the "Quiver Match" system to a guy named Spencer. I decided to write him based primarily on his use of the phrase "Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints" as an exclamation in one section of his profile.  I mentioned that I thought it was funny, probably because I had been raised LDS.

Well, he wrote back inquiring about my experience with the Mormon Church, and whether my departure had been dramatic and sudden or more of a drifting away. He also mentioned seeing a one man show about an ex-Mormon. I responded and told him it was pretty sudden on the outside, but very gradual inside, and that the show to which he was referring was probably either "Confessions of a Mormon Boy" or "Missionary Position" by Steven Fales. I provided him a link my blog, specifically the post about Missionary Position, and extend the invitation for him to read more to get a better idea of my journey.

Anyway, to make a long story short (too late), we get to talking. And he casually asks me,

"What was the name of the guy you were stalking, the editor in NoHo?"

"His name was Brandon, I think."

"He's my best friend." 

Uh oh.

"But I won't tell!"

Sigh of relief.

Except he did tell him. He mentioned to Brandon that "there's this blog I'm reading that you should check out--but don't be surprised if some of it seems familiar"

Yeah, so I have had both of these fellows reading my blog. Hi guys! Is the gay community really that small? I guess so. At least the gay editing community--that's me, Brandon and Clint so far!

Anyway, I don't really care that he told Brandon about this blog, I'm sure he was amused to learn how his inaction caused my angst-written blog post, and that's dandy.

I've continued to converse with Spencer, and he's a really awesome guy who I have great conversations with. I look forward to our chats and it aggravates me to know that he's moving to Sacramento in a month, because I feel like he could be a really good friend, and I don't feel like I have any really close gay friends. :(

So what continues to bother me is that these two guys are close friends, and undoubtedly have a lot in common and get along really well. So chances are, if I'm getting along well with one, I'd probably get along well with the other. So it makes it all the more damning to think that there's cool gay people who could potentially be awesome friends with me right in my own section of LA, and yet I remain not merely boyfriendless, but "gay best friendless". :(

WTFIWTBS?!?!

We Are All Enlisted

This morning was glorious--bright, clean and sunny, a spring chill in the air.  Air moist and sweet with the moisture from the rain of the previous days.  I felt good, and I started singing Hymn #250, "We Are All Enlisted".

We are all enlisted till the conflict is o’er;
Happy are we! Happy are we!
Soldiers in the army, there’s a bright crown in store;
We shall grin and bear it by and by.

If you didn't skim those familiar refrains, you'll realize that I'd unconsciously substituted "win and wear it" with "grin and bear it".

I started laughing out loud, and I looked heavenward and smiled.  How long had I been singing this wrong?  I had been an unwilling soldier, conflicted about my sexuality within the ranks of the LDS Church.  I had grinned and borne it my whole life--these "new" lyrics make perfect sense--and that bright crown of glory would be mine if I just fought the good fight for the rest of my life, smiling away like a chucklehead (thanks, Greg).

No more.  From now on, life is not going to be a burden to bear.  It's God's most glorious gift to his children.  We are that we might have JOY.  And with that, I will leave you with this photo, which should make your day bright.  It makes me smile--It's me, probably around 6-7 years old, in a dress.

Have a great day, everyone!

What's Missing? - Performing Arts and Passion

Last night I attended the Mortified Doomed Valentine's Day Show in Los Angeles.  I was able to attend free, as a guest of the producers.  For those of you who don't know, I'm going to be performing in their March 11th show!

I attended the show with a friend from college, and I tell you, I never laughed harder.  The stories that people told, "ripped from the pages of real life", were so amazing.  I am not going to try and re-create the experience for you, because it is impossible.  Seeing these fully grown men and women, reading their journals and showing their drawings from their 15 year old counterparts, was indescribably delightful.  How absurd we are as we grow up!

After the show I was emotionally pumped in a way I hadn't been in a while.  I am so eager to perform at that show in March--I'm already getting that healthy stage fright--that anxious high that all actors feel in the pit of their stomach right before they step out into the spotlight.

That night, I dreamed.

In the dream, I was back in my High School auditorium at Harrisonburg High School.  My drama teacher, Mr. Swartz was there, but he wasn't directing this show--I was.  I had a script in my hand, and I was trying to direct the actors on stage.  The rest of the cast, who's scenes weren't being actively rehearsed, sat in the audience, doing homework and talking (as we were wont to do back when I did theater in high school).

I set down my script to give a direction, and when I turned back to pick it up again, the script had gone.  I began to search for it, and the kids in the audience kept talking, and my rehearsal began to break down.  Louder talking and laughing, and my script was nowhere to be found.

Anger building, I exploded.  "You all need to either sit quietly or step out into the foyer if you're going to talk!  And who stole my script?"

I don't remember much after that, but I remember I was pretty unsuccessful at regaining control of the situation.

But what does it mean?  Maybe I feel like I used to have a script--the church and is proscriptions for life--and now I don't, and I'm losing my control over the direction of my life.

Or maybe it's just random recall from being excited about performing again.  I love theater probably as much if not more than film and television.  I love rehearsals, opening night, and the magical experience of suddenly realizing that you are the character, and of course, the most gratifying sound in the world--the applause.

Film makers and web-series creators don't get to see the smiles they put on their audiences faces.  They don't get the thrill that ever night something could go wrong or brilliantly right, earning them that standing ovation.

I started watching Hello, Dolly! this week (haven't had time to finish it), partly because of the song "Put on Your Sunday Clothes" that was featured in the opening sequence of WALL-E.  Not only is this show a terrific example of a big budget musical extravaganza, like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers or The Unsinkable Molly Brown, it feels good.  Just watch and listen:

"There's no blue Mondays in your Sunday Clothes!"

I've been having blue days a lot lately, and maybe it's because I don't wear my Sunday clothes anymore.  I have nothing to get excited about or dressed up for.  

I'm have no passion.

Theater is something I'm passionate about, but I don't get to express it enough.  I'm passionate about finding a boyfriend, but I'm so far unsuccessful. 

If I could perform for a living, I would in a heart beat.  The problem is, I'm too scared, too comfortable, too fat, have no technical training and frankly don't have enough tenacity to even attempt it.  So instead I seek out little opportunities to be on stage in every day life.  Reading to children at a local elementary school(doing that this weekend), or reading my journals to 300 people in a Mortified Show, maybe running for public office?

Lately I just feel like I'm on that treadmill again--running and running and getting nowhere.  Just relax, Ezra.  You've got a lot of time to figure this stuff out.  Don't get your panties in a bunch just yet.  It's never too late to start over.

Missionary Position (A One Man Play)

Tonight I went to see "Missionary Position" by Steven Fales, author of "Confessions of a Mormon Boy" with Alan of Scrum Central at the Celebration Theatre in West Hollywood, CA. (That's a lot of links in one sentence, huh?)

The play hit home in so many ways, and as Steven knelt down and pleaded and haggled with God to "make [him] straight" I just wanted to hug him.

And not because he was really cute with a smile that lights up a room.  But because I saw myself in him.  His portrayal of his pre-mission teenage self, begging with God for forgiveness about his "self abuse" problem, begging to be made straight, cut me to the core.

I saw my 19 year old self, sitting in church on a Sunday, crying in the pew with my head down, asking God why I couldn't be free from this evil.  I'd sit and imagine my death and, despite the intense pain accompanying the impact with an oncoming T (subway) train, how sweet the release of death would be.

Throughout the play, Fales breaks into verse from classic Mormon hymns.  Ye Elders of Israel; Shoulder To The Wheel; Called To Serve; and more, and it was hard not to sing along.

In the first ten minutes, Fales jokes about how being a missionary for two years is like paying tithing on the first 20 years of your life.  I lost it and laughed very loudly when no one else in the theater did.  He looked right at me, and said "Oh, hello Elder!"  He knew I must be Mormon, and it was wonderful to see his eyes light up.

The show is not going to go over well with most Mormons, which is a shame, because so much of the show is lost on it's generally non-mormon audience.  For once I kind of felt like an honored guest or a member of an exclusive club--I was perfectly positioned, along with Alan, to get both the "gay" jokes and the "mormon" jokes!  Alan does a very delightful review (he wrote it next to me while I was sitting on the couch writing this, actually!) so I'm not going to re-hash it for you.  Needless to say, it was a grand old time.

After the play, Alan and I went to talk to Steven.  I gave him a hug and we "outted" ourselves to him.  He was so warm and receptive, and was so glad we came to the show.  I think he was genuinely pleased to know that we were all in the same boat.  Of course, I got an autograph and a photograph to remember the occasion.

May 22nd, 2001

Wow, I was a horny little kid.

Dear Journal,

Really bad low today.  5 m’s or more, not sure.  Anyway, Mr. M., my science teacher is in Boston for surgery so he won’t be back this year.  It’s too bad.  I’ve been listening to the tape of the 5/18/01 radio show.  I really like it.  Anyway, I did my homework and looked at my movie’s “What?!?!” script.  I realized that it’s really funny.  I am going to finish it before I leave.  BTW, Rosebud is Kane’s sled!  Ezra Horne.

Nice to see I had a sense of humor in spite of my crippling shame.