My Mothers Visit / Mortified San Francisco

The first weekend in December, my mother flew out to LA to drive with me up to San Francisco for my Mortified performances there. I had not seen her in 18 months or so, and as a result I was a but unsettled. This would be the first time that she'd seen me as an out (done) and proud (working on it) gay man. This would be the first time that she'd seen me 40 pounds lighter. This would be the first time she'd seen me as a fully self-sufficient man.

It would be the first time she was really seeing me.

And so when I busted my hump to get from Hollywood to LAX during rush hour, you can imagine my frustration when she wasn't waiting for me on the curb. I called her, but her phone was off. Convinced that she'd sequestered herself inside the terminal, I was forced to park and go in after her.

She wasn't inside, either. I asked the Virgin America ticketing agent if she'd boarded the flight. When I was informed that she never boarded, my mind immediately went to the macabre. Certainly no one could be so inconsiderate as to have missed their flight and not called to say they'd be on the next one, so she must be dead on the side of the highway. It didn't take me long to get hysterical. I'd had such a hard week... I'd taken two sick days with a 103 fever earlier in the week, and I was looking forward to having mother come and "make it all better".

To make a long story short (too late), my mother had boarded the next flight. At this point, I lost it. I exited the terminal, screamed, returned to my car, screamed again, and called my friend Liz and cried my eyes out sitting against my car in an LAX parking garage.

I've always loved both of my parents, and I'm grateful for them. But so often it seems that I have to be the adult, the responsible one. Now, in fairness, my mother did say she tried texting me, but I guess she didn't actually send it or something--I've never gotten a text from her before, so I can imagine this might be true. But regardless, my whole life I've been as responsible and mature as possible, acting as my own adult in my life. For crying out loud, my father dumped me from his health insurance when I graduated college... that was essentially my graduation present.

For once in my life I feel like I want to be immature, to do stupid things that I know won't work, to be wreckless, do what feels good, and learn the hard way. I've always carefully considered the options, taken calculated risks, never attempted anything I wasn't pretty sure I could manage.

This blog entry is rapidly spinning out of control. I'm no longer sure exactly what this is about, or even if I should publish it. My mother reads this blog, and I don't want to hurt her feelings. I think my mother is very strong, and is doing the best she can. She needs to learn to forgive herself and realize that she is lovable, and deserves love.

I guess I need to learn that too.

Going to Mortified in San Francisco was a good experience for us both. I got to be me in front of my mother, and have a room full of strangers affirm me and the great job she did as a mother, raising a wonderful son. But how much of it is going to sink in? People were wanting to meet her after the performance, to tell her how proud she must be.

And I think she was proud. She is proud of me and loves me. And in that regard, I just might be the luckiest guy in the world. My life is filled with people who love me and support my identity and my happiness.

Here's my mom and me down by the Embarcadero, with the bay bridge in the background.

It's strange to watch your parents age, and to realize that they aren't going to live forever. I think that was something I realized while on this trip—while I will always be her little boy—I'm a man now, and we're all changing and growing simultaneously. As a kid, your parents seem frozen in time, unchanging pillars for you to rely on. Part of my journey into adulthood has been realizing that when my parents started our family, they were my age—young, ignorant kids trying to figure the world out, and find a portion of happiness along the way.

Forgiving them for their mistakes is easy now, because when I stand and think about how I would fare with a young family right now, I can't honestly say I'd do any better.

I'm grateful for the family that I have, and for the things I've learned so far on my sojourn.

Since the vast majority of my readers live thousands of miles away from me, it's unlikely that any of you will ever be able to attend my Mortified Performance. Which is why I set a camera up on my little table at The Makeout Room (the venue in San Francisco) and taped this video. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy performing it.

Also, this multimedia piece was done by [X]press: Check it out!

I love you all, and leave you with this adorable pic of me and my mother.

Adventures In Geocaching - Yosemite National Park

Take a look at my latest video creation... maybe I'll make another episode while I'm on the east coast! (I wouldn't hold your breath for it, though.)

Leave a comment here or on the YouTube page! Or Both!

Successful Weekend

Hey Friends,

So I thought I'd supplement today's meager entry in my "journal" series with more recent affairs.

Michael Jackon's death caused me to to rediscover his amazing music and I'd been listening to "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and other hits practically non-stop. Well, Friday night I found myself done with work at 6pm. So I hit the gym, and pushed myself to do my "normal" 35 minutes on the elliptical. (I have yet to quit my 35 minute routine because I was tired--once I get going I just can't let myself stop--I'd feel like a huge failure if I did.) Then I hit the showers, (saw some hotties) then went home, grabbed some dinner found myself in front of the computer with nothing to do at about 8pm.

So I convinced myself that I needed to go out dancing. I needed to move my body. So I texted my straight girlfriend Liz, and asked her to be my date to Akbar, a gay bar in Silverlake. I got there, and we danced together from 11pm-2am! I had a grand old time, even if the DJ wasn't so good. He was playing a lot of Michael Jackson remixes that just decimated the dancing power of his music :( But we didn't care! At one point during the night, a heavy black guy and his lesbian friend started dancing with us, and Liz got swept away by the lesbian, and heavy black guy started grinding into my crotch and putting my hands on his ass.

It was fun to dance, but I was not attracted to this guy, so it wasn't as fun as it could have been--but I'll dance with anyone! I felt bad when he tried to pull me off of the dance floor and I didn't follow him, but that's what you have to do. Liz ended up requiring me to save her from the lesbian who started trying to give her a shoulder hickey!

There were a couple times during the night were I should have asked a couple guys to dance, but I was too chicken. I'm planning to keep going back, so I'm sure that'll come with time.

Anyway, the next day, I kicked butt running around town getting errands done--including getting my poster of Clue, a graduation gift from my dear friend Dan framed. It was a high quality reproduction, but I'm almost positive that I spent more money getting it framed than it was worth--but it looks SO CLASSY that it's totally worth it. It makes me so happy just to look at it. Thanks Dan!

I darted down to Santa Monica to hit up the beach with Danny, Jackie and Josh--6 dollars to park, and I found myself hoping around gleefully in the waves. Then of course, I got to lay out in the sun, and show off my new sunglasses and work on my tan.

That night, I went to a party and my Jackie's house, which was pretty meh, everyone was drinking and there were a lot of people I didn't know--and while normally that's fine, I was just too exhausted to play the part of social butterfly.

So first thing Sunday morning, I run out and do my laundry and clean my house, preparing for Damian's arrival, for date #3. It was was a good time. I cooked my famous spaghetti pie and we watched True Stories, and then sat on the couch and talked for several hours. He ended up being over for almost 7 hours, which was incredible, since we were basically talking.

He likes taking things slow, and that's okay with me. I'm not sure exactly what I feel about him. He's pretty good looking, and we have a lot of common interests, (we know and love almost all the same movies!) but I am not yet feeling that elusive chemistry. So for now I'm just letting things roll and see where they go. Hopefully if it ends up not working out, we'll still be friends, because he seems like a cool guy.

Though he can't swim and hates pools and the ocean--which is a huge problem, IMHO--But we're just gonna leave that one alone for now. This is what happens when you are raised in the deserts of Lancaster I suppose.

This morning I had my second session with Dr. Tony. I really like him, and I really like that he's a gay man--when he speaks about gay issues, he uses "we" to describe them, which helps remind me that he's been there or that it's not a unique and/or insurmountable problem. I wish it didn't cost so much, but until I pay down my insurance deductible, that's just how it's going to have to be.

Anyway, that's what's going on with me lately. Hope everyone is doing well. Oh, and a special shout out to my recent blog hits coming from The Westin Hotel in San Francisco and NASA!

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.

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.