Chekhov to Wilder to Montana... and back to Wilder

    There's nothing to win over a role in "Our Town" quite like a mind-fucking serial killer monologue. My audition is at 5:00, it's for fucking "Our Town", but I'll get to work under this amazing director for the first time and I need/want this connection. Besides, he favors the gay boys. Extra points if you're cute, double that if you're smart. Well, HE thinks I'm smart, so I just need to sustain. I'm too old to play George Gibbs, I think, too young to be Mr. Gibbs or Mr. Webb. The role of Stage Manager (basically the narrator) has no real part in the story, but it would be a fun challenge with my character work to create a real person out of it, I know Milton will expect that from me.

    Tomorrow evening I have my final performance as Treplev, thank God. It'll be nice to put that sad, sad shit down for a while. I need to go for it in finding a place of true despair after Nina leaves me, not necessarily despair over Nina, I have that, but the emptiness of having nothing more to live for. No one likes to explore that frame of mind, but it's my damn job and I've been cheating it. However it turns out, Jim and I are hitting the road Saturday morning to drive to my family's ranch in Montana for a week with our friends Landon and Matt. We're meeting my other two friends Nick and Adam out there, since they're driving from Minnesota. On top of that, my mother is joining us for a bit with her friends Andrew (a drag queen!) and John; so that will be eight gay men and my mother under one roof. Well under two roofs. Everyone is bringing their own brick of weed, so that may help keep us all sane and sedated.

No matter, Jim and I will be rocking the kitchen from dawn till dusk busting out my culinary fantasies. It's bound to be an adventure...