Lost Boy reading tomorrow!

"When I see a bloodied black boy on a white college campus my thoughts go a thousand places and none of them is anti-gay hate crime." -Wendy from "Lost Boy"

Writing Man productions presents a staged reading of my play Lost Boy tomorrow night at 7 pm! A synopsis and details are below. This is the first public reading of this play and all feedback is needed and welcome!

Lost Boy
Directed by Daniel Student

Friday July 23rd
William Way Community Center Ballroom
1315 Spruce Street
Philadelphia, PA

LOST BOY is a startling new play that follows the fallout from the gay-bashing of an African-American student on a small, New England college campus.  Spanning both the political and the deeply personal, the play focuses on Michael, the injured, strident boy and his estranged mother, Wendy, who is convinced that her son is the target of something larger and more insidious than physical violence.  

Taking inspiration from J.M. Barrie's "Peter Pan", Lost Boy envisions the relative Neverland of an ivy-covered campus, full of children fleeing the encroachment of adulthood's problems and adults fighting obsolescence and the error of youth.

The reading is free to the public.  A brief talkback follows.


Run, Girl! Run!

Many thanks to Queer Memoir and First Person Arts for hosting the Salon for which this essay was written.

I've just barely made it to the mouth of East Passyunk Avenue, two minutes walk from my apartment, and these cutoff jean shorts already seem like a bad idea. And so much more ridiculous than they had all day as I tromped around the Gayborhood. By ridiculous, I should say, I mean gay. It's an unhealthy paradigm, I know, but one that I can't really deconstruct at the moment because I'm very busy trying to will myself invisible to the group of 16-year-old boys sitting up ahead. Fitting snugly in all the right places, the shorts fall a good 2 inches above my knee. I actually have the temerity to consider them a bit conservative; it's not like you're going to accidentally see my balls. I only wear those shorts at Halloween. And to the gym. And to softball practice. And once, curiously, to a casual dress wedding. Still, while the jean shorts don't push the limits of good taste they seem decidedly, conspicuous on this South Philadelphia block. And by conspicuous I mean gay. One of the 14-year-old boys is playing a guitar at a microphone in front of a store; two others sit on either side of him. A fourth stands on the curb across from the rest. I instantly decide that he is the sidekick to the musician. In my head I dub him Ponyboy. It's he who spies me. And I can see in his eyes that he makes an instant decision about me as well. He crosses to the musician and whispers in his ear and though I am half a block away and almost 20 years older I immediately feel adolescently awkward again. And by awkward I mean gay.


Slammin' Deal & Blast From The Past

Planning on checking out yours truly going up against nine other storytellers, plus Sweet Lucy's BBQ and the band Peculiar Gentleman at the First Person Arts Summer Slam and BBG? You can get tickets for only $10 by following this link before midnight on Sunday.

And to tide you over, here's a video of one of the first stories I told for the "Do It Yourself" theme:


Have you noticed the atrocious Photoshop abortion that is my header? Look at the underside of my arm. It's like the spindly appendage of an elderly spider. Lackluster. Not that I mind so much. One, it's thematically appropriate and two, all evidence to the contrary I still believe I'm in expert Photoshop artist. Like, professional grade. Like could make 2010 Lindsay Lohan look like 2001 Lindsay Lohan.

I suppose I could take a course or something. At the very least, I guess I could buy a For Dummies book. I'm packing up my apartment this week and have been absolutely flabbergasted at the number of For Dummies books I have. Clearly, I'm an expert on everything.

Here is a partial list:
The Bible
Opening a Restaurant
Managing a Restaurant
Getting Fired from a Restaurant
Writing a Blog (haven't finished reading that one yet)

Let me know if you have any questions.

Shameless self-promotion (my bad, yo)

This post has no actual witty content. It's me advertising myself. Sorry. Get over it.

But, for real. You guys know how I like to get on stage at First Person Arts Story Slams and tell embarrassing stories about myself/people who have broken up with me, right? Well, one of those times won me prize:

In addition to said prize, that story also won me a spot in the First Person Arts Summer Grand Slam and BBQ, next Saturday July 24th. I'll be competing against 9 other people for the title of "BEST STORYTELLER IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE EVER TIMES INFINITY". I may be exaggerating.

In any case, you should come. Delicious food and drinks, 10 awesome/awkward stories, plus music by the band Peculiar Gentleman.

You can get more info here or you can enter for a chance to win a free ticket here by putting a story about me (any story at all) in the comments section!



So I'm going away for a week on vacation and I have no idea where I'll be or what I'm going to be doing. I'm exagerating. See, there's a very loose itinerary. By loose I mean we have a roundtrip flight with 8 days and four hotels in different cities in between. Ostensibly we'll be driving around Washington, Oregon and Northern California seeing what there is to see but that kind of open-endedness puts me in a tizzy. Are we going to a fancy party? Will there be a soccer game or debutante ball? Safari? Will I need my cowboy hat? What about my Water Wings? Is there a chance someone will be shot? This is a vacation. Anything could happen.

The biggest problem with this kind is ambiguity is, of course, figuring out how to pack appropriately. Finding an appropriate outfit for a quick run to Starbucks gives me heart palpitations and often ends with me throwing shoes across the room while wearing 8 ill-fitting tanktops, so a full vacation wardrobe is pretty much out of the realm of possibility. Last night, the concept upset me so much that by 1 a.m. I had dumped my entire closet on the floor and burst into tears. The only thing I had actually managed to pack was an empty can of Axe. And a book called "Croquet for Dummies" but that's neither here nor there.

In any case, I eventually got over it... after a lot of deep breathing and a very awkward breakdown in the middle of a late night showing of Toy Story 3 (I just ran in, screamed for about a minute, stopped and watched the scene in the trash incinerator, cried hysterically, and ran out, my empty suitcase rolling behind me). I managed to pack my bags (with clothes and not just emotions!) and I'm pretty proud of how economical and yet thorough my packing is. I have two suitcases and a carryon, inside of which I've shoved literally 30 outfits.

I know what you're thinking--30 outfits is a little conservative for 8 days away. Don't worry, I had the same thought.