Not a cloud in the sky. Det Kongelit Theatre to my left, the impressive new opera house across the canal, the gateway to Nyhavn behind me, I am looking across the water at the gold-spired churchtop in Christianshavn. The sun is shining on my face and glistening on the water. The city is quiet, not at all as it will be in another hour or two. Days ago, my sleeplessness and the cold and the wind and the rain and the noise and the crowds got me down. Down to where I briefly forgot what a blessing this is. But last night, walking back through Nyhavn with my handsome partner at 10:00 pm in the sunshine with two young lovers in their 70s walking hand-in-hand ahead of us, I remembered. As our Danish mother stopped to point out each and every memory, as she stopped to gaze in wonder at how her city has grown and changed, as I watched her eyes shine with love for her home and pride in showing it off, my cold heart melted. This is the romantic city of which I read. This is the historic home of castles and canals and colorful rowhouses and kings and queens and parks where the natives strip themselves in front of the warm glowing sun as soon as they get the chance. This is the small proud country where, despite the growing need to teach their children English, they continue to speak their historic and beautiful native language, the language of Vikings and of royalty, a language older than the country I call home. This is a place of stunning green countrysides, ancient fortresses where brave countrymen guarded their prized land and charming ancient fishing villages where the locals continue to shop for the best herring, salmon, eel, plaice and all the bounty the Oresund provides.
The crowds in the Stroget can be exasperating, the weather unpredictable and the prices wallet-busting; but, at this special moment, there is no crowd, no inclement weather, no cost to sit and watch the sun's rays dance on the water, the little mallard sleeping next to me with its beak nestled in its wing, listen to the chirpsong of the gulls and jays, feel the sun's warmth on my neck, sip my morning coffee and appreciate this romantic beautiful city I am blessed to visit.
Copenhagen, I love your spirit, your sass and your smorrebrod. I love the Louisiana and your appreciation for all things artistic. I love your fighting spirit when your team plays the World Cup and your determination to keep the party going long after the losing play.
Tak for alt, CPH.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Normino in Amsterdam
Surprise, everyone! I am not sick! I have not visited a hospital yet, suffered food poisoning, had an emergency root canal. No major injuries or illnesses. Nothing other than feeling ugly. If you have spent any time in Amsterdam, you may understand what I mean. Are there any unattractive Dutch people? We feel it is inappropriate for the beautiful Dutch to flaunt their loveliness shamelessly in our faces. The coup de grace was the construction workers conveniently situated across the canal from where we had lunch our last day in town. It was like a Pepsi commercial. I kept expecting one of them to pause, wipe their brow and open up a cool one and start drinking.
Anyway, I am not starting at the very beginning, and that is a very good place to start. Our trip began in Portland when our taxi picked us up, we zoomed off for our adventure and promptly had a flat tire before getting on the freeway. I thought "Well, why not? Why wait to be overseas before the mishaps begin?" Fortunately, our cabbie was very fast at replacing the flat tire with a spare from his trunk. As he was at least 65 and panting like he was having a heart attack, I felt bad for him; but not bad enough to offer assistance. I can't be getting dirty right before an international flight.
Eventually, after a 4 hour flight to Dallas, a 9 hour to London, 4 hours sitting in Heathrow, a 90 minute to Amsterdam and a terrifyingly fast taxi trip, we arrived.
The Hotel Wiechmann is a charming B and B sitting right on the west bank of the Prinsengracht canal. Our window overlooked the canal and made for great people-watching. It really is an addictive pastime in Amsterdam. The cyclists alone are thrillingto observe. Do not mistake this for exaggeration when I say that we would see a man dressed for work with a child in the front basket, a child straddling behind him, a coffee and cigarette in one hand, a cellphone between his ear and shoulder, one hand on the handlebars, and he would be flying down the street. Along with him were numerous others, all racing to get to work, school, synagogue and who knows where else.
One morning, T and I rented bicycles and rode to Westerpark. At one point, riding beside Tommy, I hear a bell jingle and a voice say "Hallo!" and there behind me is a woman of at least 60 years in a dress and heels impatiently on my back tire trying to pass. I quickly slowed and got behind Tommy and she sped past me. We stayed single file thereafter.
And the cyclists are hard-core in Amsterdam. Woe is the pedestrian out for a leisurely stroll who happens to walk anywhere but on the 1-foot-wide pedestrian sidewalk. They will be clipped by a truck or run over by a raging cyclist. Fortunately, the Amsterdammits have no qualms about yelling at pedestrians with their loud commanding frightening voices.
Anywho, aside from being scared into submission by the locals, highlights included the Anne Frank Huis which was amazing. So brilliantly put together with an interactive installation at the end which gives visitors a chance to weigh in on more recent events targeting certain ethnic or cultural groups.
The Rijksmuseum is currently under renovation, but they have assembled a "greatest hits" wing which is quite complete on its own. We should have stopped there, but we tried to conquer Van Gogh on the same day. At a certain point, my brain just refuses to accept more information. I quickly grew annoyed with my audio tour at Van Gogh and started just sprinting through the rooms trying to find the exit. Those museums are not easy to navigate quickly especially when other visitors are trying to stroll or, worse yet, STAND and view the works. I may have seemed callous when I knocked that 9-yr-old girl over, but after reading about a man depressed and crazy enough to chop off his own ear, I am sure she has other scars to deal with. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Well, I better sign off for now. It is 7:40 am here in Copenhagen (yes, I am a little behind on this update), and Tommy is sure to be awake soon and ready for some wienerbrod. It's Danish, people!
I will post again later when I actually have something to say. Oh, who am I kidding? I rarely have anything real to say. I will rant some more soon.
Anyway, I am not starting at the very beginning, and that is a very good place to start. Our trip began in Portland when our taxi picked us up, we zoomed off for our adventure and promptly had a flat tire before getting on the freeway. I thought "Well, why not? Why wait to be overseas before the mishaps begin?" Fortunately, our cabbie was very fast at replacing the flat tire with a spare from his trunk. As he was at least 65 and panting like he was having a heart attack, I felt bad for him; but not bad enough to offer assistance. I can't be getting dirty right before an international flight.
Eventually, after a 4 hour flight to Dallas, a 9 hour to London, 4 hours sitting in Heathrow, a 90 minute to Amsterdam and a terrifyingly fast taxi trip, we arrived.
The Hotel Wiechmann is a charming B and B sitting right on the west bank of the Prinsengracht canal. Our window overlooked the canal and made for great people-watching. It really is an addictive pastime in Amsterdam. The cyclists alone are thrillingto observe. Do not mistake this for exaggeration when I say that we would see a man dressed for work with a child in the front basket, a child straddling behind him, a coffee and cigarette in one hand, a cellphone between his ear and shoulder, one hand on the handlebars, and he would be flying down the street. Along with him were numerous others, all racing to get to work, school, synagogue and who knows where else.
One morning, T and I rented bicycles and rode to Westerpark. At one point, riding beside Tommy, I hear a bell jingle and a voice say "Hallo!" and there behind me is a woman of at least 60 years in a dress and heels impatiently on my back tire trying to pass. I quickly slowed and got behind Tommy and she sped past me. We stayed single file thereafter.
And the cyclists are hard-core in Amsterdam. Woe is the pedestrian out for a leisurely stroll who happens to walk anywhere but on the 1-foot-wide pedestrian sidewalk. They will be clipped by a truck or run over by a raging cyclist. Fortunately, the Amsterdammits have no qualms about yelling at pedestrians with their loud commanding frightening voices.
Anywho, aside from being scared into submission by the locals, highlights included the Anne Frank Huis which was amazing. So brilliantly put together with an interactive installation at the end which gives visitors a chance to weigh in on more recent events targeting certain ethnic or cultural groups.
The Rijksmuseum is currently under renovation, but they have assembled a "greatest hits" wing which is quite complete on its own. We should have stopped there, but we tried to conquer Van Gogh on the same day. At a certain point, my brain just refuses to accept more information. I quickly grew annoyed with my audio tour at Van Gogh and started just sprinting through the rooms trying to find the exit. Those museums are not easy to navigate quickly especially when other visitors are trying to stroll or, worse yet, STAND and view the works. I may have seemed callous when I knocked that 9-yr-old girl over, but after reading about a man depressed and crazy enough to chop off his own ear, I am sure she has other scars to deal with. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Well, I better sign off for now. It is 7:40 am here in Copenhagen (yes, I am a little behind on this update), and Tommy is sure to be awake soon and ready for some wienerbrod. It's Danish, people!
I will post again later when I actually have something to say. Oh, who am I kidding? I rarely have anything real to say. I will rant some more soon.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Did You See Today?
Lora Ethylene Wilson died March 2, 2010 at 84 years of age leaving behind five children, six grandchildren, five great-grandchildren and numerous nieces, nephews and friends. Her body and spirit, until January 6th of this year, was more like that of a woman half her age. Throughout my life, she inspired and impressed me in many ways at many times.
My first memories of Aunt Ethylene go way back to my childhood. Growing up in Garden Grove, California, my favorite times were those when the aunts, uncles and cousins would come over to our house for holiday dinners and open houses. We had some of the most fun, witty and interesting aunts and uncles. Aunts Ethylene and Dolores were two of my faves. Both outspoken, boisterous, loud and unafraid to speak their minds, they would keep my siblings and I laughing for days after seeing them.
The first time I played Uno was sitting at our kitchen table with my older sisters, Mom, Dad, Uncles Dick and Earl and their respective wives, Dolores and Ethylene. I won, but I am pretty sure I was allowed to win. Even so, I was teased endlessly by everyone for having beginner's luck. I was teased a lot as a child, but I was also very loved and even coddled by my aunts and uncles. I was always so excited when they would come to visit.
Early on, we lost Uncle Dick, Uncle Earl and Aunt Dolores; but Aunt E lived through it all. She did more than live; she loved life and embraced each day. She loved her family, and she doted on me, even well into my adulthood. She enjoyed her home and her garden, and she was a consummate hostess, always ready to entertain.
When I became involved in theater, she was right there with Mom to support me at every show, always commenting that she "couldn't see anything better on Broadway." I knew full well that was not always true, but it thrilled me that she thought so highly of my work. Her voice always made me smile. She had this kind of gruff, but still feminine, voice with a hint of her Virginia heritage behind it. Her southern sensibilities were always there beneath the Southern California woman she had become.
At times over the last decade or so, I have thought about the day she would leave us. I never thought about it very long because it was too sad and too unimaginable that this amazing woman would ever not be here. But on January 6 of this year, she was involved in a fatal car accident. Her son, Barry, and his wife Barbara, were taking her back east to their home in Florida, after a wonderful Christmas she spent at her home in Orange County with her whole family. Something happened--none of us know what--and Barry lost control of the car. He was killed, as was their dog, and Barbara and Aunt E were left in crirical condition. Later, we found out that Aunt E had actually been found dead on the scene and was resuscitated.
The last two months have been an ordeal for her and for her family. She has gone from critical condition to recovery and back again more than once. This last time going back into CCU was it for her. She had taken all she could take.
Come to find out, Aunt E had stated in her will that she did not want to be resuscitated. No surprise really. She was one of the strongest women I have known and certainly never one to be weak or needing of assistance from others. Once when she was sick, her son told her she should lie down for a while, and she replied "I've been lying down all night. I can't lie down anymore."
One of my favorite memories of Aunt Ethylene was when she and my mom came to see a show of mine on a night that happened to be Gay and Lesbian Night at the theater. I swear, I didn't plan it. At one point while people were being seated, in full voice because that was the only voice Aunt E used, she said to my mother "Well, it must be husbands' night out. All the men have left their wives at home."
Her style was always direct and confident and smart. One time discussing death, she told my mom she wanted to be cremated. My mother staunchly opposes cremation and told her so to which she replied "Well, have you ever considered what happens to your body after it's buried?"
She always had a smart response because she was a smart lady.
Since January 1, we have had mostly warm sunny days and very little rain here in Portland. Ironic when you consider we moved up her to experience "weather", and, since we moved, So Cal has had more rain than we have. Anyway, in recent months I find myself asking Tommy "Did you see today?" with a wonder in my voice. This is a result of the beauty I have been noticing that I failed to notice in the past. I see the sun shining on the river and the flowers in bloom. I see the opportunity we have and the bounty with which we have been blessed since we moved. I see the gift of friendship in the people with whom I work. The traits and nuances of each cast member with whom I perform and each banker with whom I spend my days and the ways they color my life. And I feel very blessed and fortunate to have this love and laughter and energy around me. And I find myself saying this phrase "Did you see today? Wasn't it beautiful?" I find myself bragging to Tommy about how talented my fellow actors are, how nice my co-workers are, how rewarding my job is. And recently, I wondered where did this phrase come from?
Last night, my sister called to tell me of Aunt E's passing, and this morning I woke up with the realization that it came from her. She is the origin of that question. She saw every day. Her appreciation of the world and life and the beauty and fun it brings is what inspires that question.
My Aunt Ethylene was one of a kind. A few weeks ago, I sent her a card to tell her I loved her and couldn't wait for her to recover and come see Portland. After sending it, I beat myself up over suggesting such a ridiculous thing. She was struggling to live, and I was telling her to plan a trip. The impetus came from my optimism, or, rather, my hope that she would be well. In retrospect, it was ridiculous and inappropriate. But my request may not have been in vain. I think she may be visiting after all. I think she may be passing by for just a moment to make sure I saw today. I did, Aunt E, and I love you very much.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
A Valentine for Tommy
It didn't start off great. There were question marks bouncing around in my head for the first year or so. We met doing She Loves Me. So many showmances have ended as quickly as they began. There was no reason to expect anything different for this one.
He was from Tucson and just out for the show. He seemed a little wild which always attracts me, though probably not in the healthiest way. But Tommy was different because, in addition to his insanity and highly inappropriate humor, he was smart and well spoken. It was fall of 2004, and Bush was about to win his second term. Our cast would sit around on breaks and talk politics, and I was always impressed with how passionately Tommy would convey his thoughts and opinions. He seemed more than a party.
Naturally, when the show ended, I expected we would end as well; but, just a few weeks later, he was back to spend Christmas with me. Why was this guy so interested? After ten years of being single, I didn't get it; and I wasn't sure I wanted to. After all, allowing this to continue would compromise my comfortable bachelorhood. I was not keen on sacrificing the selfish lifestyle I had spent years cultivating. With reservations, I dove in anyway. I met the family which only hooked me even more. It was now apparent how he had become the person he is. I quickly felt part of the family.
Then we had some setbacks. Some betrayals of trust to rock the boat. Events that, in the grand scheme of things, were not too devastating; but I found them the perfect excuse to sabotage the relationship. My commitment-phobic mind went to work on overdrive. Well, darn it if he wasn't ready with his own artillery. My attempts to defeat any chance of a life together were thwarted.
Why was he still around? What could I possibly have to offer? I never thought of myself as much of a catch. Thankfully, he did. I am glad I went along for the ride.
Since then, it has been quite the journey. We have travelled together, worked together and lived together. Fought, laughed, cried, and, God knows, ate and drank together. And every adventure is better with him. I don't even like to see a movie without him for fear I will be affected in some way and not have him there to share it.
Every crazy little desire I have is met with support and encouragement. Because of his urging, I quit my job and committed to an actor's life. I did not achieve stardom, but that wasn't the point. Plus, I am already a star in my own mind. Where do you go from there?
Everything is an adventure with Tommy. We don't just live life together; we embrace and reflect on the experience together. Something I would often forget to do before he came along.
Last year, we were ready for a new adventure. We took the plunge and moved to a brand new city together. A move can be the ultimate test of a relationship. And this wasn't just moving to the next town over; this was a thousand mile move. To a place totally foreign to both of us.
Nothing has caused me to question this move. We have been extremely fortunate to get through the last year without feeling a smidge of doubt. Being unemployed and in a new city might be intimidating to some, but to us it was another fun adventure.
Boo, thank you for the last five years of fun adventures. I am thrilled to see what the next fifty will bring. I love you.
He was from Tucson and just out for the show. He seemed a little wild which always attracts me, though probably not in the healthiest way. But Tommy was different because, in addition to his insanity and highly inappropriate humor, he was smart and well spoken. It was fall of 2004, and Bush was about to win his second term. Our cast would sit around on breaks and talk politics, and I was always impressed with how passionately Tommy would convey his thoughts and opinions. He seemed more than a party.
Naturally, when the show ended, I expected we would end as well; but, just a few weeks later, he was back to spend Christmas with me. Why was this guy so interested? After ten years of being single, I didn't get it; and I wasn't sure I wanted to. After all, allowing this to continue would compromise my comfortable bachelorhood. I was not keen on sacrificing the selfish lifestyle I had spent years cultivating. With reservations, I dove in anyway. I met the family which only hooked me even more. It was now apparent how he had become the person he is. I quickly felt part of the family.
Then we had some setbacks. Some betrayals of trust to rock the boat. Events that, in the grand scheme of things, were not too devastating; but I found them the perfect excuse to sabotage the relationship. My commitment-phobic mind went to work on overdrive. Well, darn it if he wasn't ready with his own artillery. My attempts to defeat any chance of a life together were thwarted.
Why was he still around? What could I possibly have to offer? I never thought of myself as much of a catch. Thankfully, he did. I am glad I went along for the ride.
Since then, it has been quite the journey. We have travelled together, worked together and lived together. Fought, laughed, cried, and, God knows, ate and drank together. And every adventure is better with him. I don't even like to see a movie without him for fear I will be affected in some way and not have him there to share it.
Every crazy little desire I have is met with support and encouragement. Because of his urging, I quit my job and committed to an actor's life. I did not achieve stardom, but that wasn't the point. Plus, I am already a star in my own mind. Where do you go from there?
Everything is an adventure with Tommy. We don't just live life together; we embrace and reflect on the experience together. Something I would often forget to do before he came along.
Last year, we were ready for a new adventure. We took the plunge and moved to a brand new city together. A move can be the ultimate test of a relationship. And this wasn't just moving to the next town over; this was a thousand mile move. To a place totally foreign to both of us.
Nothing has caused me to question this move. We have been extremely fortunate to get through the last year without feeling a smidge of doubt. Being unemployed and in a new city might be intimidating to some, but to us it was another fun adventure.
Boo, thank you for the last five years of fun adventures. I am thrilled to see what the next fifty will bring. I love you.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
About a Boy...called Ryan Bingham
Happy new year! I have been remiss in writing because I have actually been busy, like, all the time. I think it's cute to add "like" as a sentence splitter. It makes me feel 16 again, which, as you know, was only a few short years ago.
It is a glorious rainy Sunday morning in Portland, and my guy and I are reading the Sunday Oregonian and listening to Elaine Stritch's Sail Away. On vinyl! Yes, that's right. Santa brought us a new record player for Christmas, and we love it. I forgot how wonderful vinyl sounds. My memories of having a record player are mostly limited to placing my pet parakeets on the turntable and switching the speed from 33 to 45 to 78 and watching them get all dizzy. You may think that sounds mean, but these were hissing parakeets that refused to learn to talk, no matter how frequently I would repeat "Hello, Gorgeous! Hello, Gorgeous!"
Back to the purpose of this entry. SPOILER ALERT: If you somehow have NOT seen A Single Man or Up In the Air, and you still plan to see them, and you have a thing about spoilers, stop reading.
T and I were very excited to see A Single Man with Colin Firth as a gay college professor dealing with the loss of his long-time lover while being pursued by both his haggy lush of a best friend AND a strikingly tan gorgeous young student played by none other than the BOY from About A Boy. The film was directed by Tom Ford so of course the whole movie looked like a Ralph Lauren ad. All crisp collars and tan #2 foundation, blond highlights on everybody and an aura of sex throughout.
The performances were very good all around, and that BOY was quite convincing in his pursuit of Firth. What was not so convincing was Firth's resistance. There is no moddle-aged gay man on earth, I don't care how depressed, forlorn or withdrawn, that would resist the advances of such a beautiful young man, especially while standing NAKED in his bedroom! So, once again, this tragidrama became a farce. Oh, Precious.
One of my favorite films of the year was Up In the Air. I understand many people were not as charmed by this film as I, but it struck a chord with me. Speaking with a good friend whose film critiques I highly regard, I was surprised to hear that she found the film a little depressing. Upon reflection though, I realized that this is one of those films that leaves you to sort out the ending for yourself. I found myself relating to Ryan's journey from beginning to end. Not that I have earned Elite status on any airline or that I get to fly around and fire people for a living (though it is a dream of mine), but his is a journey similar to my own.
Prior to nesting with my numero uno hombre, I was blissfully single for ten years. Those ten years included occasional showmances and maybe even a one-nighter or two along the way. I say "maybe" because, well, who can remember? But I had pretty much resigned myself to always being single. And the thought of sharing my life and everything in it with another person seemed onerous.
In January of 2005, however, I gave in, and happily. I decided this is what I want. And I have never looked back since. I cannot, and will not, imagine my life without Tommy.
Then, last year, we had a mutual impulse to change up our lives even more drastically. We were ready to get out of LA and start fresh in a new city, far away from our comfort zones. This proved to be the ultimate adventure and one we have not regretted in the least.
At the end of Up In the Air, Ryan realizes that he is ready for a relationship. He is ready to connect with someone on a more-than-physical level. Is it heartbreaking when Alex turns out to be the rogue? Of course! But, in my mind, Ryan is now aware of what he wants. Yes, he goes back in the air and resumes his routine. For how long, we don't know. What's apparent to me is that he is a changed man. And I believe he will now embrace life more desirous of commitment and open to possibilities outside of what he knows and with which he is comfortable.
I certainly am not saying that committed relationships are for everyone, or even that everyone has some sort of pre-destined fate. But I love Ryan Bingham because he does open himself up and allows himself to be vulnerable, and I believe he will do it again. And perhaps he is even looking forward to it.
As we charge into 2010, I am excited about what this year brings. I am loving my day job much more than I thought I would, and I am thrilled about the theater scene up here. I have shows lined up through May, and the week after I close Wild Space A Go Go, we leave for a two-week Europe trip.
I am Ryan Bingham. No need to remind me of the differences between George Clooney and myself. Thank you, anyway. My point is I am sailing into this new year in this new city with a lust for life, and I hope you are doing the same.
Love to you and yours, and best wishes for a happy, healthy and life-affirming new year!
It is a glorious rainy Sunday morning in Portland, and my guy and I are reading the Sunday Oregonian and listening to Elaine Stritch's Sail Away. On vinyl! Yes, that's right. Santa brought us a new record player for Christmas, and we love it. I forgot how wonderful vinyl sounds. My memories of having a record player are mostly limited to placing my pet parakeets on the turntable and switching the speed from 33 to 45 to 78 and watching them get all dizzy. You may think that sounds mean, but these were hissing parakeets that refused to learn to talk, no matter how frequently I would repeat "Hello, Gorgeous! Hello, Gorgeous!"
Back to the purpose of this entry. SPOILER ALERT: If you somehow have NOT seen A Single Man or Up In the Air, and you still plan to see them, and you have a thing about spoilers, stop reading.
T and I were very excited to see A Single Man with Colin Firth as a gay college professor dealing with the loss of his long-time lover while being pursued by both his haggy lush of a best friend AND a strikingly tan gorgeous young student played by none other than the BOY from About A Boy. The film was directed by Tom Ford so of course the whole movie looked like a Ralph Lauren ad. All crisp collars and tan #2 foundation, blond highlights on everybody and an aura of sex throughout.
The performances were very good all around, and that BOY was quite convincing in his pursuit of Firth. What was not so convincing was Firth's resistance. There is no moddle-aged gay man on earth, I don't care how depressed, forlorn or withdrawn, that would resist the advances of such a beautiful young man, especially while standing NAKED in his bedroom! So, once again, this tragidrama became a farce. Oh, Precious.
One of my favorite films of the year was Up In the Air. I understand many people were not as charmed by this film as I, but it struck a chord with me. Speaking with a good friend whose film critiques I highly regard, I was surprised to hear that she found the film a little depressing. Upon reflection though, I realized that this is one of those films that leaves you to sort out the ending for yourself. I found myself relating to Ryan's journey from beginning to end. Not that I have earned Elite status on any airline or that I get to fly around and fire people for a living (though it is a dream of mine), but his is a journey similar to my own.
Prior to nesting with my numero uno hombre, I was blissfully single for ten years. Those ten years included occasional showmances and maybe even a one-nighter or two along the way. I say "maybe" because, well, who can remember? But I had pretty much resigned myself to always being single. And the thought of sharing my life and everything in it with another person seemed onerous.
In January of 2005, however, I gave in, and happily. I decided this is what I want. And I have never looked back since. I cannot, and will not, imagine my life without Tommy.
Then, last year, we had a mutual impulse to change up our lives even more drastically. We were ready to get out of LA and start fresh in a new city, far away from our comfort zones. This proved to be the ultimate adventure and one we have not regretted in the least.
At the end of Up In the Air, Ryan realizes that he is ready for a relationship. He is ready to connect with someone on a more-than-physical level. Is it heartbreaking when Alex turns out to be the rogue? Of course! But, in my mind, Ryan is now aware of what he wants. Yes, he goes back in the air and resumes his routine. For how long, we don't know. What's apparent to me is that he is a changed man. And I believe he will now embrace life more desirous of commitment and open to possibilities outside of what he knows and with which he is comfortable.
I certainly am not saying that committed relationships are for everyone, or even that everyone has some sort of pre-destined fate. But I love Ryan Bingham because he does open himself up and allows himself to be vulnerable, and I believe he will do it again. And perhaps he is even looking forward to it.
As we charge into 2010, I am excited about what this year brings. I am loving my day job much more than I thought I would, and I am thrilled about the theater scene up here. I have shows lined up through May, and the week after I close Wild Space A Go Go, we leave for a two-week Europe trip.
I am Ryan Bingham. No need to remind me of the differences between George Clooney and myself. Thank you, anyway. My point is I am sailing into this new year in this new city with a lust for life, and I hope you are doing the same.
Love to you and yours, and best wishes for a happy, healthy and life-affirming new year!
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