Gary, my official college buddy and former roommate, dared me to write a novel back in November, and I had no choice but to accept the challenge.
I may have given up proving my 'manhood' where romance is concerned, but I’m still rather hetero when it comes to dares. Plus, I’d been trying to switch from plays to prose all year long, with little success. This felt like my last chance to give it a go, and a dare from Gary was just the fuel I needed. Writing ‘the first novel’ turns out to be surprisingly similar to playing Sudoku. Once you get a general idea of subject matter (which took me roughly two months to decide on) it’s a matter of heading off into the (figurative) woods, writing the parts of the book I feel most certain of, hoping that they will, in turn, make me more certain of other parts. I am, in effect, shooting my book out of sequence, but I’m having a lot of fun--which was, in the end, the key. If you spend this long doing something so solitary and cerebral, you might as well enjoy it. And as I’d hoped, it is already proving to be cheaper than producing a play. So what’s it about? Well, imagine GRAND THEFT AUTO as a novel...then make all the men homos. That’s the best I can do to describe it. I doubt I’ll be doing any readings at the Knights of Columbus anytime soon. Incidentally, the auto shop sequence may have to get cut, and I gotta tellya…I’m gonna miss it. * * * My friend Andrew B recently started writing for Vogue, thereby giving the suit he helped me pick out last Spring a retroactive consecration from the fashion elite. I've had two opportunities to wear The Suit in the past seven days. One of them was, alas, a funeral: My babysitter from when I was a little kid passed away. Her name was Mrs. G, and she was awesome. Creative, warm, funny and sweet. She used to work me into my own bedtime stories, as the main character: “Jonathan was in the jungle fighting tigers..." "One day Jonathan went to the circus..." It's probably why I got into theatre. Mrs. G was eighty-five when she died. At the wake, her daughter Jo introduced me around, and the relatives all seemed to be intimately familiar with the five-year-old version of me, even if I didn't know them. They all recalled the bedtime stories, too.
"It's probably why you got into theatre," Mrs. G's eldest daughter suggested at one point. * * *
Back when we lived on Crosby Avenue, Mrs. G's immediate relatives were so close to my mother that I assumed for most of my life I was related to them. This wake was the first time I actually put two and two together, and realized they were family friends--not aunts, uncles and cousins, as I'd assumed. But that mistake points to one of the best things about being from 'the neighborhood'. That broadening of the definition of family. It's definitely strange to be grown-up now, and friendly with Mrs. G's daughter Jo. She knew me when I used to play with toy dinosaurs.
Now we're both, you know, people. We go to pubs and bond over our crushes on Clive Owen and dudes in kilts. * * * The second time I wore The Suit was for a happier occasion: On the evening of my birthday, Jennifer was inducted into The Friar's Club. Dawn and I attended her ceremony.
I was disappointed that the initiation didn't involve an invocation of Cthulhu from the blasted nether-regions of space/time, but I'm not complaining. The closest I've come to hanging with a secret society since Boy Scouts was opening night of SNAKES ON A PLANE. As for The Friar's Club, it's like a combination between a Catskills comedy club and a Masonic lodge. One of the few remaining 'gentleman's clubs' in New York City that does not use the term as a euphemism for 'nudie bar', it only recently began inducting women, so it was quite an honor for Jennifer to be asked to join. And contrary to popular belief, its members are not all comics. Only a portion of them. Lots of entertainment industry guys, though. The decor is what I'd call Early 'Order of the Golden Dawn'. When they closed the ten-foot-tall doors to the Milton Berle Room at the start of the induction, I half-expected to hear Paul Frees say, "Welcome to The Haunted Mansion..." over the loudspeaker, and the floor to start lowering, the paintings to stretch...
Jennifer was so happy. I was so proud. We had dessert in the Frank Sinatra Ballroom, then called Gary from the Billy Crystal Bar to tell him the news... |