Christmas Eve, 2010

I miss you.

I miss the lights and the stage and the butterflies just before they call me to the stage. I miss the thrill of the audition and the bigger thrill of the call back almost more than I miss the actual job. I miss the laughter from the audience and the jolt in the pit of my gut when I realize my material is connecting with a room full of strangers. I miss writing to you about it. I miss wondering if anyone new came by and bookmarked me. I miss the wheels turning, the breeze of motion and the joy of knowing I'm doing everything in my power to justify my existence. I miss seeing though the mundane humdrum to the furthest reaches of the absurd.

I miss it all.

They say that when one door closes, another door opens. I wonder if when that one door closes you can turn around and open it again? I do have a pry bar in the trunk...

The vantage point from My Brooklyn hasn't changed much this year. Instead of trolling though the old haunts of memory I decided to avoid nostalgia. I didn't stroll though the streets of the old neighborhood with a coffee and an eye toward the past. I didn't go to the old places and see the old friends both living and dead. I didn't stop by my father's place and wonder if he was somewhere in the ether doing his thing. I decided I've done quite a bit of that and though it sends a warm wave though something in me, it doesn't do much for my career.

The tree is once again glowing that warm glow that drips over the soul like your grandmothers lentil soup. The seven fishes are in prep and Mel Torme is wishing me good tidings. There's no snow tonight, no ice but plenty of houses with lights and kids on sugar high. It's a warm night for family, friends and the occasional guest star to drop by with a bottle of liquid merry.

This Christmas Eve I spent the day thinking and planning and dreaming of the year ahead. I want that future again, the one I seemed to have given up a few years ago. I have a note book full of plans that are frankly giving me a rash because I have to get them out of my head an into the world. If you're still with me and you still like sandwiches then take a ride. This might not be THE year but tonight might be THE night.

And there are 365 nights ahead...

Merry Christmas to you. I hope to see you here, on stage and maybe if I'm really lucky, on a screen in the coming year.