Shaving Off Some Time

So it's starting to get to crunch time for the play. Costumes are being donned, lines are no longer being stumbled over and shifts at work are becoming less frequent.

The first story begins a week ago however after yet another long rehearsal. The trek back from Brooklyn is long and painful at the best of times, when you realize you don't have enough money for the train on you it makes it even worse. After a combination of begging Ollie for quarters and jumping the barrier proved to be a success we heard the unmistakeable rattle of a train passing overhead. Fuck. We were going to miss it. A mad dash followed, I did that thing that kids do when they run upstairs two steps at a time, and I made it in just as the doors were closing. Phew! a close call.
Ollie and I sat there complaining about how tired we were and how much rehearsing over in Park Slope sucks. Pretty soon we both found ourselves nodding off just a bit. Then the train came hurtling out of the tunnel and over a bridge. It pulled into Ditmas Avenue. Delighted that I had reception I whipped my phone out and started waving it around hoping I was popular enough to receive a text. I wasn't. Then Ollie grabbed my arm with a look of error in her eyes. 'We're heading in the wrong direction.' I laughed off her idiocy and checked the map to make sure...... we were indeed heading in the wrong direction. So we jumped off at the next stop only to see a train heading in the right direction pulling out of the station. We trudged across the platform and waited, in the cold. It was 11 at night, in deepest, darkest Brooklyn and I wanted to cry. The word 'fuck' emanated from my mouth a fair few times. Eventually a train came and we were back where we started an hour after we had left.
Before I went home I stopped off for a comfort burger at my favorite Burger place in New York.... they got my order wrong and I waited half an hour for a cheeseburger. It was a bad night.

So in this play I am playing the part of a 15 year old boy. In order to create this illusion I have had a haircut into a nice side parting, similar to the one I sported in my Goodwyn's days and am very clean shaven. However there is one problem. In the play I take my shirt off. Now the three women who have sen me topless (Mum and both grandma's) can testify that I have a slight smattering of chest hair.... the director told me that this would have to go.
So the other day in the shower I thought I would give this a trial run. I sought the advice of many women about the pro's and con's of shaving versus waxing. Essentially though it is free to shave so that's the way I went.
I started with the chest, no problem there, came right off. I had now reached the point of no return, it would have looked weird to have stopped so it was all or nothing. I then encountered the tricky area of the nipple, the most sensitive place I would be shaving. Thanks to some dexterous hand movements and the fingers of a sculptor, I was able to remove the hair without a problem. Then it was time for my belly. This was where the hair was at its thickest and most stubborn. Eventually after half an hour I was done and looking as smooth as baby's bottom.
The next day though I started to itch..... and when I say itch I mean burn..... and when I say burn I mean want to tear the skin from my bones. Work was hell. Every 5 minutes I was rushing to the toilet for a heavenly scratch.
Even worse just two days later the hair had started to grow back so now my body just looked like a fat girls vagina which had been poorly gardened.
So yesterday was phase two of the shaving. This time however I lathered the fuck up before and baby powdered the shit outta myself afterwards.

If you would like to see my hairless body then make sure you get a ticket to the play!

http://www.smarttix.com/show.aspx?showcode=TRE7

A sorry schedule

Sorry for the irregularity of my updates... The last few weeks have been as dull as the inevitability of QPR eventually ending their 6 game unbeaten run.
My days have become regimented and tiresome, the only time they change is the weekend but let's start with the week.

9:15 - My alarm goes off. It's that annoying blackberry chime that haunts anyone who uses their phone as an alarm. It puts me in a bad mood but I refuse to change it. I am grossly hungover.

9:45 - Leave the house. Check the line at Strabucks. If short then buy a coffee. If long then buy a coffee and get to work late.

10:05 - Clock in 5 minutes late.

10:15 - Have argument with other waiters about listening to something other than country music whilst we set up the restaurant. I usually win and put on Muse. Girls complain.

11:00 Sit through pre-shift praying they don't ask me to describe some obscure item on the menu... they do. They want to know what seeds are in the duck rolls. The answer is caraway.... apparently.

12:00 - Hangover really kicks. Fold 50 napkins to ease the pain.

12:30 - Switch on auto-pilot as I serve guests.

2:00 - Get cut. Start doing sidework.

2:45 - Have sidework checked. Inevitabley I have forgotten something, usually the lemonade. Get lemonade from fridge. Fear for my life that fridge door will lock and I will be stuck in there and die.

3:15 - Leave work. Go home. Shower. Shit. Shave. Sleep

6:00 - Wake up and head off to rehearsal in Brooklyn.

6:30 - The R train stops in between stations underground for 10 minutes. I learn lines.

7:00 - Arrive at rehearsal and discover the schedule changed and we are doing a different scene.

7:15 - Embarrassingly call 'line' every 5 seconds of rehearsal.

9:00 - Make a pact with Ollie (girl from the play) that we won't get drunk again tonight.

10:00 - Rehearsal finishes and go for a beer with Ollie.

12:00 - 2 rounds later still out.

2:00 - Stumble home

Repeat until Friday when everything changes!!

11:00 - Wake up hungover. No work until 4:30. Decide to be productive.

3:00 - Still in pyjamas playing Football manager.

4:30 - Head to work.

5:00 - Text Ollie telling her I am no way going out tonight.

9:00 - Start serving beer at work. Have urge for a beer.

10:00 - Receive text from Ollie that she gave up and went out.

12:00 - Leave work and head to the crappy bar with white trash bartenders with Fred and Nicole from work. $4 beers for me because I'm a regular. Not a good sign.

3:30 - Leave bar.

Saturday.

8:00 - Wake up and head to Brooklyn.

9:00 - Hate Brooklyn.

10:00 - Realize that performing when hungover adds gravitas to scenes of a depressing nature.

10:15 - Scenes of a humorous nature aren't performed well.

12:00 - Check QPR score. Recently we have been winning. On saturday we lost.

2:00 - Go home and make a pact with Ollie that neither of us will go out.

2:30 - Shower. Shit. Shave. Sleep.

4:30 - Get to work and feel disgusting. There are 5 new servers so I have a small section meaning I make no money.

8:00 - Hear Americans talk about sporting rivalries 'decades old.' Place my head in my hands.

9:30 - Stare lovingly at the object of my desires at work. Get caught. Lie and say I was looking at a guest.

10:15 - Text from Ollie, she's out.

12:30 - Leave work

4:00 - Leave bar

Repeat on Sunday.

I am fucking knackered to say the least. However if you want cheap drinks at a crap bar after some BBQ food then I'm your man.

A more conventional update next week!

Hot Mess

Recently we have been having a few issues with hot water in the apartment.... and by issues I mean we haven't had any.
Let me preface this by saying that when I come home from work I stink of BBQ sauce, it clings to me like a 3 year old boy who still breast feeds clings to his mothers nipple. It's in my hair, my clothes and my soul.
The other day I waltzed home from a double shift late one night and really, really needed a shower. I stripped down so that little Rob could take a few breaths of fresh air and jumped merrily into the shower, turned it on and waited for the hot water... and waited.... and waited.
After 5 minutes of standing there, my nipples erect enough to cut glass and little Rob retreating back inside my stomach, I realized that perhaps there was an issue with the hot water. I wrote an angry email to the Super (also called Rob but not to be confused with little Rob) and decided that I would boil a kettle in my quest for hot water.
I made a rookie error, of course I let the kettle boil, of course I screamed in agony as i poured the water over my head, of course at that moment the mouse chose to run into the bathroom causing me to scream even more. I abandoned my idea of a hot shower and instead splashed sub zero temperature water onto my shivering body trying desperately to wash off the soapy suds.
The next morning I rose early to embrace the hot water which would surely have been turned on by now.... no such luck. I now smelt of sweat, sleep, BBQ and a smattering of aftershave and deodorant to cover the smell. Amazingly two individual people that day told me I smelt good.... I have no idea of what their heritage was, but apparently where they are from the smell I was emitting was pleasant.
I returned home from another BBQ filled day at work to discover a hand scrawled note plastered to my front door 'Tomorrow No Hot Water.' Thanks for the heads up, perhaps one of these a few days ago wouldn't have gone a miss!!
Another cold water splash shower sent me on my way to bed as I dreamed of splashing about in the kiddies pool.
The next morning I awoke like a kid on Christmas, or a jew on Chanukah (8 days of presents.... we don't get as excited). I leapt in the shower and there it was, steam! Beautiful hot steamy water gushing forth from the faucet. I gorged myself on it's heat, blissfully unaware that the water was getting hotter and hotter. Soon the water was burning holes in my skin. The Super had fixed the hot water alright... he had fixed it so much that each drop of it was like sulphuric acid gnawing away at my pinky white body.
I put the tap to the coldest the shower would go and miserably washed in a lukewarm rain as the smell of BBQ sauce wafted into the air.

The Audition

So I am not in New York to hunt for women, I'm here to find some work as an actor and this week I had a few auditions.

Surprisingly this tale begins with a callback from one production that wanted a second look at me. To put it in X Factor terms I had just sung for the judges and had received 3 yes', my English accent had the potential to hold me back due to it being an American play.
So on thursday I went back for another audition, I was essentially off to boot camp. This time though every time I read I had to do it in an American accent. Unfortunately the sides (script) that I had been sent by email were not Mac compatible, so I had to turn up early to the callback to pick up a script and then take myself off to a coffee shop to learn my lines. It was the equivalent of when someone changes their song last minute in order to impress Cowell and co.
My competition for the part wasn't as large as I expected, in fact there were only 4 of us who had been called back, considering there had been close to 100 poeple at the initial audition I saw that as a good thing. The first guy going for the part was a 27 year old flaming homosexual who looked like a 15 year old boy but had gray hair. Next was a tall, handsome, blonde man who oozed attractiveness and finally was a guy who looked like Chace Crawford...... shit.
I then sat and waited.... boy did I wait. I arrived at the studios at 5:30 and wasn't called in until 8:15!! After reading a few times with a couple of guys who were going for the role of the protagonists father I was then called in to read with a lady going for the part of the Mother. It was a disaster. It was awkward and generally shit. The director stopped us halfway through and explained that in the scene my character was combing his mothers hair, the woman then blurted out "it's fine Rob, you can touch me anywhere you like, however you like." There was then an awkward second of silence before I said "that's the first time a woman has said that to me in a while." Second time around the scene was still terrible.
It was now 9:15 and the waiting area which had previously been quiet and full of tension had now become an arena of boredom. Soon I started talking to the gay guy, handsome man and Chace Crawford. Then, joy, the girls arrived! I decided to talk to them instead.
I had stupidly forgotten to eat dinner and my energy levels were low, I ploughed on though and read for the director 8 times! Eventually at 11 I left. Handsome Man had since been told he could leave so I was now down to the final 3 and would receive a call the next day.

I woke up on Friday and waited..... and waited.... and waited. I booked a weekend to Chicago, then waited some more. My phone did not ring. Fuck, I hadn't got the part. Then suddenly in a blaze of flashing lights and crappy ringtones my phone burst into life..... I didn't recognize the number. Oh..... My..... God.
I tentatively answered.... "hello?" "Hey Rob, it's Josh." Josh Fineman my best friend as a baby was in New York, I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice at it not being the theatre calling.
We chatted and then my phone beeped..... Incoming call from an unrecognized number. Holy Shit.
I hung up on Josh instantly and answered the phone..........













So Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls if you would like to see Robert Gilbert in his New York stage debut then follow this link to get tickets!
http://www.smarttix.com/show.aspx?showcode=TRE7
It's only in a small theatre (I emphasize the word small here) and contrary to rumors spread by Dylan Viner there is no full frontal nudity.
You gotta start somewhere.... and I'm starting here!

Good Meet, Wrong Meat

On Saturday night after a lovely dinner with the family (more about them later) myself, Dan and Desi left Tribeca in search of a good night out. After a few drinks at the female Robert Gilbert's apartment (hello Lisa Schwartz) we decided to call it a night.

I was a little tipsy at this point and on my way home decided to stop at Duane Reed for some late night snacks. Unfortunately for all concerned the 24 hour store was closed because the manager wanted to count money (perhaps he was auditioning for the role of Shylock in the local theatre production).

Dismayed and heartbroken I turned around after banging on the doors to be greeted by a sort of familiar face. 'Hello Rob' said the person... I had that terrible moment where someone knows you but you don't know them..... 'It's me... Vanessa, we met at Hectors rooftop party.' Click. I remembered who the girl was, a childhood friend of a friend originally from Chile.

It soon transpired that Vanessa was off to a bar to drink.... alone. It was already 1:30 and I had work the next day but needless to say my penis took over, 'I'll join you' I quipped, and we were off. The bar was a shithole, it was like a smelly function room where the wierd kid from school had his barmitzvah and invited everyone to come, everyone did come to look at his sisters enormous chest.

I was reconsidering my actions when Vanessa begged me to stay because she had a friend coming who was in love with her and she didn't want to be left alone with him. Into the bar then strode Kayvon. A towering beast of a man from an exotic country. The next 45 minutes were spent with me sat between Kayvon and Vanessa as he tried to woo her whilst I attempted to kill the atmosphere with unsexy topics of discussion such as soft cookies and Snow Leopard for Mac. Vanessa and I then excused ourselves to go to the toilet to come up with a plan to ditch Kayvon. The plan wasn't the most complex, Vanessa said she was tired and wanted to go home, I chimed in that I lived near her so she wouldn't be walking home alone. By now it was 3 and I had work in a few hours so despite Kayvon's protests the plan went off without a hitch. MI6 have now offered me a job.

At work the next day royalty arrived, my family. Now I have been doing pretty well so far and am yet to really mess up any orders. But this was to be my biggest test so far. Let me run through each member of the family and detail why eating dinner with them is a pain.....

Mum - Does not eat red meat, chicken (except on shabbos), bread, strawberries. Likes Salad and Grey Goose Vodka.

Dad - If he has exercised will eat a hearty meal. If not then wants to share most dishes. Won't eat Pork, a problem in a rib restaurant.

Claire - Will not eat red meat, fish, most sauces, anything exotic, vegetables. WIll eat Burgers, Pizza and Chicken Nuggets. Elizabeth - Likes sauce on the side and recently is Dad's new sharing partner. Will eat meat.

Special Guest Daniel - Wont eat Fish (but will try it). Eats everything else.

The order was a nightmare. Salad with sauces on the side, shrimps added to things, coleslaw substituted for Chips, Chips substituted for Sweet Fries. Coke's without Lemon/Ice, the works. You aren't supposed to tell a guest to fuck off.... but I came close. Of course when the food came out I had rung a few things in wrong, my loving mother pointed this out and despite me protesting my innocence she stood by her word. Thank god they liked the food I did get right though, a rarity in most restaurants we eat at. If I ever have a more complicated order I will let you know.

Hallelujah

We signed a striker! Heavens above! Name a stand after him, give him the freedom of Loftus Road. See children, dreams really do come true. Jay Simpson all you have to do is win us promotion.

We Are The Gilbert Boys

So yesterday my cousin and lifelong partner in crime, Daniel, decided he had had enough of married life out in Westchester and wanted to spend the day with his bachelor cousin.

The first order of the day was to find a decent football match to play in. The Yanks affectionately call it 'Pick-up Soccer,' we just call it a kickabout in the park. After walking across the length and breadth of Manhattan, discussing QPR's memorable 2-1 victory over Accrington Stanley that night, we were eventually steered towards a game taking place over on Chelsea Piers. We arrived and were greeted by a throng and Trinidadians who were all playing the beautiful game. One of the teams needed 2 extra players, so we were up!

Now when Dan and I play football I like to think we have a telepathic understanding that only family members can have, we are if you like a Jewish Gary and Phil Neville. Dan is Gary, successful, committed one of the best at what he does, a leader... I however am more like Phil, jack of all trades master of none, reckless challenger, living of my more gifted family members name. It's a burden I have learnt to deal with. As the game started one thing became clear, the Trinidadians were fast, they were shit, but they were fast. After about 5 minutes I was blowing out my arse as our self appointed captain barked out orders in a lilting Caribbean accent which I could only but smile at.

Dan had had enough of this game though, he had spied another game for us to play in. The other game looked a little crap to me though, many fat people were playing. I highlighted this to Dan but he assured me that during his time in Mexico he found that fat people were arguably better players. This wasn't the case here however, I looked pretty quick on this pitch and soon we decided to leave the game, shame, I felt I had found my level.

Finally an 11 a side team were holding trials so Dan and I jogged over to see if we could join in. Stavros (the man running the game) seemed reluctant to let us play, perhaps intimidated by our Neville brother skills and Jonas Brothers looks, he soon subsided and allowed us a kickabout. The game was 15 minutes long, nobody did anything spectacular and more importantly Dan and I did nothing wrong. As we trudged off the pitch Stavros sidled up to us and said "Go and train with our 3rd team, they are more your standard.". This was a phrase I had heard often and so I began to jog over, Dan however is not accustomed to this, demanded that he was the best player on the field and told me we were going. As we left a bitter Frenchman who had been cut walked off with us objecting furiously at his treatment, he claimed he had won 1st prie for his University for football, must have been a shit team because he was bollocks.

A quick dinner was followed by donning our handbags and gladrags, we were out to take New York by storm. A few weeks ago I had gotten disgracefully drunk, the type of drunk where you are incoherent and susceptible to drinking red bull and absinth. The reason behind this was Australians. Regular readers will know that Australians often bring out the worst in me when I drink. Anyways the two Aussie lads from that night had invited me over to their place for some drinks before they headed out to a club. Sounded like a plan.

We arrived at the Aussies place to be greeted by a sausage fest. The room was meat heavy. The Aussies assured us that some females would be arriving soon. They did. I wish they hadn't. Australian chavs aren't funny or interesting people, they are also a little disgusting when you notice that they haven't shaved their legs and have just bleached the hairs to try and hide them. After avoiding direct contact with the hairy chavs we set off for the club. The place we were heading was meant to be cool, it's the first eco-friendly club in the world apparently. Dan had fucked up though, he was wearing Converse... and not just any Converse, ones with cartoons on them. Entry was looking unlikely. Those Aussies though... they may have lost the cricket but they pulled through last night. As we arrived they told us we were on their guest list and to just walk in, which we did.... fantastic.

As we walked in Queen Latifah wobbled out of a limo and entered the club at the same time, essentially she walked into the club with us. It's fine, when I come home you can all touch me. The Aussies then surpassed themselves and told us they had a table, brilliant! This proved to be a false dawn however. You see Queen Latifah had invited Rhianna to come to the club and the manager was having a shitfit. We were kicked off the table which was now exclusively for girls. The drinks were ludicrously priced and suddenly our evening of fun was jeopardized. Dan then put that Oxford brain of his to good use. He grabbed the Hairy Aussie Chav and enquired if she would like to pass her drinks from the table down to us on the dance floor. She did. We each spent $20 that whole night.