Never Forget...

In today's fast-paced society, it's easy for us to focus on the present and forget about our past.  Shit happens, life goes on, new seasons of ANTM air - I know the drill. 

But I’ve come to realize that maybe we’ve been forgetting too much as a society in general. There are certain events we all remember- Pearl Harbor, the Holocaust – but what about the important stuff? Are we as a culture going to allow ourselves to forget that Jennifer Love Hewitt attempted a singing career? Are we pretending that the Osbourne Variety Show never happened? People, do you understand the dangers of forgetting?  We can not let history repeat itself!

So, once again, I’ve done the grunt work for you and put together a list of all the shit we seem to have forgotten. So take our your notepads and educate yourselves, because I’m only gonna say this once:

STUFF WE'VE FORGOTTEN:

Insensitivity Training 101

“Hey guys, it’s so great to meet you all! I just wanted to express, first and foremost, how stoked I am to be a member of this team! So excited! Woo! Now, I know I’m new here, but I really wanted to take this time with the whole staff present to introduce myself as the homosexual one. Does everybody know what that means? Homosexual? Ok, I see some confused faces in the back so allow me to explain:

It means I have sex with men. Exclusively. More importantly, it means that I identify as a homosexual man. I consider myself a gay male who does gay things and lives my life rather gaily. If you’re ever in a bind and find that you’ve forgotten, just remember to think of something straight, and then think of its exact opposite. Gay! That’s me! Your new big gay coworker!

Also, my name is Max.”

And this is where I talk about how obnoxious it is to be a minority in the workplace.

Tyra Banks Ain't Got Nothing On Me

Being an actor is hard. Not only do we have to tap into the human psyche, we also have to decide whether showing our junk in a student film is worth the beer money. But despite all the challenges an actor may face in his or her career, one of the hardest is picking a headshot. It’s your main graphic, your logo, your calling card that screams “I swear I looked like this one time in recent history.” You know, recent history where everyone looked at the world through beer goggles with Photoshop lenses.

But rest assured actor friends. It just so happens that I found a hidden folder in my computer of old headshot proofs that have never seen the light of day - not because I look so awful (what are you insinuating?) but because they are TOO GOOD. And right now, for the first time ever, I’m going to use them as a teaching tool so that you, too, can snap that winning shot.

So here you have it. Max Bisantz’s guide to taking a great headshot:

The Intricacies of the Jew-fro, S-Club 7 and Other Pearls of Wisdom

While Max rated the adopt-ability of various ethnic babies last week, I got to thinking a lot about parenthood. While I know exactly where my baby will come from (it will spring from my loins in a mess-free, 30-second delivery while bluebirds sing on the windowsill and I glow both with new motherhood and the Evian my husband will be liberally misting over my once-again taut body) I've also been thinking about the raising of said little peanut. However, before I can even think about rearing a child (ha. rearing.), I must look to myself and my wisdom of 27 winters.

As a moderately adult woman, I've experienced my share of rises and falls, one-strap overalls, show choir trophies and good old fashioned setbacks. I am a result of my childhood and the result is an unconventionally attractive Jew who makes up for her lack of toned muscle with a winning sense of humor and a small amount of street cred amongst Southeast Asian gang hopefuls. However, in order to achieve this delicate balance, I had to chart some murky, murky waters. 

I've learned some valuable lessons in life, love and personal grooming, but at what cost? I resembled a frizzy paperclip with internal organs until the age of 21 and appreciated the song stylings of S-Club 7 for just a little too long. My adolescent turmoil could have been helped had my parents known what to do with a tragically un-hip daughter being raised in the middle of Lowell, Massachusetts, home to crack dens, Bloods and tween moms. It was the late 90s and everyone was high on Crack Street...but not me, I was high on Stephen Sondheim and Life as a non-huffing, undeveloped gal.

Now that I've learned my lessons, things my own parents couldn't possibly have seen coming, I plan on ingraining them into my daughter's mind before she has even a second to contemplate cornrows (very brief. two days. sleepover with my cousin. OKAY?!) My father's greatest lesson to me was how to make pancakes. My mother's was how to tweeze my eyebrows at the age of 7. My lessons to my daughter are as follows:

On a scale from 1 to Blue Ivy Carter...

While cruise ships tipped and Republicans battled, so far the biggest news story in 2012 happened in Beyonce’s uterus. On January 7, a day that shall live in infamy, Blue Ivy Carter was delivered into this world; bringing with her the hope for a new order and an onslaught of copycat attempts (see: Woman Gives Birth on January 8th.)

However, the biggest shock came when I found the staggering truth behind the buzz. Now this may come as a surprise to most of you, but it seems that Beyonce isn’t the only woman to have “given birth.” It’s true. In fact, I did quite a bit of research on this topic and it turns out that women appear to have babies every day. Like all the time. All around the world. Like even right now, babies are being born! Can you believe that?!

BREAKING NEWS TO STRAIGHT CHICKS: Homos are Lying to You

Or

That Top Really DOES Make You Look Fat

As a gay man, I have a lot of straight girl friends. And while society nowadays makes that seem completely natural, it’s sort of like when the turtle and the hippo become friends at your local zoo. Sure, there’s a lot of it on YouTube, but it’s still a weird pairing when you actually think about it. Gay men are pretty much the farthest removed from straight chicks considering we have absolutely no relationship with the female psyche, and straight chicks definitely don’t know what it’s like to be a man - if they did, women of the world would have staged a jealous riot decades ago (hint: it’s awesome.) And, sure, I guess we both share a common interest in men, but that’s sort of like when your mother used to set you up on play dates with the neighbor’s son because he was also developmentally delayed. A common bond, yes, but how far can that really stretch?

Despite this, the straight chick/gay guy relationship is a pretty standard fixture in modern times. And while I don’t see it as a novelty anymore, it blows my mind that straight chicks still regard their gay best friends in a manner similar to how Roman citizens must have regarded the oracles. No matter how little or how well I know a straight chick, at some point in our relationship she’s going to ask me a question that is way, way beyond me and assume that I have the answers. And not because I’m smart, but because I’m her gay best friend.

I can’t pretend like I don’t know where this comes from. Our culture is saturated with the idea of the “omniscient gay best friend,” fueled by the fact that smarmy gay men have been lying to straight chicks for centuries- pretending like we know the answers to their problems, pretending we know how to help them. Even today, people like Nate Berkus and Clinton Kelly make their fortunes off of force-feeding women the Kool-Aid. But the discerning eye can easily tell you that this is a load of bull. We’re supposed to believe that gay men know how to help women?! Please, how could we do that? We don’t know the first thing about you! At least straight dudes are trying to figure you out to get you into bed with them, ask them for advice!

So I've decided, here and now, that I'm not going to sell this snake oil anymore to all you ladies. And maybe I'll spoil it for the rest of the money grubbing liars out there, but I think it's time for the truth.  Homosexuals of the world, the jig is up. I give you:

Things that gays cannot help you with:

My Lee Norris Complex

So it’s officially been 7 months since I’ve graduated from my alma mater (the prestigious NYU Tisch School of the Arts, BFA in Drama, 3.8 GPA, with honors - of course) and as we roll into 2012 with gusto, I can’t help but take a look back and recount the year that was. Sure, 2011 dealt me a handful of ups, a smattering of downs, and a plethora of situations I really couldn’t give a shit about – but there was certainly one constant that stuck with me throughout the year, and continues to haunt me furthermore:

I am still not a celebrity.

Yes, it’s true. As I approach my 23^rd year on this planet, I still have not achieved the global domination I so desperately need. And I have absolutely no clue how this happened! Surely I have the acting prowess of a young Lawrence Olivier… John Barrymore… Keanu Reaves. Clearly I’m good looking enough to be a muse for any fashion photograher (let alone a certain Gil Ben-Simone. Where the fuck is my Covergirl cosmetics campaign and my contract with Elite Model Management? WHERE?!) So, as I sit here tonight, in my underwear, picking peanut butter puffins ever so delicately out of my golden forest of chest hair, I’ve come up with six reasons explaining how someone as majestic as I could still be among the plebeians. I give you:

6 reasons why I’m still not a celebrity: