You may have seen this flyer circulating Broadway Internet over the past few days. It went viral when New Yorker, Jose Simbulan posted it on his Facebook page after seeing it tweeted by Ryan J. Davis who credited it to where it originated: an Instagram post by Adam J. Thompson, who found the flyer in Brooklyn (I love the Internet). Whether you are a fan of Cats or not, this stunt is effing hilarious. It’s the kind of joke that makes you mad that you didn’t think of it first. Every detail is perfect. The wording. The font choices… The decision to post it on a random bulletin board in Brooklyn… THE E-MAIL ADDRESS.

I was such a fan of it all, I decided to send an email to pleaselordstopcats@gmail.com to congratulate its creator. I was shocked to find out that there was one small detail they forgot to cover: REGISTRATION OF SAID E-MAIL ADDRESS.

Not to be outdone by someone else snatching my wig, I did the only thing a self-proclaimed sole-satirizer-of-the-Broadway-industry could do….

I STOLE IT.

That’s right. I registered and stole pleaselordstopcats@gmail.com because this is my turf, bitches, and I will Claire Underwood myself into any situation I please. It’s not my fault they didn’t think to take ownership of 100% of their idea. If you wanna make fun of Broadway, you best be covering all of your bases, because I am always watching.

OK, I don’t actually want to take credit for this great joke because I was not raised by The Fat Jew (and I’m still holding out for them to cast me in Cats). I did, however, want to see what kind of emails would be sent by people who thought that the flyer was real. Another reason I am thrilled to own pleaselordstopcats@gmail.com for the next two hours that it is still topical, is because I get to share some of those emails with you!

HERE GOES…

A lot of people showed support!

Many people wanted to get involved because previous productions of Cats took a toll on their soul…

I don’t know about this one…

One person came up with a fun battle cry to chant during the march!

Some people felt that the protest was heavenly divine…

And some did not!

There was even one Cats enthusiast who didn’t have anything to say, so he just sent me this…

All in all, I’d say it was a pretty fun 24 hours for Broadway Internet and it no doubt made us pretty stoked for our comp tickets to Cats this summer!

A previous publication of this article cited Jose Simbulan for posting the original flyer. It later came to knowledge that he found it on Adam J. Thompson’s Instagram via Ryan J. Davis’ Twitter.

by Andrew Briedis

While I remember writing short plays as far back as childhood, it took some time for me to really find my way to becoming a writer. There weren’t any afterschool programs for hopeful nine-year-old playwrights in San Diego, and acting was my first love (an aspiration born out of an unnecessary envy of Joseph Mazzello in Jurassic Park, and child stars in general), so I started performing in youth theatre. When I was twenty-one, I got my Equity card on the national tour of The Boy Friend, directed by Julie Andrews. A mentor of mine said to me, “Julie Andrews gave you your Equity card, and that is something nobody will ever be able to take away from you.” There was caution in his voice, and I couldn’t quite figure it out. Was he warning me that my acting career might not take off after that? I booked the job with a year still left at the Hartt School. I was going to be fine! Skipping out on my senior year, I moved to New York City the day after the tour ended, and never signed another Equity contract again.

Call it a good case of bad luck? I can make up any number of excuses as to why I was an unsuccessful actor, but they’d be just that… Excuses. By the time I hit my mid-twenties, I was coming to terms with having fallen out of love with the business. It’s fair to say we had broken up years earlier. When it came to acting, I never really had the unique skills that drive actors to get up in the morning—and those qualities have always fascinated me. Maybe that’s why two years into flirting with the idea of becoming a writer I was compelled to create a parody Twitter account about the people I had been surrounded by for the greater part of my life. I’ve never been on Broadway. I no longer pursue acting. I’m a personal trainer at Equinox. Annoying Actor Friend could be viewed as an elaborate ruse, but I wouldn’t say that I “pulled one over” on the Broadway community. I just loved writing about them.

My name is Andrew Briedis, and I am Annoying Actor Friend. It’s understandable that it might be strange to discover that I am not an actor anymore (I do still pay my Equity dues so I can vote in elections), but I believe that for any of this to work, I needed to have a lack of emotional connection to the subject matter to be able to objectively analyze it. This experiment has, and will always, be about impartial social commentary on a very specific kind of culture.

Truthfully, Annoying Actor Friend was my third attempt at a parody Twitter account, but the only one that stuck. The first two were geared toward spoofing personal trainers and jaded New Yorkers. They bombed. How’s that for irony? There I was trying to make a clean break from “the business,” and ended up being drawn back in and finding myself falling in love with the industry all over again—but in a much different way.

I admit the entire thing began because I was really annoyed by some of my friends. Social media behavior is tricky, and I’ve sucked at it, too. I was one of the first one million Facebook users, and I guarantee most of my friends hid my profile during some pretty dark days between 2008 and 2011. I mean…I did a Kickstarter for a stolen laptop in 2009, before there were Kickstarters. Now, I guess the only people I piss off on social media must not dig my decidedly heightened obsession with Jurassic Park, or this thing I’m doing where I pretend I replaced the Olsen Twins in Fuller House.

Hate is consuming shit. For me to continue this charade as long as I did, it had to be out of love of the industry. It was a subject matter I was close to, and I think I was able to find some success satirizing it because I can relate to actors without the need to be one. I had found something that worked for me. It might not have been blue meth, but I honestly kept doing it because I liked it. Writing brought back a passion and fearlessness that a long time ago I used to have in the audition room.

When I did youth theatre, my mom would coach my auditions from her chair in our living room. I’d sing “We’re Off to See the Wizard” or “Seize the Day,” and she would encourage me to make bold, if sometimes unnecessary, choices.  One time, for a holiday show, I sang “The Restroom Door Said Gentleman” to the tune of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” There was a lyric that alluded to me being caught in the women’s restroom by mistake, and leaving with a high-heel up my behind. Naturally, I squeezed one of my mom’s mid-nineties patent leather pumps in between my legs and held it for the length of the number, until just the right moment, when I let it drop to the floor as if it were literally falling out of my ass. I was eleven.

My mom passed away when I was in high school, and a little bit of that fearlessness went with her. I pursued musical theatre in a conservatory setting, which led to me thinking way too hard. I started questioning every single note, beat, and step. I have the most painfully contrived back-story for Rolf Gruber known to man. That’s not the faculty’s fault; it’s what I signed up for, and it didn’t work for me. Do we really know what’s best for us when we’re eighteen? Somewhere in college I forgot how to hold my mom’s shoe between my legs and not give a shit. Seriously, there was never a more butt-tight, nervous interpretation of Claude in Hair than me eleven years ago.

I’ve spent my life surrounded by people who are more talented, intelligent, and successful than me. That’s not a bad thing. At first, it taught me how to learn from others and to take the work seriously, but not myself.  Sometime after I moved to New York, I lost that—and it wasn’t until I started writing that I got it back. The new direction reminded me of what it was like to try things, and not be afraid if nobody gets it. It was like being with my mom again. The fearlessness returned. It’s a pretty big cop-out to make this about my mom, but I have to think that my inability to deliver on a dream that led to me pursuing an education costing thousands of dollars comes from some place more than, “I just didn’t like it anymore.” I need to believe that I was supposed to find a different way. A way back to what I had learned from her.

When I first walked into my eighth grade English class, my teacher handed each student a unique key with a card attached that read: You possess the key to your success. I turned to her and eagerly asked, “Miss Mooney! What does this key open?” Without missing a beat, she smiled at me—in that friendly fashion only those rare teachers whom you never forget know how to master—and replied, “You could spend a good part of your life trying to figure that out.”

Of course at thirteen, I took her literally. I wondered how many locked safes, trunks, or doors I would have to try, to find out where my key belonged. Looking back, my naïveté may not have been far off; for me, I spent so long trying to unlock the wrong door with the wrong key, instead of finding out where my key went. I carry the actual key on my key chain to this day.

When it comes to finding success, I think I was just waiting for technology to catch up to my laziness. It’s like I needed immediate validation to kick-start the determination and discipline I had lost. Annoying Actor Friend helped me find it again. If people hadn’t followed me back the first night I created the account, or hadn’t retweeted me, or had neglected to suggest I write a blog and then come up with something to do after Smash ended, none of this would have happened. It makes me wonder if, had I gotten just one callback at the right time, maybe I’d still be pursuing an acting career. I’m so thankful I didn’t get that callback.

Looking back on it all, I’ve learned that the need to be liked doesn’t consume me anymore. Sure, I love attention, because I was an actor, I am a Millennial, and also, I’m a human being—but it doesn’t drive my activity. Our own personal progress shouldn’t be dictated by whether or not people like what we do. We should be doing it because we like it. I’ve had plenty of Annoying Actor Friend experiments completely bomb, and I’d revel in a hundred more failures if they led to just one #Dim4Joan. I am #grateful and #blessed, and all of the things I make fun of, that I didn’t succeed as an actor, because it led me to writing—and being able to accept things when they’re bad, because I know they can be good again.

You might be wondering, “Why reveal your identity now?” While it’s no mistake that this was all carefully planned months ago with such close proximity to the release date of my second book, (there’s actually a mostly honest 20,000 word semi-autobiography that defines my identity hidden in its ‘choose-your-own-adventure’ format) the real reason I felt it was time to end the anonymous aspect of Annoying Actor Friend is because I believe that has run its course. Everything I have ever done as this character has been founded upon calculated social media experimentation—and when the timing is right, those experiments take flight. I could feel a cultural shift within social media during the past year not unlike the one that drove me to create the account in the first place, and it led me to believe that for me, this is the right time. Annoying Actor Friend takes a surprising amount of focus to run, and I’d like to redirect my attention to elevating other things I have written (and the many more things I want to write) but I look forward to finding a way to reinvent it. While some people might be upset because they strongly think that the reason my activism works is due to the power in my anonymity, to that I say, “If this community needs an ‘anonymous crusader’ to ignite and drive conversation, then there is a much bigger problem.”

Ultimately, it was always imperative to me that everyone eventually knew who I am (and more importantly who I am not) so I can show that you don’t need to be what people expect (or want) you to be, to get something done for yourself. There has never been a more accessible time in history to make your own thing than right now, and you can do it without anyone telling you, “no.” Most importantly: You don’t need to live your childhood dream, if you’re led to another one.

I realize that this is all pretty heavy stuff for a guy who had an Anne Hathaway profile picture for almost a year, has photo-shopped a velociraptor onto a picture of Sutton Foster in Thoroughly Modern Millie, and flirts openly with the Smash Twitter account, but for every unserious quality about this silly parody Internet personality, there was just a tiny bit of seriousness behind it. I loved it. I’ll miss it as it was. It changed who I am. Above all, it taught me that you can have an epic passion for something and then one day you might wake up and it’s gone—and that’s OK. Because if you really love it…if it is absolutely a world you’re supposed to be involved with in some way, it will drag you—violently if necessary—back into its arms.

I have not seen Hamilton. I have not listened to Hamilton. I have not read one article, nor watched any interviews, press footage, or GIFs. Anything I know about the show, I’ve learned from scrolling through Twitter.

It’s not that I am not interested in Hamilton, it’s just that I know it’s going to take me six years to see it, and I don’t want to know anything going in.

THIS IS WHAT I DO KNOW…

1.) The Show is About Alexander Hamilton: This is self-explanatory, but not to me a year ago…

This new Lin-Manuel musical Hamilton. I guess it's about Hamilton Heights? Can't the man write anything that takes place below 145th Street?

— Annoying Actor Friend (@Actor_Friend) November 16, 2014

OK, that was sarcasm, but the subject matter is pretty much the extent of what I know to this day.

2.) There Are Three Sisters: The sisters’ last name is “Schuyler,” but I am not sure if it’s pronounced SHOE-LER (as in Shuler Hensley) or SKYLER (as in Zachary Quinto’s character from Heroes.)

3.) One Sister is Ugly: I think? Her name is Peggy — and I guess she’s undesirable, or plain, or just not who you want to get on that BuzzFeed quiz. Twitter basically says she sucks.

4.) There is a Room, and Something Happens There: Originally, I thought the “room where it happened” was just a really douchey way of bragging about being inside the Richard Rodgers Theatre on opening night, but I guess it’s a line in the show? Maybe even an entire scene takes place there? Whatever the case, there’s a room, and something happens there, that’s for certain.

5.) King George (the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd): By the time of the Tony Awards, no less than three actors will have played the part of King George, so I’m guessing it’s a taxing role?

6.) Satisfied: I have gathered that this is a power ballad.

7.) My Shot: I called this song,”one shot” for weeks, until my friend corrected me.

8.) Aaron Burr: He is in this musical and is played by Leslie Odom Jr., who was on Smash, and is also the only Hamilton cast member who I have noticed ‘favorite’ any of my Hamilton tweets — so based off that fact alone, Aaron Burr is the best character in Hamilton.

9.) Tickets Are Hot: Since papering for this show never happened, I dropped the ball when it came to buying tickets, and it’s going to be 2017 before I get one. It took me over a year to see The Book of Mormon, two years for Matilda, and a decade to get to Wicked. I like a show to settle… It’s why I’ve never seen any production of Cats.

THANK YOU FOR READING AND NO SPOILERS PLEASE.

The following text was written earlier today under the assumption The Broadway League would announce that they would dim the lights for Kyle Jean-Baptiste on Tuesday, September 1st. They instead chose not to make a statement at all.

People will argue against dimming the lights of Broadway for Kyle Jean-Baptiste. “He was only twenty-one.” “It’s an honor saved for those with long, illustrious careers.” “Are we going to dim the lights for everyone now?” To those who are opposed, I have to tell you: It’s bigger than all that.

The tragic loss of Kyle Jean-Baptiste has been felt far beyond the Broadway community — it has affected the hearts of young aspiring theatre people and theatre lovers around the world. His story struck a chord that moved thousands to cry out for this tribute. Bestowing him with this honor is a message to the future generation of theatrical performers and innovators that their voices can be heard. That they can evoke change. That not only was Kyle’s contribution to the community acknowledged, it reconstructed what is expected of Broadway beyond his historical debut in Les Miserables. The League’s decision to dim highlights what can be achieved when chances are taken on risky, unknown, or unconventional choices. It starts a larger dialogue.

I hope this single act can be replicated annually. I would like the Broadway League to take September 1st, Kyle Jean-Baptiste’s anniversary, and dim the lights in honor of every person lost within the community that year, no matter the extent of the career. A minute for the Joshua Parks and Victoria Mallorys, the stagehands and the press agents, the chorus members, production assistants, writers, associate choreographers, keyboard players, casting directors, producers, and anyone who has contributed to this art form that entertains, inspires, and most importantly: evolves.

At some point in the life of a person who has worked in the theatre, they have changed the life of someone else for the better. Not only did Kyle Jean-Baptiste make history, but he is a symbol for how great the future of Broadway can be.