That Brown Kid

Bigger than you think

2012-02-09T06:16:00.000-08:00

Avoid obvious penis joke inherent in title...avoid obvious penis joke inherent in title--

No no, this is simply about art and life.

Firstly, I have an odd reaction to people pointing out that I'm not easily bothered because I'm just not the type to get affronted/insulted. Half of it feels complimentary, sure. It's nice to be seen as 'that person'. At the same time it's somewhat deflating. Part of me, ironically, is insulted by the notion that it's just my nature to let stuff slide. As a matter of fact, it took an immense amount of work for me to get to this place. What appears as pure naivete is the side-effect of years of plugging away at my own massive anxiety/extreme self-doubt. It's not that I don't care what people think or say about me, it's that it's no longer become a priority of mine.

Life is a lot larger than the notions of strangers. Life is a massive, mysterious joyride that you steer with the rudders of commitment and intuition. Life is bigger than my stubbed toe or a spiffy coat. It's larger than my lack of sleep or my hunger pangs. It doesn't care about heartsickness or busy days. "That thing that one jerk said to me" doesn't even register as a blip on its radar...so why would I let it? Why would I give over my power to minutiae when I have the option not to?

In a way, this thought process has affected my career path as well. In college it was easy to become extremely self-centered, especially due to the nature of my acting program. You didn't sack up, you got cut from the major. One was all but forced to focus entirely on themselves. As I've grown and gotten involved in more productions outside of that arena, however, I've had to dispense with that self-consciousness and commit to a production rather than my own performance. It's not about me, it's about the story being told. Working on something larger than myself allows me to ignore the personal B.S. and focus on the performance as a whole. It's not about an audience thinking I'm good at what I do, it's about the experience....and it's my job to serve the whole.

Heh...serve the whole..

And now...everyone's favorite...

Bullet Points!

If you haven't checked out this blog yet, do it. You will be floored by a storm of clever writing.
Oh, and while I'm plugging...you ought to add this to your reading list.
I thought I was going to be a super awesome 300-Style Spartan and leap back into my workout regimen. A day later I feel like one of those marginally less badass bubble-bath craving Spartans.
Still working on those posts I owe you, be tee dubs. Earthbound eventually, I swear.

That's all this dude has to say for now. Be good and eat cupcakes!

Love,
Dak

Art not without ambition...

2012-01-30T06:11:00.000-08:00

...but without the illness should attend it.

For most of my life, I've assumed that the things I want only desire a passing familiarity with me. I've used this excuse to avoid going after the life I'd really like to carve out for myself. Oh certainly I've got ambition...but typically it has little to do with improving my life in any profound way. I've mentioned this before, but it's a hell of a lot easier to throw up your hands in disappointment and declare that nothing will ever work out. It's unearned disillusionment. It's smug and it makes you seem REALLY smart.

"Wha? Oh...nah. Become a great artist? That's not for me. It's for douchebags. Besides, that's like...impossible right? Art is in infinite pursuit, so I might as well take my hat out of the ring before we start."

What the eff, right? I don't want to be that guy! Who would? I hate talking with that guy! That guy bums me out at bars! That guy is content to listen to obscure bands and judge people from his brittle ivory tower. That guy...um...is me sometimes.

But hell, as I say frequently, nobody is truly bound to their history! You're always free to doff the ties that bind you to the past and strike out on new adventures. We all do it without realizing it anyway!

My current adventures, by the by, are taking me to lovely Salmon, Idaho to perform Shakespeare, eat at the Junkyard Bistro, and laze around in a bar owned by a local parkour practicioner. If it's anything like last year, it'll also involve some very interesting/bizarre encounters with townies who may or may not want to murder and or sleep with me. Wish me luck. If I return without all of my limbs, then I've done something wrong.

Or very, very right.

Bullet Points!

My current obsessions (in no particular order): Assassin's Creed:Brotherhood, Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson, Cameo Lover by Kimbra, RPG Maker VX, MSPA, and of course--your rockin' booty.
It's probably time to take Salsa again. Dancing, that is... I'm not just going around pilfering jars of El Paso.
Yeah, I've got ideas for Doo Doo Thursdays. You just wait.
After seeing The Artist with an awesome new friend, I'm finally inspired to write that pantomime show. It's gonna happen, IT'S HAPPENING.
Add to previous obsessions: 70's era funk bands.

That's all for now, rockstars! Love, peace, and jheri curl grease!

Yours,
Dak

On Love and Vigilance

2012-01-15T07:05:00.000-08:00

It's been tough trying to unravel two-odd decades of 'acting a certain way' in a matter of months. Naturally, I had to forget about time limits altogether in order to maintain my sanity. It's like sanding down the surface of a record and putting entirely new grooves on it. Unlearning all the old songs has given me a lot to work on, and I didn't realize just how difficult it would be. It's been like coming home from a trip to the beach and totally forgetting about the four days of dumping sand out of uncomfortable places.

As Mad-Eye Moody would say, it's about 'Constant Vigilance'. I'm great at feeling like I'm good at something. I'm great at thinking I've got a bit of knowledge in a subject and that it's more than enough to get by. As a matter of fact, that's probably the reason it rubs me the wrong way so much when people profess expertise in a subject without proving that they really have it. There's plenty I think I know. Including people.

And at the same time, I'm continually surprised. I'm surprised at how people accept me even when they know my icky side. I'm surprised when I assume someone will react to something in a certain way and they don't. I'm surprised and how little credit I give some folks...often the ones who've shown how much they're really there for me. I flip into this "Oh well gee...you might think I'm great, but you're wrong. I don't deserve your love/appreciation/acceptance/etc"

That's utter bullshit.

My friends and family are my pillars. More than they know.

It takes me an incredibly long time to really trust most people, and it's ridiculously hard for me to love with a complete open heart.

I think that's the next thing to work on. To watch, at least. To be vigilant of.

Love you all. Seriously. I wouldn't be where or who I am without you.

Dak

P.S. Bullet Points!

That post about Earthbound may be a while...I'm trying to find an angle. Might have to use video for that one to make all my points. You know what that means!! MY ANNUAL PLAYTHROUGH OF EARTHBOUND IS COMING UP!
If you're wondering--yes, the pictures are almost entirely unrelated.
I turn 27 in just under a week. Let's hope the rock star curse doesn't hit me...which would make sense, since I'm by no means a rock star.
Doo Doo Thursdays...resurrect, or let it go?
Also--you should probably check out this blog. It's written by a dear friend of mine whose linguistic skills are only outdone by her incredible personality. She is beyond lovely, and you'd only be doing yourself a favor by giving her work a look-see.

Bumpin' Attractives

2012-01-07T13:27:00.000-08:00

DISCLAIMER: If you're someone who'd prefer to think of me as an asexual creature (i.e. family members, friends, etc.) I'd suggest you ignore this post entirely.

Pic unrelated, but really pretty.

So!

I've been meaning to write a post about sex and attraction for a while, but I couldn't quite figure on what angle I'd take (entendre?) At a loss, I just decided to sort of dive in (entendre!)

I'll just say right off the bat, I really enjoy gettin' it on. Now obviously what human doesn't, but I love every single aspect of it. Perhaps this has more to do with a combination of the tactile sense of everything in conjunction with really learning someone else's rhythm. Either way, I like it a lot. That said, I don't really express that. It has more to do with my assumption of others' level of comfort than my own. In fact, over the New Year, I had a recent acquaintance lean over to me and explicitly describe some fun she and her boyfriend had on the way up to town, then she paused and asked if she was sharing too much information. I politely shook my head and reassured her that it's not something I'm squeamish about, and in fact I love when good friends have great sex.

Obviously I'm one who observes what's appropriate or polite in pleasant company. It's not like I'm going to call home one night and say, "Hey ma! Okay, so I was balls-deep in this backup dancer for RZA, right?" However, I'd still like to feel more comfortable expressing this part of me--especially to those I'm interested in. I believe my worry comes from potentially scaring someone off by sharing with them how much I'm attracted to them. No, like attracted to them. It's a touchy subject anyway, and I've always been careful about respecting others' boundaries...but now it's to the point where I freeze up when I feel attraction. I assume the person I'm interested in couldn't possibly be as lascivious as I am, so I don't make a move. When I think about it...I suppose its another fear issue. Something to really be aware of.

After all...hell...there's no reason why I can't be honest about that. So if I'm attracted to you, you'll know.

To conclude, bullet points!

Started Macbeth rehearsals! They're going AMAZINGLY. It's like...Japanese street fashion meets steampunk meets goth meets Hammer horror film meets avant-garde Beckett piece.
I had a spectacular couple of holidays! I can't even pick a favorite part.
My prison cell apartment has gotten much less prison cell-y as of late. I even have a BEDSPREAD! HOLY HELL!
I hesitated to start waking up at 6 again at first, but now that I'm in the groove--it's AMAZING! The day feels ridiculously long in a fantastic way.
The hair may inspire a Bebop outfit one day. If you're lucky.

That's all for now, lovelies! Be good!

Love,

Action Dakson

Getting to Know Me

2011-12-20T07:25:00.000-08:00

Been a while!

So here's the sitch. Last weekend, some friends and I took a trip up to McCall Idaho to perform an adapted Hamlet that we wrote a handful of days prior. It was one of the most hectic, fun, ridiculous times I've had in a while. Essentially it proved to me how well things can still go under an immense amount of pressure. It also reinforced what I already knew about my talented friends. It also, unfortunately, reminded me of some aspects of myself that still need an incredible amount of work.

I think love and friendship are conditional.

Yes, it's still a notion I'm trying to work on/through. It's a rare instance in which I feel comfortable enough to reveal my 'true colors' to someone. Even to people that I love, or people that I'm close to. I've spent my entire life dancing around judgment--because it's been my theory that when people judge you, they aren't accepting you. I have a very difficult time with the idea that someone can like most of you, some of you, or even a tiny smidgen of you, and still be your friend. Still love you. Intellectually I know that, but it's tough to really GET it. Hell, there are plenty of friends of mine that I know I have to take with a grain of salt...but I refuse to let it go both ways. I hate what I tell myself when I'm being judged. I hate the physical reaction I get when I feel like I've wronged a friend. I hate the sick feeling and the "Jeez, well that's over. They'll never speak to me again." conclusion I jump to so frequently.

Yes, of course I know why I do that. At the same time, I've done very little with that knowledge. I've used it to hide further in my shell as opposed to looking at this method of behavior as a result of trauma. Again, it feels incredibly weak to admit this, but it's something that has been really staring me in the face lately. After McCall, I felt so anxious that I could barely sleep. At work the following day, I was a wreck. Only today do I feel like I'm beginning to examine this idea with any form of objectivity.

Cuz seriously...look...I love, respect, and accept a hell of a lot of people. It's not often that I do myself the same basic courtesy. It's just about time to be excited about who and what I am. It's about time to start accepting the fact that THIS IS NEW FOR ME.

It's also about time to wrap up this post with some bullet points.

Please do yourself a favor and give this a read. It's just about the funniest, smartest, cleverest bit of self-reflection I have ever read.
I'm planning a very long in-depth post about why a game from 1995 is still one of the best titles I've ever played. Here's a hint.
I am not even CLOSE to thinking about the holidays.
Um...this.
Yet ANOTHER post I'm planning is all about attraction (in all forms.) Keep your pervy eyes peeled.
Still poor? Yup. Still single? Yup. Really happy? Quite so.

Be well, loves!

DaBroTah

On Recovery

2011-12-06T12:55:00.000-08:00

Since that post, I've been really trying to keep an eye on my patterns and behavior. Not in the restrictive sense, but in the "I'm not slipping back into the old ways, am I?" way. It's been strange, interesting, enlightening, and terrifying. Dealing with issues head-on has made me realize that I actually have the ability and wherewithal to do so. That's the scary part. Most of the stuff I've been terrified about has been resolved with a 20 minute phone call or a trip to the bank. To steal an analogy from Penny Arcade, it's as if there's suddenly a new law of physics...and I'm staring at all the objects falling to the earth instead of drifting into the sky.

That said, I've definitely had some relapse moments. As a matter of fact, I'd spent the better part of last week lamenting my lack of 'progress'. I didn't feel like anything had changed. I was frustrated that one blog post didn't change everything in the way that I'd fantasized it would. I didn't realize what a boon that feeling was. I'd stopped paying as much attention to myself as I was before...and I began slipping into smugness. I'd told myself "This is great! I did it! Wow...two decades of behavioral patterns reversed in a matter of weeks!" Nope. Nuh-uh. Doesn't quite work that way.

It's the fear, really. The fear started to creep its way back into my mind and I allowed it to happen. Before I knew it, I was caught up in a torrent of irrational anxiety. I'd started seeing rampant failure around every corner again. I'd started assuming the friends I was hanging out with would rather be doing something else. I was blowing every activity way out of proportion.

I stopped, took a breath, and told myself that I'm still working on it. Still working on me. I gave myself the time to work through the stuff I'm working through. I didn't just exhibit patience, which is the quality of quiet resolve, I took away the subliminal 'time limit' altogether. The moment I did that, oh man...I just got plain' ol giddy. Not only can I succeed, but I can succeed IN SPITE OF 'insurmountable' setbacks. Somehow this is still a new notion to me.

Anyhoo, things have been good! I'm co-directing my (very pretty and twice as talented) friend's one woman show right now--which has been a total blast. I love watching projects and people develop. The energy is completely contagious and I leave every rehearsal bouncing off the walls. It really makes me want to develop another one person piece. I don't know what the heck it'll be about, but I'll let my imagination take care of it.

And now, bullet points!

Still haven't laid my hands on Skyrim, but I've been playing Skyward Sword with the aforementioned talented friend. I'm trying to figure out EXACTLY why it feels like such a throwback. It's like the love child of the NES Zelda and Wind Waker. More to come...maybe an entire post because I AM PROUD OF MY NERD-DOM.
Seeing The Acheri this Saturday. Holy hell holy hell.
Finally got Google music to work on my droid. Won't be needin' an(other) iPod. Sweets.
This gal is re-teaching me how to knit! Clearly I'm in good hands.
Oop, better go to work.

Love y'all!

Dak

Give give give!

2011-11-26T08:02:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately I couldn't make it home for Thanksgiving this year. I had to stick around in town to work at the ol' Anthro store, a job which I'm enjoying more and more the longer I spend inside those stylish doors. The ladies (and ONE OTHER GUY, WOO!) that work there are super sweet, way funnier than I thought, and also...well...they also happen to be a staff of absolute knockouts. That last part is neither here nor there, but I figured I should count my lucky stars as long as they're shining.

No, I didn't make it home this year--but a friend of mine was generous enough to invite me to his family's Thanksgiving extravaganza here in town! Gotta say, it was an absolute blast. His family is a totally rad gang of quirky folks--isn't everyone's family? I was nervous heading over there decked out in a vest and wielding a pot of my family's awesome mac and cheese (Smoky cheddar, sharp cheddar, velveeta, half and half, eggs, maple bacon, 350 degrees for 35 minutes) but as soon as I arrived I felt incredibly welcome. It was the best lesson in "Hey, you know you can be thankful anywhere and anytime, right?" ever.

To append my previous post--I did finally manage to deal with that show anxiety, or at least I accepted it. As mentioned earlier, I like to relax into a performance...but that doesn't mean hiding from it. When it comes to showtime, I have to have done so much work that it can all take a back seat and I can just rely on the fact that I know what I'm doing up on stage. BUT THE FOUNDATION HAS TO BE THERE. If not, I'm a kite in a hurricane. When performing the last Shakespeare show, I managed to put in hours upon hours of work in order to make all of the mental connections, find the arc of the piece, understand my tactics physically and vocally, investigate the nuances of the text, and really upend my character and see what made him tick. Any workload less than that puts the impetus and responsibility back on me. It's the difference between preparing Thanksgiving dishes the day before or the day of. Yeah, it'll likely taste the same, but making it all the day of might also make you crazy. You're mashing potatoes like a lunatic, but dinnertime is rolling around and your family has already gone through the onion AND artichoke dip.

I may have gotten off-topic, but the main point is...I AM THANKFUL FOR MY LIFE. Like...seriously...trials and tribulations and minor complaints aside, I could never have imagined that this would be my life. My friends and I get together and pretend to be other people, and folks want to watch that. Ridiculous. I am surrounded by love, talent, and authenticity. I have friends on ridiculously similar wavelengths. I have friends who I can butt heads with, friends I can talk art with, friends I can text ridiculous messages with, friends I can rely for anything, friends I can geek out with, friends I can chat with over a beer, and friends who I can travel in a van with for three months and never ever get sick of.

Oh...right! That van thing? That's Shakesperience 2012. Macbeth. You're lookin' at 1/5 of the cast right here.

God help you.

Bullet points!

I watched my friends' (Yep, my blog-buddy and her beau) kitty and apartment last week...it was fun! I think Kitty and I are officially pals now. I fed her treats and she scratched the bathroom door while I pooped. That USUALLY means friendship, right? That's how I meet new people, anyway.
I'm playing Skyward Sword with another lovely pal of mine--and it is a total blast. I find that I can't spend much time playing videogames by myself anymore, but having someone to play with makes it infinitely more fun...especially when we can point out the utter goofiness of whatever we're playing.
I got some very upsetting news about a college friend of mine. I don't think this is the right forum for talking about it in detail...but I would like to say this--please reach out to your friends. Especially the ones you don't get to see very often. The ones who bubble up into your mind every now and again. Probably a good time to ring them up--or at least Facebook em'. It's easy to feel extremely lonely, if that's the way you're wired. I should know.
Wait...This.
Lastly...check the picture...I guess I have an electronics company? Well hell, I'm marching right over there and demanding stock options and CEO benefits. Maybe they'll let me borrow the yacht (Though after I affixed automatic turrets to that last one, there's probably a black mark on my record somewhere.)

That's all for the time being! Now go have a damn fine weekend!

Love,

Dak

Trouble with Tribulations

2011-11-18T15:36:00.000-08:00

For the past two performances, I've found myself more nervous than I've been onstage for a decade. I want to blame the coffee. I want to blame the handful of days off. I want to blame a lot of things, but when it really comes down to it--diving into the recovery process has cracked open my emotions in some extremely interesting ways. I definitely had moments in yesterday's show where I was so aware of being onstage that my entire body was shaking. Imperceptibly, maybe, but I definitely knew it. I wanted to run and hide. I wanted to quit acting. I wanted to scream.

I don't exactly know what to do. As mentioned before, I get the best results onstage when I completely relax into the performance. Any other approach causes me to push or to be fake. To create stuff that doesn't make sense and to respond in a very surfacey cursory fashion. Relaxing prior to this show has felt all but impossible for the past two days. Maybe I need a longer warm-up? Maybe I need to dive headlong into the unknown? Again, I'm not sure EXACTLY what to do with this, so it scares me. The dramatic part of me wants to say "I've forgotten everything! I must re-learn acting!" The rest of me knows it'll actually involve a new and different approach...because even with the nerves...perhaps ESPECIALLY with the nerves, I had tiny moments of incredible clarity. I lost myself in the motion of the script. I had my confidence back. It felt more right then it ever has. I can feel the oscillation. "GONNA CRAP MYSELF GONNA CRAP MYSELF GONNA--whoa, I'm really being affected. I'm really playing...I'm GONNA CRAP MYSELF GONNA CRAP MYSELF-"

Who knows what this means? Maybe there's a way to marry this head-on approach with the relaxation that allows me to be really active on the stage. I hope there is.

And now, I leave you with Hipster Ezio Auditore De Firenze.

Love you all!

Dak

HEAD and Hats

2011-11-16T02:01:00.000-08:00

The show several friends and I are in opened last Friday to mixed reception. I can only speak for myself here, but I think the review is absolutely fair. MORE than fair. I think it's on the nose. Even so, people are really enjoying it and I think we're doing a spectacular job. This show is something I typically approach each night without any idea how the heck it'll go. Regardless however, I give it my all the only way I know how now, which is to say before every show, I have to be almost asleep with relaxation or else I get so tense I can't do any acting.

Seriously. First world problems.

Also! A ridiculously talented friend of mine knit an incredible transforming hat for me! It's absurdly comfy and it keeps my bald head warm. It's also...well...I'll just show ya.

Oh, that's cool...it's a yellow beanie and it--

WAIT, WHERE'D THE BROWN ONE COME FROM?

Oh, I gotcha...a scarf in the same color? That's pretty c-

HOLY HELL, IT'S NINJA TIME.

In Soviet Russia, adorable hat wears YOU!

Oh, you precocious little garment!

It's called a Thneed. Yes, you HAVE heard the word before. I call it 'thing' or 'sea anemone', but I may have to come up with a ridiculously pedestrian proper name for it. Like....'Kevin'.

Kevin.

Let me say, I'm incredibly overwhelmed and thankful for the response to my previous post. I was especially touched by the number of friends of mine that feel similarly. Turns out we're less alone than we think we are. Who knew? Anyway, I'm still in the beginning stages of really working through it, but already it's starting to make a difference in my day-to-day. I feel more comfortable around my friends--and generally more comfortable in my own skin. The morning after I wrote that, I had to make some calls that I've been avoiding for a long time. Despite the sick feeling in my stomach, I went ahead and took care of business--and the whole thing took an hour. Amazing how I'd turned those slightly uncomfortable tasks into giant monsters. Again, to everyone who read, shared, commented, reached out (to me AND to my Mother) Thank you. You seriously have no idea how much that means to me.

Now some bullet points to conclude!

Had a poverty party with some wonderful friends yesterday. It involved cheap beer and mac n' cheese, cards games, and general wackiness. Gotta' keep doing those.
Watched the review for Skyward Sword over at GT. Still haven't got my hands on the game, but the review seems extremely fair despite the supposed inconsistencies. Summary: It's good, but the Wii is starting to show its age.
Writing a script for a short film I'll be acting in with my taller half, directed by an amazing local director/screenwriter/generally cool mofo.
It would behoove you to watch Gabrielle Giffords' interview with Diane Sawyer. I watched it this morning and just...wow.
Still looking for a second job, so if you know anyone who needs a videogame played really well. Or...uh...their butt assessed to see if it meets quality assurance standards, I have a resume for you.

That's it for now! Be good, kids!

Or at very least, be yourselves!

Loves,

Dak

First Steps

2011-11-14T12:25:00.000-08:00

I intended to write a post about a fantastic hat my ridiculously talented friend made me, and I still intend to, but there's a more pressing issue that popped up recently that I'd like to talk about. Bear with me as it's pretty difficult for me to delve into, yet it deserves talking about since it pervades nearly every aspect of my life. I wrote about it once before, but I don't think I gave it the necessary weight.

Let me begin by saying that we all want to be regarded as Strong People. Nobody wants to show weakness or vulnerability, but it's such a huge part of life. Training in acting for so long taught me that I can't get away with faking strength. Life has often taught me otherwise. Even still, my notion that I'm invincible has been nothing but a detriment to me. I'm hoping that dealing with this issue head-on may help anyone who reads this to deal with their own issues as well. If it helps, fantastic! If you get anything from it at all, great! That's what this is for. For you and for me.

So if you checked out the link or if I've told you before, you already know. If not, here's a brief explanation. When I was five years old and my brother was seven, my father kidnapped us from our home in Santa Cruz and ran us across the country for eight months. We ducked police and hid in relatives' closets to avoid the eyes of maids and guests. We hid from tollbooth attendants. We would be jostled awake at four in the morning to drive from one indeterminate home to the next. More often than not it'd be the second home of a relative, something tucked away in New Jersey or New York or San Francisco. Honestly I don't remember how many states and guest rooms we squatted in.

Always, there was the threat of danger. Around every corner was someone who wanted to take us from our father, or get us as he would say. Little did I know, our mother was spending every waking second looking for us. She essentially put her entire existence on hold in order to find us. Thankfully my father was tracked down and brought in to court, where our mom got custody of us again. This in itself was pretty traumatic as well, since my father had spent the entirety of those fugitive months telling my brother and I what an absolute monster she was. Who was I supposed to trust? At that age you believe what the big people say. You believe what your FAMILY says.

So, twenty-one years later I find myself at another growing-up point. All over the media, peoples' pasts are coming to light for better or for worse. I realize now that I can't keep denying how profoundly this affected me. Some examples:

First off, I tend to deal with people in an extremely roundabout way. I used to lie incessantly. I cut that out a long time ago, but the fact that I even recognized that as the norm...or an acceptable way to behave...is indicative of what I learned from my dad. He broke promises. He made things up. He tried to control people with a charismatic persona while dodging any actual confrontation. I learned some of his behavior and began to live that way. What was more important than anything else was what people thought of you, not who you really were. Who you really were was something to be swept under the rug and hidden, therefore I developed this notion that my true self was this terrible thing to be shut away. I started to look down on people who really liked me, because anyone who liked me was fooled by a persona. At least, that's what I wrongly assumed.

Truth is, everyone is already naked. We inherently know who others really are. In the back of our minds, we really truly know. I'm still learning to trust that.

Next, I've got some pretty intense anxiety. It's lessened over the years, simply as a matter of growing up, but the idea that there's a big scary dangerous world out there waiting to pounce on me still lingers. Vague dangers lurk in the shadows. Strangely, there's plenty I'm not afraid of at all. Actual danger doesn't really phase me, since I trust my ability to deal with...say...an earthquake, or my house catching on fire. People, however, are a different story. People can be angry. They can be disappointed. They can love and reject. They can know you. They can figure you out and show you your reflection. That's what makes me anxious. I try to stay on peoples' good side, partly because I'm really in love with people, partly because I'm deeply terrified of them. Again, intellectually I know you can butt heads with someone and still love them. Hell, my brother and I used to kick the ever-loving crap out of each other, but that didn't change anything. To this day, though...I avoid calls from loan companies. What the heck are they going to do, send snipers?

The world isn't inherently dangerous. It's wonderful if you have the courage to drop your shield. That's a notion I've barely made any progress on, unfortunately. Working on it, yes, but it's been an uphill fight through and through.

I've inherited a mechanism for dealing with confrontation, and it's one I've augmented to fit my own needs. I use shoddy excuses to shelve my problems until they go away. Usually some smug lie that makes perfect sense if I don't think about it. The thing is, it doesn't work that way. Problems like that don't vanish. They ferment and fester in the mind until they become some twelve-armed fifty-eyed creature that I scare myself into avoiding further. It's a vicious cycle that I'm so frustrated with that ironically, I can no longer avoid it. It's something that allows me to remain a victim of life, rather than a participant in it. Thankfully I don't have the same delusions that my father had (mine involve time-travel) but I've gone so long thinking that this was something that worked for me. It worked alright, but not in my favor. It allowed me to be confident, but absolutely weak. I let me sit on my cloud and pretend the problems I had were beneath me. It's the reason I avoided dealing with the effects of that event.

I allowed this to be such a major part of how I operate that I didn't even realize when I was doing it. Only very recently have I understood how much of a handicap this is. The trouble is, I got so used to looking at every confrontation as a potential catastrophe that I would just bury my head in the sand. I taught myself that I wasn't equipped to deal with life head-on. Of course I am. Everyone is. Confrontation is the rock tumbler that reveals your lustre, not the man in the shadows with the knife.

Finally, at least for now, is this notion that I'm actually unworthy and terrible person. I know! It sounds dramatic, but it's such an internalized idea that I can write it without batting an eyelash. I've let this feeling to go unchecked for quite some time. I've even used it as an excuse to make some furiously poor decisions. "Well, I'm worthless anyway, so what does it matter?" I've even had friendships and relationships based on this notion. I would associate with people that made me feel as terrible as I felt inside. I fed this feeling because it felt right. Clearly I hadn't deserved my father's love. Even his proximity, after a while. I took this as absolute fact. Common knowledge, frankly. I certainly didn't earn my fluke successes, but my failures were a matter of course. In the end, it made life easy for me. Why toy around with the idea that I'd amount to anything if I could simply sit back and let things be? If I failed (which, naturally, I would) I failed.

Like the other issues, this is one I'm constantly dealing with. I've developed a marginally healthier attitude, which has been helpful, but I haven't dealt with it entirely. It remains difficult to imagine success in any endeavor for me. What's more, I generally don't acknowledge that success is even possible. Still working on this one.

It comes down to this: I've got work to do. If I intend to part with this victim mentality, it's going to take work. Work that I am willing to do. Work I'm ready to do. I might upset a lot of people, I might surprise others, and I'll certainly surprise myself. Even since writing this, I've been on a strange emotional rollercoaster. That has to mean something's right.

Anyway, thanks for reading all this. It's tough to lay all of your ugliness on the table like this, but for me, it's necessary. For the sake of growing up. For the sake of dealing with the things I don't want to deal with. For the sake of hopefully helping someone else out there gain some insight.

I expect I'll be chronicling my progress on here, so you know where to find me. Er...well...at least where to find this. By no means will I stop posting fun and silly stuff, but I'll be sharing more of this type of thing as well.

Alright, I'm signing off! Love love love love and love,

Dak

Nippy November (HAHAHAHAHAHA NIP)

2011-11-10T08:39:00.000-08:00

First off, listen to Childish Gambino.

Yeah, that's rapper/actor/comedian Donald Glover, a.k.a. the reason I will never work in film and T.V. His lyrics predominantly center around the identity crisis of being a geeky black guy in the mainstream. There's a ton of insecurity between the lines. It's something I can definitely relate to. And hell, it's cool to hear that stuff vocalized. That said, his mere existence floods the market--so I'm afraid he must be destroyed and quietly replaced by yours truly.

I'm spending a lot of time in coffee shops again, hanging with buddies before our show. We do a lot of talking, and it sort of helps with the malaise. The general consensus seems to be--we want to work on art that's worthwhile, we want to be proud of our work, we want a project that works us so hard that we get our perspective back. It probably stands to reason that we'll have to create it if we can't find it. I can only speak for myself here, but what my life needs is a serious electric jolt in the taint. Let me rephrase that--I need to punch myself in the taint.

Metaphorically.

Chances are that will entail getting a second job (as I just started training at Anthropologie.) That has nothing to do with my artistic growth, but it'll take a lot of the headache away. I've been getting teaching gigs and a handful of paying shows, but that's barely enough for survival. I've been living in Boise for two months now, and I don't have a bedspread....or a dresser...or anything up on the walls. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a huge fan of 'stuff'...but at the same time, I can't continue to live a Totally Boho (Season 2 coming to DVD!) lifestyle if I'm planning on setting down some roots. I'd LIKE to have people over one day without feeling embarrassed.

Currently it's, "Hey...uh..come on over! I have a...chair. Oh! And you can read one of the six books on the shelf if you'd like! How 'bout that? Ticklin' your fancy?"

"Don't ever refer to my 'fancy' again."

In other news, it's chilly. It's cold as hell. These days I'm walking around looking like a hipster Ezio Auditore with all the layers I'm wearing. I'm diggin' fall, though. Fall here is gorgeous, and it seems to rub off on everyone in this town. It makes me a bit piney. To be fair I'm not pining after anyone per se, but a chilly walk home at night is a lot nicer when you've got open arms to come home to--and when you've spent all day surrounded by cute ladies in fantastic hats it's easy to let your mind play romantic music and turn everything into a black and white film. If I had my druthers, my FANTASY would include much more swordplay and frequent candlelit dinners on the bridge of my zeppelin (S.S. Onion Booty.) Our relationship would be adversarial. We'd call each other things like "Arch Nemesis", "Bane of my Existence" and "Cute Little Bucket of Vengeance". We'd decorate our rooms with good intentions, but end up covered head to toe in paint, glitter glue, and elbow macaroni. And we'd listen to a LOT of videogame music.

Also this:

To conclude, bullet points!

Hunters (the graphic novel I'm collaborating with the gentleman above to write) is being outlined right now. Can't wait to start writing the scripts and drawing it out.
I'm still kinda sick, so no more games of Cough-In-Your-Eye until I get better.
My current theater wishlist includes: Woyzeck, Uncle Vanya, Waiting for Godot, One For The Road, The Dumb Waiter, and a devised movement/clown piece.
I'm in a book club! I also purchase doilies and put costumes on my cat.
One of the previous three statements is true.
LISTEN TO KIMBRA.
What do Skyrim, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, Saints Row the 3rd, Uncharted 3, Kirby's Return to Dreamland, and Regina Spektor have in common?
I want them all.

Be good, cats! I've got ups to push and outs to work.

Love and other thugs,

Dak

Rain Check

2011-10-11T13:20:00.000-07:00

Fall arrived in Boise, decked out in a cute vintage rainstorm and a hand-knit grey sky. Scarf weather! Military coat every day weather! Thinking about life weather?

I recently (read: finally) all but landed a job at the local Anthropologie store, which is pretty flippin' cool for the sake of a steady income and discounts on adorable housewares, but much less cool considering my good friend applied first and is far more qualified. Unless they were specifically trying to fill a Black Male Position, in which case she still may be more qualified. Regardless, a job is a job is a job. I also happened to apply at a local restaurant as well, so I may be dual-wielding employment again for the first time in a while. Tri-wielding actually, considering the show I'm working on and the workshops and afterschool classes I'll be teaching at the charter school and local university. And here I thought I didn't have much on my plate...

Artistically I've been wrestling with the "what I want to produce v.s. my current abilities to do so" thing. In actuality, I think it's just laziness. I haven't taken the time to sit down and mash something out, nor the time to do the necessary research to form a starting point. What's an outline? You mean you don't just sit down in front of a blank page, clap your hands, and produce magic? HOW PREPOSTEROUS! I ended up doing what I usually do in those situations and flipping through my backlog of creative writing. It's helpful and unhelpful.

Maybe it's the season, but I've been really moved by my friends in relationships right now. Over the past few days I've spent a lot of time with fantastic couples, and it's really made me long for a partner in crime again. I know the feeling will pass, but the prospect of waking up with someone in my arms just seems wonderful right now. Don't get me wrong, I'm still extremely picky--so it's not like I'll just stroll downtown and and pursue the first girl with a funky hat and an affinity for Firefly, but I also can't deny the vicarious warmth and calm I get from being in a room with a couple in love. Maybe that's weird. Who knows? I stopped worrying about 'weird' a long time ago.

Either way, I'm taking care of me.

Be well, and let me leave you with this--

Don't make yourself wrong. I won't either.

Dak

The Unknown

2011-09-22T15:04:00.000-07:00

In this strange yet exciting between-show period, I've found myself taking as much solace in the unknown as possible. This is always been somewhat difficult for me. As much as I want to be free-wheeling and devil-may-care, I often fall into moments where I'm biting my nails in the corner of the room, worried about money stuff, job stuff, life stuff, or show stuff. I've always thought it irresponsible to dispense with those worries in favor or letting things fly--but now that notion is keeping sane.

Well...that is...as sane as I ever was.

I may be shooting myself in the foot by even sharing this, but after seeing Dwayne Blackaller's play, re/fraction, I've gotten onto a HYOOOOJE kick about writing a 2 or 3 person piece that shares that quality of fun and experimentation. Knowing me, it'll be some frenetic, ridiculous thing but I don't entirely see that as negative. In addition, I'd like it to have some personal meaning for everyone involved. I've got a lot of extremely talented friends who, I find, don't always have the opportunity to completely show off their chops. We get rockstar shows sometimes, but I'd like to develop something that really comes from THEM. Something that throws them in the fire and stretches the performance muscles a little.

Naturally I have no clue where to begin. There's a lot I want to say, and a few of those things are even RELEVANT! L..like two or three of them.

Also! Life update!

Might be working at the Zooey Deschanel store soon! I'll know by next week. That'd alleviate most--if not ALL--of my job stress. I can kick my feet up and purchase some dinnerware! Y'know...because it's the little things in life.

HEAD rehearsals begin next week. Take that as euphemistically as you will. I can't wait to work with the cast, which includes some of the most awesome people I know.

I'll be teaching CLOWNING at the ANSER center in Boise all next week after school. 1st through 4th graders! It's pretty wild...I have no idea what to expect. I won't hit them with the MOST insane stuff...at least not right off the bat. I'll really have to start with the basics...but children seem inherently less socially awkward than adults, so I'm excited to be surprised by these kids.

I had a "Jeez, I'm putting on a few sweet pounds" moment last week. Thanks to my buddy's bike, I am no longer concerned. In addition, my good buddy and I will be enrolling in fencing classes soon. Yeah, that's right. We'll be bucklin' the SHIT outta' that swash.

Alright kids and cadets. Be good. Live ridiculous.

-Dak Attack

Re-emergence!

2011-09-14T16:34:00.000-07:00

WELL--

I'm in Boise now! Officially! I'm a transplant!

So updates...I guess there are several, so I'll break it down into bullet points.

Doing a show with Alley Underground called 'Voices From The Boise Hole'. It's a new play developed by local playwrights, Jason Haskins and Evan Sesek. It's a series of monologues based on various Boise-ites. HIGHLIGHT: I do a monologue about being black in Idaho while another character does one about having his first black friend.
Two Gents wrapped up very nicely. I definitely fell into a post-show, "I still have no place to live" "What am I doing with my life?" "Am I a humungous failure?" doldrum, but it's now entirely taken care of. Well, almost entirely...I don't have a trash can in my room... I think that'll solve a lot of issues. HIGHLIGHT: Even after the show closed, I've been getting offers of interest from directors and theatre folks. AND LADIES--that's not true at all.
Entirely single and pretty jazzed about that. Cuz I don't need no BITCHES EFFIN' UP MY--no no no, that's silly. I'm just really content with myself right now. I think I'll eventually want to be with someone, but I'll just let that part play out. HIGHLIGHT: Saying something extremely geeky or embarrassing, waiting a few seconds, then yelling "WHY am I SINGLE?"
NERD UPDATE! Not much to say here, really. Marathonned Avatar: The Last Airbender nearly twice in a row, got really into Sherlock, and politely gave Soul Eater a try. Verdict? Avatar is amazing, but you probably found that out in 06', Sherlock is goddamn incredible, and Soul Eater is just plain bad. If I was thirteen, I would've REALLY enjoyed it--but the characters are just too...well...stupid for me to deal with. They aren't even oddball--FLCL was oddball--they're just wholly moronic.

Er...wow, yeah. That's all the main stuff, I suppose! I'm in the process of looking for a second job at the moment, and so far it's working out. I really don't want to jump back into serving, but it's honestly the best money around my area--so looks like I'll be strappin' on that apron again! IF YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

More to come as I start updating more regularly again!

Peace out and Pee South,
Deeks and Geeks

Really..? THIS is your update?

2011-09-11T01:50:00.000-07:00

Granted, yes...I owe my blog more than a couple-sentence drunk update.

More to come--I saw two gorgeous shows today. I'll extrapolate later.

But right now it's like...listen...it'd be awesome to be super interested in someone who was equally as interested in me. Missing that. In a big way.

I want someone to impress again. Maybe that's why it's not clickin' for me. Am I anticipating? I don't usually do that.

Got an apartment, though (Thanks entirely to my amazing mother.) Movin' in Monday.

MORE TO COME FOR REELZ.

-Dak

Out of Words

2011-07-12T12:18:00.000-07:00

I've had so much trouble writing lately--and I've started to think it's because of something...wrong..with me.

Not the case at all. It's just a matter of WILDLY second-guessing the things I have to say. Or want to say. Or GET to say.

I feel like I fell out of love with myself for a while. Reality is: my life is fucking incredible right now, and because its gotten so good--it's become easier for me to dream small. The inspiration, the drive and energy for what I want to accomplish seemed to disappear from me for a very very long time. I stopped caring. Started floating. Doing things the easy way. Stopped laying it all out on the table for fear that my life will just evaporate. Wisp through my fingers like a fistful of smoke. Maybe I snuck and told myself I was too 'grown-up' for big dreams.

How dumb is that?

Especially in the field I've chosen...there's no TIME for me to dream small. No time to think I've succeeded in a few minor roles and now I've got the assurance and ability to approach the REALLY big ones. Confidence? Yes, absolutely. Assurance? No. Definitely not.

Kickin' the mighty bucket might be the only sure thing we can truly count on...so I'm going to stay vigilant about my routines. I'm not going to let myself slip into the easy track again.

Because that'd be easy. I don't want easy. I want adventure.

Love you all, goddammit.
-Dak

Midnight in Paris and 2:40 in Boise

2011-07-07T13:39:00.000-07:00

I saw Midnight in Paris with a pal two nights ago, and while I'm not an enormous Woody Allen fan, I really enjoyed it. Titular stuttering intellectual Larry Stu aside, I found myself really feeling a strong connection to The Message of the film.

Okay, maybe the message is "Don't marry a bitch." but that message has been done to death.

More important to me was the fact that in the end, the film made me want to be more me. It made me want to really turn off the censors, take an honest look at myself, and do some organizing. Yeah...it made me want to read more T.S. Eliot and flit through The Sun Also Rises again too...but hey. It was a sort of "Take back your life" in clever overdrive.

Okay so yes, all the characters in 'The Present' were awful people to the point of farce, or ridiculously beautiful and inexplicably attracted to Owen Wilson. Everyone in the past was Quirky yet lovable...typical fantasy fare.

But I don't know, man...it definitely made me think. Of what? I'm not sure. It still kinda feels like I've been flying by the seat of my pants for the past six months or so...but at least I feel a little more directed.

It's all interesting, isn't it?

-Dak Attack

See Tea, F.D.?

2011-06-21T13:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not exactly sure what it is I worry about when I get like this. It's certainly nothing real or legitimate...otherwise I could build a box out of perspective and cram it in there. It's human to worry about things that aren't real...things that have never happened. I GET that.

But COME THE EFF ON.

I want to attach a mannequin arm to a spring and mount it in the company car--so I can have a slapping machine for moments like this.

Maybe the thought is--if my life gets TOO awesome, it'll all vanish.

Really, it's a matter of worrying about my ability to bring all of me to the table. It's a lazy, smart, tactic. I'll pour energy into the fear, that way I can blow stuff out of proportion and not have to step up ANYWAY!

Done bitching.

SO!

What have I been DOING for the past few weeks? Well, dear boy, have a seat while I pour another brandy and regale you with the tales of Life On The Stage~!

By the by, if you want to emulate the state in which I'm writing this--pour yourself a mason jar of ice water and blast Tally Hall's New Album. All set? So!

The Two Gentlemen Of Verona opened a few weekends ago to a great response, so I've been doing that every other night. I love the show. I've finally gotten to a place where I've personalized it. No more stigma of being 'The New Guy'....which is great, since that was a terrible movie.

On top of that, I'm understudying for Cabaret and possible The Taming Of The Shrew. Cabaret rehearsals are great..or so I imagine...I usually just hide in a corner and write AS QUIETLY AS I CAN. Those first few rehearsals are always a bit weird, since the actors are figuring it all out themselves. I love the process, but I'm less apt to hang out for those--namely because I know how I feel in those situations. You're not going to invite your party guests to come drink in the kitchen and watch you make pigs in a blanket. Even still it's been fun.

Some pals are also trying to put together a number of other theater extravaganzas in the area. Yours truly is trying to team up with a pal put on The Dumb Waiter at a local venue. In addition, since most of us play instruments reasonably well, we're thinking about writing some Flight Of The Conchords style goofy songs to play at a local bar. What's our HOOK, though? Those guys are from New Zealand! FOREIGNERS = BOTTOMLESS WELL OF COMEDY.

I guess we'll make Shakespeare jokes?

Also, we're going to memorize some monologues, sonnets, and scenes (oh my) to perform at weddings. How much would YOU pay to have someone perform a sonnet or rehearse your groom into a swordfight where he beats the villain and marries the bride? Or vice versa? Or hey, bride n' bride! Groom n' groom!

So those wheels are spinning. We'll see if they catch.

I'm going to go look up some particularly romantic Shakespeare pieces.

Love, peace, and call your Niece,

DAK

Poems in italics because that makes me legit.

2011-06-01T11:00:00.000-07:00

Hey so sometimes I write stuff. Sometimes they're poems. It's been a while, but for the sake of revving up that creative engine again, I've decided to start banging out some poetry. I should preface this by saying they'll all be first drafts of varying quality. Okay okay...no more judgment from me, I'll just get em down here and walk away like nothing happened. Here's the first!

She polishes her badges proudly
and pins them through her skin
she screams, railing, in the dark
furious with her own echoes
which only ever sound like the person she used to be.

She makes love to her pain
like a child.
And in the morning she wakes weeping
in her empty bed.
She'll straighten her mask in the mirror
and notice how pretty it looks.
And I will look on her and shake my head
as if we were two different people.

Love, peace, and flocks of geese,
Dak!

Pantsless.

2011-05-31T13:13:00.000-07:00

For the past week or so, I've kind of felt like I've been walking around without my pants on. While that HAS been accurate on some occasions, the rest of the time it feels a little awkward and breezy. I've been here for a measley couple of weeks, but a lot has changed in that time. Getting used to it proves to be all sorts of strange and interesting. In addition, as mentioned before, coming face to face with the most difficult role I've ever had is proving to tell me loads about myself. It's all interesting and it's all 'class'.

For instance--and this seems especially true for Shakespeare--I get terribly wrapped up in trying to be The Good Actor. If not, The Perfect Actor. That, by the way, has NOTHING to do with actually performing well. It's kind of an overcompensating defense mechanism I think I've incorporated into other aspects of my life. It avoids tension and it avoids mess. "Everyone look how GOOD I am. I DO belong here! Right? RIGHT?" is what it seems to say. I hate looking like I don't know what I'm doing, so I don't acknowledge the fact that I'm a beginner. We all are.

I can't quite say what I'm so terrified of. Embarrassed of. Ashamed of. Maybe I'm not fully committed to my strangeness? The larger my world becomes, the more my insecurities want me to hide behind a 'persona'...and the longer I do that, the less centered and present I feel. I know what the culmination of that is like, too. I get paralyzed, physically exhausted, mentally blocked, creatively stifled, and completely fearful. The worst part is that's easy for me to do. I've make-believed that the center of my universe is the rest of the universe. That's somehow served me well.

It also lets me be completely reactive to every situation I come across. Proactive solution? Hell no! Leave that to people with bad skin (ahyuck.)

I'm just tired of it. Of my own crap.

This may seem like something that shouldn't require a thought process, much less a constant concerted effort to maintain. Well for me it does. I'm learning to be okay with that.

Love you all, lovelies!
Dak

Rehearsals, Shame, and Bleach

2011-05-21T17:28:00.000-07:00

Day two of official rehearsals, and I am wildly in love with the cast. They are all fantastic, goofy people who I am honored to be in the same room with. Not only that, the director is one of the most confident, supportive directors I have ever worked with. More than willing to shake the Etch-a-Sketch and add new ingredients to the performance pot (broooo try some of this PERFORMANCE POT) he fosters an environment of fun work. We're all completely in it together and no cogs are out of place.

Which makes me feel like I can only ride my usual insecurities for so long.

I suppose being annoyed with myself for feeling that way is just extra energy in the wrong direction. I've got a lotta' guilt. Where its from, I don't know...but I know it developed a long time ago. Yeah, the Dad thing certainly was a part of it--and maybe I don't lend it enough credence. Perhaps its time to acknowledge that I've got a touch of post-traumatic somethin' somethin'. At the same time, I feel guilty even saying that. I didn't step on a landmine and lose my lower torso. I didn't get shrapnel to the brain and lose my ability to speak. I didn't get dusted with Agent Orange to inevitably lose decades of my life. I wasn't even privy to it. I guess all of that makes it difficult to hold those feelings of unworthiness up to the mirror of context. It's normal that I feel this way cuz' I lived in fear for almost a year. Adding guilt to the equation creates a powerfully insidious machine of self-sabotage. One I've kept in working order for as long as I can remember. It's the reason I all but gave up on school halfway through each year. The reason I made myself fear failure. The reason I--despite having a generally positive disposition--have the greatest difficulty with 'hope'. Coming face to face with my limits as an artist tends to lead me back to this stuff.

It's all interesting. And yet--I'm so completely done with it.

New paragraph.

I don't leap into cultural phenomenons. I'm very reluctant about them. Maybe cuz like...y'know...some of them don't turn out that well. This means I routinely show up late to the party. I seldom buy current-gen technology, and I don't start watching good TV shows until I've been told about them by no less than 97 people.

SOME stuff, however, I avoid outright.

I was late to the BLEACH party. For those of you with social lives and significant others, Bleach is a Japanese comic, one that falls under the 'Shonen' category. That basically means it's geared toward teen males--and is chock full of ridiculous battles and references to boobs. Still, it's incredibly popular. As in...they've made musical adaptations of it. Four of them.

Dude.

Bro.

Brosef.

So far it doesn't grab me. Maybe if I was seventeen again, I'd really dig it. As of now, I can't really stand the giant sword-wielding protagonist and his always-angry face. 'Fraid my notion of 'cool' includes 'being three-dimensional'.

But hey, maybe there'll be a turn-around. So far I'm not holding my breath. I can only abide so much cringe-worthy anime bullshit. On the serious...if one more character talks about the air headed love interest's hyuuuge tiiits, I might have to stop reading. Not that I don't enjoy me some SCHWEET BEWB ACTION, but I don't particularly care how enamored the author is with the characters he's created. Or rather...I don't really care to know how much the author may want to get all up ons the characters he's drawn. Maybe he does! That's cool! Does it belong in the narrative? That's up for debate. My vote is 'nay'.

Maybe it's cuz I'm an ass man.

Be well, stinky kids.

Love,
Dak

P.S. The rapture is tonight. Glad I built that underground bunker out of empty lunchables boxes.

Half marshmallows, half cereal.

2011-05-16T07:59:00.000-07:00

Things seem to be convening in a very interesting way right now. That is to say, it feels like the dominoes are all lined up, just waiting for the right tap. Innuendo? IS IT EVER NOT?

I've had a single one-on-one rehearsal thus far, and I'm already in love with the shape of this piece. It will be plenty difficult, but I made the uncomfortable realization that I'll be sort of playing myself as a teenager. In SOME respects of course. I mean...there ARE differences.

I never used the word "vouchsafe" for instance.

Well there was that one time...

On top of that, things just feel right with all of my friends here right now as well. That's not to say anything of my L.A. buddies, it just feels as though I'm on a continuation of my prior path. I even found myself alone in a rehearsal room yesterday evening, running lines until I felt decently solid on them. On top of that, I'm wanting to put together a weekly theater fun-time super day where we bring in training exercises and fun stuff to do and just EFF AROUND. I've missed my effing...around..

In all other realms, things are great. There's too much momentum now to stop or to choke. That's incredibly promising. It's wonderful. It just feels like things are flying again.

N...now to go buy groceries...

Love,
Dak

All Plug. No Shame.

2011-05-09T16:32:00.000-07:00

Check it--

It's from a project called 'AntiApathy'. WOO COLLEGE.

UPDATE.

2011-05-08T21:08:00.000-07:00

Okay...

Okay...

So yes, I'm sorry. I don't have a decent excuse for the extreme lull this time. Not like that Jaguar attack...and yes, I capitalized Jaguar.

THAT CAR NEARLY BIT MY ARM OFF.

No but fo reels, I've just been in Idaho--doing the tour thang. Twelfth Night went splendidly! Those are pictures of said production. Yes, I am playing Orsino and Sir Andrew. Yes, that wig did smell horrid after a show, and yes--an audience member did lean over to her friend and whisper loudly, "I can see his penis."

To her credit, I did perform that one in the nude. No, ISF will not be hiring me again.

OH WAIT HAHA LIES JK JK JK SIMMONS. I'm currently three days away from a flight back to Boise! I'll be stepping in to play Proteus in this summer's production of The Two Gentlemen Of Verona. It's an incredibly ridiculously high honor. Even to have had the chance to read the part was an honor. It's intimidating as all hell, but it'll be fine. Turbulent, of course--but fine in the end. I'll just be happy to get to Boise and start looking for a home base with my home girl from tour. We'll be moving in together so the sitcom that is our respective lives will air 7 DAYS A WEEK.

The pilot will feature 12 scenes of us playing Twilight Princess on Wii, 8 scenes of drunken dance parties, and 3 scenes of awkwardly raucous pooping.

I'll leave you to guess who'll be doing the poopin'.

That may have been my favorite sentence to write ever.

L.A.'s been nice, but I'm soured on it and I'm surprised at how not surprised I am. In terms of home bases, this definitely has the advantage of "buddies I've known since I was a tadpole" but the lack of job opportunities that don't require me to bite the proverbial bullet is a definite negative. Especially that bullet-biting job at the shooting range (Why do they even HAVE that?) It's a matter of VIBE, too. I was having a chat with my wonderful wonderful (she's cute and single to boot, GEEEENTLEMEEEEEEN) BFA friend in Santa Barbara last weekend and we commiserated about the L.A. thing. Her coming from SB, and me having a Santa-Cruz hippie heart, the vibe in LA is just...incredibly intense. There's a kind of frenetic energy that offers a bullet-train ride to an unknown place, and the toll is an IMDB page, a pair of aviators, and a shirt from Express. L.A. will cut you off and not give a fuck. Boise may take 10 seconds to realize the light is green, but you don't really fault the poor Subaru Outback. All they've done is make you late for a flexible appointment with Flying M.

Whoops...I think my bias is showing.

In short, I've had more surreal moments of 'not quite fitting in' during the time I've been home than ever before. Part of it, certainly, is the lack of car. But maybe I don't want to live in a city where I need one. YOU EVER THINK ABOUT THAT, YOU BIG METAL JERKS?

It really turns out its time to move on. On to a place where I have some actual agency. That is to say, on to a place where the EXPRESSION of that agency is clearer. More instantaneous. Am I thinking entirely with my ego? Quite likely! Do I care? Not slightly!

SO--I'm back on the blogosphere. And on this hemisphere. Performing Shake-a-speare. More updates to come! Fo realz.

Hornily Yours,
Deeks

Pox on't

2011-01-26T14:04:00.001-08:00

Promptly following my previous post, I contract chicken pox.

Yes, I'm twenty-goddamed-six.

I have no clue where I picked it up from, aside from those afflicted children I kept eating in the sick ward of that hospital they won't let me near again FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON. Anyway, bada-boom bada-bang, laws of comedy--POX. Last monday my face resembled a topographical map of mars, a week and change later, there's just a few faint marks.

I am utterly thankful, grateful, and blown away by my friends, the cast, and office staff (Not mutually exclusive.) They immediately snapped up an understudy (a man named Dwayne Blackaller--who is one of the coolest people in the galaxy) and plugged away. I got daily text message check-ins, a signed rubber chicken, and even an effing birthday cake. CAH-RAZY!!

So now I'm hitting the ground running a bit. I'll roadie for the show tomorrow and Friday, then we'll have put-in rehearsals Friday afternoon and Sunday--then it's off to eastern Idaho!

Sheez, man.

In other news, I got a new phone, a new age (which I mentioned with expletive-filled gusto), and several new books...most of which I read during my quarantine. Ughff...

I feel refreshed...and ready to commit my body to some grueling, difficult, rewarding work.

Watch out,
Dak

Five Hunnid Tunny Fie Thousin Six Unnid Minnits.

2011-01-15T12:59:00.000-08:00

Next week I turn 26.

It'll be difficult to trump 25, but I think I have a decent game plan. In short it simply boils down to accepting my craziness for what it is. Everyone I really admire is almost completely out of their mind.

This sort of thing happens in small cycles almost weekly. I start to drift away from myself until I feel strange in my own body, then I snap back with a deep breath and a sudden blinking awareness.

"Wait...what am I doing here? Where'd the pirate costume come from? Why does my mouth taste like butterscotch?"

The writing certainly helps a lot, too. It's good to let the thoughts loose after they've been bouncing around in my head for so long. Decompress. Get it out thurr.

Rehearsal, by the by, is going swimmingly. Obviously there are still tweaks and stuff to...well...tweak...but the whole thing is looking great as a cohesive whole. (Girl you got a cohesive hole.) As mentioned before, it feels great to be back in Boise...and STILL learning new things about this strange, wonderful gem of a city. I've even been to two new bars! Which is saying something given my previous venture here.

Allow me this bit of vanity: The first record of Shakespeare's theatrical career dates to about 1592, when he was 28. That gives me about two solid years to suddenly become 'prolific'.

And THAT brings me back to the insanity I'd mentioned before. It takes a certain amount of crazy to dedicate yourself to a pursuit so strongly that you transcend 'levels of experience'. I mean...that's just how I feel RIGHT NOW. Who knows. Give it a year.

Later loves,
Dak

Boise Will Be Boise

2011-01-05T16:54:00.000-08:00

As I buttoned my SUPER HAWT H&M JACKET all the way up to my throat and stepped out of the Boise airport, I felt a twinge of excitement, apprehension, and...dare I say...closure(?) The internal "oh my god, I'm a real actor" fanfare from last year was replaced by a new "holy crap, what's going to happen this time?" tune. It's the same nerves I used to get in college, at the beginning of a new semester as I stepped into the first movement or voice class of the quarter. I know the season, I know the people, I know the place, and I know absolutely jack shit.

Day three and I've been roosting comfortably in some of my favorite old haunts again. I've had a latte from my favorite coffee place each and every day, and stolen internet from the Library! a handful of times already. My comfortable yet exciting routine has re-established itself, sans the utter terror of somehow being discovered as a mere amateur and being extradited back to L.A. to hole up at Barnes and Noble while dreaming of "what could have been." Crying in the face of my netbook while playing through Terranigma again and listening to Vic Chesnutt. No, that concern is vanished. I suppose that's a devil-on-the-shoulder that artists simply don't get rid of.

Nope. No guillotines in sight.

Instead, the feeling is replaced by a ravenous hunger to wring every single possibility out of this town and lap it up like a much less disgusting metaphor. My good buddies (also tour buddies, also two of the coolest fucking individuals on the planet) are paying 625 a munf for a two-bedroom house not far from my host family. That's 5 bucks more than I paid to SHARE A ROOM IN SANTA BARBARA. WITH NO HEAT. AND BROKEN PLUMBING. Say...oh...for example's sake...I room it with them fools for a spell...That's about 210 a motherfucking month. I've had larger checks at CPK (granted, fuckers drank a LOT.) All this excitement is, however, coupled with an immense responsibility to myself. Can I do it--of course I goddamn can. Opportunities are boundless in every possible direction. I feel gregarious as it were, but this place just makes you feel that way.

Also, it's 10 degrees in the morning. My scrotum is like a tightly-curled fist.

Love,
Dak

2010-12-23T22:28:00.000-08:00

First off--

Ignore the latter half of that song, as it cuts out. Unless...y'know...you're into that sorta' thing...

..and Philip Glass.

I'm reading through the cut of Twelfth Night for this season's Shakesperience tour. I'm also listening to sappy Shaimus songs and half-heartedly clicking through an old girlfriend's Facebook album. BECAUSE I AM ORSINO AND I'M GETTING INTO CHARACTER SHABAM ACTING. No yeah, the ridiculousness is evident to me too, which is why I laughed about it and then stopped. If you're like me though, you have a habit of tonguing your toothaches. There's a thinly veiled double entendre in there, Merry Christmas.

I'm in love with this cut of the show, and I absolutely CANNOT WAIT to bop back into Boise. There are a ton of people I'm excited to see again, not to mention an amazing show to work on. Combine that with an ability to wear winter clothes without looking like a moron? YEEEEE~!! Though I can't exactly say looking like a moron has ever stopped me before.

TWIN FALLS!!

I might have to pull a RubberDuck and start travelblogging. I'd have to use AntiApathy (which I haven't updated in 6 months because irony irony irony) since THIS blog probably shouldn't be associated with ISF in any way.

Cuz I use a lotta' bad words.

And talk about wee-wees.

This break at home has been incredibly enlightening. It really forced me to look at myself in a new light. Yes, a blacklight. (GOOD GOD WHERE DO I COME UP WITH THIS GOLD?) It felt like I was being poured into an oblong container and trying to fill my way out as much as possible. In certain ways I had to curb my immense ego (NO EASY TASK, SINCE I'M SO AWESOME.) and in other ways, I've had to really come to terms with who and what I am as an artist. It's all good. It's all very very good.

I fully intend to climb the branches of time and pluck next year off of the highest bough. Even if I fall from the tree a few times, those fresh epochs are the very best.

Love,
Dak

Difribulating

2010-12-15T19:33:00.000-08:00

Hey all!

While walking back home from the DeSoto bus stop, I got to thinking about schtorf. Namely, I tried to pinpoint what it is exactly that's been making me somewhat off as of late. Off center. Misaligned. I did a lot of dancing around thoughts, but I didn't really land on any satisfying conclusions until I got home and emptied my brain to my mom. We began talking about life and so forth, and surmised that we need to be around artists.

As a matter of fact, that's something I've put off for so long. Not avoided per se, but it's definitely a mantle that's been hanging in my closet gathering dust. I am an artist.

THAT'S what I do.

And it's a hell of a responsibility to realize that if you don't put all your ideas out there, THEY WILL NEVER EXIST. If I don't create--those things will NEVER BE.

Heavy-

-but it's a responsibility I'm willing to take on. My life will NOT be orthodox. It's already too late for that (I'm not even Jewish!) I feel things and look at things and express myself in a different, unique way (JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE--SHA-DING-DONG.)

I dunno...it seems like an obvious realization, but it's still an important things to remember. Whether creating or not, you're still an artist. Every atom of your being serves that purpose.

And now...Tommy Wiseau.

Cheers, mates!

-Dak

So I'm finally working on Flyboy again-

2010-12-02T14:05:00.000-08:00

Lights dim as Alex exits. Chair is cleared as Sam enters, he wears expensive jeans and a worn blazer over a ‘Flyboy’ shirt. While not strikingly handsome, he has a disarming charm about him. He thinks faster than he speaks, but his words come out at the speed of an automatic rifle. Even still, above all he is a storyteller. His speech is colored with self-aware little aphorisms and moments of clarity that surprise even him. Sam is possessed of the healthiest form of self-love, the kind which sees through and deconstructs his own persona even as it creates itself.

He grins at the audience.

DON'T LOOK AT MEEEE~

2010-12-01T19:40:00.000-08:00

My biggest accomplishment today was finding a controller that plugs into my laptop so I can play Super Nintendo games more conveniently.

It's tough to look at this scenario and feel like I've failed in some way. YES YES I KNOW SHUT THE FUCK UP IT'S JUST A SHORT BREAK. In 32 days, I'll be on a plane back to Boise to rehearse Twelfth Night (or Twelfth Nizzle, as we say in the hood.) The difficulty THIS time is the realization that this isn't where I need to be. Why do I feel this dissonance? Likely because this isn't the life for me anymore.

The things that used to interest me don't hold nearly as much sway anymore. Yeah, I can play Mario RPG with ease now--but hell if I can plug in more than twenty minutes without a voice in my mind shouting "DON'T YOU HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO?"

I did get a job, though. Super seasonal. I'll be working all of four weeks before I'm done, but I've got to cover the cost of nights-out SOMEHOW, right? That New Years champagne won't buy itself.

I did spent a decent bit of time rooting through all my junk in the garage, though. I'm sure a third of it is garbage-bound, but I won't have to think about that until I move out. Yeah, that's the other thing--until I'm in L.A. for a substantial amount of time/actually working here, it doesn't make that much sense to set up shop here.

Oof.

I'm going to continue distracting myself from this greasy mood.

Love,
Dak

Eccentricities

2010-11-18T07:14:00.000-08:00

I found myself at a bus stop in Pasadena, roasting in my fall coat and knit beanie. I'd been wearing the same outfit for three days, and the broken left heel of my boot was in my right coat pocket. The coffee I was sipping was making me sweat even more. Despite an excellent few days of nearly non-stop amazing conversations (broken up by a few movies and some Red Dead Redemption at McJew's place) I was excited to get home. I felt like an RPG character with a niggling (HAW HAW) status ailment I had to cure by getting to an INN. If there was a cobbler in town who could fix my boot, why even better.

Every time I binge on friendship, it tends to center me more somehow. It makes me realize just how much learning I have to do...and just how much of a blank mind I need to retain. The worst thing for me to do is think I know something--and act accordingly. But FWOCK...I've barely been in the real world as of yet. It's like...it's like the tutorial really JUST ended, and I've got to embark on all these new missions. Jeez, that's two RPG references already.

NEEEERD ALEEEERT~!

While splitting a bottle of wine, a friend and I got to talking about eccentricities. About how you don't have to be particularly weird to be seen as eccentric in America, or more specifically, in L.A. How, growing up in Santa Cruz, I'm used to a much wider spectrum of eccentric and I tend to feel infinitely more comfortable around weirdos. About how in places like France (and here we both conceded that our knowledge on the subject was rather--hem--sparse) it seemed far more acceptable to just be fucking weird. What was the conclusion we drew from all this hashing it out? Aside from 'more wine!' it simply served to reinforce the fact that I've got far more flexibility to just 'be' than I ever knew. Whatever this entails.

One of my biggest pet peeves in the world is being told I can't behave a certain way--and my closest friends are the ones who I can make bootyhole jokes around.

Hmm-
Love,
Dak

WORDS WORDS WORDS-

2010-11-10T09:41:00.000-08:00

I love words. I love poetry. I love poetry about love. I poet love about poetry...?

Alright, that last one didn't exactly work--but this poem really resonated with me right now. It's fantabulous. Check it out over on Beans' blog--

LURVE,
Dak

Temp

2010-11-04T14:36:00.000-07:00

Being home is weird.

I feel like I belong here less than ever, but I don't mean that in the 'Creep' by Radiohead comb my hair over one eye and get a lip piercing so I can pretend to be aloof about my lip piercing sort of way. I've just fallen in love with my life so much that I feel weird in a place that doesn't sustain it. I got so used to throwing on a costume every night at 7 that I feel weirder not doing that. Even moving chairs around as a butler felt like I was providing a service. There's a pun in there somewhere, I'm sure.

It's probably the drama of the theatre that attracts people like me. The rewards you get from the theatre, on the acting side and the audience side, are palpable yet unquantifyable. You know you've just EXPERIENCED something (and paid twenty bucks for it) but you're not sure exactly what it is. It's goosebumps, it's laughter, its excitement. It makes you want to rush home, have sex, and change your life. It's the same energy I felt after seeing that U2 3D exhibit at the Rock and Roll. It's--to me at least--what LIFE feels like.

I knew it would be like this when I got back, too. As a matter of fact, its not nearly as bad as it usually is. I feel fantastic. I've got tasks to complete. Things to do. Seasonal employment to rustle up. And on top of that, a whole metric fuck-ton of friends to see. It's nice once the recaps are through and we can get right back to making new memories.

It's good to be back. Weird, but good.

Love,
Dak

Wasting Time.

2010-11-01T00:28:00.000-07:00

I should be packing.

Instead, I'm listening to Mayer Hawthorne at 3:30 in the morning.

Go about your business.

Fear Not.

2010-10-28T13:33:00.000-07:00

Survival Mode

2010-10-25T12:02:00.000-07:00

This song perfectly encapsulates my feelings about getting a 'survival job' for the holidays. Hopefully I won't have to enter the ol Barnes and Noble as an employee again anytime soon...I'll be calling and e-mailing local theatres and such to see if they need house managers or box office folks. Best case scenario I book a gig teaching movement, clowning, pantomime, or something. Or...y'know...lead some text and movement workshops at the pretend college or my old High School.

BOINK!!

It took me a while to get up this morning. Last night's TV marathonning in my underpants with a bowl of Cracklin Oat Bran really took it out of me(?) Nah..couldn't be that. It was the week's worth of shows all catching up to my body. Matter of fact, come this Monday I will have been working on Othello and An Ideal Husband for about four months. If you throw Shakesperience in there, I've been hearing "And what's he then that says I play the villain?" on repeat for the better part of the year. That's not a complaint. I've got no gripes about listening to and performing Shakespeare all year. That's like saying "Man, I wish I could take a break from that daily smoothie'n'intercourse routine my girlfriend's got me on." I'm immensely grateful for this year and those to come. It's strange just how significantly my life has been altered at 25. It's staggering, really. I've put in a good amount of effort--though there's still plenty of projects and things I want to get going. Such as:

Start my own theatre company.
Naturally, this is the dream. Get all my favorite actors together and just fuck with texts. Blow them apart. Explore them. Live them. Rip them to shreds and run around naked with "What fools these mortals be" smeared on our bodies in glow-in-the-dark paint.

Get High School Daze back off the ground.
I've been drawing this fucking comic since middle school. I remember the exact day I created the main character, Jason McKinsey...I was at an airport headed to the east coast and I wanted to kill some time before the flight left. I've been drawing him now for most of my life--and that series holds a special place in my heart.

Start Clowning Around.
I've been avoiding this terrifying idea, but I can't any longer. I've been a little too busy to come up with good street routines, but I would love to begin clowning on a regular basis. I think its a healthy way to confront my stage fears face to face.

Write Some More Effing Music.
I've written all of one song, and I'm not terribly proud of it. I want to write enough to start playing gigs at coffee shops. That's right.

But first--survival job. I wonder if there's a market for a job where I literally just survive. Like I have a machete, a canteen, and a towel, and a film crew follows me around LA while I'm hacking away at shrubs and collecting rainwater from gutters.

Hell, Jersey Shore has an audience--and I don't think any of those fuckers could even SPELL 'survival'.

Much love (with rubber gloves,)
Dak

Relationship Advice To Keep From Puking

2010-10-23T07:42:00.000-07:00

Went to see the Allison Bencar band play last night at our resident watering hole, Pacers. A bunch of the folks from the show came to check it out and show their support. After elbowing my way up to the bar and grabbing a classy two Oktoberfests I grabbed a seat, ordered the hottest wings available, and checked out the music. The band was fun--though with the exception of a stellar cover of Spiderwebs, I preferred their original stuff.

When my beers and wing plate were empty, a buddy of mine pulled me aside to have some bro talk. It served to remind me why I decided to take up singletude. It seems that he and his girlfriend have taken up two differing arts, and that puts a damper on their relationship. It's not an enormous issue, but when you're not part of someone's "world" so to speak, it's a little difficult to give advice that you'd deem worthy. I get it. I've been there. If I was dating a sculpture artist, there'd really be only so much advice I could give in that capacity.

"I like the...I like how it's made of...uh...clay.."
"Ah...okay, but what do you think about the symbolic representation of Poland in 1937?"
"It's...good..?"

Somewhere in that talk, I started to feel violently ill. I had to excuse myself and find somewhere to sit...as I was getting chills and sweating like a crazy person. After my buddy said his goodbyes, we went to my apartment to grab his bag and continue talking. Or rather, he talked while I clung to walls and tried not to puke on him. My input was reduced to sharp nods and terse responses punctuated by deep breaths. Nevertheless, it was good for him to get it out in the open.

He left, and I crashed...but not before thinking about some of the stuff he said.

I've seen stellar examples of great relationships. I've also participated in some. Conversely, I've been in terrible relationships that shouldn't have lasted half as long as they did. Does it really matter if you can't lend your wisdom to every part of your other half's life? Should it matter? What's really a bump in the road? I don't want to be the guy who freaks out at every little misstep. I've done that. I also don't want to be the guy that fights tooth and nail for something that's profoundly not working. I've also done that.

Guys, relationships are weird. Lovely and fucking weird.

Love, (but hey, don't feel pressured to say it back...give yourself...y'know...the time you need)
Dak

Fired (Up)

2010-10-21T13:30:00.000-07:00

After a lovely weekend of art, amazing meals, nights out, nights in, and U2 (courtesy of a lovely lovely friend), I feel like I'm transformed. I have an annoying habit of assuming I know how an event is going to go down, thereby eliminating all possible surprise for myself. It's like keeping a handful of dirt in my pocket so I can throw grit on all the shiny new experiences out there. The past few days, however--I've had a completely new approach to the stage, and I'm beginning to approach life differently as well. Maybe differently is the wrong word.

Somehow I feel closer to myself.

Maybe it was watching Bono wail Bloody Sunday a foot away from me, while a capacity crowd Buenos Aires cried and sang along. Perhaps it was being close enough to touch Picasso's La Vie and Rodin's The Thinker in a span of five minutes. Either way, it's like something has opened up in me that's been closed for months.

Yes. It's my butthole.

On the serious, though! I've been gypsying around, and only sort of participating in my life. Like...I've shown up and opened the book, but I haven't been doing the classwork. Deja Vu. BAH!!

I'm excited. I have an excite.

Love,
Dak

Woo Thyself

2010-10-10T15:21:00.000-07:00

I was flipping through an issue of Glamour magazine in the green room during our show's matinee today (I always get a kick out of the 'Naughty Sex Questions' in womens' magazines. I want to see something like "Is it okay to fill my husband's anus with tortellini shells?") I stumbled upon a little blurb that suggested to women that it was okay to be interesting.

"Hmm." I thought to myself.

Upon further investigation, there was a testimonial written by someone who claimed that "In my mid twenties, my boyfriend was my hobby. After we broke up, I decided to learn to be interested in myself again. I started learning Italian, doing youth charity, and I took a vacay to Rome." Aside from the abominable usage of 'vacay', I found it extremely fascinating. "Right on!" I thought, "We ALL could use some of that!"

Honestly, some people just know who they are. On the flip side, some people DON'T know who they are, but they're okay with being who they've BEEN for the rest of their lives. Falling into that second category is a terrifying thought to me. It'd be easy to do, too! My acting life is pretty fulfilling as is...but I'm still lacking something...that something that makes you go to bed at night spent with the exhaustion of a fully-lived day, a crescent moon hanging in the sky like a used-up orange peel.

Yeah, it comes down to making sure you're not neglecting yourself in life's love triangle. You are your own partner first and everything else second. That's not to say you should be selfish of course, but hell...there's no shame in toughing it out to get what you need. I'm starting to get life-hungry again...in the best way possible.

Look out below,
Dak

The Social Network

2010-10-04T19:10:00.000-07:00

The film makes me want to delete my Facebook.

It's also pretty freaking great. You should see it.

I don't know what it is about movies based on eccentric people, but they tend to nudge me more and more in that direction. That is to say, in the "Eff everyone, I'm going to start wearing mascot outfits when I feel like it" direction. Palpable eff-the-world energy that could make you loved or hated for who you are(trying to be.) It certainly addresses the 'block' I've been feeling as of late. Its a relaxed bit of settling. Its a thumbed nose at the surprises the world has to offer. I've been fluffing my laurels to prepare to rest on them.

Now now now, it's not as dire as all that. It's just how I've been feeling for a bit. It goes away when I get onstage, or sing Karaoke, or dance, or write. That said--I'm glad that aspect has been irritated. Reddened and swollen like my tonsils. Otherwise I may have gone longer without truly appreciating it. In addition, it's always lovely to hear "Keep doing your thing, son--the world is yours! Love, Mom" via Facebook.

Which is why I won't actually be deleting my profitty-profile.

It's all good, though. It's all REALLY good. I feel like my fire's back. I'm rumbling again. The periscope is up and I can see in three hundred and sixty lovely lovely degrees.

Future Plan: New Years in the Bay with Dresy-Poo and company. Let's make that happen.

All you need is,
Dak

Beer Goggles Are Rose Colored

2010-09-28T06:50:00.000-07:00

Slightly drunken Facebooking can be dangerous. Its easy to flit through old memories and old albums with a slight smile, thinking "Why didn't we work out again?" Nobody is around to tap me on the shoulder and give a perfectly solid explanation that I would shrug off or ignore anyway. It's much simpler to hang around in a hazy bliss and pretend. Ride the fantasy. String together all the good parts (or make up new ones.)

After an actor's nightmare (reprise my role in Time and the Conways? SURE I remember all my lines...) the morning brings clarity. Last night was reactive. A willful surrender. Nice while it lasted, but I'm glad to be back in the now.

Now, where the owner of the Cleveland Indians invited the acting company to watch a game from the owners box, where the beer and nacho cheese flowed freely. Where in the fourth inning, a dessert cart trucks by with mint-chocolate brownies and shots of Tia Maria in edible chocolate cups. Where we got an official welcome on the Jumbotron and one of our very own did a little dance breakdown. On top of that, the Tribe delivered a win? I am humbled.

And I don't even watch baseball.

This is what my life looks like now, though. During the week, I get to work at what I love--and during the weekend I get to stock the fridge with Trader Joes goodies and shop for clothing on the cheap. It's a lot of momentum, and again I'm tempted to give myself over to it completely. To kowtow to it and take the reins of my life in inconsequential ways(Like beating Kingdom Hearts.) To be intimidated by the whirlwind instead of accepting it with grace and humility--clearing my throat--and declaring that I've still got a ways to go. Which I do. There's plenty of life that I haven't got figured out... Plenty I'm still unraveling. I have to be the first one to admit the existence of magic before I expect anyone else to do the same.

Lovely lovely life. I have no idea how you function, but I trust your judgment.

Some parting words--If you're ever having tough times, just remember that you're in the first half of a two-part episode.

Love,
Dak

The Cleve

2010-09-18T08:31:00.000-07:00

Cleveland is a bittersweet city.

The downtown area where we live (Alternatively 'Reservation Square' or 'The Apartments Next To The Crack House) is a mix of industrial burnout and magnificent theatre extravaganza. We're literally a block from Playhouse Square, where you can see a classical repertory company one night, the blue man group the next, Billy Elliot after that, then finish off with Louis C.K. stand-up.
The very next day, you could hang out on the corner of Chester and 13th and watch a for-reals drug bust go down.

As I said to one of the other actors here, "I want to start the second season of The Wire, but I might as well just stand on the front steps."

There are wonderful things if you know where to find them, and my "OH GOD ITS MY FIRST TIME IN THIS CITY" jitters have come and gone, so I'm no stranger to taking a stroll down Superior to the restaurants on 4th street--or swinging by Tower City to snag a book at their teensy tiny Borders. As I mosey around, I can't help but notice that most of the skyscrapers here are empty and gutted, with down-and-out homeless folks lying in the alleys with rumpled paper bags cradled under their arms. How they manage to find cover during the sporadic two-hour thunderstorms is beyond me. I wonder if the Safety Ambassadors (bike-mounted windbreakered whistleblowers) are any help. There's a smokers' pole on every corner and 'No Smoking' signs on every bus stop, and cigarette filters EVERYWHERE--as if Hunter S Thompson acid-crawled the streets on his hands and knees.

The diamonds in the rough are there for the taking, though. Last weekend I carpooled with some other cast members to the Westside Market, an indoor farmers' market of overwhelming proportions where you could get a fresh farm-raised chicken directly from the person who plucked it. Like cinnamon honey butter? Check out one of FIVE dairy vendors. Want some obscure Mediterranean cheese? Fresh challa bread? Prosciutto? Caviar? How about a crepe and an espresso while you wait for the Amish guy to wrap a steak for you? Be sure to write a shopping list (I foolishly did not.)

My home-base is a fully furnished one-bedroom apartment with free internet and HBO on demand(!) Every Thursday it gets cleaned for me(!?) and it is literally a 4-minute walk from the rehearsal space(!?!!?!?) As I adapt to the new rhythm here, I enjoy it more and more.

That is to say, I haven't DRIVEN anywhere yet. So....fuck.

Love love love,
Dak

Eventual Return

2010-08-23T13:53:00.000-07:00

As my time here this summer draws to a close, I'm getting about as reflective as I can stand. Right now I'm sitting in the Library(!) stealing internet and sweating through my shirt via intense caffeine buzz. Megan just left for SB, and I'm waiting to go see a movie with Sean later today at the adorable little indie theatre. I've begun to carve out a sort of niche here for the summer, and I'll be sad to leave it. I'm whipping around like a flag, but I'm still at full mast.

Yes.

Boner joke.

Anyway, it's still incredibly strange. It's easy to feel like I'm being pulled by the whims of other people and I have no say in the matter--but that's simply not true. In fact, there is a huge lesson to learn here about remaining grounded (like me in High School! BA-ZING!) It's not about the THINGS. It's not about the circumstances. It's about your reactions. It's easy to dig a hole and hide in it. Its easy to climb into a tin can, scribble 'Do Not Open Until 2025' and live inside until Mrs. Fulcher's 3rd grade class digs you up.

Even in spite of all the changing forces and the constant food processor that is time, I need to make sure I keep my head. It feels like its full of oatmeal right now--and that's not just because I funneled oatmeal into my ears.

Stay thirsty my friends,
Dak

The Hippitty Haps

2010-08-04T16:30:00.000-07:00

What up, negroids?

WELL it's been a long fucking time since I've written anything, so here it beeeee-!

I'm about halfway through my summer stint with ISF, Othello opens in three days, and An Ideal Husband has been running for about a week and a half. I'm having a fantastic time--and I really feel like I'm learning something on this go-round. I've been keeping in shape, reading a whole bunch (Caucasian Chalk Circle, Everything is Illuminated, Naked, the rest of the Scott Pilgrim series), and scraping together a ton of new music.

Also looking at butts. I forget to mention that sometimes-wait no I don't.

Ahhh man. In addition, I grabbed a journal, an idea book, and a sketch book to keep my actual writing skills sharp. Sorry blogosphere-o-web-o-tubes.

In addition to all this I've made a serious effort to have a great time. I've mentioned that before, but its something that's easy to forget. I get wrapped up in the 'implications of things' easily and slipping out of that is often no small feat. Leave that shit on the page and the stage.

I do, however, want to touch on something I've mentioned before. Many many times. Really...more like every goddamn 4 minutes I bring up love and relationships. Now I'm surrounded by several examples of relationships that work and relationships that don't work. In my past experiences I've been of the mind that if it stops working for some ethereal subconscious reason--it wasn't meant to be. Now obviously that doesn't mean you throw in the towel at every red flag, but if there is a profound unhappiness or discontent--that's something I haven't figured out how to solve. Is it a thing you solve? Is the goal of a relationship just so you can kneel in the rubble of your destroyed apartment together, knowing you've conquered all of your own individual idiosyncrasies in order to remain together? You throw your bleeding arm over your partner's broken shoulders and smile at them with what teeth you have left. They kiss you on the cheek and you snuggle up to their ear and say, ever so sweetly, "Stop drinking so much coffee. It gives you bad breath."

I've seen this, and its goddamn terrifying.

Maybe I don't have the irrefutable faith that 'this is the one' yet. Maybe, for the right person, you're supposed to take a bazooka and blow holes in the walls of your home. Burn out in the driveway and send your car careening into a Del Taco, spraying C-Grade ground beef and mild sauce onto the street. Catch doves with your bare hands, twist off their feathers and fashion them into a rope ladder to save your princess. I have definitely felt this way. There's a dusty box of feathers in a closet somewhere, right next to the heart-shaped moon rock I collected MY GODDAMN SELF.

I'm used to the kind of attraction, the kind of love that drives you to insanity. I've gone to great lengths of psychological flagellation for the sake of girls that make me crazy. What's wrong with a normal relationship though? I've been reading a lot of Charles Mee plays about lurve...and there are a few particular moments that laud the idea of just having someone to say 'good morning' to when you wake up. Y'know. Just someone to ask what you want to eat for dinner. Someone to adjust your tie and touch you on the shoulder. Someone to share a movie with. Simple. Sweet. Dependable.

Which--I have to admit--I've had. I've been both hands before. I've been the shoulder to cry on and the crier but at the end of the day I'm not driven to great feats of superhuman excellence.

Jeez, I expect a lot. That could be why the girls that make my heart stop seem so few and far between. I don't just mean make my heart 'skip a beat'. I mean fully and completely stop. I mean I pull out the key and toss it in their pocket when they're not looking--I mean I breathe clouds of mist until I'm near them again--I mean if I can't be with them I begin to sink into the earth because the ground can't hold me up anymore.

Let me end with this...why don't they write a childrens' book in which the princess is actually in love with the dragon?

-Dak

First Love (Charles Mee)

2010-07-31T11:42:00.001-07:00

"I think for me it took so long to be able to love another person
such a long time to grow up
get rid of all my self-involvement
all my worrying whether or not I measured up"

More posts eventually, I swear!

You Is Who You Is And You Ain't Who You 'Round

2010-07-16T10:32:00.000-07:00

Turns out the only thing that can legitimize you is yourself.

'Course that's an easy one--but with preview for An Ideal Husband just around the corner (as in this evening) I've had to really take a look at the reasons WHY I do this. This acting thing, that is. For the past month n' change, I've had the strangest time of being here. During Shakesperience, I really felt like I was part of a group of wandering adventurers, all after the same goal. All chasing the same elusive thing. That thing, I guess, characterized itself when we rolled through places like Dietrich, Idaho (Population: 200) to do a show for every student they could rustle up. Us. Six little nomads in a Penske truck and a Minivan. Maybe I just liked how romantic that sounded.

So now THE SEASON begins. The big ol' summer season with its massive casts and techs and several directors and shows in repertory and Equity hours and out of town actors and the ISF vehicles with 'Bronco Motors' stickers and nights out and days in and rehearsal hours and staggered calls and absolute saturation of incredible talent. I feel I have thoroughly slipped through the cracks. And no--of COURSE that isn't true. Nobody getting paid what I am to do what I do has the right to feel like they've been 'left behind.' All that's happened is I've been forced to take a serious look at the why of the what.

I've thrust a massive personal stake in what I'm doing. For the past month, I've expected this summer season to act as a lever--to catapult me from the between-show-doldrums into some kind of state of utter fulfillment and theatre bliss. I tiptoed into rehearsals feeling confident until the very moment the veterans opened their mouths. Then I tensed up, froze up, and pushed out my lines like a horrible concretey dump. No wonder I felt so dishonest onstage. I WAS. I've been playing the impress game. I've had this ridiculous 'prodigal son finally returning to the land of professional theatre' thing in my head. Y'know. 'LOVE ME, I'M B(L)ACK.'

Silly.

But y'know--I forgive me. "It's all class." (David Alan Anderson, who plays Othello, says that. Brilliant quote.) Totally true. I'm still learning how to do all this. I'm a YEAR into the professional world, after all. Still learning. I mean...hell...I'm still planning to go back to grad school at some point!

So yes, I'm still alive! Making headway. Still dorky. Less hair.

Stay hungry, stay foolish.

Love,
Dak

Yum Yum Sadness Buns

2010-07-06T21:05:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not know, I'm back in Boise! WOOOOTSKIES!

Now that I'm part of a large ensemble with an enormous breadth of talent--its easy for me to go into "Oh boy...I'd better impress everyone or I'm gonna slip through the cracks nobody likes me boo hoo pass the black eyeliner." especially when rehearsing with very talented folks.

Most of which are extremely inclusive. That's the one where they're really friendly to you, right? Yeah, that one.

My pattern is to internalize my utter terror of such a large pond, then go into a spiral of self-loathing that's usually only halted by drinking myself into a stupor and vomiting into a flowerpot/newspaper stand/dogs mouth. A couple of Nebraska Shakes nights ended that way.

Instead though--as I do my best acting in a relaxed environment--I'm going to take this experience exactly as it is and just allow myself to be here and be open with it. I'm by no means a lead--so yeah, I do have to make my rehearsals count. I'm also by no means being judged by anybody. I'm already here...so what the fuck? What else matters? I'm going to give my all during my time and not worry about what so and so thinks of my 'moments'.

Workin' (with a)hard(-on),
Dak

STILL ALIVE

2010-07-06T14:48:00.000-07:00

I'm still alive!

(Real post soon!)

DAYUM. DATS A WHOLE LOTTA HONKIES.

2010-06-20T10:09:00.000-07:00

Memoir title: The Only Black Guy In Boise

It's coming out next week! Pre-order it now!

I'm writing from a coffee/breakfast stop on the outskirts of Downtown Boise, in the linen district. Yeah, I don't know what it means either, but there are bedspreads EVERYWHERE. As you can assume by the title, I'm feeling just the slightest bit out of place. Thankfully though, it has nothing to do with the attitude of the Boise-ites. If anything, their folly would be going out of their way to make me feel comfortable.

"You alright?"
"Yeah no, I'm fine...I'm just a little-"
"Can I get you some...y'know...grits?"
"I'm good--w..how do you know what that is?"
"Some fried chicken? Forty of high life?"
"Really, I'm good. Thanks..."
"I swept the stoop if you want to sit out there and play dice~"
"Really...thank you..but...I'm fine."

Also, I'm pretty sure I saw a drug deal or a hitman being hired on the way over here. Low-rider red sportscar pulls up to unsavory-looking individual (buzz cut, huge shorts, tats, apparent fear of showers) the window rolls down and the two have a hurried conversation in whispers and hisses. Eventually, I see the driver cruise off looking very pleased.

I dunno. Maybe they played a quick game of Yahtzee.

Quarter-Life Crisis Update:
Y'know how I'm usually bitching about wanting to bone down teh hardcores on ALL the girls? For some reason, as of late--I've had little to no...er...drive...whatsoever. In all aspects, really. It would be presumptuous to say "Life hands you a couple of defining moments, and you either rise to the occasion or spend the rest of your life chasing it." because I don't believe that. I think that's an easy way to make things look monstrous and terrifying. I'm sure its more organic than that. Even still--I feel like the lover left on the station platform. I'm still waving my kerchief and its almost sunset.

I know. Pretty gay analogy. I AM pretty gay.

I guess I constantly think I'm fighting. I pretend there are odds. Foes to defeat. Challenges to surmount...when life isn't really like that. Not the whole time. I should take time to relax...but I've just got that BUG still. Not the one that gets me to get up and fight tooth and nail--but the one that makes me tell myself "Dude, you fucked it up. You had your chance." and then mope and shrug. Walk along the train tracks and try to hitch a ride.

WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY ELSE REALIZE HOW AWESOME I AM?

I think that's the ridiculous notion I'm trying to shout.

Also there are a whole lot of white people in here.

Student Of The Month,
Dak

JEEZ MAN.

2010-06-17T22:06:00.000-07:00

WOW.

So I'm definitely glad I got that last post off my chest--but I am NOT feeling that way anymore. I realize that what was stifling me so much was the fact that I was trapping myself. I was all like, "LOOK DeeKs. You ARE NOT ALLOWED to FUCK IT UP BIG TIME."

And y'know what? Eff that ess in the bee.

I am going to fuck up BIG HUGE TIMES. I'm going to bomb like the Luftwaffe (too soon..?) I am going to fall on my face in a heap of doo-doo sticks, and I'm going to stand right back up, pull up my pants, and do it again.

Let me lay it out on the table--
I'm TERRIFIED by the actors I'm working with. They're....like....PROFESSIONAL and shit. I know this comes with the territory. Me being a newcomer and all, I feel like I've got to establish that I belong there...but just my BEING there establishes that I belong there. The director isn't going to pull me aside midway through the run and say, "You know...I really think we made a mistake with you. This no-lines footman tea-serving thing REALLY isn't working out."

I AM BROKE LIKE JOKE. In communist Russia, BANK uses YOU! Oh..wait...that's everywhere... But yeah, I'll get a paycheck next Thursday...so I've REALLY got to make this 40 bucks last. If I'm gonna' go out, I'm going to PRE-GAME like a FACE.

SPEAKING OF GOING OUT--I mentioned the lack of bonage. (Annah, you know who to call if you ever swing by Idaho. ROWR. If you squint and I put on an accent, I am EXACTLY like Ricky Martin oh wait but not gay.) I realize it was just an extra thing to complain about. BESIDES WHO NEEDS ROMANTIC INTERLUDES WHEN YOU HAVE ANIME TO WATCH OH GOD I'M SUCH A FUCKING GEEK.

I vow to fuck it up in a major way, but only as a means to an end. How can you really be immortal if you don't shoot yourself in the face?

METAPHORICALLY--SWEET JESUS--METAPHORICALLY.

Suck My,
Dak

2010-06-17T16:35:00.000-07:00

Every couple of months or so, I get furiously depressed. It's a strange period of time where I'm absurdly anxious and find that I can barely hold up my end of a simple conversation without freaking out enormously over what I'm saying (or not saying.) Menial tasks become monstrous undertakings, and beneath my entire day creeps the notion that I am a walking failure.

This used to happen a lot in college.

Perhaps its a type of static electricity that's generated when expectations rub against reality. For a brief period of time today I managed to calm myself down by saying aloud "Nobody is expecting anything from me." At this moment now, however--in this coffee shop--with a shitty remix of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' playing--with my heart going like a minigun in an action movie--I am vastly, supremely, unhappy.

My routine is: get up, water the lawn, feed the dog, feed the self, shower, go to rehearsal, say very little, go get coffee, watch Dr.Who, walk home, write, game, feed the dog again, eat dinner, fall asleep watching Samurai Champloo. There's nothing inherently psyche-crushing about this...but I cannot, for the life of me, escape that feeling.

Love just sounds fucking asinine to me (and believe me, I definitely tried to force it.)

BWARAHGLGHAHLGHAHAHAHAHHL.

I'm tiring myself with these complaints. Thanks for listening, though. I think the reality is I've just been feeling really lonely recently. I'm not generally one to be on my own side. I have trouble having my own back. I have a huge, fragile ego a lot of the time...so underneath whatever confidence I exude, there's usually a sinister voice--my OWN voice--whispering in my ear that I am absolute crap. That I have no idea what I'm doing, and that I've already failed years ago.

Again--expectation.

BUH. Can I please dig a hole and live in it for a while?

Or...y'know...get laid? That'd be cool, too. It's been several months after all.

Retardedly,
Dak

Grown-up Gamer

2010-06-10T15:28:00.000-07:00

I was extremely lucky to start playing video games in 1985. (Or 1988 I guess...as its difficult to grip a controller as a newborn.) With the resurgence of gaming, thanks almost entirely to Nintendo, games burst through its marginalized niche and became a thing the entire family could enjoy. I got to watch gaming grow up and become what it is today.

Recently however, I've noticed I don't have quite the boner for any and all games as I used to. Age and experience caused me to develop this thing called 'taste'. I realize it takes more than high production values, crazy graphics, and tig ol' bitties to make me play a game now. I like to see things like 'integrity' and 'emotional resonance'. I'm expecting video games to finally sack up and act like every other medium.

A lot of folks my age are also into the indie gaming and art game scene. I understand the frustration with many mainstream games and big production companies pushing people (often huffing and puffing) into these other movements. And yeah, they absolutely have their merits. I don't consider a broad condemnation of the mainstream viable--especially because broad sweeping gestures are often the mark of laziness, cynicism, or BEING FUCKING 14 YEARS OLD (Was that irony just now? Hmm.)

When games are clearly presenting themselves in a way that says "Isn't this FUCKING AWESOME?" I have to roll my eyes. That feels utterly dishonest. Let ME make the decision about whether this is awesome or not. Show me that the main character can air-juggle an opponent using only their nipples and Oscar Wilde quotes, THEN I'll think the game is awesome. There are a few exceptions of games that can get away with this idea, because either they present it with a sense of humor (see No More Heroes, Bayonetta, and Devil May Cry) or they really MAKE you feel like the badass you're playing as (God of War, Zone of the Enders 2, Devil May Cry again..)

I can no longer abide JRPG bullshit. If I see one more goddamn overconfident, socially retarded hero or badass with a mysterious past--I'm going to vomit into a french press. If I see one more goddamn incapable healing chick, super peppy kawaii never-shuts-up motherfucker, or hey here's a robot because hey here's a robot (bonus points if you know what that's from), I am going to punch a building in the head. I understand that a lot of folks play these types of games for the familiarity that these characters (and storylines) possess. It's like, "Okay, when is my town going to be destroyed?" "When is what's-her-tits going to get kidnapped?" "What do they call 'fire' and 'ice' magic in this one?" "When is--" and so on and so on. How about another out-of-left-field ballpunch like Aeris's death or KEFKA FUCKING WINNING midway through the game!? Oh...uh...spoiler alert... Point is, I think those games are selling their audiences short when they aren't surprising them. After all, when do we discover the most about ourselves? Maybe that's asking Densetsu No Buraiken: Blazing Ether to do more then it's ever trying to do from the get-go.

It would require more research to do a broader more sweeping criticism of games-as-of-today...but there you go. THEY YOU FUCKIN' GO, MAN.

Now I'm off to make a lesson plan I mean probably play guitar.

DAK

Off Again

2010-06-06T13:55:00.000-07:00

It's been real, nyuggas--but I'm headed on up to the land of taters and ridiculously good-looking people again.

I had a great time being home for the month-ish, but I admit it will be great to have an income again and be able to hang out outside without burning to a crisp or taking the bus for three hours to see anyone. I've really got to find a 'thing I love to do' while I'm not doing the thing I love to do so I can quit whining about not doing it. The writing is going alright, and I'm actually starting work on another play. Matter of fact, I'm not sure how many finished plays this one will make. At least ten. Maybe two of those are decent, too.

On top of that, I've got to get back up on my webcomicing. Sorry, Doo Doo Thursdays--I like you. I REALLY do...but you take (arguably) hours of effort that I may or may not feel guilty about later.

In other news, I really want a goofy bike helmet. I wonder how tough it would be to get my hands on one once I'm in the Idaho region. Either that Daft Punk model or this weird one. I'll probably just grab one from Bern and decorate it with ridiculous stickers and stencils. Aside from that, I'm packin' for SUMMER, BITCHES.

I own two pairs of shorts...

Also--I think I'm going to have more TIME in the summer than I did during the tour. This means more HANGING OUT WITH CASTIES AND BOISEITES. Bois..Bois-ee-ites...Boys.. Ee..Yites.. Anyhoo--this means ORDERING 2ND EDITION D BOOKS. There are some interested parties...and I could whip up a pretty decent campaign to run while I'm not doing the show/going to coffee shops to talk to the super cute baristas/learning more songs/going to yoga at the Y or something/floating the river/camping up in the mountains/sitting bitch on Luke's bike when we hit up Idaho City for a day trip.

Man...activities out the wazoo.

Love love love,
Dak

Be The Strange You Want To See

2010-06-02T14:47:00.000-07:00

I love hanging out with my buddy, Deebs. It's always somehow really enlightening. Some of the notions expressed during our two days of nearly nonstop shit-shooting:

The world could be bettered simply with consideration and perspective.

We aren't socially ready for the technology we've created.

"Me getting into politics would be like joining the Dark Side to change the Empire."

You must live your beliefs to the absolute fullest, and be ready to support and preach them.

As an individual, you have an inherent duty to your community.

Often I forget that my beliefs are more than just a code that I live by. The whole 'Silly Is The New Sexy' 'Art and Awareness' 'Humor Above All' thing doesn't really fly if I don't completely believe in it.

Hmm.

Anyway, I'll post something funnier later. That's just been on my mind.

DAK!

Eff This Noise

2010-05-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

Excuse me?

Excuse me-

Can I just?

Can I just say this? I'm having a really weird time of things. I would say 'bad', but it's not--really. It's not. It's just...it's really weird. I can be okay with weird. Weird's not bad. They're different.

I'm here at home, where I feel like a powerless lump. I mean--sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I can still accomplish plenty--I just have a hard time not judging the quantifiable bullshit that stacks up. What is it about being home? About being an actor out of work that makes me feel like 'the curses through your teeth'?

My energy is devoid and lacking. My self-consciousness is in full-fucking-force. I am so entrenched in self-aware patterns that I feel like jumping into a lake and sinking to the bottom so I can build a nice flat down there. This stagnating miasma of perceived judgment is making me into a big, dumb, frightened child.

BUH.

It's off my chest. Kinda. I mean...you know me. You know I get like this. Every time you don't speak your mind, you're killing yourself. You are actually dying. When you hold back, that's one less modicum of self that doesn't exist because you've decided it doesn't belong.

I'm not made for this. I realize that. I GET it. But...but what NOW?

Time to create the world I want to live in.

Th...that's the secret. Create it. Fuck em if they can't take a joke.

I've spent an extremely long time railing against the 'way things are' but begrudgingly accepting them in the end as inevitabilities.

Fuck that shit. I can't abide it any longer.

Good riddance to bad bullshit.

Dak

I AM THE DECEMBERISTS.

2010-05-26T20:22:00.001-07:00

If only. Here's another cover. This time its "Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect."

Eventually I'll upload something original/in my range.

Optional Courses

2010-05-26T11:22:00.001-07:00

I'm beginning to look at this break between shows as less of an "OH MY GOD, I AM AN UNCREATIVE GODDAMN LUMP." and more of a chance to take those optional classes I didn't have time for when I had no time. Classes like-

BLOGGING 101 with Dr. Internet
Course Overview: Learn to post frequently on ALL the blogs you manage. Develop the ability to wring halfway decent writing out of your brain even when you don't think you can. Realize that you ALWAYS have something to say--even when you don't know who you're speaking to.

BIKE REPAIR 102 with Dr. Diamondback
Course Overview: Continue knowledge of bike repair and maintenance. Do not give up when a problem shows itself. Fix the shit yourself.

SURVIVING WITHOUT TECHNOLOGY (MacGuyvering Technology) 10 with Dr. HP
Course Overview: Jerry-rig a way for your broken laptop to still be useful. Learn that old LCD monitors just burn out on occasion. Laugh at yourself.

ALGEBRA 2

SOCIALIZING 205 with Dr. Friends
Course Overview: Focusing on awareness around your friends. See them for their potential and try to help them realize it. Learn to do the same with strangers. Slowly build the world you want to be a part of.

RELATIONSHIPS 210 with Dr. Heartstring
Course Overview: Get realistic about what you are looking for relationship-wise. Learn to not force anything just because you 'might as well' or because it 'seems like it would work'.

I'm also taking 'Financial Planning', 'Doctor Who and You', 'Intermediate Beginner Self-Taught Guitar' and an hour-a-day exercise thing. All requirements for my LIFE major. Luckily, they don't boot you if you take too many credits.

Dak

Another Song!

2010-05-23T16:40:00.000-07:00

Or rather, a RE-RECORDING of a song I did. It's Billy Liar again! Now with more....acousticness. And multitracking.

I recorded it with my internal laptop mic, so the quality isn't great, but here it be anyway!
EDIT: Re-re-mastered. I quieted down that weird low harmony in the chorus, because I didn't like it all that much--but it still had sentimental value.

DAK

Shakespearebomb

2010-05-21T17:01:00.000-07:00

Or 'Shakesbomb' for short.

I would love to remount some of the Shakespeare scenes I performed (and had the pleasure of watching) in large public areas--in a sort of flash mob fashion. How awesome would it be to fake a funeral procession through 3rd Street headed by a wailing mourner--only to have it interrupted by a limping hunchback who shouts "Stay you that bear the corse and set it down!"

The biggest difficulty for me in putting this together is finding time to REHEARSE with whoever wants to do these scenes, and finding a way to announce them, and then bookend them. The scenes themselves will be SUUUPER fun, and a great chance to explore performing Shakespeare in a 'natural' setting. Groundlings n' all. Hell, why not record it and use it for the next AntiApathy?

Thus far I'm looking at--

Richard III Act 1 Scene 2 (As mentioned)

Much Ado About Nothing Act 4 Scene 1 "Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?"

The Tempest Act 3 Scene 1 "There be some sports are painful, and their labor Delight in them sets off..."

Romeo and Juliet Act 2 Scene 2 (The motherflipping BALCONY SCENE, NYUGGAAZ)

Measure for Measure Act 3 Scene 1 "Death be a fearful thing/And shamed life a hateful."

Snapplecakes? SNAPPLECAKES. I'm re-reading Richard the third right now, just to get a better sense of it. MAN how awesome would it be to hock a casket through Santa Monica and perform that effing scene? Yeah, I know.

Dak

Embroiled

2010-05-18T11:28:00.000-07:00

Love is a left-brain/right-brain thing--for instance:

Does it belong, in its most beautiful and spiritual successes, to us all?
Are its boundaries merely obtuse and arbitrary? Does love always win because love is the goal? Are jealousies and pangs simply counter-intuitive to love's beautiful seamless course?

Or does love belong?

Is it a thing to be fought for, tooth and nail, until it's dragged--unharmed--from a scorched and bloody battlefield? Are the scars and broken bones, the gallows humor of "It almost didn't work out after I got drunk and made out with so-and-so.." the things that make it stronger? Can you simply double and redouble your assault against a country already embroiled in battle in order to turn the tide in your favor?

Must I screw on that plumed helmet, hoist my sword, and go drag Helen back by the hair? (I hear she's into that)

Whatever the case, it'll take quite the Eurydice before I enter the underworld.

Dak

Backstories

2010-05-13T20:03:00.001-07:00

Albert Edward Brown, my dad, kidnapped me when I was five (or was it four?) My brother too. Took us both.

This isn't something I usually talk about, though I've gotten a bit more comfortable mentioning it to certain people. It's actually a significant part of who I am...or what I refer to as "Dakotah Brown backstory volume 1". That said, I realize that it's starting to really affect me again and I feel like I need to deal with it. Dredge it all back up. Try to get to the bottom of this strange train of negativity and anxiety. Lately, I haven't given that event the weight it most certainly deserves.

I forget the details more and more as I get older, but what I'll try to piece together what I remember--

My family was living in Santa Cruz at the time-on Seaside Avenue, house number 144. A teeny little place with a teeny little yard. Quiant, but we loved it. As a matter of fact, it was on the nicer end of the places we'd lived in during that time, which included a motel, several relatives' houses, and a dorm room at UCSC (we'd make microwavable pancakes in the common room in the mornings and play nintendo in the afternoon.) I remember planting apple seeds in the back yard with my brother. We were all hope.

I was prescient in those days. I can't tell when the switch happened, or why--or even if, but what it comes down to is that one night I had a nightmare that my brother and I were in the back of our old Volkswagon bug, driving away from the house with my father chasing the car and my mom running after it.

A few months later it happened.

From there on out it gets hazy. I don't have the greatest memory anyway--as those of you who know me are aware. You generally have to tell me things a few times in order for it to click. I never considered that it could've been a defense mechanism of some kind. Well, anyhow-

We traveled across the country. We drove and flew from the east coast to the west coast. For eight months, we were on the run. Literally, my father would make us duck our heads down when we went through tollbooths in case the attendant recognized us from the wanted posters our mother had been putting up anywhere she could. We avoided police officers, zipped through airport gates, and a handful of times we hid in the closet at our aunt's house when the maid would come to clean up--just to be sure we wouldn't be spotted. Several mornings were spent watching my father hurriedly throw together something for us to eat before we headed out on the interstate at 4-something in the morning just so we could keep moving.

Some scattered memories from back then:

"Can I call Mom?" I ask, late one night. My brother is in the living room--we were in the middle of playing Mario 3.
"Sure, sure Kokanutty-buddy."
"Okay."
I go back. We beat Giant Land. I come ask again.
"When can I call Mom?"
"Later, man. Later."
Later.
My brother and I beat the game and went to bed. I was never allowed to call.

Getting beaten for dropping a plate. Feeling confused and powerless.

My brother raising a fuss in the bathtub. My father thrust a finger at his chest to emphasize a point, accidentally cutting my brother with his fingernail.

Playing with a switchblade I found in the back of my father's car. Cutting my finger. Getting frantic at the sight of all the blood.

Being in court. Knowing that something serious is going to happen. My dad, solemn, on one side of the room. I'm terrified that I'd never see him again. That our mother would 'take us away'. Our mother, who Da told us was 'The Devil'. Literally. "Your mother is Beelzebub. She is the devil." Even when our mother got custody of us again, he would send letters to that effect. He was righteous for a few years. Tried to sway us with slanderous letters, phone calls, Game Genie.

"Who are we running away from?"
"The police." Says Da.
"What are they gonna to do if they get us?"
"They're gonna' take you away from me."

Standing in the back area of an apartment complex in Baltimore. My brother, seven, gets assaulted by a thirteen-year-old, James Johnson. I cry. I'm four. I'm scared and furious. My father comes out to 'save us'. Chases the kid down and loses him in a church. Drives around the block until he finds him again--gets out of the car and forces an apology.

I don't like talking about this. I don't. I really did seal it off for a reason. The more I think about it, the more furious I become. Did I mention that the last communication I've had from my father was a postcard with a question mark on it? Roughly ten years ago, I received it. My father. More harm than good. More harm than good.

That's what I tell myself.

I've been waiting for twenty years for him to come to his senses. For him to do SOMETHING. ANYTHING. The SLIGHTEST FUCKING GESTURE of...I dunno, repentance? Apology? He doesn't just have the excuse of NOT BEING AROUND. That shit doesn't fly anymore.

He left my family poor and my brother and I broken. We missed a school year, and our mother missed our birthdays. We missed her on our birthdays.

Good deal for him, though. Eight years of fathering, than PEACE. BYE! I'm off to slander your mom for dating a white guy, then go marry a white woman! Also remember that your mom is evil and I'm always right! Enjoy your anxiety! Try to feel inadequate around everyone you meet!

I've spent the better part of my life looking for some kind of model, some figure to follow so I don't doom myself to those habits and patterns. In the end, I've had to take bits and pieces from people I look up to...the rest I make up as I go along. As of now, I definitely do NOT want to have children...but if the parenting bug ever hits me--I'm going to make sure I am an exponentially better father than I had. HAD being the operative.

Yeah....this was angry. To tell you the truth though, it's mostly just sad. The whole experience left me feeling wounded and forgotten, but I'm so used to the wound its like a security blanket now. I clutch it tightly when I'm alone. I have for two decades.

It's not something I'll get over quickly. I haven't, as you can see.

But-

But...maybe I can start the slow process of accepting it. Accepting this is part of who I am. Not shutting my eyes to the fact that my father's gone. Accepting, even, that he won't make the effort to be part of my life again...and while I won't consider it optimal...it is okay. Yes, my world feels broken sometimes...but that's not 'how life is'. That's just residue from a world that broke ages ago. Things aren't the same as they were before. Life is new. It can be. I can be.

I can't spend the rest of my life looking for approval from a ghost. I have a model right here in the mirror.

Rock on.

Love,
Dakotah Edward Brown

Increased Workplace Productivity

2010-05-11T09:30:00.000-07:00

Guys, guys--

No...seriously...guys...

I've been slacking on my blogs. Just...slackin' ALL over the place. I've decided to update Silly is the New Sexy more frequently, and I'll kick up Doo Doo Thursdays and AntiApathy up as well. From here on out, I'll update this guy twice a week (Tuesdays and Thursdays) and the others once a week (Wednesday and Friday respectively.)

Now that THAT'S over, why don't I show you what I know you came to see.

Marvel at the illustrious Dick Slang.

This may, in fact, be the most uncomfortable YouTube clip I've ever seen. Let's dissect, shall we?

Firstly, evidently it's not gay if you yell 'BAP!'

Also--there is a moment in each gentleman's...oh...let's call it their 'Freestyle Section' in which they shake their junk around for an extended, awkward, silent period of time.

Here's my favorite guy. He clearly has aspirations beyond mere 'Dick Slanging'. He begins to let loose a little and starts to go all 'Backup Dancer for Beyonce' for a second...then becomes sort of uncomfortably embarrassed when he realizes his friends are all watching, and ends his solo prematurely.

Conclusion--I hope they do Bar Mitsvahs.

Dak

The Ol' Ball N Chain

2010-05-04T23:16:00.000-07:00

BALL AND CHANG? (If you get it, you are a nerd. Welcome. This is a safe space.)

So a friend of mine wrote this regarding her newfound singletude: "No sad face, just happy faces here. Empowered faces. Finaly free faces."

Well...

Well well well...

She is absolutely right, too. Now why did this little comment strike me so much? Well, dear reader, its because it asks a question of something I have been taking for granted for the longest time. For damn near 20 years, I have been spending a ton of time and a ton of energy coddling my relationships with people, romantic and otherwise. I took this super-single thing to be some character assessment. I used it to grab some good ol' "Woe is me" energy. Some "Boy, if only I had a sweetheart, I could etc etc etc". But know what? Fuck that! Forget it!

And hell, nothing against relationships and people in relationships and people in FANTASTIC relationships--I will however no longer be envious of y'all.

My primary reason for being here is me. And I don't mean that selfishly. I simply hadn't had the desire to be very me-centered for a while.

I've got a horrible habit of hanging out with people and just sort of shutting down. Being marginally clever and interesting, but letting them take the reins of the interaction instead of feeling the complete freedom of doing or saying whatever the fuck comes to mind at the time...it's because I was so focused on assuming what they wanted from me, and then trying to accomplish that. Sit down, you're rockin' the boat and all that shit.

I'm not going to worry about being 'liked' anymore. Like I tell the kids at the Othello Q&A sessions, "Don't try to be a 'good actor'. Be a hard worker."

It's been a long run, but the show's over. I've gotta' toss this costume and go run naked through the rain. It's been a while.

Poe of tree.

2010-04-27T20:58:00.000-07:00

"You can't beat this guy," you say over your shoulder, "he's invincible."
"Let me try it-"
"Man, I swear. I've tried everything."
"Yeah, but I haven't."
"Suit yourself." shrug, return to your own game.

A pile of edamame shells and a 'WTF' expression. A face I've never seen under a pile of hair that I don't recognize. You're a globetrotter, you're a conquistador, you're a supplement, you're a salve, you're an actor out of work, I think I love you, I think I'm mad, etc.

"I'll try walking past him. Y'know, ignoring it."
"Doesn't work."
"FUCK."
"Yeah, he just comes back later on."
"Really?"
"Yeah, man. I stopped playing because of him."

I'm trying to put the game down, but its one I've been playing since around third grade. Mrs. Fulcher's class, I believe. I found your nose/wedgie picking endearing, and I left your birthday party because I was terrified of rollerskating. I hope to Bob that I've evolved in SOME way.

A bit. A leetle bit.

Except now I'm digging through your old memories again. The ones from back in the DEEZY fo SHEEZY. For a while, I liked to imagine myself in black and white--with a pencil-thin mustache and a cigarette case, putting on my fedora and saying some quip like, "Don't fall for me, kid. I'm just a heap of trouble." before turning around and walking into the rain. Yeah, I'm THAT guy.

Except...y'know...right now...when I'm not.

"This boss is goddamn impossible."
"Dude, I've been telling you that for the last hour."
"Why would they put him IN here?"
"I dunno. Probably so you can't do anything but think about beating it."
"Those clever fucks."
"I've got like...way better games if you want."
"No, hold on--I just thought up a new strategy.."

Unlike Lisa, you're not TEEEARING ME APAAART. Like Wile E Coyote, I wouldn't know the first thing to do if I caught that roadrunner. But the NAGGING. And the...time limit..? I'm trying to learn the lesson here, but it's like the lesson is, "HAH. You silly fuck. See what happens? Now go do something else."

"I HATE THIS BOSS."
"You don't hate him."
"I DESPISE HIM. I WANT NOTHING BUT MISFORTUNE FOR THIS BASTARD."
"No you don't, you're just frustrated."
"BUT-"
"Why don't you put in another game, like I said?"
"I don't want another game."
"Uh huh."
"I...I dunno. I really like this game."
"Would you die if you could never play it again?"
"I guess not, no. 'Vase Seekers: Alpha' is kind of a weird title, anyway."
"Bad translation."

/enigmatic jumble

The Centennial

2010-04-22T10:25:00.000-07:00

100 POSTS UP ON THIS BEEZY!!!

And now--for your personal pleasure--ONE HUNDRED RANDOM FACTS ABOUT MY EXISTENCE.

1. I did not know how to properly shop for jeans until a few weeks ago.

2. Earthbound AND Mother 3(OH GOD, SPOILERS) make me cry.

3. I watch an episode of AVGN nearly every night to get to sleep.

4. My two hottest cartoon characters, Princess Jasmine and Gadget Mouse.

5. In middle school, I was involved in a focus group for Whell Of Fortune 2000--I earned 20 bucks an hour to bike to the Sony building and play with the gadgets they made.

6. I can BARELY distinguish tastes in wine.

7. I HATE whining, being moved out of the way, and dodgy internet connections.

8. I LOVE closet dorks, hilarious shirts, and bands that have a sense of humor.

9. I am terrified at coming up with 91 more random facts about me.

10. I have drawn more comics than I can even remember--but I barely have any of them anymore.

11. Oh hey, one of those comics was called 'Zeto' about a clone who was sent in the past to assassinate so and so except he failed so six other clones were sent to finish the job but oh wait they run into Zeto and attack him and like there's something called the 'Zero Dimension' that only Zeto can access hey also he has a sociopath twin brother with wings who he fights at the very end and..and...

12. Until very recently, I never wrote scripts for my comics, as you can guess.

13. I am a closet hippie and have a soft spot in my heart for hippies. I grew up in Santa Cruz, and I love tarot and incense. Don't tell anybody.

14. Using RPGMaker, I've made about 15 or so games. A few favorites include: one that starred me and my friends in an alternate universe because I opened a portal there by accident, one that starred a side character from one of my zillion comics, one about a townsperson who killed the main hero of the game--thusly fucking everything up forever, and one called "Don't get the life".

15. I go through phases in which I'll listen to THE SAME SONG OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER again. And no, not in the healthy way--in the "Really, fucker? Do I, as your roomate, need to continue to be saturated with this madness?" The answer is: yes. Yes sir, you do. Pick up your socks.

16. If I like you, I will call you 'Pee-pee' or 'Poo-poo' or some word that begins with a 'B'. Buster, Bustercakes, Buster-Bonanza, Biggle-Butts, etc.

17. I am going to marry Regina Spektor, Annie Clark, or Princess Zelda. Preferably some combination of the three.

18. My sense of direction is spotty at best--so driving in San Francisco is just comedic.

19. I can't turn off my word-punning or rhyming thing. I tried, but I can't do it. If I begin giggling for no reason, it's because some word thing was hilarious to me (AND NO ONE ELSE.)

20. I grew up on RnB and Motown.

21. I am an enormous Michael Jackson fan. Its hereditary. My mom used to make Jackson 5 collages with her sisters, in addition--there was an old 'Michael Jackson Moonwalker Chocolate Bar' in our freezer for about a decade.

22. Oh hey, I also might marry Fiona Dourif. Who? Brad Dourif's daughter. How do I know her? I..er...waited on her at CPK...LOOK WE'RE GETTING MARRIED SHUT UP.

23. I'm going to start writing more letters--and calling people more often. I wish I did already, but I'm going to start now.

24. I had a miniature freakout when I turned 25. I was thinking "Fuck, man...do I have to settle down? Do I have to hurry up and get married to someone?" I got over that. Quickly.

25. With certain people I meet-I feel INSTANTLY comfortable around. I don't know what determines that, but it just happens. Usually with girls.

26. When exercising, I am entirely mind-over-matter. I thought I lost the ability to do 100 push-ups until I pretended that I was going to do 300 and 100 wasn't so bad at all.

27. Back in elementary school--my best friend Johnny would never eat the brownie's he bought. He'd start to nibble on them and then get bored and give them to me. I liked how this worked out.

28. Oh hey, speaking of Johnny--for years, we would play Power Rangers or X-Men together. He was always the leader, and I always didn't care who I played.

29. In fifth grade--I still wasn't done playing pretend. My friends and I declared the old wooden junge gym 'The Epoch' and would act out scenarios using characters from videogames and cartoons.

30. Don't tell me I could 'never' do something. I will eventually prove you wrong. Unless it's "You could NEVER be a rapist."

31. I still believe in magic. Not the 'wingardium leviosa' kind--but the kind of inexplicable magic that makes us create, think, and fall in love. I believe that gut feelings are to be taken EXTREMELY SERIOUSLY.

32. Current weaknesses include: Punk girls, nice butts, irreverent comics, blazers, 2D fighting games, amazing books, and fire damage.

33. My future mode of transportation will be 'jetpack'.

34. My current mode of transportation is 'whatever works'.

35. I think too much. Like...waaaay too much.

36. I LOVE swimming. Holy crap, you don't even know.

37. Once I get over my initial fears/doubts about a new artistic pursuit, I generally excel and enjoy it greatly.

38. I like giving money to panhandlers, but I prefer giving them food.

39. I think bodily functions are hilarious, and the sooner we can become comfortable around them, the sooner we can talk about really interesting stuff...even though...poop is pretty interesting.

40. Every third thought I have is sexual. (COOKIES, BUKOWSKI, INTERCOURSE, ADAM BRODY, WORLD CUP, BONAGE...etc.)

41. I have a twisted sense of humor that I got from my mom's side. It's saved me in a lot of difficult emotional situations.

42. Sometimes I poop with such ferocity that my back cracks.

43. I'm terrified of heights and massive structures...something about incredible mass is incredibly imposing. (THAT'S WHAT SHE..)

44. I'm a sensitive guy. And by that, I mean my teeth, eyes, and skin are hyper-sensitive. I don't know why. I think I'm Spider Man.

45. When people ask me about my favorite actors--I have a lot of difficulty answering them. I'm horrible with celebrity names and faces. I do like John Malkovich, though.

46. I LOVE MANUAL LABOR. As a generally artistic person, it feels great to get my hands dirty and get some stank goin'. As much as I'd bitch about it, I'd secretly enjoy every single minute of it.

47. I'll still play DDR if I come across a machine, though I'm nowhere near as good as I used to be.

48. For a long time I was terrified that people would discover I was a geek...that was until I realized you could be a geek and still get laid.

49. I think I was a better singer back in high school.

50. WE'RE HALF WAY THERE.

51. I really enjoy clubbing. Its totally absurd most of the time, and that's why I love it.

52. I have a pretty strong sense of smell...that's how I become attracted to people too.

53. I took Tae Kwon Do briefly during pretend college. It was an utterly frustrating experience. I'd love to take it again now that I have nothing to prove.

54. If I get a dog, I'm going to name it Interceptor, Gunwoofers, Boney, or Poppy.

55. Before I die, I have to play Hamlet.

56. Oh hey--I'd also love to put on Woyzeck again.

57. THEATRE COMBO--I also want to do a production of One For The Road.

58. I love it when people bust out of their shell and allow themselves to be goofy, whimsical, or vulnerable. It is a quality of art that brings these emotions to the surface.

59. The current contents of my backpack: A Royal Shakespeare Company Journal, four mechanical pencils, one ballpoint pen, two highlighters, a four gig thumb drive, a wacom tablet, a leather weekly organizer, a broken razr phone (snapped it in half for fun when I got my new one), two granola bar wrappers, a clown nose, a sunglasses case, an uneaten package of breadsticks from a salad bar, and one fritos wrapper. The current contents of the desk I'm writing at: one HP mini netbook, one hardbound sketchbook/journal, an empty plastic cup, two napkins, an issue of the Idaho Statesman, one ballpoint pen, and one pair of aviator glasses. The current contents of my person: one wallet (containing, most interestingly, about 12 different hotel keys), one Sony Ericsson cellular phone, and a set of keys (one for my bike, one for my house, one for my host family's house, one for the Idaho Shakespeare Company minivan, one for the now defunct green Ford explorer my parents gave me, and a Woodstocks Bottle Opener.)

60. I hate wearing shorts. I don't know why.

61. I read kinda' slowly.

62. I used to be obsessed with 'Whatchamacalit' bars.

63. I don't want to have children.

64. I'm not even sure if I want to get married.

65. Children are ADORABLE. Partly because they're so freaking transparent. "PAY ATTENTION TO ME!" They'll shout. Loves.

66. This is what I'm listening to right now.

67. A lot of the current fashion trends look really really stupid to me. Maybe this is what growing up is like.

68. I want to learn to surf--because HOW AWESOME.

69. I'm going to commit to go to more concerts because HOW AWESOME.

70. I want to learn parkour as well because HOW AWESOME.

71. I can't nap midday. If I do, I wake up like some confused time-traveler. "H..how long have I been gone?" "I dunno, couple hours maybe?" "DEAR GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE!?"

72. I am not patriotic. I don't think our country stands for anything anymore. We fall into the trap of being a nation of people who are out for themselves--and we teach one-another that this is right. (I allow myself this one cynical outlook.)

73. I feel most comfortable around artists.

74. My favorite nicktoon is a three way tie between Hey Arnold, Rugrats, and Doug.

75. If I could go back in time and give myself some sagely advice, it'd be "Calm the fuck down, you're gonna be fine."

76. In Stevie Wonder's "Do I Do", I've always felt weird about the opening line "When I see you on the street..." Did-did he write that? Does...does he know?

77. Okay, now I'm listening to this. I TOTALLY EMPATHIZE WITH IT.

78. I hate the smell of gasonline. I've found that people are completely on one side or the other with that scent.

79. I can't craft to save my life. Making things for people is an uphill battle, but I always wipe my brow and enjoy what I've done once I'm finished. A lot like pooping.

80. I never ate paste.

81. Sarcastic discontent will NEVER take the place of aloof confidence.

82. Religious views: CHOCOLATE.

83. I once killed a man over penne paste.

84. BWAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA--okay yeah, I'm running out of things. I thought I was going to be cool enough to throw that one in there and continue with real facts. No can do.

85. I don't like wearing bright colors. Or rather...I didn't USED to. I do now.

86. I only recently discovered that going on stage relaxed...almost meditative...produces the best results for me. It allows me to react completely naturally in the moment and USE the text.

87. I consider myself an actor, writer and artist...not a musician yet.

88. I'm going back to Japan sometime in the next few years. I've made this decision just now.

89. Right yeah, I'll start re-learning Japanese too.

90. OH MAN TEN MORE--Hey I'm starting to watch Dr.Who.

91. After guitar, I'd like to learn drums--so I can multitrack on my songs. I'll be like a one man White Stripes....except better than the White Stripes. Everyone's better than the White Stripes.

92. I'm usually clean shaven, but I think I may join the beard side.

93. I get along much better with my family when I don't live with them...but I think it's like that for everyone.

94. I literally just heard someone say "What's new with YOU?" TOMMY WISEAU MOMENT.

95. Start paying attention to the number 417 and you'll see it EVERYWHERE.

96. I used to be terrified of the beach, but not anymore.

97. Yeah, not getting married--the more I think about that prospect, the better I feel about it.

98. Every since I shaved my head, I've begun collecting hats.

99. I oscillate between being terrified of death--and being completely okay with it.

100. I am a raging full-fledged hedonist that loves extremes as much as he loves the quiet pleasures of the outdoors and the sun.

OH SNAP. There go some facts! EAT EM UP, YUM YUM.

Love love love
Dakotah '100 Blogspot Posts' Brown

Pre-Hump Day

2010-04-13T18:21:00.001-07:00

It's been wacko, lately. Wacko good though.

We're halfway through week eight of this ten-week shenanigan, and I already know I'm going to miss the holy bajeesus out of my lovely Othellites. Well...okay no, they're not MINE per se--but anyway-

We found ourselves at Arts West school (for the Performing and Visual Arts) for today's second performance. Our steampunkish set barely squeezed into the performance space with suck-in-your-gut room to spare for the audience. The fights were certainly in-your-face. A knife is pretty dangerous-looking thing up on stage...but when we're whirling it around and you have to scoot your feet out of the way or else lose an aglet, it's seriously FUCKING BADASS. And terrifying...I assume...I mean, the knife is actually the safest part of our show if you're the one swinging it around or dodging it. (OH MY GOD I USE SO MANY HYPHENS.)
After the performance, some faculty members rounded the cast up to inform us they had an open spot for a drama teacher...that they'd actually found their for-sure candidate, but after watching our show--they wanted to re-open the offer and extend it to us. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for David Ketchum (our Cassio/Brabantio) who already sent in an application--which I'm certain is fabulous/covered in glitter.

THINGS I NEED
1. A Bicycle
2. Some Shirts
3. To Squeeze a Butt (Ongoing)
4. A PS3
5. 2 PS3s!!???

Also I WROTE A SONG!!!!11!11!one!11juan

I'll upload it as soon as I make a recording of it that I actually like. That'll...mmm...that'll probably be a while. I never thought I'd be able to WRITE a song. It's one of the many artistic paths I've never felt super certain or confident in, but now--SHABAM!! And WHAT? I'm working on ANOTHER ONE!? FUCK YOU, DAKOTAH BROWN! FUCK YOU!

Love love love glove,
Dax-B

Last Night. A free-verse poem.

2010-04-10T08:39:00.000-07:00

"...and I see Miguel's face through the gray haze of junk smoke-" writes William S Burroughs. I'm reading Naked Lunch at a bar around midnight. I was on my way home from my friends' apartment. We'd watched 'Zombie Strippers' a short while ago (Unlike Wiseau's epic tour-de-force, it knows and revels in its badness.)

The kitchen ran out of portobello mushrooms. My burger is rendered impossible. I shriek and heave a chair across the room.

"Dude," says the head chef (he's got me in a full Boston Crab) "they're just mushrooms." I shrug with resignation and snap his neck.
"May I have a chicken wrap, then?"

I order a beer. It's my...forth...? Fifth. Fifth drink tonight. It attacks my palate with a ferocity known only to feral creatures. I take intermittent sips of refreshing cucumber water.

"Th..there's a vegetable in my drink." I mutter. Nobody replies.

A girl sits next to me. Her name is Jessica. She's moving to Denver, staying at the Hampton, and enjoys going to hot springs, electronica, and growing pot. She tells me about the law of attraction by bending over, spreading her cheeks and revealing her luscious butthole.

"No, I'm good." I shovel sweet potato fries into my mouth. She holsters her leather cheerio.

"You see, you can manifest anything you desire if you think about it for at least 68 seconds."
"SIXTY-EIGHT!" I pump my fist in the air.
"Wh-?"
"SIXTY-NINE!" I shout. "HEY-YOOOO!" I'm thrashing into a giggle fit.
People are starting to scoot away from me at the bar....which is weird...because the stools are bolted to the floor. A Korean janitor begins cleaning up the dead head chef.
"Its about saying 'yes' to life, y'know?" Jessica nods. I order what she's drinking. The bartender stares at Jessica's drink, looks at my empty hand, then gingerly takes the cocktail from her and pushes it into my grip. She looks at me as if to say, "Was that right?" I wave my hand in front of her face like Obi-Wan Kenobi. She nods knowingly and begins to remove her shirt.
"Wait, no...that's not-" I stammer. The bartender cocks her head and scowls, then goes about her normal business, shirt half-undone.

"If you wanna' go hot tubbing, I'm just in the Hampton here, downtown. I'll text you or something tomorrow." Jessica says.
"Who the hell are you?" I demand.
"We-we were just talking...for like an hour."
"Oh, that's right."
"I was saying, we-"
"I thought you were someone else."
"No," she giggles uncomfortably, pushing hair out of her eyes, "I've been sitting here the whole time."
"Let me get this straight-" I adjust my glasses which are non-existent, "you're Bruce Wayne AND Batman?" I pronounce it 'BAT-mən' like a Jewish last name. She stares at me.
"I don't really know what you're talking about anymore."

And really...do ANY of us?

More Stuff!

2010-04-06T06:13:00.000-07:00

'Silly Is The New Sexy'.

Everyone I've ever looked up to has had an incredible sense of humor and an amazing attitude of 'lightness'. They seemed to only take the enjoyment of life seriously. They don't have that trendy adversarial relationship with life that's so in fashion in comfortable societies. I realize that I haven't been quite the paragon of this philosophy either. And yes--obviously it's something I can't help all the time--but it IS something I want to be. The opposite of despair is hope and lightness.

Right?

And I'm not talking about denial, either. That's lame. "EVERYTHING'S GREAT ITS ALL GREAT SUPER GREAT HAHHAHAHAHA-" that just acknowledges how terrified you really are. But--really--the world is a more beautiful place than it is terrible.

And lastly--

--butts. Because I haven't mentioned fantastic butts in the past few posts.

Spring Sprang Sprung

2010-04-04T18:04:00.000-07:00

And suddenly, I can't shake the feeling of giddy excitement. It's like I'm crackling the plastic off of a brand new Super Nintendo game. Hurting can remind you that you still feel. It can MAKE you feel amazing, alive, and wonderful. That's what I'm going through right now.

Somehow, it's all starting over again.

Well then-

2010-04-03T14:36:00.001-07:00

It's been a while since I've had a 'listen to one song over and over because ZOMG feelings' moment. Currently, it's this Sufjan Stevens number.

Gaaaaaay(?)

I feel like the last ten seconds of Dr.Horrible's sing along blog. Despite the fantasticness of my job. Despite the security. Despite the normalcy and the routine--some new interesting painful sad stuff is coming up for me.

I'm starting to feel stupid as I write this. So I'm finished.

EDIT: No wait, here's something.

Evidently I'm at the point in my life where my peers are having children. That's an utterly terrifying proposition. Like...okay...firstly, you've FOUND someone you want to CREATE A HUMAN BEING with? Whaat? Like...that..that's a life. That's an entire LIFE, dude. Also--alot of folks my age are in the midst of long-term relationships. They're cultivating. They've been at this 'life' thing for a while. And like--no, I don't want to have their life...I definitely don't. I couldn't, frankly...but....guh, it's just strange. Like ten years ago when all my friends were getting their drivers' permits. It's like that. But with...like...babies. And spouses.

Is that what you do when you hear time's ticker?

Sketch N' Betch.

2010-03-28T14:58:00.000-07:00

So I picked up a Wacom tablet yesterday so I could draw stuff DIGITALLY.

BEST PRESENT TO MYSELF EVER.

Check it out.

Love,
Dakotah

Even Love The Cool Kids

2010-03-20T19:50:00.000-07:00

In addition to being an awesome band name, it's something I have to constantly remind myself. Considering that Silly Is The New Sexy is my general philosophy--a lot of 'Cool People' slip through the cracks.

I think cool is stupid as hell, so I don't cut it any slack. Consequently, I look down on the phenomenon as a whole and tend to castigate those who buy into it. It's just as unfair as cool people doing the same. It comes from a fear of acceptance. Write them off before they write you off--essentially it reveals the underlying need to be found just as cool.

But I ain't. I won't ever be, and I don't want to be.

And shit, it's individual anyway. Utterly. Why am I going to expend any energy trying to compare the whole of my being to anyone/anything else? I think swing dancing is cool. I think hilarious videos are cool. I think Gurren-Lagann is cool. I think the large hadron collider is cool. I think buying an old military decal and pinning it to my hunting cap is cool. Also; goths who are totally nice, swanky coffee shops, irreverent webcomics, steampunk, poetry, Shakespeare, and fantastic butts are all cool.

Theory: Human beings crave additional methods of measurement--things that aren't as simple as physique--things that can tip the scales in the everyman's favor. Things we can ultimately control.

So we made 'cool'...and the hipsters/bros/thugs/shopgirls said it was good.

It's an expired concept. It's time to trade it for something like 'honesty' or 'enthusiasm'.

Dorkily yours always,
Dakotah

That Competitive Edge

2010-03-18T06:33:00.001-07:00

Had a revelation this morning.

Somehow I'd let myself begin to think I'd won. Or not necessarily won per se--but that I was at least somewhere around the 84% completion mark....as if I was waiting for my Trophy to unlock on the main menu somewhere. I'd made a final push through life and now I could take it easy, because--hell--I'd already put in all my effort! Anything I do NOW involves getting called back out of retirement. I'm Solid Snaking this shit. Shadow Moses, BITCH.

Or so I thought.

Suddenly I realized that I'm not even CLOSE to 'done'. Percent complete? ZERO.

And that's AMAZING. Post-game is a great time to relax...to ease up on that competitive edge. But not NOW. NOW is the opposite! I've let myself slack and I'm only JUST realizing it. After a whirlwind three years--easily the most difficult and amazing years of my life--I started to lean on the wall and catch my breath. Fate, however, has different plans for me. It is SO FAR from over that I laugh at how I could even pretend it was. I wanted rest. I wanted some kind of medal for finishing a few aspects of life.

I forgot I was a beginner. I'm STILL a beginner. How beautiful is that?

In the meantime, I have to pack up. Got two shows and two workshops today. Somehow--instead of feeling exhausted by it--I'm feeling invigorated.

Pop, lock, and drop it,
Dakotah

Smelly

2010-03-15T21:10:00.000-07:00

So times like now are really difficult.

I don't know how it managed to transcend time and space--but somehow, your smell is on my fingertips. Its inexplicable. It's absurd. It's the smell of 'Gross Pointe Blank' and Toad-In-A-Hole made with Sourdough toast. It's medicine and redwood trees, travel and sleep. Decisions, mistakes, and repetitions. Exploding glass and hair.

Yes, I'm being excessively sentimental--perhaps its the result of a few pints and an 8 hour drive through northern Idaho (not in that order) into the impossibly gorgeous lakeside paradise of Sandpoint (Stars Hollow. No joke.)

The smell is fading. I'm using it up. It brings tears to my eyes. It's like that, though. That's the way it works. I'm okay with it.

But fuck all if I don't find myself missing your celtic knots and your Buffy dance.

I Am Constantly Blown Away

2010-03-13T16:16:00.000-08:00

Holy fucking shit--we can do ANYTHING.

I saw Balance Dance Company perform today--and it fucked me up.

I should elaborate.

Dance is an art form that I profess to have only a cursory knowledge of...so watching it feels like an absolutely pure experience. These freaking girls--no--these artists could express themselves in a way I couldn't even begin to crack into right now. It was amazing, and at the same time, it's something I could completely do given the time and focus. Time and focus...patience and passion.

And...yeah...we can do ANYTHING.

ANYTHING we want.

For reals.

How crazy is that?

Two months ago, I was working at Barnes and Noble--shelving Twilight books and trying to see the friends I could on the weekends in the meantime. Now I'm performing a role I didn't think I'd even get considered for--for another ten years...and I'm getting PAID to do it! WHAT THE EFF.

I love life.

Love love love,
Dakotah

Limit Break

2010-03-11T13:50:00.001-08:00

This post isn't about special attacks from Final Fantasy.

Not this time, anyway.

I follow the blog of Jason Mraz's ex-sound engineer slash joyologist. She is amazing, and I'm completely (one might say...TOTES..) in love...and not the kind of 'in love' where you have to be loved back. It's the other kind. The infinite kind that you can pour over everyone you encounter.

Like custard.

Her post just got me thinking about the infinite nature of life. Her comment about being 'at capacity' struck a particular chord with me. I've always had a weird idea about people getting to a certain age and settling. Like we've done all of our growing up and we now deserve the grand prize--comfort. I know that isn't necessarily the case, but it IS something I've always been concerned about. Finding that one person who is willing to share your life with you--who WANTS to grow and who WANTS to take on every single challenge life has to offer.

That'd be wild.

In the meantime--you can NEVER have enough friends, enough loves, enough happinesses, enough favorites. You can never know enough languages, master enough sports, arts, games...Jeez... If ever in my life, I forget that its our nature to EXPERIENCE and EXPLORE it ALL--I want whatever I'm eating to be knocked out of my hand while someone shouts at me through a megaphone.

Love love love (you can never have enough)
Dakotah

My Sanctuary

2010-03-08T15:12:00.001-08:00

On the way back from a show in Cascade, Idaho--the cast decided to take a stop along the road and scramble down the rocky path to a river below.

Here's where I ate lunch.

And yes, I am levitating.

No, but for reals--WHAT THE EFF. My day basically consists of the following.

Get up early
Meet similarly bleary-eyed friends
Drive an hour or so to our performance spot
Optional coffee break
Perform
Optional lunch break
Go thrift store shopping/sightseeing
Come home
Realize its 1 o'clock in the afternoon.

Job = Rad. Still.

Totes Feeves.

2010-03-07T13:48:00.000-08:00

Every now and again, I write a post like this...and seeing as its been a while--here we go!

I'm going to gnash through my molars, here.

BE PREPARED FOR TOO MUCH INFORMATION THEATRE. IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED/A RELATIVE OF MINE--YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

If you've been nearby while I'm drunk at a party--you know I have a ridiculously absurd sex drive. Chances are I've slung an arm around your shoulder and leaned too close to your ear to whisper at you through gritted teeth, "Good GOD there are too many amazing butts in this room." Perhaps you know this even without those circumstances. Perhaps you've dated me before.

Now I know what you're thinking. "Absurd? No dude...you're a guy. It's just like that."
My response to you is, "No no no--you don't understand. This is different."

My amp goes up to eleven.

It's to the point where I'm surfing the web-o-tron at a coffee shop and actually pausing videos and turning down the volume so I can specifically focus on butts. Like...I can't have any distractions. If someone where to tap me on the shoulder, I would push them away by the face until I was ABSOLUTELY through with my appraisal. And this isn't like...every ten minutes or so. This is near constant. It's been about an hour, and I haven't gotten through the latest AVGN.

It used to frustrate me. (HAHAHAHAHAHA, GET IT!?? CUZ-) But now I've just kind of accepted it. This is how I'm wired, and potential girlfriends will simply have to understand/be patient/carry a sedative-filled needle. Seriously--I've just lost three minutes between the previous sentance and this one because the window I'm looking through is on a downtown thoroughfare.

But JESUS--FUCK.

Funniest dude moments thus far:

Dakotah's eyes "Hey wow...you're quite the young lady.."
Pause
Dakotah's eyes "OH GOD, YOU'RE QUITE THE YOUNG LADY..."

Dakotah's eyes "Is it like...fine ass day in Boise?"
Dakotah's brain "Hey, I hear the Final Fantasy Thirteen review just popped up, you wanna check that out?"
Dakotah's eyes "Shut the fuck up or you don't get any more circulation."
Dakotah's brain "But I thought you were interes...ooooh...ohhhh... it's all getting dark..."

That's all. Thought I'd share.

Also--as an addendum, let me describe a dude who's sitting outside right now. Bright yellow sunglasses, tiny tank top, enormously beefy, tattoo sleeves, longboard perched next to him, puffing on a cigar, flipping through "Man's Search For Meaning", massive hole in the crotch of his jeans.

Love love love,
Dakotah

I did NAAAHT

2010-03-04T06:47:00.000-08:00

Me and the cast watched The Room twice in the span of two days. I really REALLY hope I get to slip an "I did NAAHT" or "I'm fed AHP with thees WAHRLD," into the show. If only...

...man...if only...

I'm a little sick and vocally weak, but thankfully I'm supported by the most fantastic motherflippin' group of actors ever. I honestly can't believe I'm not at a two month long sleepover. There have been so many moments that have been absolutely incredible. Example:

Got lost on the way to Buhl High School (Thanks, Googlemaps!) Got there with 20 minutes to spare (We're supposed to have a full hour.) The drama kids got us loaded in and set up and ready to run in roughly 12 minutes. YOU KIDS ARE AWESOME. After the show, they surrounded us for hugs and autographs, then took us around to the front of the school to take pictures with the tractors they DROVE THERE THAT DAY.
Being from L.A., the coolest geographical oddity I ever see the 405/101 junction. Here in Twin Falls, not only are there waterfalls (Which during the fall and winter months are nothing--but evidently look AWESOME in the summer...I'll just have to come back) but there's a gorge. An effing gorge. Like a 'drive a bridge over it because its torn the very earth asunder' gorge. We all took a trip down there yesterday evening. Effing gorgeous. PUN INTENDED.
Found Mario 3 at a thrift store.
While eating a school-provided lunch off of a sectioned tray, I had a conversation with a red-headed kid about how, despite waking up a five in the morning every day to go work on his farm, he really loves to perform as much as he can. I felt like a walking advertisement for 'Life through art'. "All this and more can be yours too!" I told him that no matter what, find time to read plays and speak the words. That's something he can do anywhere, with or without a stage. I imagine he's standing atop his combine shouting Lear right now.

If somebody had pulled me aside in school and told me that after graduation, this would be my JOB. An actual JOB I could GET, I would've laughed and told them to stop hogging all the jungle juice. I'm sitting in a Hampton in Twin Falls, Idaho--about to go bic my bald head, eat a continental breakfast with a handful of the coolest people I've ever met, go strangle my wife in front of hundreds of kids, then hop on the road for a few hours while listening to Tally Hall and cracking jokes with that same handful of people. Pinch me.

Left cheek, please.

Love love love,
Dakotah

On The Precepts Of Amateur Alchemy

2010-03-01T08:10:00.000-08:00

There is a tiny impossible thing called a 'Sorcerers' Stone'
which creates something from nothing
and nothing from being
its shaped like a small round coin
bisected down the impossible center
one side is fear, the other, love
this coin rests in all of our hearts
and we conduct Alchemy with varying degrees of responsibility
to the governing factors of the universe

A frightening, frightening thing
to bend lead into gold
to transmute little glimmering dolls
or jeweled crowns
as I have
without ever, ever seeing the other side

and now
now
very now
there is time.
Not quite so much,
but enough.

Love love love (LOVE),
Dakotah

Always one foot on the ground--

2010-02-27T14:31:00.000-08:00

I can't figure out whether love is like truffle hunting, songwriting, cleaning a mirror, or solving a mystery.

I know, I'm totally preoccupied with the concept--but that's just because it's so confusing/simple. It's ludicrous (and downright disrespectful) to doubt whether I've really been in love before. I have. Simple as that. Now that my ideas of love have altered however, I find myself getting psyched out. I spend my days staring at the ground because I found a loose five dollar bill one time. Any time there's a hint of green on the concrete, it's "Oh...OH..IS THAT...? IS IT-? Oh...no, I guess not. It's just a 'Home Run Pie' wrapper. Nevermind." and I thrust my hands into my pockets skulk away. Having a constant inner monologue of "Maybe this is it! Maybe this is it! No, maybe THIS is it!" Serves only to disappoint and confuse.

What this seems to be becoming is a declaration against love.

And that's not really really what I want. It may be what I need, though.

And then again, I am definitely over-complicating things.

The concern: Love is possible, but I...

A. Have had it and lost it.
B. Haven't really had it, but have been infatuated enough to think I have. (Then see 'A')
C. Am spending all of my time bitching about it instead of going after every single opportunity that I should.
C2. I have been going for opportunities, however I have also realized that I'm bad at the whole thing--and I should throw in the towel now. (Then see 'B')
D. Am surrounded by it even now, but in order to support a dramatic 'woe is me, I'm so lovelorn--where it my Postal Service CD?' mentality, I have chosen to ignore that fact.
E. Haven't cultivated a deep enough love and understanding of yours truly to even recognize love when it's all up in my greel.
F. Have to get all the "Love? Hah. Let's just get nekked." out of my system first.
F2. Who am I kidding? I will NEVER get option 'F' out of my system.

It's confusing. But not really. I'm just impatient.

Also unconditional love fucking terrifies me. So...y'know...it's probably the right road to begin heading down. There are people I will always love, no matter what. I hope they know that. The hard part is saying, "I'll love you even if you don't love me back. I'll love you when you hate me. I'll love you if I never see you again. I'll love you when you're walking down the aisle with someone else."

Perhaps I've contradicted myself.

In the end--the only one who needs to love you is you...but we have so many derisive words for those people.

Whatever. I'm finally back in ownership of "The Once and Future King."

Love love love,
Dak

2010-02-24T17:47:00.000-08:00

Four shows down as week one nearly draws to a close.

Our teeny group already feels like a family, as do the adorable hubby, wife, and kids who's spare room I sleep in. The past few weeks have been incredibly intense, and I've just been rolling with it. I like being up early (weird.) I love hopping in the Tranny Wagon and rumbling over to a school in the boonies to unload our set in the snow. I love loitering in coffee shops to steal WiFi and download AVGN episodes to watch at home, where I have 4 good minutes of internet every day. I love popping over to the WinCo where everything is cheap and the unhealthy snacks are plentiful. I love pleading with my wife to say the one thing that can, at very least, keep her soul from an eternity of damnation.

Th..that last part happens in the play...

Be bold.

Make tough choices.

Cause trouble.

Surprise people.

Good things to do onstage...incidentally good things to do in life, too. Yoko Ono said "Every time you don't say what you think, you die a little bit." That's absolutely true. That goes for doing what you really want as well. I can't ever afford to be less me. Nobody can and nobody should. For the past few weeks, I've enjoyed the luxury of really feeling like myself--and not trying to impress anyone. I've been able to step back and say "Whoa...this is ME." Whatever that entails. And hell, it's been TOUGH to remove the judgment. But...as I found out at Grandma's memorial...that's the ONLY thing you can do. The only way you can do this the right way is to be wholly honest and wholly yourself. Avoid the fake armor. Throw away the big scary mask and just be sweet to people. There is ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY no way that can hurt you. Making the decision to be Lord of the Deuches only shows your hand to the table. Pair o' twos, huh? 'Course you had to bluff your ass off.

Well fuck it, man. Come here and get a hug. You're the coolest. No, shut the fuck up--you are. I don't wanna' hear any excuses.

Love love love,
Dakotah

X-Urped

2010-02-22T16:45:00.000-08:00

Here's even MORE of the play. It's finished. Let me know if you want the whole thing. I'll send it to you....or whatever---I don't even really care... *weep*

MAN. Ow.

WOMAN. You fucking deserve it.

MAN. Getting sloppily to his feet. You hit really hard.

Pause

WOMAN. Are you alright?

MAN. No.

WOMAN. Good. How’s your metaphor?

MAN. Ha ha.

WOMAN. I should’ve kicked you in the junk.

MAN. Thanks.

WOMAN. Or tazed you.

MAN. You’re a peach.

WOMAN. Don’t do that again.

MAN. No kidding.

WOMAN. I’m going.

MAN. I don’t want you to.

WOMAN. Why not?

MAN. Because we’re getting close.

WOMAN. To what? Really?

MAN. Where’d you put those veggies?

WOMAN. They’re in the freezer.

MAN. Uh huh. Walks into the kitchen.

WOMAN. I should’ve put em in the middle drawer on the left. Or the oven. The broiler. Would’ve been more your style.

MAN. Off. You’re a doll. Returning with the veggies pressed to his mouth. He goes to the couch and flops down. I’ll tell you one thing, we definitely jumped that ‘sleeping together’ hurdle.

WOMAN. Yeah, right?

MAN. So…well done.

WOMAN. I’m not staying though.

MAN. I kinda’ figured. He winces.

WOMAN. How’s your face?

MAN. Feels a little ‘punched’.

WOMAN. There’s a cream for that.

MAN. I’m going to call you ‘Tina Tactful’ from now on.

WOMAN. Tina? Ew.

MAN. You brought it on yourself. What’s wrong with ‘Tina’ anyway?

WOMAN. Stop saying it.

MAN. It’s like you can’t restrain a pretty girl with extreme force anymore these days.

WOMAN. I’ll ignore the creepiness of that sentence because you called me ‘pretty’.

Love love love!!
Dakotah

Vidjeo!

2010-02-21T18:22:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gk5VpwOiTHI

This video is great...and not just because of the opening shot.

(Bigger update later.)

(That's what...he...said..?)

For Grandma

2010-02-19T16:11:00.000-08:00

I think, when it’s done right
With love and honesty
And a genuine appreciation for Godzilla
And pride, because there’s nothing else to call it
And no condiments--keep em’ off the table.
You can achieve a thing like immortality
A diffusion of spirit or,
rather,
a magnification.
Because while we are sad
(just like you wanted--but really just like we all do)
We’ve never been greater than we are now
That we carry you wherever we go.

More of that one play.

2010-02-11T16:20:00.001-08:00

Who knows if this will go anywhere, but here's some more of it.

MAN. No. I just can’t imagine it really working. Two strangers get together, have a big celebration, throw jewelry on, and then mush their entire lives into one? In-laws and husbands’ friends and couples tennis matches and matching armchairs?

WOMAN. Some people take solace in partnership, I’m sure that’s not too hairy a concept for you.

MAN. Define hairy.

WOMAN. Vaudeville voice. You should see my legs. Yakketty shmakketty doo~!

MAN. Partnership and safety are different things. Reality is inherently unsafe.

WOMAN. Really? Pause. Really? Have you been through reality? All of it? Stood at life’s tasting bar and sipped ounce glasses of joy and sorrow? Pain? Ecstasy? Loss? Spit it out and analyze the flavors for yourself?

MAN. So now you’re metaphoring.

WOMAN. You like it? I made it myself.

MAN. Very pretty.

WOMAN. Thanks, I exfoliate. Oh, fuck-- Darts into the kitchen, then speaks from offstage. Actually, that’s not bad--I think it’s a good representation of--Shit! Ahh--fuck!

MAN. You alright?

Pause.

WOMAN. Off. Fucking shit fuck!

MAN. Oh! Man! Hold on--

The man dashes into the kitchen. We hear a freezer door open and a bag of frozen vegetables removed.

MAN. Off. Here, hold this.

WOMAN. Off. God fucking dammit--

MAN. Off. You alright?

WOMAN. Off. No.

MAN. Off. You’ll live.

WOMAN. Off. Fucking handle, for fuck’s sake.

MAN. Off. Hold it. Keep holding it. Pause. Is your metaphor okay?

WOMAN. Off. Fuck you.

We hear a few pans move about, then eggs begin to sizzle audibly.

MAN. Off. Why don’t I take over?

WOMAN. Off. Good, I was going to make you anyway. The woman walks on, clutching a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel in her right hand. Now and again, she looks at it and shakes her head.

MAN. Off. So, tasting bar?

WOMAN. You’re wrong about marriage. It turns all…weird when you talk about it. Then again, everything turns weird when you talk about it.

MAN. Off. Thanks, I exfoliate.

WOMAN. I think you’re more basic than you think. Or maybe you’re afraid you’re more basic than you think.

MAN. Off. Maybe.

WOMAN. You grow up with fantasy, books that tell you to take a chance, kiss a frog. Now we walk around disappointed because there are fewer unicorns than we were promised. I’ve never even ridden a horse.

MAN. Off. Me neither. How do you want these eggs?

WOMAN. Whatever.

MAN. Off. Weren’t you gung-ho about this a minute ago?

WOMAN. Scrambled then.

MAN. Off. I can make them ‘over whatever’ if you want. ‘Whatever side up‘.

WOMAN. Don’t tease me, I’m crippled. When does that change happen, you think?

MAN. Off. What change?

WOMAN. Wonder to disappointment.

MAN. Off. I’ve wondered that myself.

Pause.

WOMAN. Settling is okay, right? It’s a way to do it.

MAN. Off. Like marriage.

WOMAN. Oh, shut up.

MAN. Stepping into the room. We all die single. Marriage doesn’t change our biology. Saying a thing, having a party, eating some cake, wearing some metal--dissect it all and pin it down. They’re breeds of butterflies that we make a pattern out of and call ‘marriage’. It’s all so-- He does the Woman’s earlier gesture for how he was acting. You get that. Right?

WOMAN. I think you’re wrong.

MAN. Well that’s fine.

WOMAN. Oh my God, don’t be smug. I’ve let you be weird, but don’t be smug. Go cook the fucking eggs.

MAN. Will you make the fucking pancakes?

WOMAN. Fuck yeah, I will.

MAN. Al-fucking-right.

The man walks back into the kitchen.

WOMAN. I’m starting to see how the snow globe thing happened.

Feels like Makin' Love

2010-02-09T15:30:00.000-08:00

Should yield 2 equal portions--if not, please throw away the product and start the recipe from the beginning.

Ingredients:
2 Cups Tenderness
1 1/2 Cups Desire
1 1/2 Cups Utter Lunacy
1 Cup Distilled Coincidence
6 Tablespoons 'The Right Thing'
3 Tablespoons 'Pure Utter Chaos' (Substitute Chaos Extract for a lighter option)
Salt to Taste

"Fuck..." he said. "I'm out of salt."

Love is weird, man. Are you supposed to fill your cup and keep pouring? Letting the excess run over the edges and into the world? Are you supposed to fill a hip flask and take swigs when nobody's watching? Do you keep it in the top shelf, presenting it for your guests with a flourish so you can all "oooh" and "aaah". "Yes, it's from India. It's very exotic." Do you keep it in super-soaker and let fly at the passing cars, pumping and panting in the inbetween time? I think it behooves to open the spigots on your fingertips and leave everyone you meet sopping wet (and yes, that WAS a double entendre.)

I'm certain of this, there is no right way.

So shit, son. Whatever value it gains in scarcity, it loses in purity. Deep love, like deep thought, is a muscle well worth exercising.

That's all for now, OH GOD 7% BATTERY POWER LEFT.

Love Love Love!

Dakotah

The Fun Factor

2010-02-06T20:37:00.000-08:00

Hello fantastic people!

I'm having a freakin' blasty-freak-nasty in Boise (Boyz-Ee or Boisse-Ee...I interchange them.) Everyone is fantastic, as mentioned before, and I've had so many amazing conversations with random people I've met on the street/in restaurants/in coffee shops--I think...I think I'd like to be here for a while. Check me on that in a few months...but for now, that's where I'm at.

Did some writing today, and here's a small sample of what it became:

WOMAN. You were saying. Your life.

MAN. Yeah.

WOMAN. I’m listening.

The man sighs, sits down, stands and begins.

MAN. It’s hard to describe it the right way. It’s a life. It’s a--a whole thing. And really, what does that mean? What is all that? The things I’ve seen. The events I’ve been…hm…privy to. In elementary school, I saw a dog burn to death. I smelled it before I saw it. Hair. Not the burning dead thing smell that you usually get--but just…all that hair.

WOMAN. Jesus.

MAN. My father beat me with an extension cord once for dropping a plate. I gave a homeless woman some leftovers from a restaurant and she wept. I wanted her to stop because it was embarrassing me. I once froze time for a few hours.

WOMAN. Wait…what?

MAN. I kept it midnight for hours. For a girl. A woman.

WOMAN. Ah.

MAN. I feel that bears explanation.

WOMAN. You feel correct, sir.

MAN. Time is relative, right?

WOMAN. Yes, established fact. Factoid.

MAN. Factoid. It’s elastic. It’s malleable, it’s silly putty.

WOMAN. Yes, you can press time against a newspaper and the words appear backwards.

Pause

MAN. That wasn’t a metaphor, was it?

WOMAN. No, go on.

MAN. I guess I shouldn’t say I stopped time. What I did was…elongate it. Seconds, minutes fly by without us noticing. Right? Or--we can notice a minute for so long, that it seems to take weeks. This is factoid. I’ve lived in an instant for two hours.

WOMAN. Sounds romantic.

MAN. It wasn’t.

WOMAN. You said you did it for a woman. What did you do, embrace in the rain? The woman stands up and leans against a countertop.

MAN. No, she threw a snow globe at my head.

WOMAN. Fucking Jesus.

See, watching 'At Home At The Zoo' sparked my interest in writing again. In addition, it made me realize that I have a tendency to censor my writing, trying to make everything very deliberate and clever, instead of just flowing. I wrote for about an hour, just typing whatever came into my head. It was a nice exercise to get the wheels turning again.

ALSO--I'm feeling a whole MESS of loving energy going around right now. February fever of some sort? I haven't had booster shots since fourth grade. Circle circle, dot dot.

Not much to say, it's hard to speak when you're smiling so hard.

Love love love,
Dakotah

Art Imitating Life

2010-02-05T17:21:00.000-08:00

I saw three black people at the gas station today. AT THE SAME TIME. Seriously--what are the odds?? Though I did get that "NIGSCOUNT, THE GAS DISCOUNT FO' NIGGAZ!" flyer this morning.

Anyway, week one of rehearsal comes to a close, and I've finally got a bit of a sense of direction here in Boise. This city is pretty great--it reminds me a lot of a flat San Francisco. Old buildings laid out on a grid, bars and coffee shops squeezed together like New York apartments--I'm laptopping in a coffee shop I've never heard of, burning some time until tonight's performance of At Home At The Zoo at the Boise Contemporary Theatre. Yes, we're going as a cast. Yes, we're that fucking adorable. I'm knitting matching onesies for everyone as I type this. It is a very careful process.

Speaking of process--the show is going extremely well. Everyone--for reals--EVERYONE is completely amazing. We've been chugging along mostly--and taking some time here and there to really DIG IN to the script. Those moments have been totally invaluable. I trust Iago. Holy balls, I would trust him with my life...er...wife...er...whatever.

Anyway yeah. Things are great. My host family is awesome, and are all better musicians than me. EVEN THE ONE IN FIFTH GRADE PLAYS PIANO AND CELLO. I feel inadequate. But whatevs, can THEY beat Chrono Trigger with one character? Shut up, then.

Yyyyeah, well that's that for now. All's well. I've got the show on the brain.

Love love love,
Dakotah

Moving at a FAIL'S pace

2010-02-01T15:32:00.000-08:00

Alright, so I only finished four monologues. But hey, come on--I had Idaho Shakes coming up (I know you'd rather hear about that--I'll tell ya') and I had to pack...and...uh....party with all my friends...and...hm...Poo! Lots of that. I had to make some doo-doo towers.

That's gross. That's totally gross.

So I'm here! The flight was FABULOUS. And I mean that in the gayest way possible. The flight crew was comprised of a pilot, co-pilot, a SINGING HEAD FLIGHT ATTENDANT, and a pair of ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS DIVAS. The divas were dudes. I had a long conversation with one of em' about Mario 3. So yes, needless to say--we really hit it off. Go Southwest. Who knew?

It was snowing when I got it. See, evidently this is a state that has seasons. It's snowing now, the temperature is floating around the 40s, but in the summer it'll hit upwards of 105. Shnap. Right? I'm also living with a family of four, who are all super cute and totally candid. They made me taco salad. They are great.

I'm driving the Idaho Shakespeare Minivan right now--which I'll have to take a picture of. Or rather, I'll have to get a camera and take a picture of. Fwah. Oh, and I got lost on the way to the theatre. Double awesome! On the whole, I feel far more comfortable than I did in Nebraska--but nothing against all my Nebraska peeps. It's just easier the second time around.

(It took me about 20 minutes to write that last paragraph. Butts.)

Oh, and yeah--art imitating life? I haven't seen another negro yet. Not-a-one. In Nebraska there were like....four or five. Not in the same place, of course, but for the duration of the trip. I think I'll get a bet going with myself. My ballpark? Week three. Yeah. We'll see each other from across the street and everything will become slow motion and flower petals. We'll frolic toward each other, closed hands held forward in what will become the sweetest, most tender fist-pound ever recorded.

I already miss you fuckers, and its day two. I really hope I stay a while, because this is already a sweet gig...but I kinda' hope I don't...because I've got a sweet gig back at home.

Love love love,
Dakotah

P.S. I'M not torrenting Xenogears at a coffee shop, YOU are.

Monologue Fest! (Part Four)

2010-01-28T21:01:00.000-08:00

Here's another! Yum yum honeybuns...I took a break there for a bit, but I don't want to miss my deadline. Again, at the end, I'll have you vote on which one I should perform.

Shazam

A woman stands down-center, a look of exasperation on her face. She wears elaborate star-dusted robes and a tall pointed hat. SL of her is a standing table holding a large dark pot. The woman shakes her head and takes a deep breath before rambling through her words.

You have to listen to what I’m saying--it’s a lost cause. I’m sorry you spent so much money and time and effort tracking us down--we are a very secretive organization, and I do appreciate that you specifically selected me to be your liaison…but there is absolutely nothing I can do. Nothing I can do that would work, that is. I know the tendency with you people is to dig into the bowels of history and science in order to extract the quickest fix. The longshot. Without really understanding the implications of what you’re getting yourselves into, you dive right in and hope for the best. It’s the exact same lack of perspective that got you into this mess in the first place! And…I mean come on, just because you haven’t inherited ‘The Sight’ (all hail the sixty moons of Saturn for bestowing upon us the gift of the infinite eye) doesn’t mean you can simply ignore your impact on the very tomorrow you live in! For the sake of the universe, you can’t just ignore the things you can’t see.

The woman calms herself down. Takes a deep breath and glides to her large pot.

Here, for example.

She removes a beer can from the cauldron.

This is a drinking receptacle. It’s made of aluminum.

She places the can into the pot and closes the lid--a second later, her eyes roll back and she enters a trance. Her hands caress the air around the pot for a few seconds…then as soon as it happens, it stops. She blinks awake and opens the lid, removing a sheet of aluminum from the pot.

Alright? That’s it! That’s all I can do for you! It’s still here, and it’s still aluminum. Yes, I can change it into a liquid or a gas or…a plasma, whatever. Sure…but you’re not seeing the main issue here.

She speaks as if addressing a child.

When you close your eyes, do you think the world disappears? No. You’re right. It’s still there. If you can’t see something, does it not exist? Does…oh…say…Siberia exist? Yes. Yes it does. How about…Lisbon? Sure it does. Riiight. What about…oh….gee….the refuse you threw out last week? Yes. You betcha. It’s still there. How about…oohh…next week? That is to say…does next week exist? If you're not looking at next week, is it still there? Are we…are we having trouble with this one?

Her exasperation builds.

YES IT FUCKING IS! COME ON, PEOPLE!! USE YOUR IMAGINATIONS AT LEAST! And whether or not you’ll be here to see it, it’s still going to HAPPEN.

Look…I’m not trying to come off like an environmentalist. If I’m an activist for anything, it’s thinking. Rational thought. This…fooling ourselves it’s just…

She sighs.

Come the fuck on. You can’t fix your problems if you refuse to think. For fuck's sake, I’m an alchemist, not a magician.

Love,
Dakotah

Monologue Fest! (Part Three)

2010-01-25T23:05:00.000-08:00

Here's the next one! It's pretty out there, but they've all been that way I guess. Enjoy!!

Saint

An extremely run-down young man shuffles onstage, staggers for a moment, then looks up as if the light bothers him. He grimaces, looks about tensely, breathes out a puff of air and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

I know you don't really know me or nothin', but I wanna' say thank you. Thank you for savin' my life. Now no, don't go thinkin' it was givin' blood or nothin'. It wasn't anything like that. You just...you've just been there fer me. So...thank you.

The young man starts pacing.

Like one time I was on acid, right? Y'know...among other shit. I was with some other guys, but I was havin' this real bad trip, right? Like...I get all up in my head on that shit. I'm like...I'm like that anyway, but like—this time was real intense. Real like—metaphysical personal shit. I started seein' these eyes and shit everywhere. The walls started like...bleeding and there was this red glow from the lights and it got like...it was just bad y'know? So anyway, everybody like...went to bed and everything, but I was still awake—just trippin' out and getting' the shakes and all that sorta' shit. I couldn't stay warm, right? I wrapped a blanket around myself and I still kept shiverin' like it wouldn't stop. I didn't know what else to do so... The man laughs. Look, I'm sorry. You prolly don't wanna' hear this part...but I just gotta' get it off my chest. I start jackin' off, right? Cuz like—I dunno, somethin' about is just...it's familiar. Y'know? I don't care if it makes sense. Anyway, I wasn't...gettin' anywhere. Y'know? I started thinkin' about all sort of shit, but nothin' was doin' it for me. And like..my heart was pounding like crazy cuz I was still trippin' balls. I was feverish. I couldn't stop sweatin' and clenchin' my jaw. And fuck, man, I was still seein' shit. That—darkness was tryin' to claw its way into my brain through my eyelids and just...suddenly...you were there. I don't know why. You just...you showed up.

The man smiles.

This might sound weird...but...my heart slowed down. I calmed down. I don't know if it was cuz' I was still seein' shit or whatever, but you—listen, again sorry but—you took me in one hand and with the other you pushed my face up to yours and kissed me. I remember you wore this...I dunno...gypsy costume or something. Ocean blues and greens...and...from there we. Well...look, you can probably guess the rest. Right? But look—I don't know what it was about that, but after we finished, you poured a golden light over my whole body and whispered into my ear until I fell asleep.

It wasn't 'till later that I found out I was in the early stages of an OD. Y'know. If I hadn't slowed my heart rate down, it woulda been...well yeah, it woulda' been bad. So just...thank you. I've never told you that, but thank you.

The man begins to walk away.

But um...let's not talk about it, alright? It's weird.

Hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them!

Love,
Dakotah

Monologue Fest! (Part Two)

2010-01-24T23:49:00.000-08:00

Here's number 2 of 5. Yahoo!

Casual Encounter

Lights up on an attractive man typing away on a laptop. 'The Girl From Ipanema' plays from the speaker. He clicks around a bit, then stops and looks at his screen. He looks up.

“Tongue in your bung. M for W. I get pleasure from giving your nice sweet ass oral until you (finger quotes) 'Assgasm'. You need to be very clean...et cetra et cetra....I will lick and tongue your backdoor for as long you like.” The man lets out a sigh and shakes his head. Definitely not one of mine. The man puts his laptop aside. Who would wanna' go on a rollercoaster called “There are three loops in it”? Hm? “This one spins around”? There's no...mystery here. No excitement. No, sweetie—this was clearly made in haste. You've got to take your time, even with Casual Encounters.

Oh I'm sorry--you are...familiar?

Oh, honey--let me educate you! In the era of technology, where everything is at your fingertips—hmm—we still need that extra little bit of connection. Not just talking to an old college friend, not just gettin' coffee witcher coworkers, but—well—fuckin'. Even the magical iPhone hasn't solved that problem. I can press a button to find the nearest sushi restaurant, make a reservation, and have drinks on the table by the time I get there—but my dick certainly won't suck itself. Pause To be crass. So they've got a little place online where you can write out a one-line personal ad to get—hmm--what you want. The only problem is that most people are not the eloquent type. They want what they want and they can't think of anything else. For example. The man picks up his laptop again, clicks around a bit, then looks at his screen with satisfaction. “Hey, where's the giant cocks at? Hungry for deepthroat and a tight ass.” Man cocks his eyebrow. I won't even get into the spellin' errors, but this definitely does not serve to entice. It's written like bathroom scrawl. Utterly no magic at all. This nervous little boy should have come to me. I am what you'd call a 'Marketing Expert'. People come to me to add a little flavor to their—hm—'invitations'. For example this lady e-mails me one day, says “Look, I'm twenty-eight, gorgeous, and a dancer—and all I want is a good no-strings-attached fuck.” I say to her “Sweetie, you've got to be eloquent. Mysterious. A little witty, a little charming. You've gotta' sell it. None o' this hamfisted 'light brown hair, blue eyes, huge breasts' junk. Lure em in~” So for a little fee, I turned her desire into a regular rolex ad. Ahem--

The man clicks around on his laptop, grins, then looks at the audience.

First line--”You got one leg over your shoulder.” Intrigued? Of course you are. The man clicks dramatically. Ka-lick-ka. “Now contact me. You won't be sorry. I'm willing, open minded and I am able to bend to both of our wills and twist into some pretty crazy positions. Let's show the Kama Sutra what we can do!” Now that is an ad. That was written by yours truly. Y'see, there's a major difference between....the man clicks around ...ah—'Young Stud Em for Em'—aaaand...the man clicks around again...'Part saving the world...part savoring it'. Isn't there? Now--the man closes his laptop and leans forward --what can I do for you?

P.S. All of the examples in this monologue are REAL CRAIGSLIST ADS.

Monologue Fest!

2010-01-23T15:23:00.000-08:00

Well..not the UCSB Monologue Festival (which was awesome.) This is the Dakotah Brown monologue festival. By that, I mean--I'm going to write five monologues by next Friday and I'd like you AVID READERS to select the best one out of the group. I'll memorize and perform it via YouTube or...y'know...just on here. Maybe I can develop this into a submission-based thing-a-ma-bob, but for now I just need to increase my body of self-written work.

SO, widdout furder a doo-doo sticks. Here's the first one!

Deals

How's it goin'? How are ya'? How's the family? Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and have a seat there.

The man in a suit arranges some papers on his desk.

Aaaalright. So I've been looking through your file and it looks like just about everything is in order. You must have a good...guy. It's all up to date. You've got documentation for everything. Good. We can get down to brass tacks. The real..ah..meat of the deal. So- The man folds his hands -I've prepared a few deals for you based on your current financial situation, and I think you're going to enjoy what I've come up with. First off, you've got your basic deal. You have free access to the green paved roads, with bonus days on Sunday and Thursday, where you can use the red and blue roads from seven pm until midnight. All the standard pedestrian walkways are free and the premium walking paths are pay-as-you-go. You don't have to worry about that, though—I'm looking through your usual routes on here...aaaaand yeah, no you'll be good. Oop, wait—you'll have to take a slightly more scenic path to and from the grocery store, but that's fine. We could all use the exercise, am I right? I'll go ahead and throw in public toilets within a certain area and, if you don't mind the small surcharge, you can have access to 'raising your voice'. That's a good deal. If I were you, I'd keep that one in the docket. You won't find an access deal much better than that.

Hm? Go on?

Alright! I knew you had a nose for values, my friend. The next deal is a bit tricky. I had to do some finagling to draw this one up, but I know my loopholes. This is like the last one; green roads anytime, bonus days, walking paths—no premium walking paths at all, but whatever you'd be paying for those goes directly into talking with premium members. How's that? Say you go to a bar—well, assuming you pay for entertainment access of course—but say you go to a bar, see a nice looking lady across the way—but boom, you realize she's paying for premium access. You'd never be able to speak to her. Or, y'know, more specifically the anvil in her inner ear is tuned to a wavelength that doesn't accept incoming sound from public sources. You can talk all you want—at a normal volume until you pay to upgrade—and she wouldn't hear a word of it. But now, with this other deal, you can give her a 'hello'. Spring for a few drinks and take her home along the green roads. Of course you'd only be able to converse once you're back there. I mean...it's a shame they don't make other options available for more...ah..frugal individuals...but y'know how it is. I don't make the rules here. Hey, if you get that raise though—we might be able to tack on a basic touching plan. Get some interaction going on? Hm? Anyway, I would take that one. That one's veeery—huh? Oh. I gotcha. Okay, nothing flashy. That's fine. I understand that. You're saving up. That's great. I totally respect that. We can dial it down so you can afford it. Are you interested in the..ah...no-frills deal?

Okay, yeah—just let me...

The Man in the Suit flips through the papers on his desk, singles one out with a slight hint of disgust.

..Alright, here we are. Ultra-Basic. You get green roads on weekdays from six am to five pm. After that they're off-limits...so try not to drive before or after that. It'd be an automatic violation, and nobody wants to see that happen, am I right? Standard pedestrian walkways are free on weekdays, but the tolls are in effect on weekends and holidays. In addition, there are blackout days where...ah...where I suggest you find something really good on TV.

The Man laughs.

Speech is basic-to-basic, 'raising your voice' is charged per-use and you have an exertion cap of forty minutes total...weekly aaand no more than ten minutes a day. You'll have to ahh...cut the jogging routes a little shorter now, eh? That's about it, if you're interested. It's a good deal, don't get me wrong. If I could afford to cut back on some of the finer things, I'd be on it myself. Unfortunately the ol' yacht won't sail itself. Am I right? Huh? Am I right?

Childrens' Books

2010-01-20T23:34:00.000-08:00

Working at a bookstore, I find myself staring at kids' books often. I see Goosebumps books in my sleep. That said, I feel like some books could use alternate titles. For example...

Could possibly be changed to something like this.

And this...

Might be better as this...

And then there's this classic that I've mentioned before...

With this subtle change.

That's all for now. I turn old on Friday. Join me for drinks--I'll tell you where eventually.

Love,
Dak

...but not on the bed I'm sleepin' on.

2010-01-16T18:02:00.000-08:00

No, the title doesn't have anything to do with anything. It's just the second half of the number one hit jam, "Come on, girl (get your pee-pee on) [but not on the bed I'm sleepin' on]" Which is incidentally the mathematic formula for AWESOME. (Solve for 'Pee-pee')

I played some Bayonetta over at McJew's place, a game which actually provoked some thought after perusing (read: McJew reading it aloud while I kick angels in the head with THUNDER FEET) this article.

In essence, the game is pure ridiculous overblown action. Honestly, it crams God of War 2's design ethic down its throat. The tutorial has you using four goddamn guns to blast angels into smithereens in slow motion while "Fly Me To The Moon" jazzes all over your sweaty back. Oh wait--no...that's the second half of the tutorial. The prologue has you falling through the air on a massive chunk of building debris while you and your rival obliterate hordes of heavilyarmed dragoons on all sides. Many flips are involved. In short, this game does action the best. No. Shut the fuck up. THE BEST.

And yes, she kicks high. The article mentions that Bayonetta dodges the objectifying women bullet by being utterly in control and completely aware of her sexuality. More often than not, you see the "Don't touch me, I'm a ballbuster" stereotype or the "I'm demure and made of BOOOOOBS" situation...or as the article suggests "Yeah, I'm a chick...but it has nothing to do with my character" thing. She is none of these. Everything this character does is deliberate--and it makes the player feel like a badass--AND IT GIZ U A BONNER. I found myself more connected to her than to a character like...say...Mai Shiranui from King of Fighters. About 95 percent of the women in gaming right now have that "Oops, am I sexy?" attitude that I find myself rolling my eyes at. Bayonetta is a welcome dose of "I'm hot as shit, I know I'm awesome, and you're going to want to play as me." As opposed to finding myself embarrassed by her ridiculous antics, I was thinking "Holy shit, girl--you're ridiculous and I love it." Just the way you'd get behind Dante or Kratos because of their overwhelming personalities.

Anyway...look...you should play the game.

ALSO--while working last night I heard one of the best quotes ever.

"Ugh...it's a WEEKEND, I don't wanna' stare at BOOKS. If I wanted to look at BOOKS, I'd be at SCHOOL."

To which I wish I'd been close enough to reply,

"Totally. Did you know there are people who actually spend their weekends staring at these filthy things?"

And lastly, y'all negroes know I'm all about the Ted Talks. And, this one? This one is one of the best.

Love,
Dakonettah

Come on girl, get yo' Pee-Pee on...

2010-01-13T20:09:00.000-08:00

Visiting SB for long periods of time always makes me feel a little out of it. Lemme' break it down into videogame terms.

I beat that level....right? I mean, save for some missed trophies and such I figure I did pretty well. I got most of the hidden weapons and didn't Game Over at all...so I figure that's good stuff. Then I come back to the fucking first level in the game...except for some reason, most of my abilities are reset. It's like... "Where's double-jump? Where's that wind spell that helped me clear Shattered Basin of all those Deathhawks?" I'm sitting here with...like...water. Water magic. Water magic always sucks. I don't care if you think I'm wrong--it's because you're wrong and you're stupid.

At work...er...in the cave here in the first area, my controls keep freezing up--and when I finally manage to actually pull off one of my high-level techniques, I get penalized for it. I feel like I'm losing score fast. The game's been stuck at 24% completion and hasn't budged since Macbeth a few months ago. On top of that, I'm tired of my own bitching. ("So are we." Mutter the masses. "Yeah, well eat a dick." I reply.)

Fundamentally it's a problem with motion. Despite the fact that I've actually come an incredibly long way in a stupidly short time keeps getting lost behind the fact that I don't have a car yet, and I'm shitty with money, and I haven't produced a webcomic or a performance art piece down here. (When I say "Down here", I am gesturing to my scrotal sack.) Going away was so amazing--but therein lies the problem...it was SOOO AMAZING. I've just gotta' find the freedom and the enjoyment that ARE here in TEH EFFING GODDAMN VALLEY. Maybe if I resented it less.

Sure, I'll just fucking flip that switch.

Thanks for letting me vent.

Love love love--srsly. :)

Dakotah

P.S. On the real, though--I'll work on enjoying myself more.

I'm Weird

2010-01-06T12:46:00.000-08:00

Everyone talks to themselves. Not everyone does so aloud. Fewer yet do so aloud in Japanese.

Except in Japan, I suppose.

I get phrases from games and anime stuck in my head with alarming frequency, and I have this compulsion to repeat them. They just sound COOL. And no, they aren't cool. Not in real life. There's a reason IKUZE!!! ('Let's Go!'--with an emphasis on "I'm gonna' punch you in the manberries") is generally left to the 2D plane is because it'd be silly to shout that unless you were going to hit somebody with a pipe--or conversely you REALLY REALLY needed to go to the market for some milk.

In addition, I say things like "Dokomademo, AGAITERU!" (anywhere, I will fight!) and "Shanto Shina~" (Do it right.) Because I heard them somewhere and I like how they sound. I should really start singing aloud instead. I might get fewer weird looks.

Though frankly--I enjoy the weird looks.

Love,
Dakotah

The Sequel To A Space Odyssey

2010-01-05T10:52:00.000-08:00

Cleaning my room this morning, I came across last year's weekly schedule. Instantly, I remembered buying it over a year ago at a stationary store in Santa Cruz with Erin. Flipping through it now is a trip--seeing all the Tech dates for Antiapathy and rehearsals for La Ninera...and of course the random days where I wrote stuff like "BOOOBS" and "LOGISTICS!!"

So now I'm listening to my funk station on Pandora (by the way, if you still haven't heard Mayer Hawthorne or Eli Paperboy Reed--you're missing out, evidently white people are really cool now) and realizing that I have absolutely no fucking clue where things are going to go from here. It's really really exciting. Sure, now I'm working at the ol' Bee N Enn and waiting for Othello to begin, but in the intervening period I've decided to quit dogging myself so much about not being where I'm 'supposed to be'. I mean hell--how the fuck am I supposed to know that?

So yup yup yup! Good things in a bucket.

Love love AND LOVE ON PURPOSE,
Dakotah