MORTALITY.

"Holy shit, I'm going to die."

I said to myself, staring at the mirror....

....Bleeding from an arrow wound.

But no, seriously--after watching a very interesting TED TALK, I decided I'd try looking into the mirror today and making peace with the fact that I was, in fact, doomed. Right then, an interesting thing happened. I suddenly felt overwhelmed with lightness and bliss. All of my insecurities began to melt away and I decided what I should do that day. I ended up trying to find a belated Christmas gift for someone, biking around the valley, and just generally enjoying myself. Man, mortality is awesome.

RANDOMNESS BITES! YUM.

HERE IS A MIRROR'S EDGE REVIEW

Yes, its several years too late. Nevertheless, here is my Mirror's Edge review.

PARKOUR PARKOUR PARKITTY PARKOUR PARKOUR. THIS GAME IS ABOUT PARKOUR.

Anyway, you play as Margaret Hsian and you run around on walls and fall to your death a lot. There are three supporting characters in the game. Douche, Woman, and Gravity. The story goes--eighteen years ago, some people protested. You ran away from home and were raised by the dude from the opening scene in Casino Royale. Also your mother is dead. And your sister is a cop. And you hate cops.
So basically, the story is incomprehensible. The main antagonist is....the city? Or....conservatives? Either way, you fight back by climbing on their shit and kicking police officers off of buildings.

My biggest gripe is also the game's biggest credit. It's first-person Parkour. So...y'know...yeah. It gives you a loose guideline for where to go by having certain structures appear BRIGHT RED. That's called 'Runner Vision'. I have it too, you guys. I did a wall flip off of an apple and then vaulted a fire engine. On Hard Mode--you don't have Runner Vision and the combat is way more difficult. I actually prefer Hard Mode, as it feels like a much purer experience.

Nonetheless--crappy dialogue and Saturday Morning Cartoon voice acting make the experience seem like something you'd brag to your sixth grade friends about. "Yeah, you still watch Naruto? Well I played MIRROR'S EDGE. They say 'SHIT' in that game." Awed applause ensues.

ALSO I WATCHED FIVE HUNDRED GAYS OF SUMMER

Which would've been a great porn parody.

But no, fo reels--it was a decent movie. I really wasn't into it at first--even despite Brendan Frye. At the outset, the film seems so horribly self-aware in its quirkiness that I have a hard time liking it. In an era of Garden States, Nick and Nora's and Junos--I really look for something approaching heart and shying away from coolness. Not to say I didn't enjoy the previous mentions, I just think Once outdoes the lot of em. There was no point during Once where I felt like the director was sort of watching the movie over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of my expressions.
Like I said though, I wasn't into it at first. I have trouble relating to the main male characters with these movies sometimes because I just don't find the romantic interest that attractive/quirky/life-changing. A lot of the 'Super Quirky' stuff that takes place in those movies is less ridiculous than the things I've already done in my life. HOWEVER: I realized after a while that the message of 500 Days Of Summer was that...actually...Zooey Deschanel wasn't the greatest girl in the universe. Love is, in fact, completely and utterly blinding. Things that are relatively normal will seem stupid-amazing. It's definitely been that way for me. Frequently. I definitely dug that last half way more than the beginning.

AND ALSO HERE IS ANOTHER TOPIC

I think, for some, the standard mode of communication is 'bitching'. More often than not, when I'm observing folk (had a coffee and read the paper at Starbucks yesterday--yes I cut eye holes into it because I'm a detective) I notice a trend among many. "How's life?" or "How's it going?" opens the floodgates for "OH GAD, well the Funfetti account's been put on hold because Cooper and Woods wanna re-sign the deal, hell if I get my bonus any time soon; but does anybody listen to me? Anyway I gotta go, I'm parked at a meter. Is this half-caf?" I think this example stood out to me so much because it seemed like the most blatant example of that sort of mentality. It's probably not financially sound to produce commercials with messages like, "Don't Worry About It" or "Life Is Bigger And More Magical Than Your Problems" or "Bake Some Cookies, Man". Actually the last one could be a Pilsbury ad I guess. But yeah, seriously.

Anyway, I may have a more directed post at some point. HOORAHZAH!!

In the meantime, fall in love with Pomplamoose again. Except don't marry them. Because they're a band. And I'm going to marry them first.

Love love love,

Dakotah

P.S. Are you okay?

Fuckle Nuts.

There's so much going on in my brain-place that I need to get out of there. I think a morning meditation tomorrow is an absolute must. Here's the sparse and incomplete version.

• FAAAAAAAHHHH.

• A toddler saw me putting books away in the kids section and started collecting board books from the floor and handing them to me. MOST ADORABLE THING EVER. I kept saying "Thank youuu~!" in a sing-song voice, to which she replied "Dankoooo~" and giggled.

• NEEDS GETS OUTS NOW PLZ.

• Someone smelled EXACTLY like Erin tonight in the store. I actually stopped in my tracks. Don't fucking do that to me, please. It takes a bucket of restraint not to Ex-Message her. "OMG REMEMBER LAST NEW YEARS IN SF WHEN WE WERE IN LOVE LOL"

• FRAAAAAAAAGGHHHHH

• I must have mentioned 'Melody Gardot' on here before--but I mention her again. Mention mention mention.

• To everyone I've ignored--I'm sorry. I don't know what my problem is lately.

• I might actually flip the 'crazy' switch soon and go whole-hog.

1. 'Whole-Hog' = Constant Full-Frontal Nudity
2. Because its all of it. It's my whole hog.
3. Calling a dong a 'Hog' reminds me of 'Do it for your Mama'.

• IT'S IN THE FRAKKIN' SHIP.

That's all. Love love love,

Dakotah

EDIT: I just checked....turns out its in the Frakkin' DIP. Sorry guys, sorry. I grabbed the Salsa and Distant Sitar Music flavor from Trader Joe's.

THIS IS PROBABLY WHAT PARENTING IS LIKE

"Billy!"
Silence.
"BILLY!"
"What?"
"Billy, come here please."
"What?"
"I said 'come here please'!"
Sound of running feet.
"What?"
"Billy, how come your thermos is still full?"
"Oh, it's because.." Billy gets distracted by the television.
"Billy, I'm talking to you."
"Huh?"
"Why is your thermos still full? Did you not eat lunch today?"
"Yeah I did."
"Did you not see that your thermos was full?"
"What?"
"Did you not see that your thermos was full? Remember? The soup?"
"Yeah."
"Did you eat your soup?"
"I don't remember."
"You....you don't remember noon? It's two o'clock."
"No, I didn't."
"Why didn't you eat your soup? It was supposed to be your lunch."
Billy shrugs.
"Well, you'll just have to have it tomorrow then."
Billy gets distracted by the television again.
"Or tonight for dinner." Opens thermos.
Long pause.
"Billy?"
"Huh?"
"What's this?"
"Um."
"What's in here?"
Billy shrugs.
"Is this...is this pee?"
"I don't know. I guess."
"Wh...ho...why is there pee in your thermos?"
"I don't know."
"Did you pee in your thermos?"
"I guess."
"Why?"
"I dunno."
"Do you not have bathrooms in school? Do you not have sufficient bathroom breaks?"
"Yeah."
"Then why in God's name do you pee in your thermos?"
Billy gets distracted by the television.

While my little sisters haven't come up with anything this preposterous, they do have their whole lives ahead of them. Sometimes there's just....y'know....pee in a thermos. It can't be helped. Pure curiosity. And as a dude, you get that way about pee. "What if I pee in this houseplant? This guitar? This Matryoshka doll?" Every vessel appears to have a second purpose. If you're reading this and NOT a dude--please understand....imagine for a moment you can pee IN ANY DIRECTION and also you're SIX. The world begins to look a little different.

Oh hey, also re-read that dialogue but imagine Billy is in his twenties.

In other news, I'm looking for a new job and a new place. And when I say a new place--I mean a new place ANYWHERE. I've been Craigslisting in L.A. and San Francisco, but also Chicago, Portland, Seattle, and Minneapolis. Though granted, moving to any of these spots in the Winter doesn't sound like a frolic through canolis, it definitely needs to happen. Here at home, I feel like I'm living the same way I did while I was at pretend college. That's just not doing it for me anymore. All the old comfortable stuff just feels stagnating now. Also, I'd like to curse loudly and walk around BUCK ASS NEKKED. As far as a new job goes, if I'm basically working an 'anything for money' gig--I want it to be utterly mindless. I don't give two shits about selling member(heh)ships or Nooks or whatever. I've worked retail and food service way too much--I don't want to be the type who hates people and spends the duration of their shift complaining about their shift.

Oh, we have a tree now! A..a Christmas tree, that is. We didn't just hack out a birch and throw it in the corner. Though now that I think of it....our customs are fuckin' weird.

More news as it develops. Stay tuned!

Love In The Time of Chimeras,
Dakotah

Dearest Susie Slapcuntz

I don't know what your real name is--and I don't care.

Because I loathe you.

I am posting this at work because I can't wait until I get home to let you know just how much I'd like to uppercut you fiercely in the Clooteris. As a matter of fact, I've spent the last three rounds building up my Special Meter simply to unleash the most devastating final attack ever upon your filthy vagina. I hate you so much.

Firstly--no, you're not interesting. Lots of people dye their hair black. Lots more just have it. Turns out it comes that way. Yup. Just grows. And no, you're not pretty enough to be the Homing Torpedocunt that you are. I don't care what stupid half-literate dudes you drag around with you to make you feel better about your shallow lifeless existence. And y'know what? Reading about people in horrible situations doesn't impress me. You read "Rape: A Love Story"? That's great. I'm glad you read a lot and consider yourself cultured. Fantastic! I got you a prize! It's called a 'Bronzed Go-Fuck-Yourself'. It's shaped like my middle finger, spiked, and electrified. Feel free to repeatedly thrust it vigorously into your Cavernous Crustfactory. Front and rear entrances.

Secondly--don't call me by my first name. We are not friends. If we were friends, I would have to seriously rethink my lifestyle--as it would mean I had actually gone completely insane. As a matter of fact, the day we become friends is the day I leap off of a building into a flaming helicopter. The German fucker from Indiana Jones would be proud. Anyway--back to my point--which is I hate you and you're not interesting.

Thirdly--saying things like "I'm not nice." and "Can you not find the book? Or do you just suck at your job?" isn't cute. It's not endearing. That's called "Being obtuse because none of my other qualities make me feel validated as a human being." You're a bitch. Worse yet, you're a dumb bitch. Triple worse, you're a dumb bitch that thinks she's really smart. Quadruple worse, you're a dumb bitch that thinks she's really smart, has a huge hard-on over herself, and is utterly transparent. I hate you and everything you stand for.

The next time I see you--instead of just saying "Who are you and where do you come from?" as I did today. I will leap over the Information Desk and deliver a flying kick directly to that teeming quagmire between your chubby unattractive thighs while simultaneously dropping two elbows into your big dumb face and then--deftly using my prehensile COCK--I will pull a cord that will release a trapdoor beneath you, that will drop you directly into a pit of rabid ferocious hounds--who are on fire, and also robots. You will be torn to little bitty stupid boring shreds. You are so dumb.

Get the fuck out of my store,

Dakotah (Who is better than you.)

P.S. Your life is a lie.

WHICH ONE'S THE CHONKFACE?

"Take Take Take" or "As I Walk Through The Valley In The Shadow of Wealth"

In addition to being a White Stripes song I like (There are roughly four of them) I realize that its a philosophy that I'm quick to adhere to when I'm caught not paying attention. I'm 'bout to get all esoteric upside yo' face--so bear with me. When practicing awareness, and not like...OH HEY, THERE'S A QUESADILLA, but real--true--"Hey wow, the universe is an awesome place if your eyes are open" awareness, I have a tendency to try and figure out how I can give to people more and more. I drop all the ego crap and just start to perceive people in their own natural light. I love it when I can get into this space. It's a space of direct honesty--where you don't have to preface your sentences with anything. Where you're totally comfortable with whoever you're speaking to because you've established that you accept them.

The Dalai Lama talks about the fact that, because we all share innate humanness, we all have a way to relate to one another. It's other things that get in the way. We wear a different colored shirt than the other guy, so they are somehow different--and different is always on some form of sliding scale. Different is synonymous with 'better' or 'worse'. Oftentimes its both. For instance, I have a huge love/hate relationship with the valley. My problem is constantly associating the valley with wealthy, egotistical, utterly vapid human beings. Now right there--outright I've given it a judgment; unfairly too. Now yes, there are folks who zip around in beemers who couldn't tell you what "To be or not to be" is from, or who don't give a flying cream-filled fuck what the 'Large Hadron Collider' is...but that's no reason to declare myself better than them. However, because these folks have TEH GREENBAXX I fall into the trap of assuming they must be doing SOMETHING right. They've got a whole mess of this THING that, because of my career, I'll probably never actually see that much of. So they win. They lose the Culture Round, but damn it all do they win in the Finances Round.

So eff this noise. I guess that's my conclusion. I'd really prefer to live in a place where people walk around. In New York, you can't help but bump into people every day. Here, if you can help it, you don't bump into anybody all day. I might just start crashing through life like a pinball with Tommy at the machine, because then people (myself included) will HAVE to wake up. Looking through windshields and TVs and iPhones and Computers is starting to make the world look two dimensional. If I drop everything and go live with a Shamanistic tribe, please don't express any surprise.

"Dakotah? Oh yeah, nah he went to Africa to wear bright colors and roll around in the dirt. He probably could've just done that here--but whatever. Pass the Earth Balance."

FWAH! The world = Awesome. Getting smug about it = MASSIVE HUMAN FOLLY.

Right? Right.

Told ya' it was esoteric.

Love love love,
Dakotah

P.S. If anyone can tell me where the best Hot Wings in L.A. can be found--I will take you under my wing and teach you the ways of crimefighting.

Lady Convington's Luscious Butthole

My only interactions with romance novels involve putting them back on the shelves and ordering embarrassingly large numbers of them for customers at the info desk. Walking through our romance section is like being in a room wallpapered with rippling abs and biceps. Not entirely unlike Silent Hill, actually. Adorning the HOT MAN BEEF are titles like, "Tamed By A Laird", "Seduction At Sunset" and my current favorite, "Thong On Fire". These books make up-no joke-about 40 percent of our sales.

I really REALLY want to write one that's clearly written by a (perhaps adolescent) male. Something like "Doin' It With a Viking" or "Lady Covington's Luscious Butthole". I'd replace things like,

"Nothing cooled the hot rush of desire focused between his thighs, even the near certainty that he wouldn't get Nicole into bed tonight any more than he had lured her into the shower. She wanted to wait, to play. He wanted to spread those long legs and sink into her until she didn't know anything but the taste of him, the feel of him, and the screaming ecstasy they would share."

With

"She crammed his weiner into her mouth like a hot churro from CostCo. He was mexican, so this made total sense. After a while, she spat out his wee-wee and told him to dip it in her hoo-hah. He obliged, but in Spanish. They did it with each other for like 8 days and then ordered a pizza."

I think I'm on to something. The cover of the novel will be me giving the thumbs up with one hand and holding the book with the other.

More like...TAINTSgiving!

OOH, NOT QUITE ASS, NOT QUITE BALLS.

Stuff THAT.

Nah, but on the real though--I'd like to take a moment to give thanks for the random little things I don't usually cover on tomorrow's holiday. LET'S GET OBSCURE!

I'M TAINTFUL FOR-

TIES
Hell yes. I effing love ties. Every time I where I tie, someone at work compliments me on being "Such a gentleman." HAH! FOOLED EM.

SEWING ABILITY
Thanks to this, you'll never see my satchel through the spy window of my trousers.

BADASS BUNNIES
See 'Watership Down'.

OGTMNT
The original motherfucking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles series and its ensuing spinoff products. Thems were the glory days. My brother and I had just about every single action figure there was. Ooze slinging Turtlemobile? Check-a-roo. Mechaturtle with the glowing eyes? DOUBLE-check-a-roo. Worst day of my life? Leaving an original 'Bebop' on the bus when I was 6. Weep.

YOGA
Release stored bodily tension and teabag yourself. I'm just sayin'. Two birds n' all that.

THE SHUFFLE OPTION
You dim the lights down and slink your way to the bedroom as sexily as possible. Before you and your main squeeze get down--you decide to turn on some music to help the mood.

"Ain't no thang, baby gurl-" you say, "I'll put this iPod on shuffle."

Great idea if you're me.

"I--er--I can explain!" you stammer, tripping over your pants. BUT THERE'S NO EXPLAINING. No explanation is good enough to rectify "Nookie" or "Boom Boom Boom Boom, I Want You In My Room". Thank you shuffle, you keep my life a romantic comedy.

COMMUNAL FOOD
French fries. Nachos. Hot Wings. I love eating with my hands with people I adore. If you've ever been to a Moroccan (or really any region with communal hand-eatin' goodness) restaurant and shared an entree with several friends and their digits, you feel so much closer than you do with knives and forks and separate plates. YUMS.

Just don't invite butt-pickin' Kyle.

OBSCURE JOKES
If any of the above links made you giggle, you're on my team. And THIS kickball season? We're taking home the DOUBLE-GOLD.

Yup yup yup, those are some of the random things that I don't usually give enough love to. All that aside, I'm extremely thankful for my friends and family, who I love DEARLY. Even if I don't call or write you all the time (and that's my badsky, a fault I'll work on) know that if you were here, I'd give you an elaborate high-five and take you drinking/dancing/for a Cinnabon. You're--sniffle--you're so cool.

Vibes,
Dakotah

P.S. Mofos, what is YOU be fankful fo? Leave a comment! I wantsta' know!

Noms and Nudes

I smirked at the irony of picking up "The Berenstein Bears Forget Their Manners" off the floor in the kids' section at B&N and made my way to the revolving book cage (where Ultimate Fighters read each other into submission.) As I was shelving, I caught a teensy glance out of the corner of my eye and realized a little tike was staring up at me. It's my natural response to smile and wave, so I looked full at the kid and realized the little girl was occupied.

She had a titty in her mouf.

NOW--I'm not in the least bit Puritanical about breastfeeding. In fact, anyone who knows me knows that my goal throughout Middle School was "See A Boob". It remains a motivating factor in my life, but is now superseded by "Get a car", "Act on Stage" and "See a Butt." Nevertheless, I was thrown for a moment--as I haven't figured out the proper protocol for this situation. I mean like...should I say something? If my nuts were hanging out, I'd like someone to mention it. I mean I suppose its different, since kids don't have to suck on balls for sustenance. (Best sentence I've ever written in my life.) I mean...I just wish I'd known in Middle School that evidently all I had to do was hang out in the kids' area of a bookstore.

Brings me to another point--!

Seeing as though I don't live at a housing co-op, I don't expect to run into naked people that frequently. That is to say--if I'm interacting with a naked person, it's probably for a very particular activity. (Hint: Not Yahtzee) So when I took a life drawing class a few years ago, I was sort of stopped in my tracks by the matter-of-fact nature of the entire thing. I've never stared at a nude woman that long while being utterly objective. Um...not that I objectified her...cuz...

Let's start over. Hi, I'm Dakotah.

Nah but fo reelz--one minute you're talking to a fit dancery yoga-ing hippie chick in a robe and the next minute you're trying to be very disconnected while shading her vagina. It's an extremely particular situation that I think everyone should try at least once for the hilarity alone. I mean hell, I wouldn't mind modeling if it weren't for...er...the nature of my nature.

"Can you stop moving that, please? I've had to do a lot of erasing."
"Look man, it does what it wants."
"It's casting a shadow though."
"Well maybe you two should have a talk."

Love love love,
Dakotah

REBOOT

"You are fearful now of losing your mind, as I once feared myself. Let me say, however, that to relinquish your self carries no shame,"

A quote from a misguided old Colonel in Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World by Haruki Murakami. I sigh and put down the book, laying back in bed (yes, I'm still in bed.) I planned on doing laundry, but I have to put a hold on it for a moment. I played half an hour of Borderlands and then got distracted and turned it off. Now I'm turning to the BLAG-O-SPHERE-O-TUBES to try and sort out my dome. More appropriately, I'm turning to my quaint little corner of interwebs to sort out muh face-noggin.
Yesterday, I had lunch with my friend, Charlie to try and figure out how to remain sane as an artist. This is a pretty pressing concern for me, as returning from the most tumultuous and incredible three years of my life--to--this, being home, hit me in the weirdest of ways. I actually recall saying "Yeah no, it's weird--but I really think Nebraska is going to help." It has recently come to my attention that...er...no, no it certainly hasn't. I sort of expected the tour to be the energizing supplement to my concerns--but no dice.

The isolation is the worst part.

Namely--no longer feeling like I'm part of my old community. Now, that's natural of course. It's just a pain in the ass. A major pain in the ass. I'm sitting here in my brother's old room with the door closed and nothing on the walls--wanting desperately to be connected again. It's hard, of course, to keep in mind that one's significance never changes (something Charlie mentioned yesterday) only one's circumstances.

Fuck, man...I've always been like this. Even in great times, it's like, "Aww man...SOMETHING has to suck."

And that's the icing on this big stupid cake. I know it's just a rusty old defense mechanism, still whirring there in the corner generally unnoticed because its been there for so long. It stays out of trouble and avoids the massive overhaul that it needs. Even now, looking over my old LIVEJOURNAL account--there are the throes of this discontent. Like--shit, man. I'm not even tormented by anything. Just a FEELING. Y'know? An INTUITION. Those people are really interesting in stories because like...they'll start wailing for no reason and then the main bad guy will show up...and you'll be like, "OH SNAP, FO REALS!? CRAZY DUDE WAS ON TOP OF HIS SHIT!" But constantly having a 'bed feeling about this' aids absolutely zero people.

But y'know...I don't really think it's a negative thing.

Energy is energy, and because of that--it can be channeled any way you like. I'm pretty sure the feeling that "Something's not right" is the same thing that makes me act, draw, write, and make music (well...make other peoples' music...poorly.. :D)

So what this calls for, perhaps--is simply a reboot. A rewiring of synapses and mental paths. ELECTRO-SHOCK THERAPY TIME! No no, but for reals--it's all the same STUFF at the center of us, yeah? Right? Okay, we're agreed. It's time to believe in that STUFF again and let it come out.

Love love love,
Dakotah

Also--the third dude in this video is the Andres clone that DIDN'T get into the MFA.

Slap My Fro

PAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-

"Who are some of your favorite musicians?"

"Oh, y'know...Bruce Springsteen, Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, DUDU FISHER."

"Wh...like he fishes for-?"

"Yes."

Weezer and Bookmongering

First off..

Fuck yeah.

A. In The Butt, Yeah
B. I don't get it...is this an inside joke thing?
C. Fuck NO. I don't like Weezer because I am stupid and have no family values.
D. 'C' reminded me of Addams Family Values. Man, remember that movie?

So working in the kids section last night, I re-realized something--a childrens' book can be named essentially anything. I'm thinking of diving into that business. So far my titles are:

"Here's a Duck"
"Kneecaps!"
"Breakfast on the Dog"
and
"RUN"

I think I'm on to something here.

OH--RIGHT--In the ACTING world, I'm still climbin'. I've submitted for some stuff--namely webisodes and stage auditions. I'll be filming a promotional video for public transportation on the 20th. Figures I guess--heh. I'm going to take the bus to the shoot and they'll marvel at how METHOD I am. Aside from that bweezness--I'm really itching to get HSD off the ground. Oh...oh THAT little ol' thing? One word. Webcomic. See, now that I posted it here--I have incentive to get chugging on it. Fuck, man--I shouldnt'a said nothin'.

In other news, I'm getting a ride to SB on Friday with Lolo-Woodsies to see RABBIT HOLE. I am so effing excited. FIRSTLY--VISITING ESS BEEEE!!! I MISS IT SO. I get to HANG OUT with errbody!!!! I'm gonna' get some FREEBIRDS, gonna swing by the beachy-beach! Boner? ACTIVATED. SECONDLY--GONNA SEE THAT GODDURM PLAAAY!!! DOUBLE BONER? DOUBLE ACTIVATED.

Whew.

Love love love
Dak

P.S. I haven't been swing dancing since the Triassic period--who's got a flippy dress and a free night?

Dig This-

So yeah--my previous post was definitely while I was in the midst of a thought cyclone. Or an "A-Flaiken-Flurken" if you will. So y'know...can we have some sort of subculture that still stands for something or are we doomed to dye our hair weird and knock over garbage cans?

I say we can totally create a tribe. (Not necessarily in the Burning Man sense, although I feel much more at home with hippies than with yuppies.) It's easier than it looks when we put our like-minds together. When we learn to love our ridiculous nature, we can chuck useless things like self-consciousness and greed and start to focus on what's really important. Like butts.

But(t) for realsies--inasmuch as Silly is the New Sexy, Love is the New Counterculture. Now obviously this still means there's room for subverting the norm--the norm needs a little subverting. Shake shit up, but shake it up for a reason.

Love and impulse, yo. This world is rad when we see it for reals.

Buckets of love,
Dak

Dude, Where's My Subculture?

In a society with an 'optional' war and a PS3 selling depression, the real value of our humanity seems to fade behind a wall of YouTube comments. Cynicism is the new black, and all the young-uns begin to act like grown-ups without ever growing up for realsies. Did Peter Pan know this world was already full of Lost Boys? Second star to the right and straight on 'till Gossip Girl.

We've got most anything we want at our fingertips--what then is there left to fight for?

Our enemies are more mysterious this time around. We're dealing with--dare I say--Skinjobs...? Under a bombardment of "Be yourself!" messages, too often we look up meekly and ask "But HOW?" Then of course parents, friends, tv, books and God (y'know, if you're into that sort of thing) give us plenty of ways to be who we are. The problem still persists though--we're all doing this for the first time and nobody knows us like us. On top of it, even with all the ways to be an individual nobody comes out and says "Be yourself--as long as its alright with us."

Now what does this have to do with Sub(counter?)culture?

Well Buford, I'm glad you asked. This all has to do with subversion. Subversion of things we take for granted. True individuality. In the greater sense, things are running pretty smoothly--that is we're not on the brink of a plague and people aren't dying in the streets. The fear of mortality that really hits home when human beings are being killed by the millions on battlefields, in villages, and in death camps, creates an intensely powerful energy...and though it was forged from fire and bone and tears--it can be distilled into a beautiful appreciation for the world we lay upon and the people we lay upon it with. I do believe there's appreciation drought in the world right now.

Food in seconds? Yes, please! I'll go ahead and toss this wrapper into a koi pond, you won't mind?

and

You mean to tell me that President Obama won't come to MY house, yank down MY pants and wipe my butt for me? OUTRAGEOUS!

What is our 'underground' based on? Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for hedonism--but it seems like the outliers in years past were at least sticking it to someone. Who are we sticking it to now?

Cuz we've gotta' stick it somewhere.

To be continued...

Love love love~!!
Dak

P.S. No, I didn't go through your entire Facebook album looking for pictures of your butt.

A Cry For Help: 'Comedy' at the Off Kilt

Lolo parallel parks the car outside of the Off Kilt (Haha, note the two stars) at around nine last night, while her friend (a teensy Taiwanese girl with a dash of a Napoleonic complex) freaks out about cars possibly leaping out of the bushes to hit us. As we walk in, Lil' Sassypants informs me that it's either bad comedy or bad DJ night.

"Bad like...bad music?" I ask. "Like one sustained note for an hour?"
"No no,"
"Because that's very avant garde."
"No...like...he'll stop the song and have to spend three minutes looking for the next one."
"Ouch."

We walk over to the bar and I take a look around. It's dark and loud, and the people inside seem like the type to get rowdy drunk and start headbutting one another. One of the bartenders was a chiseled-face guy who was either gay or a regular on a soap opera. The other was a miniskirted gal who had her 'bartender shield' on. Oh that? That's what attractive bartenders eventually develop after being sloppily hit on by the 4,237th too-loud guy that really truly believes he will take her home that night.
We grab some drinks and take a seat at an empty (RED FLAG #1) booth toward the center of the place, near the stage (RED FLAGS # 2, 3, 4, and 5-30.) The overly loud 90s song ends with 2 minutes of scuffling, which leads me to believe it's bad DJ night. Oh...oh was I wrong.

"How's everybody doin'?" A spectacled host shouts into a microphone. Our table is front and center, so I can't avoid making polite eye contact. This, I will eventually find out, yields some hilarious results.
"Good." I respond. I'm one of about four people who say anything back. This is due to the fact that its NINE THIRTY on a WEDNESDAY and there were roughly 14 people in the bar, including the 8 man lineup of comedians. Things are getting exciting already--because I can feel the desperation in the host's repeated attempts at audience rapport already. I also realize that me, Lolo, Sassy, and whoever joins us are going to be at the epicenter of it all. Good thing I wore my vest.

I'll say right now--there was possibly one or two funny things said during 'comedy night', and neither was by a comedian.

The main problem was the fact that they all had the idea that it was a bad house--and I won't argue with them there. It wasn't late enough for people to be drunk enough to laugh loudly enough (TRIPLE ENOUGH BONUS), and all the race and sex jokes they were throwing out there--with increasing volume and urgency--just weren't landing. They just weren't that funny. And hey, I'm sure the job is hard--but the solution isn't to try and tear the audience a new one every time your shit gets no response. OH and don't get me wrong--I got a HUGE kick out of it. I'll give some examples of what they said-

"Yeah THIS guy's got the idea. He's got TWO ladies." To me, sitting with Lolo and Sassy.
"Yep." I reply.
"Which one you gonna' fuck tonight?"
"Neither." I say.
He looks at me.

"Girl, you sexy. You sexy as hell. I'd get you pregnant on PURPOSE." one guy says to sassy.
She glares at him. I giggle.
"Girl, why you grumpy? You from grumpyville?"
"I'm from 'Don't Talk To Retarded Commediansville'."
Sassy is awesome.
"Retarded?" the guy does an impression of a retarded person. Apparently it's either this or his 'Japanese Orgasm'--which he would've done, except Sassy isn't a kind of Asian he has a joke for.

"HEY, LOOKS LIKE WE'VE GOT THE MATH CLUB OVER HERE." says a woman who is actually a character Tash would make up for Sketch N' Sniff. "WHAT'S GOING ON, MATH CLUB?"
"Long division, mostly." I reply.

"Ey yo, this guy's dressed like Kanye. What up, Kanye?"
This was, I realize only too late, a perfect time to take the mike and say, "Listen, I'm real proud of you, and Ima' let you finish--but Eddie Murphy had some of the best audience referential comedy of ALL TIME."

At me and Lolo. "Yeah, you know they fuckin'. He's doin' that thing where he got his hand on her thigh like 'we gon fuck tonight'."
If by 'thigh' he meant 'knee' and by 'we gon fuck tonight' he meant 'we gon talk about how jealous we are of her boyfriend in Syria' then he's right on the money.

Eventually, we took off. It was just getting too terrible. It was like squishing a spider, then watching it drag itself across the floor on its remaining legs. The rest of the night was way more fun...and way funnier.

Love love love and Cocoa Puffs,
Dakabilly

Hey-WHOA!! and Love the One You Is

(I'm watching the coolest conversation between Tom Whitaker's clone and a skinny intense man with glasses outside. In my head there's a lot of profanity and metaphysics.)

SO in returning to L.A., I began to notice a certain...attitude...I guess? Yeah, that's what we'll call it. I've dubbed this attitude "Hey-WHOA!!" (Also comes in profanity flavor!) Now imagine doing that while throwing your hands up in your face, protectively. Do it a couple of times, and you'll begin to embody what I'm talking about. It's not even like I was gone for very long, but going to Nebraska--where strangers ask "Have you had enough to eat?" was a very nice eye-opener. I realized that in my self, I'm generally quick to put up the barriers. It got to the point where I'd just lock myself in for the sake of preemptively protecting my ego. (Which incidentally is the single off of my new emo rock album.) It's not a fun way to be. It's sort of telling yourself that you can't handle anything. "BE CAREFUL ALL THE TIME BECAUSE YOU SUCK BALLS." LOTS of folks in L.A., for reasons I may dive into in some other rambling pseudo-intellectual post, embody this attitude to a T.

ALTERNATIVELY

"If you can't be the one you love, love the one you is"

More often than not, I'll beat myself up about things instead of just outright fixing them. Its easier for me to find motivation through self-hatred rather than through an objective and love-based desire to change. Being a dick to yourself feels powerful and dramatic, but it can't sustain itself. You can pull out you guts and stomp on em as much as you want, but in the end--you're still gutless. Lately, I've been opting instead to just come from a place of love and let changes take the time they need. You don't teach a child to walk by screaming f-bombs at it when it falls down. Though...*snicker*...I mean...the image is delicious.

But no, seriously. You're loved. If we have enough love to give some to our favorite pair of shoes--we can eat least sling some in our own direction.

Speaking of which-

Love Love Love and Dirty Jokes,
Dakotah

You know you want it.

Another Drawing Lesson.

Nebraska Shakes: Post Mortem

I'm back in L.A., listening to the pillows and trying to pick apart that entire weird, fun, informative tour.

I think first and foremost, I'm going to miss everyone--a lot. I already do. It feels strange being at home right now. I miss Pat Leuschen's basement, with its exercise equipment and mini-fridge. I miss Pat, who is a lot like my grandma--if she'd gotten a PhD in Neuroscience. I miss leaving the house and walking across the street to UNO, where we would rehearse in the strange greenish room with the hardwood floors. I miss the hell out of the cast. All my touries. Off to bigger and better things already--or simply going back to work. Vince, who is a for-reals Jedi--off to direct shows and teach kids how to murder each other onstage. Sarah, who--despite playing a terrifying supernatural force of impending doom--will squeal if a cupcake is cute. Sean, who will say that thing you'd think would be really funny to say aloud--but don't have the balls to. Brian, who is Goddamn hilarious--sometimes unintentionally (ask about 'Oh no, coffee stain'.) Maria, who is the best kind of 'off her rocker' EVER. Wes, who I wish I'd had more time to drink and nerd out with. Each and every one of these people are amazing em-effers that I REALLY wish I get a chance to work with again.

Sigh. Sob.

In any case, here I am again. My brother moved out, so I've got my own room! IT'S.....empty, really. I won't be here for much longer, either--I'll be moving in with Kivs and Jack Freeeeezay soon enough. For now, though--I'm going to work, audition, and try to earn a barrel of cash so I can move confidently. Here's to that!

Love,
Dakotah

Pre-Post-Mortem

After every day of performances and workshops for Nebraska Shakes, we do a thing called 'Post Mortem', which is basically a recap of the days events (load-in, show, workshops)--and how things can improve/etc. Now, I'll do a big tearful one of those in a day or so, but suffice to say--today was our final show.

WAH.

GOOD LORD I'M GONNA MISS EVERYBODY SO MUCH-


Love to everyone
Butt squeezes to most of everyone
D K

Dress-Up

I will never outgrow dress-up.

When I get home, I'm constructing a goddamn steampunk outfit.

And buying a pocketwatch and some goggles...and some metallic paint.

With any luck, they'll let me join the New York Steampunk Negroes.

Love,
Dak

Dear Madam,

Man enters from stage right, stops center. He carries a carefully handwritten letter in his hand. It is crisp. He holds up the letter, clears his throat, and begins to read.

MAN
Dear Madam, I write this letter as a dire warning. It is not an ultimatum, for that would require that you exist in the literal sense. No, this is from past me to future you. Excuse the errors in tense, since I'm new to this sort of thing. I don't believe in time travel, but I do believe in preparation. So, when I accidentally reach for your glass of wine at that dimly-lit hole-in-the-wall bar and our eyes meet for the first time, and I notice that your eyes don't match and your bleached hair is growing brown again at the roots--I warn you--do not stop me from making a fool of myself. Under no circumstances are you to shift the conversation away from favorite childrens' picture books onto more savvy sociopolitical topics. Do not stifle your laughter when you spot the gaping hole in the crotch of my jeans. And if you dare--for one second--assume that I just might be the grown up shit-together guy to pull you out of a frivolous life of floundering and excess, walk away immediately. Do not even entertain that thought.

The man turns over the letter.

In return for listening to my warning, I vow never to cut you down in front of your friends or mine because I'm feeling insecure. I promise never to force you to come to comic book conventions with me or stay up late to watch zombie movie marathons. On my honor, I'll never talk down to you for your tastes in music, fashion, books, or tv. Hear me out, because I will never call you too much or too little--in this I admit I have an uncanny tendency toward absolute perfection. I will notice a new beauty in you ever single day for a full year--and if we last that long, I will write a poem for each one and publish them in a book that I will bind myself--and give you for our two-year anniversay. All I ask of you is to follow my warning. Do not be fooled by my brooding nature or my stoic looks. I am not one to be taken seriously, but I am one to be taken.

Love, Me. (The one who ordered the Merlot.) P.S. If I won't eat something because I don't like onions, I don't like onions. If you respond "Eat it, you love onions." I will walk right out on you so fast your head will spin.




I guess that's a monologue?

Love,
Dakotah

This is a post about acting.

This tour has blown my mind in so many ways and taught me a lot about acting. For example--if I don't sleep very well, I WILL FUCKING SUCK the following day. This happened to me yesterday--where the first performance was a SCHLONG FESTIVAL, but the next one (where I was fully awake) was EXCELLENT.

I guess this is a good time to talk about my process! :D (Emoticons don't look very good with serifs...Also if you already act, I'm sure you know all this. It's just my personal Macbeezy experience.)

I tend to get the most mileage out of working from the inside out. This is generally because I don't get a very good external sense of characters unless I really internalize their wants and needs first. I've got to find the impulse that's buried in the text or the situation. In Macbeth, I'm playing three parts: The Sergeant, Banquo, and Rosse. The Sergeant shows up early and then dies....so he's been routinely the hardest to nail. Banquo started off easy, then became more difficult and interesting as I learned more about him (i.e. his hot-temperedness, his love for his son, his ego.) Rosse didn't click with me until midway through the first week of performances....basically until I hit upon the fact that he's older than I think he is. For each character, I get the most out of them when I let the script go, breath deeply (VERY VERY deeply) and let the imagery wash over my body and my voice. It forces a sort of relaxation and makes you kick your anxieties to the curb. The problem in Shakespeare is always that the internet well of complex emotion is too big for the script you're given. There's a sort of eternal frustration you have when you speak--because even if it seems like your partner gets it they just don't understand quite enough. The images, born from a combination of onstage action, external targets, sound, and feelings can only be found with a focused and quiet mind. Once you've got them, it's your job to explore them fully and completely. Feel, touch, smell, hear, and taste these images--and perhaps most importantly--trust them.

My biggest problem as of late (aside from lack of sleep) has been attempting to replicate previous performances. This only comes about when I'm feeling a general lack of confidence, and that typically happens when I don't get much shut-eye. Occasionally something else will throw me (I never claimed to be the most confident guy in the world by any stretch of the imagination) but its always the breathing that gets me back on track. Not only does it root you in your own body, but it glues the character to you in a profound way. It's even the fuel for your journey into the world of imagery. Try staring at an inanimate object while breathing as deeply as you can....you start to discover new things about that object. Thing you probably would never have seen otherwise. (It may even start out frustrating--but if you stick with it, you'll surprise yourself.)

Very occasionally, starting externally (i.e. Mannerisms, movement, voice, etc.) has helped unlock the character so to speak--but I've yet to find an outside-in method that I can fully trust in. That's neither here nor there, frankly--I think I just need to find something that works. Again--this tour has taught me a valuable lesson about delving into characters. YOU NEVER KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM. Boiling a character down is the quickest way to shoot yourself in the foot/face. In addition, REMAINING SAFE for the sake of appearing 'The Good Actor' is another way to tie yourself down. You'll be concerned about your performance and not the situation. Your images will abandon you if you try to hold them too tight, or use the same ones over and over. They wear down and become unhelpful.

Anyway--yeah, I dunno...having a rehearsal period this short meant I had take care of all those pesky things I usually work through with a director alone. It's been really hard, but extremely good for me.

Why? Because I'm awesome.

Anyway, I've got all sorts of buttcheeks to squeeze. Until next crime!

Love lurve suki aishiteru,
Dakotah

(P.S. No, I don't actually have any buttcheeks to squeeze. Shut up. Stop rubbing it in.)

Omaha The Beautiful (or 1 Player Mode)

Finished ZMM this morning. Felt a bit like the waning hours of an Amusement Park trip. I'm sad that its over, but I can still conjure up that roller coaster feeling when I close my eyes. I highly recommend it if you're a fan of existence.

And yes, that was a threat.

My mission for the day was to find some kind of breakfast place in Omaha. Thus far, they've appeared rather scarce--as evidently this is a city of eternal lunch. The fact of the matter is, my radius of exploration is rather hindered by my lack of wheels/jetpack fuel, so its only natural that I haven't found a decent bucket-o-pancakes base of operations yet. Five minutes on google, and I was all set to go.

I left the house after a brief chat with my host mom, Pat (Note to self--get her a giftbasket before I leave.) Yesterday's snow had all but melted, leaving white sugar-spill patches on bushes and rooftops, as if nature's cap wasn't screwed on tight enough. Armed with a cheap scarf and gloves, I was ready to brave the 30ish degree weather in search of flapjacks and (fingers crossed) a mimosa or two.

The walk was longer than I expected, but I found a bakery/restaurant and ate there. IT WAS FANTMAZING. Mixed berry syrup--delicious and racially conscious. Afterwards I decided to Robert Frost it and pick a route I'd never tried before, one that ran parallel to snow-bordered creek.

I was immediately facepunched by the utter silence of the trail. The wind held the monopoly on volume as trees and weeds rustled around me. I was in a kind of paved valley, with hills sloping upward on either side of me. Green patched with combed-through glittering white. The trail ran beneath some overpasses and I could snatch icicles down from the dripping supports. No more than 3 cyclists biked by and we greeted each other. Every now and again, there would be a huge puddle of fallen leaves (FALL! OH YEAH. SEASONS.) that I would tromp through like a Kindergartner. When I thought the scene couldn't possibly become more idyllic, I heard a faint song begin to play over a loudspeaker.

Fucking Viva La Vida.

I don't know how the hell they'll ever pry me away. Unless, of course, butts are involved.

Love,
Dakotah

P.S. Have any of you had any "HOLY EFF, SUDDENLY EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE" moments recently? What was dey' like? Drug induced/non drug induced--I wanna hear about it!

Monthly YouTube Roundup!

Hah, 'Monthly'.

Nah, I just wanted to link a couple of my current favorite online vids. Starting with--

MUSIC

WARNING: ADJUST YOUR SPEAKERS, I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS IS SO LOUD OH GOD HELP--

Also-if I ever got something animated--it'd basically be thirty minutes of THIS.


You love it. 0:56 is my current computer background.

And now--HOLY JUXTAPOSITION, BATMAN!!

So please bake me cookies.

HILARITY

The best part of this video is the fact that MY MOM produced it. For realskies.

WEAR DEODORANT, NIGGA.

Also...

Evidently, she's a YouTube celebrity--but that's news to me. She's awesome, though.

BLAM BLAM BLAM

Yeah fine, it's old. I still like it.

POTPOURRI

Aww boo, I can't embed this one.



ANYWAY, yes. Go finish your laundry! Stop wasting time.

Love,
Dakotah

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BROTHER, CLIFF!!

Same Teams!!

Hey all! Here are some brief updates Re:My Existence--

Our cast played Lazer Tag at the nearby Family Fun Center between our workshop and our evening show (which took place at a GORGEOUS little outdoor space surrounded by massive pillars.) Vince and Wes took the lead in the first and second games, respectively--but I snagged second in both rounds. BLINDFIRING AROUND CORNERS FOR THE GODDAMN WIN.

Yeah, bitches--I've got an alternate firing mode.

"Bull in a vagina shop" is my new favorite phrase. Spread the word. Be the toast of the now with your 'fresher-than-E40' lingo.

Somehow or another, while walking to Borders or Fuddruckers, I forget which, a strange concept suddenly hit me. As I looked out at the traffic (and the following day, as I looked out at our high school audience) I realized that we are--inextricably on the same team. It wasn't the usual "Love everybody!" message, but instead a more practical sort of "Same teams, man! Same teams!" the thing you shout at someone when they come around the corner during a water fight. It's delightfully simple and reassuring. Remember, in fact, the sudden rush of assurance you got when you realized that not only is this person in front of you not your enemy, but in fact they're working with you to accomplish a goal? That's what our true nature is when we quit ignoring it. Even someone who does potentially negative things--its not necessary to place them so close that their exploits (positive or negative) have a deep emotional effect on you. Its enough to realize that your goals are in line.

Whoops, fell off my soapbox there--

Anyway, I'll write more when I'm in a 'writey' place. As it stands, I've got too many things I want to DO. I'm like a bull in a vagina shop.

FULL CIRCLE FOR THE WIN.

Love,
Dakotah

P.S. I heard in some song that apparently, every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

P.P.S. Also, I got a haircuit from a dude who, while hanging out with his Reiki master, had bought a 200 dollar jewelry chest from Nepal ON A WHIM. Yeah, turns out I had misconceptions about Omaha. And yes, my foot tastes GREAT.

What's your FAVORITE thing about touring?

"What's your favorite thing about touring?" asked the girl from Central High's school paper. Her tone sounded like she'd asked herself in a mirror over and over and now it was CRUNCH TIME. In the background, a fellow staffer was snapping pictures. I leaned down toward her phone, which she was using to record our chat.
"Well," I began as I heard Maria (our awesome Lady M and all-around super cool lady) answering the exact same question behind me, "I love the fact that we're presented with an entirely new show every night." My subtext was Don't sweat it, future journalist, you're doing fine! This is probably weirder for me than it is for you. "That space is different, the audience is different, it all informs the kind of show we have in the end. I love it, it's like theatre boot camp."

Indeed it is.

I thought about the past week or so. Counting the two previews, we'd done about 10 shows and 2 workshops since last Friday. I haven't gotten up this early this frequently since High School. Many a morning, I found myself trudging to our meeting spot (The Omaha Community Playhouse) with my hands buried in my sweatshirt pockets, trying to squeak out a warm-up on the way there while I attempt to wrap my brain around this career path. I wake up at 5:30am to get together with friends, drive to a high-school and MAKE BELIEVE for an hour. Last Wednesday, we had three shows. That means three load-ins and load-outs. Three sets of fight calls (The final Macbeth Macduff scene on the final performance was an exercise in endurance.) And a whole lot of STANKY LEGGINGS. Afterward, I felt like I unlocked a damn Achievement. If you can do that, you can do any-fucking-thing.

"So, you've been doing this for a while. Do you like your other cast members?" she asks, a bit more relaxed now after we'd chatted a bit.
"I love em'. I LOVE EM'." Tune it down, Dakotah--you're scaring the poor highschooler. "It's a pleasure to work with such an amazing group of people. We all really have each others' backs out there." And we do. We've yet to have our Perfect Show, so in the meantime--we're ready to jump in on a missed cue, help each other put on clothes (in AND out of show, ROWR--no that's not true), clarify stuff, dial shit up/down, and if need be--deliver Maria's baby. I'm just sayin'--how awesome a story would that be? "And she never broke character!"

"Do you ever get tired doing the same show over and over?"
"No, not really." I wished one of the kids had asked this in the talkback. I've been wanting to verbalize this thought process for a while. "The way I see it, every night you're noticing something else. It's like when you watch a movie over and over--you start to appreciate the minutiae. The more we do it, the more new stuff I hear every day."
"Oh wow," Reporty McReportpants laughs, no longer in 'reporter mode', "I never thought about it like that."
"Yeah."
"So, how did you like Central High?"
"Ah-" I pause. How exactly do I say this? "They're rambunctious, but pretty focused. I think they really dug the show." Well done, Brown. No f-bombs. To be honest, they had some trouble with unsex me here, and all the murders--which are evidently HILARIOUS(??), and I definitely saw some kids sleeping, reading, and playing with either PSPs or their wieners (I couldn't tell, it was three dudes hunkered into their chairs all looking at one dude's crotch.) To be honest, the best shows we've had were at a pair of havens for underprivileged children. The kids helped us set up, paid INCREDIBLY close attention to the show (which they LOVED), and their questions were the most intelligent we'll probably get on the tour. On top of that, they're all SUPER sweet kids. I'm amazed that we got to enrich their lives with our make believe. We're actually helping people. Shakespeare is fucking AWESOME.

"Well thank you," the girl said into her phone, "thanks a lot."
"Oh yeah, of course! Thanks for comin' to the show! Pleasure to meet you." and she leaves after a firm, professional handshake.

I have the best job ever.

BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES!

I think I promised I'd add an addendum to a previous post. That was a lie. Suffice to say--I was nearly mauled by cougars, my phone broke, and I bought a sweatshirt.

There's your update.

So we had our official first show at the Sumter Amphitheater in Papillion. It was an amazing little space--up on a hill and removed from the sparse little San Jose-outskirtsy city of Papillion. The show itself was a bit wonky--but that's because many of us were worried about the set blowing down around us. That wouldn't NORMALLY be too big a deal, but it consists of five flats-each with at least 4 REALLY POINTY parts that you wouldn't want to be on the business end of. Add to that the fact that the floor was slippery polished concrete, and you have a recipe for a distraction stew. Or, at least, a bisque.

I felt in and out, altogether. This I feel I can attribute to my lack of sleep the previous night. Since my phone broke, I had to find another alarm...and because its one I'd never used before, I couldn't be entirely sure that it would work properly. I spend the night freaking out about it and woke up 3 anxious hours later. GUH.

Aside from that shtorf--it's been an interesting morning. I got the Rifftrax for The Room and watched it--it's funny, but the movie in and of itself might be funnier. The whole basis for the movie is for you and your friends to watch it and make the commentary yourselves--but there ARE some gems.

Also, I've been in a very odd mood. I'm not sure exactly what its about--but I feel like it began with the worry/thought/consideration that I'm beginning to lose something. That sounds ambiguous, and my explanation won't make it make any MORE sense per se--but I'll try anyway. There is always a dissonance between what you find yourself to be and what you expected yourself to be at this point in your life. That's a wonderful thing--it teaches you firsthand that life is an ambivalent beast and you should roll with the punches. That said though, I don't want to lose my grip on the belief that I can still DO ANYTHING. Y'know? If, once I get back, I decide that I want to move to Japan. I'm of two different minds about that--half of me (the grownup?) says "No no no, why would you do that? There's no reason for THAT." and the other half is saying, "Yeah! Are you kidding? What an adventure!" I'm just having some trouble reconciling the 'adventure' part. To be honest--there's a lot of excitement in saying "Fuck everything, there is no 'right way', hoist the sails!" I just want to make abso-tutely sure that 'no path' is a path I can follow, too. I'm nervous, excited, loopy, freaked-out, determined, anxious, and ecstatic. Whew.

Much much much loves!
Dakotah

Fun Sized!

Here are a few nibbles of thought from this evening so far--

How come the one Asian guy at Fuddruckers was wearing a Bruce Lee shirt? Who wrote tonight's goddamn episode? I could use their blatant lack of tact on my staff.

Budweiser is actually the serf of beers. Perhaps in a bloody regime change in might sneak in and usurp the throne.

Where are all my Mexicans at? How am I supposed to practice my awkward, stumbling, Espanol? PISO MOJADO!

Pomplamoose is a band I'd talk about if I wanted to get into bed with a short-haired girl with black-rimmed glasses and an ironic t-shirt.

The night is young, expect a much less cohesive addendum to this post in a matter of hours.

Let the Seasons Begin~

Last night was our final dress for the show, and we're off to our preview today. I feel pretty damn good about it now, too. Matter of fact, I leave for the Omaha Playhouse in about half an hour to meet everyone else at the touring van. We'll drive to Creighton, load in, have a reception, then do the show. Cah-razy!

In other news, the weather has really cooled down. The trees are getting that gutted cigarette color and the gnats have all but instantaneously vanished. I got paid on Wednesday--then after a bit of fantastic irresponsible spending, I've bought (organic!) groceries to last me a good solid week or so. The scariest part is, I think, the fact that I'll be back home in L.A. before I get halfway through my daily vitamins. I think that gives them a profound significance. A weight. I'm going to have to measure my time in milligrams from now on.

But seriously, folks--

I'm a little nervous about tonight. I just don't know what to expect. Its funny, I'd feel fine walking onto the PAT or the Hatlen stage at UCSB and delivering a solo show off the dome, but this new location thing is a bit nerve-wracking. I think the best thing to keep in mind is that an audience is an audience is an audience. People are people are people. Aside from minor technical adjustments, there's not much to even consider worrying about. Our show is good. I know what I'm doing, and most importantly the show knows what it is.

In other news, I finally started setting aside time to read The Gunslinger, which Vince (Macbeth) let me borrow. I'm liking it so far, which is to say--ahem--all 54 pages of it. In addition, I decided to give my least favorite Final Fantasy another go. That's right, I'm replaying FFVIII. I still despise Squall Whinenhart--but I think I have a more refine take on the approach now. It is, EXTREMELY Japanese. It's a highly technological world that centers around an institution of learning, but has a keenly mystical element that centers around deity figures. How did they poosibly come up with oh wait, they looked outside. Thus far, this has been the most interesting aspect of this new playthrough. Well, I mean...that and the fact that this decade old game still has some amazing visuals during the cinematics. We'll see how far I get before I either-

A.) Decide I've been wrong all along and power through the narrative--which I'll undoubtedly find interesting and resonant.

B.) Get so irritated with Squall's bitching that I give it the big Eff You again.

C.) Squeeze every last game-breaking drop out of the junction system for ten hours, and breeze through the four discs in a single afternoon.

In addition, the list of women I'll sadly never marry is growing by leaps and bounds--for instance--enjoy this delicious blog. I guess Beansy knows her or something? She's a CCS alum. Whatever, I don't even care...

I've gotta' wrap this up so I make call time. Love love loves!

Dakotah (the hottest youtube video in the world is right here) Brown.

A Star to Sail Her By

I don't ascribe to any religion. I never have. I've been to church a few times, various temples and what-not, and I do have a healthy respect for others' beliefs. Indeed on the grounds of the Tokyo Meiji shrine, surrounded by Buddhist monks in traditional dress and wooden gates that tower above you like gentle colossi, it isn't hard to be floored by the sheer energy of the place. This brings me quite neatly I think, to the belief system I've sort of cobbled together for myself. I believe in energy, in a sort of larger magnetism. I believe that when we stray from this magnetism, we feel the dissonance somewhere deep within ourselves. That may sound very esoteric or out there, but it basically comes down to listening to your true self. Remember them? That serene fucker who isn't bowled over my minor missteps, the one who calmly watches your misfortunes with a slight grin and offers the quiet advice that we ignore? The one who we shove out of the way when we pretend we know about that one band/movie/book somebody refers to? Now I realize I'm making a broad generalization. Perhaps I should keep this specific.

Me, I'm talking about myself, here.

The reason I started in on beliefs is because I too often feel bogged down by the immense weight of...the universe, I guess? At least, that's a heroically dramatic way to put it. What it really amounts to is the fact that I find myself living under the same rules I unconsciously set for myself when I was a child. I'm certain many folks never grow out of that. It's really easy to abide by the patterns you establish throughout your life and cling to them like a security blanket. I, for one, simply MUST feel like the 'In-Trouble Boy'. A child who hides his true fingerpainting sloppy-eating nature from adults because he has to 'be good'. It's something I feel comfortable with, even though its extremely negative. Its easier though, for me not to be myself in circumstances in which I feel uncomfortable. It's waaay simpler to nod and smile and give the right answers so people will like you. That's the thing nobody tells you. It's actually really difficult to own up to the fact that folks are going to think you're a dick sometimes, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. If anything, frankly, you should embrace it! I mean--hell if its who you are, and if its based in honesty and not fear then all you're doing is sifting through the flour. You're finding out who likes you for you and who likes you because you make them feel good about themselves. Unfortunately when your subconscious pattern dictates that you should surround yourself with people who 'accept' you so you can feel confident about where you stand--all you're doing is hanging yourself slowly. You've assembled a parade of empty, smiling backslappers who've crowd-surfed you out of your own body and away from yourself. This is something I set up for myself. This fear-based foot shooting is worse than the weekend-long procrasturbation that keeps us from our to-do list. Personally, I fear that anything I put forth energetically simply won't be good enough--just won't do. And hey, I've got plenty of contradicting evidence, too!

But I can only ignore myself for so long before something breaks. Before something gives way and melts. We are filled to the brim with stardust, and no matter how many coats we throw around our bodies, its not long before we belch up a furious comet or begin to leak nebulas from our navels. 'Be' is good, 'Be Aware' is better, 'Be Bold' is great and 'Be Rad' is what life wants you to do anyway. We're not programmed to fail, which is why we never truly do.

Love Love Love and Love,
Dakotah

Also I got you this website, it seems like the type of thing you'd be into. I mean sure, go ahead and keep the receipt if you want.

Some Directions.

Listen to this at full blast.

Rock the fuck out ('Cock Out' is optional based on availability of equipment.)

Love,
Dakotah

Tuh-GIFF!

I had dinner with half of the cast tonight at a place called Stokes in gorgeously aged Downtown Omaha. It's a little southwestern place that whips up a surprisingly good fish taco for middle America. Their margaritas come in buckets, and I was tempted to snag a second and KEEP THE PARTY GOING as it were. Afterward, we all went for (FREE!) Ice Cream at a place who's name unfortunately escapes me. It's one of those places that has a stable of flavors, but only twelve at a given time--and they rotate daily. SUPER taste. I recommend the Lemon Cake Mix...y'know...next time you're in Omaha.

Rehearsals are picking up as I'm gradually getting more comfortable. We got started on the Banquo/Murderers fight yesterday (almost wrote 'two days ago' man, I'm losing my concept of time..) and its pretty quick n' dirty. Poor guy, gettin' all surprised like that. It's chuggin' along, though. "RELAX and DO WHAT'S IN FRONT OF YOU." is the name of the game.

Oh, by the by, Macbeth Curse Body Count: 1

The super-rad Sean Carlson rolled his ankle a little bit ago. Now I know we're a professional company, and we're not going to believe goofy shit (if you pay attenion, you'll note that Max, like me, is an ass man.) like that...but hey...I've been feeling faint lately...and I did hallucinate and see a toothpick before me. I mean, maybe it's working its way up.

Anyway--its time for sleep. I've got to rest up for the FIRST RUN IN FRONT OF AN AUDIENCE of costumers TOMORROW.

Also, I saw this tonight.

Stars Hollow

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Midtown-ish Omaha (or Dundee) called 'Espresso Yourself'. It's about a ten minute walk east of the place I'm staying at. The entire walk here I felt like I should have been listening to Aimee Mann or the Decemberists. I fell somewhere to the right of either option with The Sea and Cake. It's not a town for Weezer--or rather--Pinkerton. In L.A., I find myself asking "Wow...where does everyone live?" and here I ask "Wow, where does everyone work?" It's a fluke of SimCity design that all of these residential zones have blossomed into such a well-rooted and beautiful comminuty. I feel like Rage couldn't grow here, who would water such a thing?

The first thing that blew my gourd was the neverending sound of insects. There's a constant chirp that pulls me back almost two decades, and I'm plunged into a past that's chock-full of Baltimore firefly catching and Nintendo in the basement. Oh yeah, there are basements here. The Big Bad Wolf would have a hell of a time blowing down these houses, which I guess is the point. Not like some wood and wallboard affair, these places were built in the 20s and made to remain. Things just feel solid.

A week here has (aside from the worry about the show, which has subsided) been extremely calming. I know for a fact that I'm going to miss it when I leave, and not just because I won't have my own room to walk around pantsless. It'll be the grey skies, sporradic rains, and muggy air who's facebook pages I'll keep checking when I'm lonely.

Ugh....what an INTERNET thing to say.

Love!
Dakotah

EDIT: Nothing to do with Nebraska, but here's some nostalgia for ya'.

Nebraska Shakes: The Process

Real quick--let me mention that the whole "I'm the worst actor in the cast blah blah blah" thing is actually back in full swing for a moment, so to get out of that bullshit rut, I'm going to talk about Le Process(e).

We got the adapted scripts about a month ago, and have been theoretically doing our own text work up until now. It is waaay pared-down, with the Witch playing all the incidental characters, Duncan playing Macduff, and Banquo playing Rosse. Malcom is...well...always Malcom. Then there's M and Lady M.

It seemed like the leads were off-book on day one, but really it took me about a day and a half to be totally solid. The director is an actor director--meaning he'll go in there and tell you to 'move here' or 'this moment worked' and stuff like that. He's got a lot of good ideas and images, and is totally willing to forgo them for stronger ideas and more solid images. I realize that because I've never worked with him before--I've been spending the past several days trying to impress him. Which is not acting. It is, rather, sucking fat hardcore balls. But enough about that (and by that, I mean I'm sure I'll toss some more sardonic self-loathing in here before the end.)

We had the play blocked in about three days, and now we've got room to play.Generally, the director would give the general shape of the scene and leave the playing up to the actors. This was great. The only downside is the nearly zero text work we've done--which actually seems pretty okay for almost everyone. Again, our Lady M is a freaking machine with incredible spot-on instincts. We haven't really done any character exercises either, which is good considering the time frame we've got. Again, to bring this back to 'woe-is-me'ville, I feel like I'm floundering MAJORLY.

The sounds and music were kind of done the same way. We play. The director has an idea and we all sort of throw in what seems to make sense and what sticks sticks and what doesn't doesn't. Given that we have eight hours in a day, we can really dig into it--and that's been the most rewarding part. If I can just get over trying to be good, and start learning, I'll feel solid. It's just tough when my notes are things like, "Try to project." and "It's actually pronounced preTENSE." and "What's your point of view, here?" I certainly don't feel like someone who's just graduated from a theater program. This is all, of course, to say it's day 5 of week 1 of my 3rd Shakespeare show. I'll come off it, but right now its very frustrating.

Alright alright. I'm done. Thanks.

Love or whatever, grumble grumble
Dakotah

It's That Time Again!!

Is it just me who gets extremely, mind-bendingly horny for days on end?

Yum Yum, Honeybuns!

Super Cool Trivia Time: The title of this blog is also the only comment I left on Risa's evaluation sheet. Twice.

I've got to apologize, since my last few blogs were greatly lacking in the ironic link department. My trips to the internet have been few and far-between. I've got no phone service or WiFi in my base of operations, so communication is slim--and basically relegated to when I'm on campus--before or after rehearsal. AND SPEAKING OF WHICH--

Day three of (OH JESUS CHRIST MY FOOT FELL ASLEEP) rehearsal and the whole show is blocked. Everyone is off-book. We only have sound stuff and prop stuff to worry about. WHAT THE HELL. I KNOW! In a SHAKESPEARE play, too! I'm blown away. I've never had a process go this quickly. Even my typical (oh god what am I doing here the director made a mistake I'm the weakest link in the show woe is me I'd better start Craigslisting myself as a whore because this'll never work) process has been cut down to about a day and a half. The coolest part is the fact that this is in my skillset now. I'm going to know how to put up a show like this in this sort of time frame. Hell if I'll have the people, but that's a concern for a later date. Also, once I get back home I can look into that crazy cabaret show I couldn't do--and keep in touch with those fuckers. EXCITEMENT.

And now, I return home to my basement...to feast on peanut butter sandwiches and beer, fall asleep watching 'Trainspotting' and have another EXTREMELY fucked-up dream.

Toodles, doodles...


...godDAMN did that sound gay.

Love,
Dakotah

In The Middle-West

I landed at the Nebraska Airport and immediately saw a 'Tornado Shelter' sign. This felt like an indication that this place would be unlike any other I've been to.

So far though, (all two days) it's been pretty normal. I think the nicest part is, actors are actors are actors, we're basically the same goofy fuckers anywhere. Oh man, let me tell you about the cast for the show. Oh man oh man~

So Vincent and Sarah Carlson-Brown are the road managers and basically THE Nebraska Shakespeare guys. Vincent, who is playing Macbeth, has some serious street cred as we say in the cred business. He's been with the company for about 10 years, doing security at first--then getting on the stage--then apparently making the stage his beeyotch. He is a mental and physical combination of Allie's Jordan and Jason Scott--so an intense actor with a wealth of knowledge on the subject, and also a tattooed goober with a Star Wars obsession that I deeply deeply admire. He and Sarah are married (been together for the better part of about 7 years) and they have proven to me that not only can an actor couple completely thrive, but they can buy A GIANT EFFING HOUSE WITH A STAR-WARS ROOM.

Sarah is rad too, of course. She's playing the Witch/Porter/Old Crone/Child/Set/Audience. She is an equally intense actor with a major goofball side that can kick some ass in the tandem bike on Wii Sports Resort. Oh yes, we got 7th out of 30 people...but we also PUSHED OTHER BIKERS OFF A CLIFF. That's right. MURDER. She gets to fuck around with audience members during the porter speech. SEX-SAY.

Shawn Carlson is Vincent's brother and reminds me of kind of a midwestern B-Frost, except replace all things medieval with all things soccer-related. He gave me the Nebraska Tutorial and showed me where the best pretend Irish dive bars were. Also he taught me double-jump. He's playing Malcom.

Brian, who plays Duncan and Macduff, actually reminds me of the Brian from Much Ado--except he's waaay toned down. He's awesome though, and hilarious, and will destroy you at Wii anything. He's got that gamer's beginners' luck going on. His acting is fuckin' subtle, yo.

Maria is one of the most terrifying actors I have ever met. By that, I mean she is abso-fucking-lutely amazing. She plays Lady M--no no no no, she OWNS Lady M. She's like a tiny, blond, pregnant Christina Ricci. She's got an adorable circular face, and a voice that you completely don't expect. It's deep and resonant, and will make you DO THINGS. I got goosebumps nearly every time she opened her mouth. Goddamn, she scares the living fuck out of me--half because I want to be her.

Anyhowitzer, I'm going to find something to eat in this crazy Baltimore-esque city. I feel like I won't, but its worth a shot. Hopefully I'll have better luck than yesterday, when the University of Omaha security surrounded me because I was using their WiFi after hours.

I mean....shut up....

Love,
Dakotah