(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
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
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
WAH.
GOOD LORD I'M GONNA MISS EVERYBODY SO MUCH-
Love to everyone
Butt squeezes to most of everyone
D K
Sunday, October 18, 2009
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
Friday, October 16, 2009
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
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
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
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.)
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.)
Sunday, October 11, 2009
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!
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!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
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!!
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!!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, October 2, 2009
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.
"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.
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