Eccentricities

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

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

NEEEERD ALEEEERT~!

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

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

Hmm-
Love,
Dak

WORDS WORDS WORDS-

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

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

LURVE,
Dak

Temp

Being home is weird.

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

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

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

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

Love,
Dak

Wasting Time.

I should be packing.

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

Go about your business.