As my time here this summer draws to a close, I'm getting about as reflective as I can stand. Right now I'm sitting in the Library(!) stealing internet and sweating through my shirt via intense caffeine buzz. Megan just left for SB, and I'm waiting to go see a movie with Sean later today at the adorable little indie theatre. I've begun to carve out a sort of niche here for the summer, and I'll be sad to leave it. I'm whipping around like a flag, but I'm still at full mast.
Yes.
Boner joke.
Anyway, it's still incredibly strange. It's easy to feel like I'm being pulled by the whims of other people and I have no say in the matter--but that's simply not true. In fact, there is a huge lesson to learn here about remaining grounded (like me in High School! BA-ZING!) It's not about the THINGS. It's not about the circumstances. It's about your reactions. It's easy to dig a hole and hide in it. Its easy to climb into a tin can, scribble 'Do Not Open Until 2025' and live inside until Mrs. Fulcher's 3rd grade class digs you up.
Even in spite of all the changing forces and the constant food processor that is time, I need to make sure I keep my head. It feels like its full of oatmeal right now--and that's not just because I funneled oatmeal into my ears.
Stay thirsty my friends,
Dak
Monday, August 23, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The Hippitty Haps
What up, negroids?
WELL it's been a long fucking time since I've written anything, so here it beeeee-!
I'm about halfway through my summer stint with ISF, Othello opens in three days, and An Ideal Husband has been running for about a week and a half. I'm having a fantastic time--and I really feel like I'm learning something on this go-round. I've been keeping in shape, reading a whole bunch (Caucasian Chalk Circle, Everything is Illuminated, Naked, the rest of the Scott Pilgrim series), and scraping together a ton of new music.
Also looking at butts. I forget to mention that sometimes-wait no I don't.
Ahhh man. In addition, I grabbed a journal, an idea book, and a sketch book to keep my actual writing skills sharp. Sorry blogosphere-o-web-o-tubes.
In addition to all this I've made a serious effort to have a great time. I've mentioned that before, but its something that's easy to forget. I get wrapped up in the 'implications of things' easily and slipping out of that is often no small feat. Leave that shit on the page and the stage.
I do, however, want to touch on something I've mentioned before. Many many times. Really...more like every goddamn 4 minutes I bring up love and relationships. Now I'm surrounded by several examples of relationships that work and relationships that don't work. In my past experiences I've been of the mind that if it stops working for some ethereal subconscious reason--it wasn't meant to be. Now obviously that doesn't mean you throw in the towel at every red flag, but if there is a profound unhappiness or discontent--that's something I haven't figured out how to solve. Is it a thing you solve? Is the goal of a relationship just so you can kneel in the rubble of your destroyed apartment together, knowing you've conquered all of your own individual idiosyncrasies in order to remain together? You throw your bleeding arm over your partner's broken shoulders and smile at them with what teeth you have left. They kiss you on the cheek and you snuggle up to their ear and say, ever so sweetly, "Stop drinking so much coffee. It gives you bad breath."
I've seen this, and its goddamn terrifying.
Maybe I don't have the irrefutable faith that 'this is the one' yet. Maybe, for the right person, you're supposed to take a bazooka and blow holes in the walls of your home. Burn out in the driveway and send your car careening into a Del Taco, spraying C-Grade ground beef and mild sauce onto the street. Catch doves with your bare hands, twist off their feathers and fashion them into a rope ladder to save your princess. I have definitely felt this way. There's a dusty box of feathers in a closet somewhere, right next to the heart-shaped moon rock I collected MY GODDAMN SELF.
I'm used to the kind of attraction, the kind of love that drives you to insanity. I've gone to great lengths of psychological flagellation for the sake of girls that make me crazy. What's wrong with a normal relationship though? I've been reading a lot of Charles Mee plays about lurve...and there are a few particular moments that laud the idea of just having someone to say 'good morning' to when you wake up. Y'know. Just someone to ask what you want to eat for dinner. Someone to adjust your tie and touch you on the shoulder. Someone to share a movie with. Simple. Sweet. Dependable.
Which--I have to admit--I've had. I've been both hands before. I've been the shoulder to cry on and the crier but at the end of the day I'm not driven to great feats of superhuman excellence.
Jeez, I expect a lot. That could be why the girls that make my heart stop seem so few and far between. I don't just mean make my heart 'skip a beat'. I mean fully and completely stop. I mean I pull out the key and toss it in their pocket when they're not looking--I mean I breathe clouds of mist until I'm near them again--I mean if I can't be with them I begin to sink into the earth because the ground can't hold me up anymore.
Let me end with this...why don't they write a childrens' book in which the princess is actually in love with the dragon?
-Dak
WELL it's been a long fucking time since I've written anything, so here it beeeee-!
I'm about halfway through my summer stint with ISF, Othello opens in three days, and An Ideal Husband has been running for about a week and a half. I'm having a fantastic time--and I really feel like I'm learning something on this go-round. I've been keeping in shape, reading a whole bunch (Caucasian Chalk Circle, Everything is Illuminated, Naked, the rest of the Scott Pilgrim series), and scraping together a ton of new music.
Also looking at butts. I forget to mention that sometimes-wait no I don't.
Ahhh man. In addition, I grabbed a journal, an idea book, and a sketch book to keep my actual writing skills sharp. Sorry blogosphere-o-web-o-tubes.
In addition to all this I've made a serious effort to have a great time. I've mentioned that before, but its something that's easy to forget. I get wrapped up in the 'implications of things' easily and slipping out of that is often no small feat. Leave that shit on the page and the stage.
I do, however, want to touch on something I've mentioned before. Many many times. Really...more like every goddamn 4 minutes I bring up love and relationships. Now I'm surrounded by several examples of relationships that work and relationships that don't work. In my past experiences I've been of the mind that if it stops working for some ethereal subconscious reason--it wasn't meant to be. Now obviously that doesn't mean you throw in the towel at every red flag, but if there is a profound unhappiness or discontent--that's something I haven't figured out how to solve. Is it a thing you solve? Is the goal of a relationship just so you can kneel in the rubble of your destroyed apartment together, knowing you've conquered all of your own individual idiosyncrasies in order to remain together? You throw your bleeding arm over your partner's broken shoulders and smile at them with what teeth you have left. They kiss you on the cheek and you snuggle up to their ear and say, ever so sweetly, "Stop drinking so much coffee. It gives you bad breath."
I've seen this, and its goddamn terrifying.
Maybe I don't have the irrefutable faith that 'this is the one' yet. Maybe, for the right person, you're supposed to take a bazooka and blow holes in the walls of your home. Burn out in the driveway and send your car careening into a Del Taco, spraying C-Grade ground beef and mild sauce onto the street. Catch doves with your bare hands, twist off their feathers and fashion them into a rope ladder to save your princess. I have definitely felt this way. There's a dusty box of feathers in a closet somewhere, right next to the heart-shaped moon rock I collected MY GODDAMN SELF.
I'm used to the kind of attraction, the kind of love that drives you to insanity. I've gone to great lengths of psychological flagellation for the sake of girls that make me crazy. What's wrong with a normal relationship though? I've been reading a lot of Charles Mee plays about lurve...and there are a few particular moments that laud the idea of just having someone to say 'good morning' to when you wake up. Y'know. Just someone to ask what you want to eat for dinner. Someone to adjust your tie and touch you on the shoulder. Someone to share a movie with. Simple. Sweet. Dependable.
Which--I have to admit--I've had. I've been both hands before. I've been the shoulder to cry on and the crier but at the end of the day I'm not driven to great feats of superhuman excellence.
Jeez, I expect a lot. That could be why the girls that make my heart stop seem so few and far between. I don't just mean make my heart 'skip a beat'. I mean fully and completely stop. I mean I pull out the key and toss it in their pocket when they're not looking--I mean I breathe clouds of mist until I'm near them again--I mean if I can't be with them I begin to sink into the earth because the ground can't hold me up anymore.
Let me end with this...why don't they write a childrens' book in which the princess is actually in love with the dragon?
-Dak
Saturday, July 31, 2010
First Love (Charles Mee)
"I think for me it took so long to be able to love another person
such a long time to grow up
get rid of all my self-involvement
all my worrying whether or not I measured up"
More posts eventually, I swear!
such a long time to grow up
get rid of all my self-involvement
all my worrying whether or not I measured up"
More posts eventually, I swear!
Friday, July 16, 2010
You Is Who You Is And You Ain't Who You 'Round
Turns out the only thing that can legitimize you is yourself.
'Course that's an easy one--but with preview for An Ideal Husband just around the corner (as in this evening) I've had to really take a look at the reasons WHY I do this. This acting thing, that is. For the past month n' change, I've had the strangest time of being here. During Shakesperience, I really felt like I was part of a group of wandering adventurers, all after the same goal. All chasing the same elusive thing. That thing, I guess, characterized itself when we rolled through places like Dietrich, Idaho (Population: 200) to do a show for every student they could rustle up. Us. Six little nomads in a Penske truck and a Minivan. Maybe I just liked how romantic that sounded.
So now THE SEASON begins. The big ol' summer season with its massive casts and techs and several directors and shows in repertory and Equity hours and out of town actors and the ISF vehicles with 'Bronco Motors' stickers and nights out and days in and rehearsal hours and staggered calls and absolute saturation of incredible talent. I feel I have thoroughly slipped through the cracks. And no--of COURSE that isn't true. Nobody getting paid what I am to do what I do has the right to feel like they've been 'left behind.' All that's happened is I've been forced to take a serious look at the why of the what.
I've thrust a massive personal stake in what I'm doing. For the past month, I've expected this summer season to act as a lever--to catapult me from the between-show-doldrums into some kind of state of utter fulfillment and theatre bliss. I tiptoed into rehearsals feeling confident until the very moment the veterans opened their mouths. Then I tensed up, froze up, and pushed out my lines like a horrible concretey dump. No wonder I felt so dishonest onstage. I WAS. I've been playing the impress game. I've had this ridiculous 'prodigal son finally returning to the land of professional theatre' thing in my head. Y'know. 'LOVE ME, I'M B(L)ACK.'
Silly.
But y'know--I forgive me. "It's all class." (David Alan Anderson, who plays Othello, says that. Brilliant quote.) Totally true. I'm still learning how to do all this. I'm a YEAR into the professional world, after all. Still learning. I mean...hell...I'm still planning to go back to grad school at some point!
So yes, I'm still alive! Making headway. Still dorky. Less hair.
Stay hungry, stay foolish.
Love,
Dak
'Course that's an easy one--but with preview for An Ideal Husband just around the corner (as in this evening) I've had to really take a look at the reasons WHY I do this. This acting thing, that is. For the past month n' change, I've had the strangest time of being here. During Shakesperience, I really felt like I was part of a group of wandering adventurers, all after the same goal. All chasing the same elusive thing. That thing, I guess, characterized itself when we rolled through places like Dietrich, Idaho (Population: 200) to do a show for every student they could rustle up. Us. Six little nomads in a Penske truck and a Minivan. Maybe I just liked how romantic that sounded.
So now THE SEASON begins. The big ol' summer season with its massive casts and techs and several directors and shows in repertory and Equity hours and out of town actors and the ISF vehicles with 'Bronco Motors' stickers and nights out and days in and rehearsal hours and staggered calls and absolute saturation of incredible talent. I feel I have thoroughly slipped through the cracks. And no--of COURSE that isn't true. Nobody getting paid what I am to do what I do has the right to feel like they've been 'left behind.' All that's happened is I've been forced to take a serious look at the why of the what.
I've thrust a massive personal stake in what I'm doing. For the past month, I've expected this summer season to act as a lever--to catapult me from the between-show-doldrums into some kind of state of utter fulfillment and theatre bliss. I tiptoed into rehearsals feeling confident until the very moment the veterans opened their mouths. Then I tensed up, froze up, and pushed out my lines like a horrible concretey dump. No wonder I felt so dishonest onstage. I WAS. I've been playing the impress game. I've had this ridiculous 'prodigal son finally returning to the land of professional theatre' thing in my head. Y'know. 'LOVE ME, I'M B(L)ACK.'
Silly.
But y'know--I forgive me. "It's all class." (David Alan Anderson, who plays Othello, says that. Brilliant quote.) Totally true. I'm still learning how to do all this. I'm a YEAR into the professional world, after all. Still learning. I mean...hell...I'm still planning to go back to grad school at some point!
So yes, I'm still alive! Making headway. Still dorky. Less hair.
Stay hungry, stay foolish.
Love,
Dak
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Yum Yum Sadness Buns
As you may or may not know, I'm back in Boise! WOOOOTSKIES!
Now that I'm part of a large ensemble with an enormous breadth of talent--its easy for me to go into "Oh boy...I'd better impress everyone or I'm gonna slip through the cracks nobody likes me boo hoo pass the black eyeliner." especially when rehearsing with very talented folks.
Most of which are extremely inclusive. That's the one where they're really friendly to you, right? Yeah, that one.
My pattern is to internalize my utter terror of such a large pond, then go into a spiral of self-loathing that's usually only halted by drinking myself into a stupor and vomiting into a flowerpot/newspaper stand/dogs mouth. A couple of Nebraska Shakes nights ended that way.
Instead though--as I do my best acting in a relaxed environment--I'm going to take this experience exactly as it is and just allow myself to be here and be open with it. I'm by no means a lead--so yeah, I do have to make my rehearsals count. I'm also by no means being judged by anybody. I'm already here...so what the fuck? What else matters? I'm going to give my all during my time and not worry about what so and so thinks of my 'moments'.
Workin' (with a)hard(-on),
Dak
Now that I'm part of a large ensemble with an enormous breadth of talent--its easy for me to go into "Oh boy...I'd better impress everyone or I'm gonna slip through the cracks nobody likes me boo hoo pass the black eyeliner." especially when rehearsing with very talented folks.
Most of which are extremely inclusive. That's the one where they're really friendly to you, right? Yeah, that one.
My pattern is to internalize my utter terror of such a large pond, then go into a spiral of self-loathing that's usually only halted by drinking myself into a stupor and vomiting into a flowerpot/newspaper stand/dogs mouth. A couple of Nebraska Shakes nights ended that way.
Instead though--as I do my best acting in a relaxed environment--I'm going to take this experience exactly as it is and just allow myself to be here and be open with it. I'm by no means a lead--so yeah, I do have to make my rehearsals count. I'm also by no means being judged by anybody. I'm already here...so what the fuck? What else matters? I'm going to give my all during my time and not worry about what so and so thinks of my 'moments'.
Workin' (with a)hard(-on),
Dak
Sunday, June 20, 2010
DAYUM. DATS A WHOLE LOTTA HONKIES.
Memoir title: The Only Black Guy In Boise
It's coming out next week! Pre-order it now!
I'm writing from a coffee/breakfast stop on the outskirts of Downtown Boise, in the linen district. Yeah, I don't know what it means either, but there are bedspreads EVERYWHERE. As you can assume by the title, I'm feeling just the slightest bit out of place. Thankfully though, it has nothing to do with the attitude of the Boise-ites. If anything, their folly would be going out of their way to make me feel comfortable.
"You alright?"
"Yeah no, I'm fine...I'm just a little-"
"Can I get you some...y'know...grits?"
"I'm good--w..how do you know what that is?"
"Some fried chicken? Forty of high life?"
"Really, I'm good. Thanks..."
"I swept the stoop if you want to sit out there and play dice~"
"Really...thank you..but...I'm fine."
Also, I'm pretty sure I saw a drug deal or a hitman being hired on the way over here. Low-rider red sportscar pulls up to unsavory-looking individual (buzz cut, huge shorts, tats, apparent fear of showers) the window rolls down and the two have a hurried conversation in whispers and hisses. Eventually, I see the driver cruise off looking very pleased.
I dunno. Maybe they played a quick game of Yahtzee.
Quarter-Life Crisis Update:
Y'know how I'm usually bitching about wanting to bone down teh hardcores on ALL the girls? For some reason, as of late--I've had little to no...er...drive...whatsoever. In all aspects, really. It would be presumptuous to say "Life hands you a couple of defining moments, and you either rise to the occasion or spend the rest of your life chasing it." because I don't believe that. I think that's an easy way to make things look monstrous and terrifying. I'm sure its more organic than that. Even still--I feel like the lover left on the station platform. I'm still waving my kerchief and its almost sunset.
I know. Pretty gay analogy. I AM pretty gay.
I guess I constantly think I'm fighting. I pretend there are odds. Foes to defeat. Challenges to surmount...when life isn't really like that. Not the whole time. I should take time to relax...but I've just got that BUG still. Not the one that gets me to get up and fight tooth and nail--but the one that makes me tell myself "Dude, you fucked it up. You had your chance." and then mope and shrug. Walk along the train tracks and try to hitch a ride.
WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY ELSE REALIZE HOW AWESOME I AM?
I think that's the ridiculous notion I'm trying to shout.
Also there are a whole lot of white people in here.
Student Of The Month,
Dak
It's coming out next week! Pre-order it now!
I'm writing from a coffee/breakfast stop on the outskirts of Downtown Boise, in the linen district. Yeah, I don't know what it means either, but there are bedspreads EVERYWHERE. As you can assume by the title, I'm feeling just the slightest bit out of place. Thankfully though, it has nothing to do with the attitude of the Boise-ites. If anything, their folly would be going out of their way to make me feel comfortable.
"You alright?"
"Yeah no, I'm fine...I'm just a little-"
"Can I get you some...y'know...grits?"
"I'm good--w..how do you know what that is?"
"Some fried chicken? Forty of high life?"
"Really, I'm good. Thanks..."
"I swept the stoop if you want to sit out there and play dice~"
"Really...thank you..but...I'm fine."
Also, I'm pretty sure I saw a drug deal or a hitman being hired on the way over here. Low-rider red sportscar pulls up to unsavory-looking individual (buzz cut, huge shorts, tats, apparent fear of showers) the window rolls down and the two have a hurried conversation in whispers and hisses. Eventually, I see the driver cruise off looking very pleased.
I dunno. Maybe they played a quick game of Yahtzee.
Quarter-Life Crisis Update:
Y'know how I'm usually bitching about wanting to bone down teh hardcores on ALL the girls? For some reason, as of late--I've had little to no...er...drive...whatsoever. In all aspects, really. It would be presumptuous to say "Life hands you a couple of defining moments, and you either rise to the occasion or spend the rest of your life chasing it." because I don't believe that. I think that's an easy way to make things look monstrous and terrifying. I'm sure its more organic than that. Even still--I feel like the lover left on the station platform. I'm still waving my kerchief and its almost sunset.
I know. Pretty gay analogy. I AM pretty gay.
I guess I constantly think I'm fighting. I pretend there are odds. Foes to defeat. Challenges to surmount...when life isn't really like that. Not the whole time. I should take time to relax...but I've just got that BUG still. Not the one that gets me to get up and fight tooth and nail--but the one that makes me tell myself "Dude, you fucked it up. You had your chance." and then mope and shrug. Walk along the train tracks and try to hitch a ride.
WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY ELSE REALIZE HOW AWESOME I AM?
I think that's the ridiculous notion I'm trying to shout.
Also there are a whole lot of white people in here.
Student Of The Month,
Dak
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