After a lovely weekend of art, amazing meals, nights out, nights in, and U2 (courtesy of a lovely lovely friend), I feel like I'm transformed. I have an annoying habit of assuming I know how an event is going to go down, thereby eliminating all possible surprise for myself. It's like keeping a handful of dirt in my pocket so I can throw grit on all the shiny new experiences out there. The past few days, however--I've had a completely new approach to the stage, and I'm beginning to approach life differently as well. Maybe differently is the wrong word.
Somehow I feel closer to myself.
Maybe it was watching Bono wail Bloody Sunday a foot away from me, while a capacity crowd Buenos Aires cried and sang along. Perhaps it was being close enough to touch Picasso's La Vie and Rodin's The Thinker in a span of five minutes. Either way, it's like something has opened up in me that's been closed for months.
Yes. It's my butthole.
On the serious, though! I've been gypsying around, and only sort of participating in my life. Like...I've shown up and opened the book, but I haven't been doing the classwork. Deja Vu. BAH!!
I'm excited. I have an excite.
Love,
Dak
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Woo Thyself
I was flipping through an issue of Glamour magazine in the green room during our show's matinee today (I always get a kick out of the 'Naughty Sex Questions' in womens' magazines. I want to see something like "Is it okay to fill my husband's anus with tortellini shells?") I stumbled upon a little blurb that suggested to women that it was okay to be interesting.
"Hmm." I thought to myself.
Upon further investigation, there was a testimonial written by someone who claimed that "In my mid twenties, my boyfriend was my hobby. After we broke up, I decided to learn to be interested in myself again. I started learning Italian, doing youth charity, and I took a vacay to Rome." Aside from the abominable usage of 'vacay', I found it extremely fascinating. "Right on!" I thought, "We ALL could use some of that!"
Honestly, some people just know who they are. On the flip side, some people DON'T know who they are, but they're okay with being who they've BEEN for the rest of their lives. Falling into that second category is a terrifying thought to me. It'd be easy to do, too! My acting life is pretty fulfilling as is...but I'm still lacking something...that something that makes you go to bed at night spent with the exhaustion of a fully-lived day, a crescent moon hanging in the sky like a used-up orange peel.
Yeah, it comes down to making sure you're not neglecting yourself in life's love triangle. You are your own partner first and everything else second. That's not to say you should be selfish of course, but hell...there's no shame in toughing it out to get what you need. I'm starting to get life-hungry again...in the best way possible.
Look out below,
Dak
"Hmm." I thought to myself.
Upon further investigation, there was a testimonial written by someone who claimed that "In my mid twenties, my boyfriend was my hobby. After we broke up, I decided to learn to be interested in myself again. I started learning Italian, doing youth charity, and I took a vacay to Rome." Aside from the abominable usage of 'vacay', I found it extremely fascinating. "Right on!" I thought, "We ALL could use some of that!"
Honestly, some people just know who they are. On the flip side, some people DON'T know who they are, but they're okay with being who they've BEEN for the rest of their lives. Falling into that second category is a terrifying thought to me. It'd be easy to do, too! My acting life is pretty fulfilling as is...but I'm still lacking something...that something that makes you go to bed at night spent with the exhaustion of a fully-lived day, a crescent moon hanging in the sky like a used-up orange peel.
Yeah, it comes down to making sure you're not neglecting yourself in life's love triangle. You are your own partner first and everything else second. That's not to say you should be selfish of course, but hell...there's no shame in toughing it out to get what you need. I'm starting to get life-hungry again...in the best way possible.
Look out below,
Dak
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Social Network
The film makes me want to delete my Facebook.
It's also pretty freaking great. You should see it.
I don't know what it is about movies based on eccentric people, but they tend to nudge me more and more in that direction. That is to say, in the "Eff everyone, I'm going to start wearing mascot outfits when I feel like it" direction. Palpable eff-the-world energy that could make you loved or hated for who you are(trying to be.) It certainly addresses the 'block' I've been feeling as of late. Its a relaxed bit of settling. Its a thumbed nose at the surprises the world has to offer. I've been fluffing my laurels to prepare to rest on them.
Now now now, it's not as dire as all that. It's just how I've been feeling for a bit. It goes away when I get onstage, or sing Karaoke, or dance, or write. That said--I'm glad that aspect has been irritated. Reddened and swollen like my tonsils. Otherwise I may have gone longer without truly appreciating it. In addition, it's always lovely to hear "Keep doing your thing, son--the world is yours! Love, Mom" via Facebook.
Which is why I won't actually be deleting my profitty-profile.
It's all good, though. It's all REALLY good. I feel like my fire's back. I'm rumbling again. The periscope is up and I can see in three hundred and sixty lovely lovely degrees.
Future Plan: New Years in the Bay with Dresy-Poo and company. Let's make that happen.
All you need is,
Dak
It's also pretty freaking great. You should see it.
I don't know what it is about movies based on eccentric people, but they tend to nudge me more and more in that direction. That is to say, in the "Eff everyone, I'm going to start wearing mascot outfits when I feel like it" direction. Palpable eff-the-world energy that could make you loved or hated for who you are(trying to be.) It certainly addresses the 'block' I've been feeling as of late. Its a relaxed bit of settling. Its a thumbed nose at the surprises the world has to offer. I've been fluffing my laurels to prepare to rest on them.
Now now now, it's not as dire as all that. It's just how I've been feeling for a bit. It goes away when I get onstage, or sing Karaoke, or dance, or write. That said--I'm glad that aspect has been irritated. Reddened and swollen like my tonsils. Otherwise I may have gone longer without truly appreciating it. In addition, it's always lovely to hear "Keep doing your thing, son--the world is yours! Love, Mom" via Facebook.
Which is why I won't actually be deleting my profitty-profile.
It's all good, though. It's all REALLY good. I feel like my fire's back. I'm rumbling again. The periscope is up and I can see in three hundred and sixty lovely lovely degrees.
Future Plan: New Years in the Bay with Dresy-Poo and company. Let's make that happen.
All you need is,
Dak
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Beer Goggles Are Rose Colored
Slightly drunken Facebooking can be dangerous. Its easy to flit through old memories and old albums with a slight smile, thinking "Why didn't we work out again?" Nobody is around to tap me on the shoulder and give a perfectly solid explanation that I would shrug off or ignore anyway. It's much simpler to hang around in a hazy bliss and pretend. Ride the fantasy. String together all the good parts (or make up new ones.)
After an actor's nightmare (reprise my role in Time and the Conways? SURE I remember all my lines...) the morning brings clarity. Last night was reactive. A willful surrender. Nice while it lasted, but I'm glad to be back in the now.
Now, where the owner of the Cleveland Indians invited the acting company to watch a game from the owners box, where the beer and nacho cheese flowed freely. Where in the fourth inning, a dessert cart trucks by with mint-chocolate brownies and shots of Tia Maria in edible chocolate cups. Where we got an official welcome on the Jumbotron and one of our very own did a little dance breakdown. On top of that, the Tribe delivered a win? I am humbled.
And I don't even watch baseball.
This is what my life looks like now, though. During the week, I get to work at what I love--and during the weekend I get to stock the fridge with Trader Joes goodies and shop for clothing on the cheap. It's a lot of momentum, and again I'm tempted to give myself over to it completely. To kowtow to it and take the reins of my life in inconsequential ways(Like beating Kingdom Hearts.) To be intimidated by the whirlwind instead of accepting it with grace and humility--clearing my throat--and declaring that I've still got a ways to go. Which I do. There's plenty of life that I haven't got figured out... Plenty I'm still unraveling. I have to be the first one to admit the existence of magic before I expect anyone else to do the same.
Lovely lovely life. I have no idea how you function, but I trust your judgment.
Some parting words--If you're ever having tough times, just remember that you're in the first half of a two-part episode.
Love,
Dak
After an actor's nightmare (reprise my role in Time and the Conways? SURE I remember all my lines...) the morning brings clarity. Last night was reactive. A willful surrender. Nice while it lasted, but I'm glad to be back in the now.
Now, where the owner of the Cleveland Indians invited the acting company to watch a game from the owners box, where the beer and nacho cheese flowed freely. Where in the fourth inning, a dessert cart trucks by with mint-chocolate brownies and shots of Tia Maria in edible chocolate cups. Where we got an official welcome on the Jumbotron and one of our very own did a little dance breakdown. On top of that, the Tribe delivered a win? I am humbled.
And I don't even watch baseball.
This is what my life looks like now, though. During the week, I get to work at what I love--and during the weekend I get to stock the fridge with Trader Joes goodies and shop for clothing on the cheap. It's a lot of momentum, and again I'm tempted to give myself over to it completely. To kowtow to it and take the reins of my life in inconsequential ways(Like beating Kingdom Hearts.) To be intimidated by the whirlwind instead of accepting it with grace and humility--clearing my throat--and declaring that I've still got a ways to go. Which I do. There's plenty of life that I haven't got figured out... Plenty I'm still unraveling. I have to be the first one to admit the existence of magic before I expect anyone else to do the same.
Lovely lovely life. I have no idea how you function, but I trust your judgment.
Some parting words--If you're ever having tough times, just remember that you're in the first half of a two-part episode.
Love,
Dak
Saturday, September 18, 2010
The Cleve
Cleveland is a bittersweet city.
The downtown area where we live (Alternatively 'Reservation Square' or 'The Apartments Next To The Crack House) is a mix of industrial burnout and magnificent theatre extravaganza. We're literally a block from Playhouse Square, where you can see a classical repertory company one night, the blue man group the next, Billy Elliot after that, then finish off with Louis C.K. stand-up.
The very next day, you could hang out on the corner of Chester and 13th and watch a for-reals drug bust go down.
As I said to one of the other actors here, "I want to start the second season of The Wire, but I might as well just stand on the front steps."
There are wonderful things if you know where to find them, and my "OH GOD ITS MY FIRST TIME IN THIS CITY" jitters have come and gone, so I'm no stranger to taking a stroll down Superior to the restaurants on 4th street--or swinging by Tower City to snag a book at their teensy tiny Borders. As I mosey around, I can't help but notice that most of the skyscrapers here are empty and gutted, with down-and-out homeless folks lying in the alleys with rumpled paper bags cradled under their arms. How they manage to find cover during the sporadic two-hour thunderstorms is beyond me. I wonder if the Safety Ambassadors (bike-mounted windbreakered whistleblowers) are any help. There's a smokers' pole on every corner and 'No Smoking' signs on every bus stop, and cigarette filters EVERYWHERE--as if Hunter S Thompson acid-crawled the streets on his hands and knees.
The diamonds in the rough are there for the taking, though. Last weekend I carpooled with some other cast members to the Westside Market, an indoor farmers' market of overwhelming proportions where you could get a fresh farm-raised chicken directly from the person who plucked it. Like cinnamon honey butter? Check out one of FIVE dairy vendors. Want some obscure Mediterranean cheese? Fresh challa bread? Prosciutto? Caviar? How about a crepe and an espresso while you wait for the Amish guy to wrap a steak for you? Be sure to write a shopping list (I foolishly did not.)
My home-base is a fully furnished one-bedroom apartment with free internet and HBO on demand(!) Every Thursday it gets cleaned for me(!?) and it is literally a 4-minute walk from the rehearsal space(!?!!?!?) As I adapt to the new rhythm here, I enjoy it more and more.
That is to say, I haven't DRIVEN anywhere yet. So....fuck.
Love love love,
Dak
The downtown area where we live (Alternatively 'Reservation Square' or 'The Apartments Next To The Crack House) is a mix of industrial burnout and magnificent theatre extravaganza. We're literally a block from Playhouse Square, where you can see a classical repertory company one night, the blue man group the next, Billy Elliot after that, then finish off with Louis C.K. stand-up.
The very next day, you could hang out on the corner of Chester and 13th and watch a for-reals drug bust go down.
As I said to one of the other actors here, "I want to start the second season of The Wire, but I might as well just stand on the front steps."
There are wonderful things if you know where to find them, and my "OH GOD ITS MY FIRST TIME IN THIS CITY" jitters have come and gone, so I'm no stranger to taking a stroll down Superior to the restaurants on 4th street--or swinging by Tower City to snag a book at their teensy tiny Borders. As I mosey around, I can't help but notice that most of the skyscrapers here are empty and gutted, with down-and-out homeless folks lying in the alleys with rumpled paper bags cradled under their arms. How they manage to find cover during the sporadic two-hour thunderstorms is beyond me. I wonder if the Safety Ambassadors (bike-mounted windbreakered whistleblowers) are any help. There's a smokers' pole on every corner and 'No Smoking' signs on every bus stop, and cigarette filters EVERYWHERE--as if Hunter S Thompson acid-crawled the streets on his hands and knees.
The diamonds in the rough are there for the taking, though. Last weekend I carpooled with some other cast members to the Westside Market, an indoor farmers' market of overwhelming proportions where you could get a fresh farm-raised chicken directly from the person who plucked it. Like cinnamon honey butter? Check out one of FIVE dairy vendors. Want some obscure Mediterranean cheese? Fresh challa bread? Prosciutto? Caviar? How about a crepe and an espresso while you wait for the Amish guy to wrap a steak for you? Be sure to write a shopping list (I foolishly did not.)
My home-base is a fully furnished one-bedroom apartment with free internet and HBO on demand(!) Every Thursday it gets cleaned for me(!?) and it is literally a 4-minute walk from the rehearsal space(!?!!?!?) As I adapt to the new rhythm here, I enjoy it more and more.
That is to say, I haven't DRIVEN anywhere yet. So....fuck.
Love love love,
Dak
Monday, August 23, 2010
Eventual Return
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
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
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
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