Hey cats!
First off, I leave for Nebraska tomorrow--so I gotsta pack my shite... but in the meantime, here's a monologue from the play I'm writing!
Now--the way it works--or the way it's supposed to work, this is performed simultaneously with another monologue (which I may post later.) For the most part, the monologues overlap, but for a little while they're spoken in unison. You'll get the idea as you read this one.
MAN A. "It’s kinda weird. I’m kicking this…can down the street and sometimes it clatters off into an alleyway. You know, I always get a little bit upset about that. It’s not an important can. I wasn’t gonna’ use it later or anything, but for some reason I get the tiniest sinking feeling when it rolls under that dumpster. Of course in another block, there’s another can. I pick up right where I left off with the last one. Just kickin’ away, enjoying the little sound it makes when it rolls over gravel or a grate. After a while I had to stop and cross the street, and when I looked up, there were two cars lined up to make a right turn on this corner. The blinkers are on, y’know tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. I watch these cars and I realize that those turn signals are very very slightly out of rhythm. It’s like each car has its own incremental speed for turn signals or something. The important thing, what happened was, they would be off. Totally off, completely in opposition for a second or two, but then they’d start to overlap, and then suddenly they’re going at the exact same time. Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. And for those few seconds, while you’re standing there waiting for the light to change, waiting for the oppressive red glove to disappear and make way for the triumphant tall white guy, for that instant, everything is perfect. The sounds of the traffic become a hundred-piece orchestra--I nod my head to the tenor horns and bob to the base notes of the timpani blasting from trunk speakers. All of a sudden, the can is just so so upsetting now. The simple fact that it is means it will never be again. Your connections, your rolodex of connections to all of these people and machines and systems you can rely on become nothing in an instant. Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. Sometimes life is just too too much. It hits you so damn hard that you have to double over and put your heart back inside. You cram it back in and nail up another layer of hard calloused skin. And those people in our lives--those actors we loved so much a moment ago are hailing cabs outside, or standing in groups of backslapping friends and fans, or smoking cigarettes while talking on their cell phones. Those liars stand there and they lord their normalcy over you. Somehow they can get away with pretending like it never happened. Like they never laughed, screamed, or died in agony. Minutes ago, things seemed so goddamn important, and we always want them to be that way. And yet, our skin sags and our cats die. We turn the heat up, then put a jacket on. The river changes direction. The signals are in time, apart, and then one 90 degree turn later--they’re off. But really…I think that’s beautiful. So so upsetting, but beautiful."
Love love love, and perhaps a real post soon!
-Dak Black
Monday, September 7, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Things to do in the valley at midnight on a Wednesday
Step one: Get in direct contact with a good adventure buddy. David, my soon-to-be-hitched (WEIRD! COOL! WEIRD!) buddy of eight years is the best for these situations. For some reason the universe has a tendency to throw fantastic little quests/adventures our way any time we're in the same 3 mile radius any later than 11pm. It's formulaic, baby. Teeny Example: We've crossed paths with the gayest human being to walk the earth (with style, pink and white three-piece suit) at a Ms. Fields in Hollywood. And that was just to START the evening.
Step two: Complain. I know it sounds counter-intuitive, as if it doesn't mesh with my general philosphy of 'feeling the vibes' or whatnot. Understand, however, that this complaining is essential in throwing the Laws of Comedy in your favor. "There's nothing to effing do at midnight in the valley!" Cue 34th annual transvestite furry parade, right up the Boulevard! How lively!
Step three: Perhaps this post's title was a misnomer...for Step Three typically involves leaving the valley.
And now TO HELL WITH STEPS, IT'S A NAZI SYSTEM PROPPED UP BY THE ESTABLISHMENT! Hell man, I've been reading Hunter S. Thompson! (true) I'm hip to counterculture! (half-true) Don't you forget it!
In any case, we get on the freeway assuming nothing about the evening. All we know is, by an unwritten rule, something has to happen. (Did I contradict myself? Beans has a good quote about this...) I suggested Citywalk at a good place to begin, as we once wandered into a BB King concert there in the wee hours and were nearly sucked into an honest-to-god fight cloud. A few minutes of freeway, a quick spin around the secret entrance, and we're inside. Were it not for the parked cars, you'd think we had hit a dead end--a snag in our journey. We begin to walk along, nearly getting flattened by two large trucks sporting massive cherry-pickers and hosing the place down with jank-water, and hit a fork in the road. Up or down? Eeny or Meeny? We choose eeny, bumble into a concert that must have ended an hour ago, double back and hit up meeny, which leads upstairs to Howl at the Moon--the place we saw BB King.
Howl at the Moon is an interesting cross-section of multiple cultures. First of all, there was US. The normies, I guess? Which is weird considering who we are; David the ThunderJew and me, who sewed goddamn fluer de lise and zippers on his blazer.
The next group is the aged rockstars, the average age being fifty-something, and the average amount of leather being excessive. These guys were still surrounded by groupies of all ages, shapes, and sizes. The skirts we short and the...amenities(?) were--as is typical to 'the club scene'--all out.
Another group were 'the fringe'. These were folks that didn't seem like they belonged there for one reason or another. They wandered in, as we did, but weren't wailing along to 'Living On A Prayer', as we OH MOST DEFINITELY were. They had an aura of discomfort and a glass fortress of half-gone drinks.
Lastly, there were the drunks. One of which had apparently appeared on Howard Stern back in the deezy? He was damn near 70 and AWESOME. He was the type you'd perhaps make fun of if you weren't fully aware of and accepting the ridiculousness of the situation itself.
Also, Dizzy Reed showed up to jam with the band. Holy hell! 80s night = success!
We hung out until the music stopped, met and thanked some of the band, and left to grab something to eat. Deebsie suggested Mel's in Hollywood, and we wound up there at the same time as Raven Symone...because y'know...3am is the best time for sliders. Of course I couldn't avoid muttering, "Coming to Mel's? God, That's So Raven." as we drove up. This was naturally after the ejector seat button was on 'lock'.
A quick fooding and phone-forgetting (NO GUYS, ITS COOL...DAVID HAS HIS BLACKBERRY BACK NOW. JEEZ.) later, we wander back home and drive around Taft--our old stomping ground. Now, its not like we Tresspassed or anything, but the gate was open and we wandered around inside at 4 in the am, reminiscing and nicking tennis balls. "Thooose weeere the daaaaays~" Strangely, the football field was the only place that didn't feel significantly smaller. And the thing is, we haven't really grown since then. Not in the biological sense, anyway.
An interesting evening, all in all. Shit man, I got my 3 hours of sleep. I'M COOL TO DRIVE. Just...just gimmie the keys, man--I can do it!
Step two: Complain. I know it sounds counter-intuitive, as if it doesn't mesh with my general philosphy of 'feeling the vibes' or whatnot. Understand, however, that this complaining is essential in throwing the Laws of Comedy in your favor. "There's nothing to effing do at midnight in the valley!" Cue 34th annual transvestite furry parade, right up the Boulevard! How lively!
Step three: Perhaps this post's title was a misnomer...for Step Three typically involves leaving the valley.
And now TO HELL WITH STEPS, IT'S A NAZI SYSTEM PROPPED UP BY THE ESTABLISHMENT! Hell man, I've been reading Hunter S. Thompson! (true) I'm hip to counterculture! (half-true) Don't you forget it!
In any case, we get on the freeway assuming nothing about the evening. All we know is, by an unwritten rule, something has to happen. (Did I contradict myself? Beans has a good quote about this...) I suggested Citywalk at a good place to begin, as we once wandered into a BB King concert there in the wee hours and were nearly sucked into an honest-to-god fight cloud. A few minutes of freeway, a quick spin around the secret entrance, and we're inside. Were it not for the parked cars, you'd think we had hit a dead end--a snag in our journey. We begin to walk along, nearly getting flattened by two large trucks sporting massive cherry-pickers and hosing the place down with jank-water, and hit a fork in the road. Up or down? Eeny or Meeny? We choose eeny, bumble into a concert that must have ended an hour ago, double back and hit up meeny, which leads upstairs to Howl at the Moon--the place we saw BB King.
Howl at the Moon is an interesting cross-section of multiple cultures. First of all, there was US. The normies, I guess? Which is weird considering who we are; David the ThunderJew and me, who sewed goddamn fluer de lise and zippers on his blazer.
The next group is the aged rockstars, the average age being fifty-something, and the average amount of leather being excessive. These guys were still surrounded by groupies of all ages, shapes, and sizes. The skirts we short and the...amenities(?) were--as is typical to 'the club scene'--all out.
Another group were 'the fringe'. These were folks that didn't seem like they belonged there for one reason or another. They wandered in, as we did, but weren't wailing along to 'Living On A Prayer', as we OH MOST DEFINITELY were. They had an aura of discomfort and a glass fortress of half-gone drinks.
Lastly, there were the drunks. One of which had apparently appeared on Howard Stern back in the deezy? He was damn near 70 and AWESOME. He was the type you'd perhaps make fun of if you weren't fully aware of and accepting the ridiculousness of the situation itself.
Also, Dizzy Reed showed up to jam with the band. Holy hell! 80s night = success!
We hung out until the music stopped, met and thanked some of the band, and left to grab something to eat. Deebsie suggested Mel's in Hollywood, and we wound up there at the same time as Raven Symone...because y'know...3am is the best time for sliders. Of course I couldn't avoid muttering, "Coming to Mel's? God, That's So Raven." as we drove up. This was naturally after the ejector seat button was on 'lock'.
A quick fooding and phone-forgetting (NO GUYS, ITS COOL...DAVID HAS HIS BLACKBERRY BACK NOW. JEEZ.) later, we wander back home and drive around Taft--our old stomping ground. Now, its not like we Tresspassed or anything, but the gate was open and we wandered around inside at 4 in the am, reminiscing and nicking tennis balls. "Thooose weeere the daaaaays~" Strangely, the football field was the only place that didn't feel significantly smaller. And the thing is, we haven't really grown since then. Not in the biological sense, anyway.
An interesting evening, all in all. Shit man, I got my 3 hours of sleep. I'M COOL TO DRIVE. Just...just gimmie the keys, man--I can do it!
Sunday, August 30, 2009
EVERYONE LOVES A GODDAMN LIST.
You know what? I'm going to make up my own list of stuff. PREPARE FOR INANITY!!!
1. The Last Book You Read
Endgame by Samuel Beckett
2. The Last Meal You Had
Homemade jambalaya and a Fat Tire.
3. The Weirdest Thing That Happened To You Tonight
Walked into the crossfire of an argument at 7-11. One of the arguees bought me the beer to prove a point. HA-CHOW!
4. Your Current Favorite Curse Word
Anything ending in 'Torpedo'
5. Your Current Favorite YouTube Video Involving Pain.
6. Your Current Plausible Spouse
Regina Spektor
7. Your Current More Plausible Spouse
Felicia Day
8. The Last Song You Listened To
Falling For You
9. The Last Song You Listened To Which Was All Messed Up Because Your Right Earbud Is On Hiatus
Got To Get You Into My Life
10. The Last Videogame You Played
Rhythm Heaven
11. The Last Nickname You Called Someone
Poops LaRoops
12. The Last Thing You Stared At For a Significant Amount of Time
BUTTS.
13. The Last Movie You Quoted, and the Quote
Hot Fuzz, "Shit Just Got Real." (re: 7-11 Argument I walked Into. And yes, I said it at the time.)
Hey man...this is the best list. The best. It's the coolest list ever. YOU try to beat this list. Matter of fact, try to EQUAL this list. Matter of fact, FILL THIS SHIT OUT. No, you won't have bad luck if you don't. NO your true love won't fall for you if you do.
However...I do see a shiny 12 cents coming your way.
1. The Last Book You Read
Endgame by Samuel Beckett
2. The Last Meal You Had
Homemade jambalaya and a Fat Tire.
3. The Weirdest Thing That Happened To You Tonight
Walked into the crossfire of an argument at 7-11. One of the arguees bought me the beer to prove a point. HA-CHOW!
4. Your Current Favorite Curse Word
Anything ending in 'Torpedo'
5. Your Current Favorite YouTube Video Involving Pain.
6. Your Current Plausible Spouse
Regina Spektor
7. Your Current More Plausible Spouse
Felicia Day
8. The Last Song You Listened To
Falling For You
9. The Last Song You Listened To Which Was All Messed Up Because Your Right Earbud Is On Hiatus
Got To Get You Into My Life
10. The Last Videogame You Played
Rhythm Heaven
11. The Last Nickname You Called Someone
Poops LaRoops
12. The Last Thing You Stared At For a Significant Amount of Time
BUTTS.
13. The Last Movie You Quoted, and the Quote
Hot Fuzz, "Shit Just Got Real." (re: 7-11 Argument I walked Into. And yes, I said it at the time.)
Hey man...this is the best list. The best. It's the coolest list ever. YOU try to beat this list. Matter of fact, try to EQUAL this list. Matter of fact, FILL THIS SHIT OUT. No, you won't have bad luck if you don't. NO your true love won't fall for you if you do.
However...I do see a shiny 12 cents coming your way.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Let's go on an update, I know a place.
Ey yo, sexy folks!
I got back from Santa Barbara yesterday, which was reeeeally nice. Got to see (almost) everyone I wanted to. Even got pulled over not a full day into the trip! Double thumbs up for three negroes in a vehicle! Send love to Mich...because it was BS. I'm generally extremely reluctant to call race on ANYTHING...but this was definitely one of those situations.
Speaking of race, at one point when I was still dating Erin and we were walking through downtown Santa Cruz, someone drove by and shouted "Nigger-loving whore!" at her. I could shrug off the drive n' shout, as I'm accustomed to it--but I was furious that anyone would say anything so derogatory toward Erin, who is certifiably the sweetest person on the face of the earth. Your grandmother? No man, bitch's got secrets.
So y'know. Race and its effects on one's initial perceptions is a strange thing. Hey, y'know what book covers that? This one.
And hey, y'know what else is awesome? Several of these things that I like.
Love,
Dakotah
P.S. Ooh ooh oh yeah, I got an EIN from the IRS for Awake Theatre Company. Now to legalzoom to incorporate that shit, open a bank account, and...groan...ask for donations.
I got back from Santa Barbara yesterday, which was reeeeally nice. Got to see (almost) everyone I wanted to. Even got pulled over not a full day into the trip! Double thumbs up for three negroes in a vehicle! Send love to Mich...because it was BS. I'm generally extremely reluctant to call race on ANYTHING...but this was definitely one of those situations.
Speaking of race, at one point when I was still dating Erin and we were walking through downtown Santa Cruz, someone drove by and shouted "Nigger-loving whore!" at her. I could shrug off the drive n' shout, as I'm accustomed to it--but I was furious that anyone would say anything so derogatory toward Erin, who is certifiably the sweetest person on the face of the earth. Your grandmother? No man, bitch's got secrets.
So y'know. Race and its effects on one's initial perceptions is a strange thing. Hey, y'know what book covers that? This one.
And hey, y'know what else is awesome? Several of these things that I like.
Love,
Dakotah
P.S. Ooh ooh oh yeah, I got an EIN from the IRS for Awake Theatre Company. Now to legalzoom to incorporate that shit, open a bank account, and...groan...ask for donations.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Details...
Would you call you up to hang out?
If so, how would you act around you?
Is this even a worthwhile line of questioning?
To me, it is. It definitely is.
It's funny how I'll hang out with folks or talk to people I know or strangers or whatever--and then ten minutes after the conversation realize that I was walking on eggshells the whole time. I have the nastiest habit of tailoring each interaction I have with people to specifically fit them. It's like somehow if I say the wrong thing, if I select the wrong 'speech option' suddenly everything around us will implode.
I often and easily forget just how happy I am to wear these shoes, this skin. I don't know what gets us into the habit of being so fucking accommodating. It makes sense when you're young and dumb, but when you're older and dumb I think its best to ease off of it. It's much better to allow for the full force of your personality, especially when you realize that most of the world operates from a subjective basis. You're only as crazy as you say you are. Or rather, you're only as crazy as you think everyone thinks you are. The world needs more of 'that guy'. Or, rather... 'that guy'.
Speaking of which, this will blow your fucking gourd.
I mean whatever...he's pretty cool, guess.
If so, how would you act around you?
Is this even a worthwhile line of questioning?
To me, it is. It definitely is.
It's funny how I'll hang out with folks or talk to people I know or strangers or whatever--and then ten minutes after the conversation realize that I was walking on eggshells the whole time. I have the nastiest habit of tailoring each interaction I have with people to specifically fit them. It's like somehow if I say the wrong thing, if I select the wrong 'speech option' suddenly everything around us will implode.
I often and easily forget just how happy I am to wear these shoes, this skin. I don't know what gets us into the habit of being so fucking accommodating. It makes sense when you're young and dumb, but when you're older and dumb I think its best to ease off of it. It's much better to allow for the full force of your personality, especially when you realize that most of the world operates from a subjective basis. You're only as crazy as you say you are. Or rather, you're only as crazy as you think everyone thinks you are. The world needs more of 'that guy'. Or, rather... 'that guy'.
Speaking of which, this will blow your fucking gourd.
I mean whatever...he's pretty cool, guess.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Silly is the new Sexy
In an excerpt from his recently published article, "The Bangability of Silliness" Mr. Brown extrapolates on his 'Silly/Sexy' theory.
"...The blank expression has apparently overtaken the smile according to the media's standards of beauty. We allow a two-dimensional image to play a status game with us, causing us-as-audience to feel less than. Without thought, we create a causal relationship to the image without any complete information. Lacking any attributes other than the most obvious, we assume that this model's unsmiling, unblinking, Photoshop7'd mug simply must be beautiful. She would not be glaring at us otherwise. She must therefore be a good person and probably more skilled than us in most all skills. Moreover, the skills this model excels at are more important and should be taken more seriously than any of our own. However, if one assumes that few things are more attractive than confidence--real confidence--than the superficially morose attitude that seems to be the fashion right now should evoke laughter at best. Anyone can put on a frown, let their jaw go slack, walk very carefully, and be 'unaffected'. It is far more difficult to be constantly engaged and engaging. It is much harder to let the inherent beauty and plain goofiness of the world flow through you like the oxygen it is. It takes an immense amount of confidence in oneself and the world around you to realize that things like beauty are subjective. It takes a leap of faith to stop oneself from acting in a way that emulates our perceptions of beauty. The truly beautiful have an indescribable radiance. They are honest with themselves and others, caring, ultimately confident. They have nothing to prove, and therefore have no qualms about appearing foolish or silly. Its this silliness, this extremely honest part of who we as humans are, that makes a person attractive. Perhaps there will be a time in which silly will be bankable, but until then we must wallow in a sea of angrily seductive expressions."
Dakotah Brown is a staff writer for The Economist.
"...The blank expression has apparently overtaken the smile according to the media's standards of beauty. We allow a two-dimensional image to play a status game with us, causing us-as-audience to feel less than. Without thought, we create a causal relationship to the image without any complete information. Lacking any attributes other than the most obvious, we assume that this model's unsmiling, unblinking, Photoshop7'd mug simply must be beautiful. She would not be glaring at us otherwise. She must therefore be a good person and probably more skilled than us in most all skills. Moreover, the skills this model excels at are more important and should be taken more seriously than any of our own. However, if one assumes that few things are more attractive than confidence--real confidence--than the superficially morose attitude that seems to be the fashion right now should evoke laughter at best. Anyone can put on a frown, let their jaw go slack, walk very carefully, and be 'unaffected'. It is far more difficult to be constantly engaged and engaging. It is much harder to let the inherent beauty and plain goofiness of the world flow through you like the oxygen it is. It takes an immense amount of confidence in oneself and the world around you to realize that things like beauty are subjective. It takes a leap of faith to stop oneself from acting in a way that emulates our perceptions of beauty. The truly beautiful have an indescribable radiance. They are honest with themselves and others, caring, ultimately confident. They have nothing to prove, and therefore have no qualms about appearing foolish or silly. Its this silliness, this extremely honest part of who we as humans are, that makes a person attractive. Perhaps there will be a time in which silly will be bankable, but until then we must wallow in a sea of angrily seductive expressions."
Dakotah Brown is a staff writer for The Economist.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Tis the Season!
So, turns out my idea to begin Awake Theatre Company isn't as far-fetched as I'd initially assumed! I've got several places in mind from which to garner moneys (Including a hook-up with Absolut Vodka...hello Chekhov!), there's a newly-converted black box theatre that the owner is letting folks use for free, and someone crazy enough to think it'll work. A theatre scene in L.A. that produces original work and dynamic adaptations of classics? Holy funding, Batman! That sounds like it just might work!
What I want to put on thus far:
One For The Road
Romeo and Juliet
Antiapathy
Some Form Of Monologue Festival
Living Newspapers
Uncle Vanya
Cocktails (The Vagina Monologues, but for dudes. I wish I could say I came up with that one.)
SKETCH N' SNIFF SHOWS???
So that's my big crazy plan! There are a fuck-ton of awesome actors down here right now, and I'd love to keep this party going for a few years. In addition, L.A. actors would come out of the freaking woodwork to be part of a solid scene---that it to say, if it was EXISTENT down hurr.
Now, the ME part. Have you ever spotted a cute girl who was just leaving the restroom?
Also I've decided to modify one of my blazers. It does a bit more blazing now. And yes, it's HIGH. ALL THE TIME. Here's your second video for the price of one (which is to say, free.)
MmmMMM, PLAYIN' WITH MYSELF.
Other than the somewhat new developments, there's not much to report. OH WAIT, I'll be in Santa Barbara again on Monday--originally I was going to try to hit up Santa Cruz and see Erin and Paul's play, but it doesn't look like I have the money. AND NO ONE IS SURPRISED.
Love,
Dakotah
P.S. Huh? Why haven't you seen District 9 yet?
What I want to put on thus far:
One For The Road
Romeo and Juliet
Antiapathy
Some Form Of Monologue Festival
Living Newspapers
Uncle Vanya
Cocktails (The Vagina Monologues, but for dudes. I wish I could say I came up with that one.)
SKETCH N' SNIFF SHOWS???
So that's my big crazy plan! There are a fuck-ton of awesome actors down here right now, and I'd love to keep this party going for a few years. In addition, L.A. actors would come out of the freaking woodwork to be part of a solid scene---that it to say, if it was EXISTENT down hurr.
Now, the ME part. Have you ever spotted a cute girl who was just leaving the restroom?
Also I've decided to modify one of my blazers. It does a bit more blazing now. And yes, it's HIGH. ALL THE TIME. Here's your second video for the price of one (which is to say, free.)
MmmMMM, PLAYIN' WITH MYSELF.
Other than the somewhat new developments, there's not much to report. OH WAIT, I'll be in Santa Barbara again on Monday--originally I was going to try to hit up Santa Cruz and see Erin and Paul's play, but it doesn't look like I have the money. AND NO ONE IS SURPRISED.
Love,
Dakotah
P.S. Huh? Why haven't you seen District 9 yet?
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