Promptly following my previous post, I contract chicken pox.
Yes, I'm twenty-goddamed-six.
I have no clue where I picked it up from, aside from those afflicted children I kept eating in the sick ward of that hospital they won't let me near again FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON. Anyway, bada-boom bada-bang, laws of comedy--POX. Last monday my face resembled a topographical map of mars, a week and change later, there's just a few faint marks.
I am utterly thankful, grateful, and blown away by my friends, the cast, and office staff (Not mutually exclusive.) They immediately snapped up an understudy (a man named Dwayne Blackaller--who is one of the coolest people in the galaxy) and plugged away. I got daily text message check-ins, a signed rubber chicken, and even an effing birthday cake. CAH-RAZY!!
So now I'm hitting the ground running a bit. I'll roadie for the show tomorrow and Friday, then we'll have put-in rehearsals Friday afternoon and Sunday--then it's off to eastern Idaho!
Sheez, man.
In other news, I got a new phone, a new age (which I mentioned with expletive-filled gusto), and several new books...most of which I read during my quarantine. Ughff...
I feel refreshed...and ready to commit my body to some grueling, difficult, rewarding work.
Watch out,
Dak
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Five Hunnid Tunny Fie Thousin Six Unnid Minnits.
Next week I turn 26.
It'll be difficult to trump 25, but I think I have a decent game plan. In short it simply boils down to accepting my craziness for what it is. Everyone I really admire is almost completely out of their mind.
This sort of thing happens in small cycles almost weekly. I start to drift away from myself until I feel strange in my own body, then I snap back with a deep breath and a sudden blinking awareness.
"Wait...what am I doing here? Where'd the pirate costume come from? Why does my mouth taste like butterscotch?"
The writing certainly helps a lot, too. It's good to let the thoughts loose after they've been bouncing around in my head for so long. Decompress. Get it out thurr.
Rehearsal, by the by, is going swimmingly. Obviously there are still tweaks and stuff to...well...tweak...but the whole thing is looking great as a cohesive whole. (Girl you got a cohesive hole.) As mentioned before, it feels great to be back in Boise...and STILL learning new things about this strange, wonderful gem of a city. I've even been to two new bars! Which is saying something given my previous venture here.
Allow me this bit of vanity: The first record of Shakespeare's theatrical career dates to about 1592, when he was 28. That gives me about two solid years to suddenly become 'prolific'.
And THAT brings me back to the insanity I'd mentioned before. It takes a certain amount of crazy to dedicate yourself to a pursuit so strongly that you transcend 'levels of experience'. I mean...that's just how I feel RIGHT NOW. Who knows. Give it a year.
Later loves,
Dak
It'll be difficult to trump 25, but I think I have a decent game plan. In short it simply boils down to accepting my craziness for what it is. Everyone I really admire is almost completely out of their mind.
This sort of thing happens in small cycles almost weekly. I start to drift away from myself until I feel strange in my own body, then I snap back with a deep breath and a sudden blinking awareness.
"Wait...what am I doing here? Where'd the pirate costume come from? Why does my mouth taste like butterscotch?"
The writing certainly helps a lot, too. It's good to let the thoughts loose after they've been bouncing around in my head for so long. Decompress. Get it out thurr.
Rehearsal, by the by, is going swimmingly. Obviously there are still tweaks and stuff to...well...tweak...but the whole thing is looking great as a cohesive whole. (Girl you got a cohesive hole.) As mentioned before, it feels great to be back in Boise...and STILL learning new things about this strange, wonderful gem of a city. I've even been to two new bars! Which is saying something given my previous venture here.
Allow me this bit of vanity: The first record of Shakespeare's theatrical career dates to about 1592, when he was 28. That gives me about two solid years to suddenly become 'prolific'.
And THAT brings me back to the insanity I'd mentioned before. It takes a certain amount of crazy to dedicate yourself to a pursuit so strongly that you transcend 'levels of experience'. I mean...that's just how I feel RIGHT NOW. Who knows. Give it a year.
Later loves,
Dak
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Boise Will Be Boise
As I buttoned my SUPER HAWT H&M JACKET all the way up to my throat and stepped out of the Boise airport, I felt a twinge of excitement, apprehension, and...dare I say...closure(?) The internal "oh my god, I'm a real actor" fanfare from last year was replaced by a new "holy crap, what's going to happen this time?" tune. It's the same nerves I used to get in college, at the beginning of a new semester as I stepped into the first movement or voice class of the quarter. I know the season, I know the people, I know the place, and I know absolutely jack shit.
Day three and I've been roosting comfortably in some of my favorite old haunts again. I've had a latte from my favorite coffee place each and every day, and stolen internet from the Library! a handful of times already. My comfortable yet exciting routine has re-established itself, sans the utter terror of somehow being discovered as a mere amateur and being extradited back to L.A. to hole up at Barnes and Noble while dreaming of "what could have been." Crying in the face of my netbook while playing through Terranigma again and listening to Vic Chesnutt. No, that concern is vanished. I suppose that's a devil-on-the-shoulder that artists simply don't get rid of.
Nope. No guillotines in sight.
Instead, the feeling is replaced by a ravenous hunger to wring every single possibility out of this town and lap it up like a much less disgusting metaphor. My good buddies (also tour buddies, also two of the coolest fucking individuals on the planet) are paying 625 a munf for a two-bedroom house not far from my host family. That's 5 bucks more than I paid to SHARE A ROOM IN SANTA BARBARA. WITH NO HEAT. AND BROKEN PLUMBING. Say...oh...for example's sake...I room it with them fools for a spell...That's about 210 a motherfucking month. I've had larger checks at CPK (granted, fuckers drank a LOT.) All this excitement is, however, coupled with an immense responsibility to myself. Can I do it--of course I goddamn can. Opportunities are boundless in every possible direction. I feel gregarious as it were, but this place just makes you feel that way.
Also, it's 10 degrees in the morning. My scrotum is like a tightly-curled fist.
Love,
Dak
Day three and I've been roosting comfortably in some of my favorite old haunts again. I've had a latte from my favorite coffee place each and every day, and stolen internet from the Library! a handful of times already. My comfortable yet exciting routine has re-established itself, sans the utter terror of somehow being discovered as a mere amateur and being extradited back to L.A. to hole up at Barnes and Noble while dreaming of "what could have been." Crying in the face of my netbook while playing through Terranigma again and listening to Vic Chesnutt. No, that concern is vanished. I suppose that's a devil-on-the-shoulder that artists simply don't get rid of.
Nope. No guillotines in sight.
Instead, the feeling is replaced by a ravenous hunger to wring every single possibility out of this town and lap it up like a much less disgusting metaphor. My good buddies (also tour buddies, also two of the coolest fucking individuals on the planet) are paying 625 a munf for a two-bedroom house not far from my host family. That's 5 bucks more than I paid to SHARE A ROOM IN SANTA BARBARA. WITH NO HEAT. AND BROKEN PLUMBING. Say...oh...for example's sake...I room it with them fools for a spell...That's about 210 a motherfucking month. I've had larger checks at CPK (granted, fuckers drank a LOT.) All this excitement is, however, coupled with an immense responsibility to myself. Can I do it--of course I goddamn can. Opportunities are boundless in every possible direction. I feel gregarious as it were, but this place just makes you feel that way.
Also, it's 10 degrees in the morning. My scrotum is like a tightly-curled fist.
Love,
Dak
Thursday, December 23, 2010
First off--
Ignore the latter half of that song, as it cuts out. Unless...y'know...you're into that sorta' thing...
..and Philip Glass.
I'm reading through the cut of Twelfth Night for this season's Shakesperience tour. I'm also listening to sappy Shaimus songs and half-heartedly clicking through an old girlfriend's Facebook album. BECAUSE I AM ORSINO AND I'M GETTING INTO CHARACTER SHABAM ACTING. No yeah, the ridiculousness is evident to me too, which is why I laughed about it and then stopped. If you're like me though, you have a habit of tonguing your toothaches. There's a thinly veiled double entendre in there, Merry Christmas.
I'm in love with this cut of the show, and I absolutely CANNOT WAIT to bop back into Boise. There are a ton of people I'm excited to see again, not to mention an amazing show to work on. Combine that with an ability to wear winter clothes without looking like a moron? YEEEEE~!! Though I can't exactly say looking like a moron has ever stopped me before.
TWIN FALLS!!
I might have to pull a RubberDuck and start travelblogging. I'd have to use AntiApathy (which I haven't updated in 6 months because irony irony irony) since THIS blog probably shouldn't be associated with ISF in any way.
Cuz I use a lotta' bad words.
And talk about wee-wees.
This break at home has been incredibly enlightening. It really forced me to look at myself in a new light. Yes, a blacklight. (GOOD GOD WHERE DO I COME UP WITH THIS GOLD?) It felt like I was being poured into an oblong container and trying to fill my way out as much as possible. In certain ways I had to curb my immense ego (NO EASY TASK, SINCE I'M SO AWESOME.) and in other ways, I've had to really come to terms with who and what I am as an artist. It's all good. It's all very very good.
I fully intend to climb the branches of time and pluck next year off of the highest bough. Even if I fall from the tree a few times, those fresh epochs are the very best.
Love,
Dak
Ignore the latter half of that song, as it cuts out. Unless...y'know...you're into that sorta' thing...
..and Philip Glass.
I'm reading through the cut of Twelfth Night for this season's Shakesperience tour. I'm also listening to sappy Shaimus songs and half-heartedly clicking through an old girlfriend's Facebook album. BECAUSE I AM ORSINO AND I'M GETTING INTO CHARACTER SHABAM ACTING. No yeah, the ridiculousness is evident to me too, which is why I laughed about it and then stopped. If you're like me though, you have a habit of tonguing your toothaches. There's a thinly veiled double entendre in there, Merry Christmas.
I'm in love with this cut of the show, and I absolutely CANNOT WAIT to bop back into Boise. There are a ton of people I'm excited to see again, not to mention an amazing show to work on. Combine that with an ability to wear winter clothes without looking like a moron? YEEEEE~!! Though I can't exactly say looking like a moron has ever stopped me before.
TWIN FALLS!!
I might have to pull a RubberDuck and start travelblogging. I'd have to use AntiApathy (which I haven't updated in 6 months because irony irony irony) since THIS blog probably shouldn't be associated with ISF in any way.
Cuz I use a lotta' bad words.
And talk about wee-wees.
This break at home has been incredibly enlightening. It really forced me to look at myself in a new light. Yes, a blacklight. (GOOD GOD WHERE DO I COME UP WITH THIS GOLD?) It felt like I was being poured into an oblong container and trying to fill my way out as much as possible. In certain ways I had to curb my immense ego (NO EASY TASK, SINCE I'M SO AWESOME.) and in other ways, I've had to really come to terms with who and what I am as an artist. It's all good. It's all very very good.
I fully intend to climb the branches of time and pluck next year off of the highest bough. Even if I fall from the tree a few times, those fresh epochs are the very best.
Love,
Dak
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Difribulating
Hey all!
While walking back home from the DeSoto bus stop, I got to thinking about schtorf. Namely, I tried to pinpoint what it is exactly that's been making me somewhat off as of late. Off center. Misaligned. I did a lot of dancing around thoughts, but I didn't really land on any satisfying conclusions until I got home and emptied my brain to my mom. We began talking about life and so forth, and surmised that we need to be around artists.
As a matter of fact, that's something I've put off for so long. Not avoided per se, but it's definitely a mantle that's been hanging in my closet gathering dust. I am an artist.
THAT'S what I do.
And it's a hell of a responsibility to realize that if you don't put all your ideas out there, THEY WILL NEVER EXIST. If I don't create--those things will NEVER BE.
Heavy-
-but it's a responsibility I'm willing to take on. My life will NOT be orthodox. It's already too late for that (I'm not even Jewish!) I feel things and look at things and express myself in a different, unique way (JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE--SHA-DING-DONG.)
I dunno...it seems like an obvious realization, but it's still an important things to remember. Whether creating or not, you're still an artist. Every atom of your being serves that purpose.
And now...Tommy Wiseau.
Cheers, mates!
-Dak
While walking back home from the DeSoto bus stop, I got to thinking about schtorf. Namely, I tried to pinpoint what it is exactly that's been making me somewhat off as of late. Off center. Misaligned. I did a lot of dancing around thoughts, but I didn't really land on any satisfying conclusions until I got home and emptied my brain to my mom. We began talking about life and so forth, and surmised that we need to be around artists.
As a matter of fact, that's something I've put off for so long. Not avoided per se, but it's definitely a mantle that's been hanging in my closet gathering dust. I am an artist.
THAT'S what I do.
And it's a hell of a responsibility to realize that if you don't put all your ideas out there, THEY WILL NEVER EXIST. If I don't create--those things will NEVER BE.
Heavy-
-but it's a responsibility I'm willing to take on. My life will NOT be orthodox. It's already too late for that (I'm not even Jewish!) I feel things and look at things and express myself in a different, unique way (JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE--SHA-DING-DONG.)
I dunno...it seems like an obvious realization, but it's still an important things to remember. Whether creating or not, you're still an artist. Every atom of your being serves that purpose.
And now...Tommy Wiseau.
Cheers, mates!
-Dak
Thursday, December 2, 2010
So I'm finally working on Flyboy again-
Lights dim as Alex exits. Chair is cleared as Sam enters, he wears expensive jeans and a worn blazer over a ‘Flyboy’ shirt. While not strikingly handsome, he has a disarming charm about him. He thinks faster than he speaks, but his words come out at the speed of an automatic rifle. Even still, above all he is a storyteller. His speech is colored with self-aware little aphorisms and moments of clarity that surprise even him. Sam is possessed of the healthiest form of self-love, the kind which sees through and deconstructs his own persona even as it creates itself.
He grins at the audience.
He grins at the audience.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
DON'T LOOK AT MEEEE~
My biggest accomplishment today was finding a controller that plugs into my laptop so I can play Super Nintendo games more conveniently.
It's tough to look at this scenario and feel like I've failed in some way. YES YES I KNOW SHUT THE FUCK UP IT'S JUST A SHORT BREAK. In 32 days, I'll be on a plane back to Boise to rehearse Twelfth Night (or Twelfth Nizzle, as we say in the hood.) The difficulty THIS time is the realization that this isn't where I need to be. Why do I feel this dissonance? Likely because this isn't the life for me anymore.
The things that used to interest me don't hold nearly as much sway anymore. Yeah, I can play Mario RPG with ease now--but hell if I can plug in more than twenty minutes without a voice in my mind shouting "DON'T YOU HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO?"
I did get a job, though. Super seasonal. I'll be working all of four weeks before I'm done, but I've got to cover the cost of nights-out SOMEHOW, right? That New Years champagne won't buy itself.
I did spent a decent bit of time rooting through all my junk in the garage, though. I'm sure a third of it is garbage-bound, but I won't have to think about that until I move out. Yeah, that's the other thing--until I'm in L.A. for a substantial amount of time/actually working here, it doesn't make that much sense to set up shop here.
Oof.
I'm going to continue distracting myself from this greasy mood.
Love,
Dak
It's tough to look at this scenario and feel like I've failed in some way. YES YES I KNOW SHUT THE FUCK UP IT'S JUST A SHORT BREAK. In 32 days, I'll be on a plane back to Boise to rehearse Twelfth Night (or Twelfth Nizzle, as we say in the hood.) The difficulty THIS time is the realization that this isn't where I need to be. Why do I feel this dissonance? Likely because this isn't the life for me anymore.
The things that used to interest me don't hold nearly as much sway anymore. Yeah, I can play Mario RPG with ease now--but hell if I can plug in more than twenty minutes without a voice in my mind shouting "DON'T YOU HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO?"
I did get a job, though. Super seasonal. I'll be working all of four weeks before I'm done, but I've got to cover the cost of nights-out SOMEHOW, right? That New Years champagne won't buy itself.
I did spent a decent bit of time rooting through all my junk in the garage, though. I'm sure a third of it is garbage-bound, but I won't have to think about that until I move out. Yeah, that's the other thing--until I'm in L.A. for a substantial amount of time/actually working here, it doesn't make that much sense to set up shop here.
Oof.
I'm going to continue distracting myself from this greasy mood.
Love,
Dak
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