See Tea, F.D.?

I'm not exactly sure what it is I worry about when I get like this. It's certainly nothing real or legitimate...otherwise I could build a box out of perspective and cram it in there. It's human to worry about things that aren't real...things that have never happened. I GET that.

But COME THE EFF ON.

I want to attach a mannequin arm to a spring and mount it in the company car--so I can have a slapping machine for moments like this.

Maybe the thought is--if my life gets TOO awesome, it'll all vanish.

Really, it's a matter of worrying about my ability to bring all of me to the table. It's a lazy, smart, tactic. I'll pour energy into the fear, that way I can blow stuff out of proportion and not have to step up ANYWAY!

Done bitching.

SO!

What have I been DOING for the past few weeks? Well, dear boy, have a seat while I pour another brandy and regale you with the tales of Life On The Stage~!

By the by, if you want to emulate the state in which I'm writing this--pour yourself a mason jar of ice water and blast Tally Hall's New Album. All set? So!

The Two Gentlemen Of Verona opened a few weekends ago to a great response, so I've been doing that every other night. I love the show. I've finally gotten to a place where I've personalized it. No more stigma of being 'The New Guy'....which is great, since that was a terrible movie.

On top of that, I'm understudying for Cabaret and possible The Taming Of The Shrew. Cabaret rehearsals are great..or so I imagine...I usually just hide in a corner and write AS QUIETLY AS I CAN. Those first few rehearsals are always a bit weird, since the actors are figuring it all out themselves. I love the process, but I'm less apt to hang out for those--namely because I know how I feel in those situations. You're not going to invite your party guests to come drink in the kitchen and watch you make pigs in a blanket. Even still it's been fun.

Some pals are also trying to put together a number of other theater extravaganzas in the area. Yours truly is trying to team up with a pal put on The Dumb Waiter at a local venue. In addition, since most of us play instruments reasonably well, we're thinking about writing some Flight Of The Conchords style goofy songs to play at a local bar. What's our HOOK, though? Those guys are from New Zealand! FOREIGNERS = BOTTOMLESS WELL OF COMEDY.

I guess we'll make Shakespeare jokes?

Also, we're going to memorize some monologues, sonnets, and scenes (oh my) to perform at weddings. How much would YOU pay to have someone perform a sonnet or rehearse your groom into a swordfight where he beats the villain and marries the bride? Or vice versa? Or hey, bride n' bride! Groom n' groom!

So those wheels are spinning. We'll see if they catch.

I'm going to go look up some particularly romantic Shakespeare pieces.

Love, peace, and call your Niece,

DAK

Poems in italics because that makes me legit.

Hey so sometimes I write stuff. Sometimes they're poems. It's been a while, but for the sake of revving up that creative engine again, I've decided to start banging out some poetry. I should preface this by saying they'll all be first drafts of varying quality. Okay okay...no more judgment from me, I'll just get em down here and walk away like nothing happened. Here's the first!


She polishes her badges proudly
and pins them through her skin
she screams, railing, in the dark
furious with her own echoes
which only ever sound like the person she used to be.

She makes love to her pain
like a child.
And in the morning she wakes weeping
in her empty bed.
She'll straighten her mask in the mirror
and notice how pretty it looks.
And I will look on her and shake my head
as if we were two different people.


Love, peace, and flocks of geese,
Dak!

Pantsless.

For the past week or so, I've kind of felt like I've been walking around without my pants on. While that HAS been accurate on some occasions, the rest of the time it feels a little awkward and breezy. I've been here for a measley couple of weeks, but a lot has changed in that time. Getting used to it proves to be all sorts of strange and interesting. In addition, as mentioned before, coming face to face with the most difficult role I've ever had is proving to tell me loads about myself. It's all interesting and it's all 'class'.


For instance--and this seems especially true for Shakespeare--I get terribly wrapped up in trying to be The Good Actor. If not, The Perfect Actor. That, by the way, has NOTHING to do with actually performing well. It's kind of an overcompensating defense mechanism I think I've incorporated into other aspects of my life. It avoids tension and it avoids mess. "Everyone look how GOOD I am. I DO belong here! Right? RIGHT?" is what it seems to say. I hate looking like I don't know what I'm doing, so I don't acknowledge the fact that I'm a beginner. We all are.

I can't quite say what I'm so terrified of. Embarrassed of. Ashamed of. Maybe I'm not fully committed to my strangeness? The larger my world becomes, the more my insecurities want me to hide behind a 'persona'...and the longer I do that, the less centered and present I feel. I know what the culmination of that is like, too. I get paralyzed, physically exhausted, mentally blocked, creatively stifled, and completely fearful. The worst part is that's easy for me to do. I've make-believed that the center of my universe is the rest of the universe. That's somehow served me well.

It also lets me be completely reactive to every situation I come across. Proactive solution? Hell no! Leave that to people with bad skin (ahyuck.)

I'm just tired of it. Of my own crap.

This may seem like something that shouldn't require a thought process, much less a constant concerted effort to maintain. Well for me it does. I'm learning to be okay with that.

Love you all, lovelies!
Dak

Rehearsals, Shame, and Bleach

Day two of official rehearsals, and I am wildly in love with the cast. They are all fantastic, goofy people who I am honored to be in the same room with. Not only that, the director is one of the most confident, supportive directors I have ever worked with. More than willing to shake the Etch-a-Sketch and add new ingredients to the performance pot (broooo try some of this PERFORMANCE POT) he fosters an environment of fun work. We're all completely in it together and no cogs are out of place.

Which makes me feel like I can only ride my usual insecurities for so long.

I suppose being annoyed with myself for feeling that way is just extra energy in the wrong direction. I've got a lotta' guilt. Where its from, I don't know...but I know it developed a long time ago. Yeah, the Dad thing certainly was a part of it--and maybe I don't lend it enough credence. Perhaps its time to acknowledge that I've got a touch of post-traumatic somethin' somethin'. At the same time, I feel guilty even saying that. I didn't step on a landmine and lose my lower torso. I didn't get shrapnel to the brain and lose my ability to speak. I didn't get dusted with Agent Orange to inevitably lose decades of my life. I wasn't even privy to it. I guess all of that makes it difficult to hold those feelings of unworthiness up to the mirror of context. It's normal that I feel this way cuz' I lived in fear for almost a year. Adding guilt to the equation creates a powerfully insidious machine of self-sabotage. One I've kept in working order for as long as I can remember. It's the reason I all but gave up on school halfway through each year. The reason I made myself fear failure. The reason I--despite having a generally positive disposition--have the greatest difficulty with 'hope'. Coming face to face with my limits as an artist tends to lead me back to this stuff.

It's all interesting. And yet--I'm so completely done with it.

New paragraph.

I don't leap into cultural phenomenons. I'm very reluctant about them. Maybe cuz like...y'know...some of them don't turn out that well. This means I routinely show up late to the party. I seldom buy current-gen technology, and I don't start watching good TV shows until I've been told about them by no less than 97 people.

SOME stuff, however, I avoid outright.

I was late to the BLEACH party. For those of you with social lives and significant others, Bleach is a Japanese comic, one that falls under the 'Shonen' category. That basically means it's geared toward teen males--and is chock full of ridiculous battles and references to boobs. Still, it's incredibly popular. As in...they've made musical adaptations of it. Four of them.

Dude.

Bro.

Brosef.

So far it doesn't grab me. Maybe if I was seventeen again, I'd really dig it. As of now, I can't really stand the giant sword-wielding protagonist and his always-angry face. 'Fraid my notion of 'cool' includes 'being three-dimensional'.

But hey, maybe there'll be a turn-around. So far I'm not holding my breath. I can only abide so much cringe-worthy anime bullshit. On the serious...if one more character talks about the air headed love interest's hyuuuge tiiits, I might have to stop reading. Not that I don't enjoy me some SCHWEET BEWB ACTION, but I don't particularly care how enamored the author is with the characters he's created. Or rather...I don't really care to know how much the author may want to get all up ons the characters he's drawn. Maybe he does! That's cool! Does it belong in the narrative? That's up for debate. My vote is 'nay'.

Maybe it's cuz I'm an ass man.

Be well, stinky kids.

Love,
Dak

P.S. The rapture is tonight. Glad I built that underground bunker out of empty lunchables boxes.

Half marshmallows, half cereal.

Things seem to be convening in a very interesting way right now. That is to say, it feels like the dominoes are all lined up, just waiting for the right tap. Innuendo? IS IT EVER NOT?

I've had a single one-on-one rehearsal thus far, and I'm already in love with the shape of this piece. It will be plenty difficult, but I made the uncomfortable realization that I'll be sort of playing myself as a teenager. In SOME respects of course. I mean...there ARE differences.

I never used the word "vouchsafe" for instance.

Well there was that one time...

On top of that, things just feel right with all of my friends here right now as well. That's not to say anything of my L.A. buddies, it just feels as though I'm on a continuation of my prior path. I even found myself alone in a rehearsal room yesterday evening, running lines until I felt decently solid on them. On top of that, I'm wanting to put together a weekly theater fun-time super day where we bring in training exercises and fun stuff to do and just EFF AROUND. I've missed my effing...around..

In all other realms, things are great. There's too much momentum now to stop or to choke. That's incredibly promising. It's wonderful. It just feels like things are flying again.

N...now to go buy groceries...

Love,
Dak

All Plug. No Shame.

Check it--



It's from a project called 'AntiApathy'. WOO COLLEGE.

UPDATE.

Okay...

Okay...

So yes, I'm sorry. I don't have a decent excuse for the extreme lull this time. Not like that Jaguar attack...and yes, I capitalized Jaguar.

THAT CAR NEARLY BIT MY ARM OFF.

No but fo reels, I've just been in Idaho--doing the tour thang. Twelfth Night went splendidly! Those are pictures of said production. Yes, I am playing Orsino and Sir Andrew. Yes, that wig did smell horrid after a show, and yes--an audience member did lean over to her friend and whisper loudly, "I can see his penis."

To her credit, I did perform that one in the nude. No, ISF will not be hiring me again.

OH WAIT HAHA LIES JK JK JK SIMMONS. I'm currently three days away from a flight back to Boise! I'll be stepping in to play Proteus in this summer's production of The Two Gentlemen Of Verona. It's an incredibly ridiculously high honor. Even to have had the chance to read the part was an honor. It's intimidating as all hell, but it'll be fine. Turbulent, of course--but fine in the end. I'll just be happy to get to Boise and start looking for a home base with my home girl from tour. We'll be moving in together so the sitcom that is our respective lives will air 7 DAYS A WEEK.

The pilot will feature 12 scenes of us playing Twilight Princess on Wii, 8 scenes of drunken dance parties, and 3 scenes of awkwardly raucous pooping.

I'll leave you to guess who'll be doing the poopin'.

That may have been my favorite sentence to write ever.

L.A.'s been nice, but I'm soured on it and I'm surprised at how not surprised I am. In terms of home bases, this definitely has the advantage of "buddies I've known since I was a tadpole" but the lack of job opportunities that don't require me to bite the proverbial bullet is a definite negative. Especially that bullet-biting job at the shooting range (Why do they even HAVE that?) It's a matter of VIBE, too. I was having a chat with my wonderful wonderful (she's cute and single to boot, GEEEENTLEMEEEEEEN) BFA friend in Santa Barbara last weekend and we commiserated about the L.A. thing. Her coming from SB, and me having a Santa-Cruz hippie heart, the vibe in LA is just...incredibly intense. There's a kind of frenetic energy that offers a bullet-train ride to an unknown place, and the toll is an IMDB page, a pair of aviators, and a shirt from Express. L.A. will cut you off and not give a fuck. Boise may take 10 seconds to realize the light is green, but you don't really fault the poor Subaru Outback. All they've done is make you late for a flexible appointment with Flying M.

Whoops...I think my bias is showing.

In short, I've had more surreal moments of 'not quite fitting in' during the time I've been home than ever before. Part of it, certainly, is the lack of car. But maybe I don't want to live in a city where I need one. YOU EVER THINK ABOUT THAT, YOU BIG METAL JERKS?

It really turns out its time to move on. On to a place where I have some actual agency. That is to say, on to a place where the EXPRESSION of that agency is clearer. More instantaneous. Am I thinking entirely with my ego? Quite likely! Do I care? Not slightly!

SO--I'm back on the blogosphere. And on this hemisphere. Performing Shake-a-speare. More updates to come! Fo realz.

Hornily Yours,
Deeks