Dean Evans

Leaning into uncertainty.

2011-10-10T11:27:00.003-05:00

Me at the Philipe Gaulier workshop dressed as a diver

I'm not going to bury the lead here. The reason I'm posting is to tell you about two things.

1. The Clown LAB is on October 16th at 8pm at 2054 W Irving Park. This is the show where we try things, take risks, and cast doubt and self judgment aside. It's also free.

2. The Chi-Town Clown Revue #6 Special Halloween Edition will be on October 30th at 9:30pm. Well, technically it starts at 9pm because that's when the 4 square tourny starts. Then the Clown show happens and then, as usual, the pie fight. This is the more polished version of the show, in which we bring our A game. Although we take risks and cast doubt and judgement aside for this one as well. This is the fancy show.

Helpful links:

The Brand New Chi-Town Clown Website!
Facebook Invite for the Clown LAB
Facebook invite for the Chi-Town Clown Revue

I'm reading a book about Uncertainty. It is very familiar territory for me. It speaks of leaning into uncertainty and how tolerance to ambiguity can increase your vision thereby increasing your creativity. I'm not saying the book is some wonder bible for artists. In fact most of the book is preaching to the choir. I've always been a hopeless entrepreneur and I've always found ways to play with the sometimes overwhelming fear that I experience. But there are some interesting scientific studies cited in regards to peoples reaction to judgment. And the author is more articulate that I. It's a must read for a clown teacher. And for me it's a book that says "keep kicking ass, dude." I've been thinking about tailoring a workshop for dealing with performance anxiety (stage fright). Because that's what I help people deal with mostly anyways.

I've been rehearsing and developing a new show called Burning Bluebeard. It's a Jay Torrence special. It's a clown/bouffon show. The cast are all my friends and some of the most talented and funny people I've ever known. We've been developing material and putting some scenes and choreography on it's feet. I'm incredibly pleased with the work so far. I've been pleased with my level of creativity. I'm definitely entering into some kind of new prolific phase. I'll be performing much more than I'm teaching this year, which is optimal. I enjoys ideas that are startling and viscous, unpredictable and delicious.

I might be performing at the Chicago TED talks this weekend. We'll see.

I will be performing a short piece for the Actor's Gym's Circus in Progress. That's this Saturday at 4:30 and 7:30 in Evanston.

And on another note. In a completely alternate universe. I start my 5B shows at IO next week. Yes, you heard that correct.

Welcome to the Future

2011-08-31T10:24:00.001-05:00

I have not posted on this blog in a year. Here are some things that have happened:

Chi-Town Clown celebrated it's one year anniversary with another amazing Clown Revue.
We also held the first ever Clown Lab, a free show, in which clowns try things. The next review will be in late October around Halloween.

Red Bastard came to town. I took a Bouffon workshop with Eric Davis and the work of Bouffon sparked a great fire within me. I've been performing as a personage who simply goes by HoneyBuns. It's my finest and most startling work, so I'm told.

I studied with Phillipe Gaulier. It was a challenging experience and my knowledge of clown has been shifted. I plan on moving to France next year to learn more. So if you've got some extra money burning a hole in your pocket, I will use those dollars to shake the universe.

I was inspired to be surrounded by 35 other clowns from all over the country last week during the workshop. It made me realize how badly we need an international Clown festival in Chicago.

I found this article about me from my home town paper:
http://www.dispatch.com/content/blogs/theatre-talk/2010/10/marcel_marceau_praised_osu_gra.html

I continue to get auditions for TV and film. I will occasionally get callbacks and I've been put on hold a couple times. I booked one commercial that got canceled and another a commercial that was in Spanish and never aired to my knowledge. I really like my agent, and have fun at the auditions.

Things seem to be going well. Although I'm getting antsy and would like to travel abroad for an extended amount of time. Hopefully the circus will call me soon.

I'm making a series of short films that are character studies. The first one is called Buji. Here is the video:

Paper Machete

2010-10-17T15:10:00.001-05:00

I recently performed at the Paper Machete, a live magazine. I read something I wrote.
Here it is...

2010-09-24T00:11:00.001-05:00

This is going to be Epic
Oct 24 9:30 Neofuturarium
4 Square Tourny,
Clown Throw Down,
Food Fight.

Seriously

2010-09-24T00:06:00.001-05:00

I just ran across this list of potential titles for my Clown show from years ago. Thank God I wen with Magical Exploding Boy.

Possible Titles:
Chicken Guts Dean and the Big Bathroom Mirror
Kid Chicken Balls vs. His Own Reflection
Bathroom Mirror and the Cartoon Kid
Republicans Walk Next to Jesus
The Cartoon Kid
The Return of the Invisible Man
Kid Lily White Flies a Kite
Prance Mothra, Prance.
Kid Fantasy vs. The Glitter Gnomes
Fuck you, I will fucking Shank you

Limited engagement!

2010-07-31T11:54:00.003-05:00

I'm doing my show for the next two weekends at the Prop Theater
July 30, 31 @ 10:30pm
Aug 6, 7 @ 10:30pm

Get tickets here...

Chi-Town Clown Revue

2010-07-25T02:02:00.003-05:00

You'll probably want to check this out. It's tonight.

A poem

2010-07-15T00:31:00.002-05:00

I wrote this on my bike just now and thought I'd share it.

Heard her cry through the door,
Her tears filled my heart.
My eyes shut tightly,
as my soul ripped apart.

Classes coming up and stuff

2010-06-18T01:33:00.003-05:00

I am teaching a Mime class on Sundays starting July 11th. Go here to sign up:
http://secondcity.com/Training/chicago/CourseCatalog/70/

I am teaching a Clown class on Wednesday evenings Starting June 30th. Sign up for that one too:
http://secondcity.com/Training/chicago/CourseCatalog/71/

The new clown piece that I made with Molly and Anthony is really fun and good.

Here are some of the positive reviews:

"“Sacrebleu”: The enviably talented Dean Evans strikes again. Someone please book Mr. Evans a plane ticket to Edinburgh. Seriously." - New City

"...a few standouts this year:"Sacrebleu" by Dean Evans. A mime with a biting sense of humor, Evans, who has hilariously titled his piece with a French profanity that no one in France actually uses, teams up with performer Molly Plunk as a pair of muttering goofball explorers who resemble a punk-primitive version of Lewis and Clark traversing the Amazon, or something like it." - Chicago Tribune

Bye.

Fundraising

2010-06-15T01:33:00.002-05:00

Hey Internet,

I'm trying to raise money so I can send my show to New York.

If you'd like to help out, you can either donate any amount or buy a DVD of the show for $15.

Go to

www.magicalexplodingboy.com

The Hamilton County Historical Society Pt. 1

2010-05-21T01:19:00.002-05:00

This is part one of a short story I wrote.

The Hamilton County Historical Society Pt. 1

Harriet thought it was crummy that she still had to wear a skirt to his house, even though great grandpa himself wouldn't even be there, because he kicked the bucket 4 weeks prior. And she hated the way her tights felt against the sticky vinyl of the gigantic bench seat of the '82 Monte Carlo. But she didn't put up a fuss about it, because she was in third grade now, but really because Mom was wearing her seriously-don't-mess-with-me-right-now sunglasses, angrily cracking gum, and driving hard and fast down Ronald Reagan highway into the grey Cincinnati sky.

Harriet's Mom had to take care of everything, again. Because Uncle Tracy was a drunk who fell and broke his arm and Uncle Dan was lazy and getting divorced from a woman who he said was a "complete and total bitch!" and a "scamming slut!". Harriet's mother was especially pissed because great grandpa wasn't even especially nice to her. Daddy Bud, as they called him, said he always thought women should be women. Which meant that they weren't allowed to drive his maroon Cadillac with bulls horns fastened to the chrome grill, even when his senses became to weak to drive it himself. And that they should dress in skirts. And have clean finger nails. And probably not go to college. Harriets Mom said it was a "crock!" and pointed out that when in his nineties, too feeble to move, it was women who laid Daddy Bud on his side and coaxed dripping beige turds out of his old butt and into a pan, and then diligently wiped his ass. Although, don't tell Harriet's Mom this; Daddy Bud, when lucid, secretly liked how humiliating it was to himself.

As they cross into Hamilton County, Harriet's squirming subsides and every thing gets glassy and silent as she begins to imagine a boy from school, Diego. And his perfect brown skin and his hair like black bunny fur and the sounds he makes as he gently and thoughtfully cuts out shapes of thick colored paper in Mrs. Schnipples art class. As he applies glue to the shapes and then presses them together, Harriet's head tilts to the side and her scalp tingles with the textures of the art room paper, graphite, wax, and paste. One time he looked up suddenly and caught Harriet looking. She turned away fast. But she could feel him smiling at her like a tired dog. "Diego" she whispers.
-"huh?"
-"nothin''"
-"how many times do i have to tell you to put your seat belt on."
Reluctantly, click.

Stay tuned for pt. 2

Slapstick Comedy Video

2010-05-08T23:45:00.002-05:00

Here is a ROUGH video I made using footage from one of my Slapstick Comedy classes.

What HAVEN't I been up to.

2010-05-08T23:15:00.002-05:00

I'm putting together a piece with Chicago Children's theater called The Houdini Box, based on the book of the same title. It's a great opportunity to work with Blair Thomas and Mark Messing.

Immediately after that I'll be remounting a Becket show that will go up at the Steppenwolf garage space. That happens late this month.

I've been developing a new piece for Sketchbook X. It's going well. Molly and I went on a road trip to Ohio and loaded a truck up with post industrial plastic objects. My mind was blown by the whole trip. I knew there was a lot of extra stuff being made and thrown away. But seeing such a large amount of it, under 7 acres of roof, was boggling. Steve Shew should be up for some kind of lifetime achievement award considering he's pretty much saving the world.

My show, Magical Exploding Boy, has been selected for the New York Fringe Festival. In August, I'll pack up my little bag of props, and head to the Big Apple. It will take some fundraising, but I think I can pull it off with relative ease. And I'm grateful for the opportunity to develop the show and develop my skills in the art of Clown. I'd like to re-conceptualize the show, with a new costume, new props, and a new look. I don't know if it needs that, or I just get bored easy. Either reason is fine.

I went to Paper Machete again today. It's a living magazine. It's a great show. Except when people try to do "comedy". But luckily that was only one guy, from LA. It's inspired me to try and write. Maybe. A little.

I've been getting more auditions lately. For theater, movies, and commercials. Even though theater auditions stress me out a bit. It's nice to have opportunities in the future.

In non-theater related news:

I continue to study Aikido, intensely. I'm progressing steadily and beginning to understand new powerful things about the universe. It's almost all I think about.

I miss having an old motorcycle to work on. Although I did help a friend remove his carburetor. I actually saw my old bike parked on Ashland today. It was like seeing a missing child of mine. If I ever get any money, I will probably try to find it and buy it back so that I can fully restore it. I want a vintage bike to fix up sooooooooo bad.

More words born from guilt

2010-04-07T01:45:00.002-05:00

Ok ok. Yeah I'm fine.
I figured the dinner you made must be cold by now.
I did my show, the Magical Exploding Boy at Next Theater in Evanston. It was a successful run. The show looked great. It developed allot since the last run. The sense of the whole show was stronger. The lights were pretty, the music was thumping. My body felt fine. People came. They loved it. I received 2 rave reviews and 1 good one. And shot a video of it all with 5 cameras. (pause) Big woop. It's lonely doing a 1 person show. There's no one to goof off with in the dressing room. There's no one to talk to about all the funny mistakes and nitpicky things after. It's just me. I didn't have any odds to overcome this time. I didn't have anything to prove. Pretty humdrum, this clown life. In a way, I guess, it was the best thing for me. It forced me to answer the question: Why do I do this? Is it to make people love me? If so, better get more odds stacked against me, better get more insurmountable obstacles to overcome. Is it because you love the work? Yes. I really do. But I also get bored fast. I like variety. I need to mix it up. I learned, or rather re-learned that I like working with other people. Let me rephrase that. I like working with other clowns. Because boy did I miss collaborating. I miss goofing off. I miss riffing, spoofing, and improvising with other funny people. I'm looking forward to my next project. A trio. It goes up in June. You wont want to miss it.

What else have I been doing:
I've been teaching a Slapstick class that has turned out to be one of the funnest things I've ever done.
I've been practicing Aikido which compliments the slapstick very well.
I've been improvising with the Second City Faculty team.
I've been riding my bicycle to many of these things.
I've been working the Vaudeville circuit, hopping from place to place on my motorcycle.
Not so bad, huh.

The Magical Exploding Boy

2010-03-08T12:27:00.004-06:00

Come see this show. I'll have a bunch of new material as well as some tried a true material.
This run will have the highest production value to date. You better see me this time because it's getting more and more expensive to see me (places tongue in cheek) .It's going to be a riot!

March 26, 27 at 8pm
March 28 at 2pm
April 2, 3 at 8pm

at the Next Theatre in the Noyes Cultural Arts Center, 927 Noyes Street, Evanston, IL 60201

Visit their website or call 847-475-1875 x2 for tickets.

You know I love you, right?

Things I do.

2010-03-07T17:10:00.002-06:00

I'll make this brief. I:

went to a dog show
was in a music video
joined a dojo
performed in the Bahamas
learned to ride a "Rib Stick"
started up my bike
am preparing for a new slapstick class
rehearsing for my show

Not a bad life.

2010-02-26T01:39:00.000-06:00

Can I get a suggestion of dildo.

2010-02-17T02:10:00.002-06:00

I improvised in front of an audience for the first time in the United States. 2nd City style improv comedy.
It's not something I get to do often.
A few weeks ago I thought to myself that I'd like to be improvising on a regular basis. But I didnt want to enter the fray of the Chicago comedy scene. It can be a little off putting.
On that same day I received an invite to improvise on a team of Second City faculty. Perfect! I get to be on an experienced team and bypass all the hubbub.
Despite me being quite nervous, it was great. It was just as zen like as I remembered.
I'm looking forward to next weeks jam. 10:30 in the DeMaat theater at Second City.

I did a new piece with my clown partner at a variety show this weekend. It made me excited and inspired. I was in a good mood the entire next day.

I will be leaving on Thursday morning to go a perform my rinky dink comedy show on a sparsely populated island in the Bahamas. I'm a little nervous about that. But I know it will be fun.

Thank you for your kind words, Raine. Although tonight was actually the first time I've performed at 2nd city in Chicago. The other times I was either in europe or Montreal. I'm curious what show you saw.

Update

2010-02-14T19:53:00.002-06:00

Nope. The picture in the previous post is not of me or anyone I know. I got it from one of my favorite websites http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/

Last winter Olympics I was completely taken by an Italian curler. I've never seen someone so supple do a task with such attention and care. I tried to find him on the Olympics website but there appears to be no Italian curlers. He had spiky hair and glasses and was very young, for a curler. It was like watching Michelangelo at work.

I made a new website. It's much more simple. http://www.deanevans.net

I'm teaching a new class. http://www.chicagophysicaltheater.com/classes

Next weekend I'll be performing my show on a sparsely populated island in the Bahamas.

I had one of the funnest times I've had all year last night at the Wild Party Variety hour performing one of the most absurd things I've ever done.

I'm performing in a Vaudeville show on April 1st.

I will be, once again, creating a piece for Sketchbook. Last year I did a mime piece called Space.Lab.2030. This year I will be making a clown piece with my company.

2010-02-07T01:58:00.001-06:00

I'm in Columbus Ohio.

2009-12-23T00:26:00.002-06:00

I only dreamt of the apocalypse from ages 17 to 22 when I lived here. No joking. I often say that this is when "the headache" started. I was 16 and standing in the back of a pick up truck with this asshole name Lee Cooper and I realized the world is "bullshit!". A few days before I, consciously, heard my first punk rock song, Police Truck by the Dead Kennedys. Back to the apocalypse. I never dreamt of the actual event, but, afterward, or sometimes right at the moment when we all collectively realize that, yes, the world is gone, from here on out we're going to be sad. I watched The Road tonight at a giant theater with buckeyes in thick sweat shirts. It seemed like a movie that was supposed to make people feel that there is hope in a time of starvation. Maybe not even hope, but rather a "listen even closer to the almost imperceptible voice that is telling you to carry on". I am now in the land of milk and honey. Or at least soda and chicken. Things here are fat and beige, clean and thick, wide and quite. I just can't imagine that these people have those dreams. I imagine they dream of cartoon cats and third downs. And then you'll see that one. With slightly longer hair, and intentionally torn jeans, hair poorly bleach for the first time, tromping in to a Barnes and Noble, looking for something that they don't know about yet. psst... Police Truck by Dead Kennedys. But you gotta go to a much shadier record store dude. You'll find it.
I'm sitting in the cold corner of a house that I lived in but was never my home. I got a magazine about old motorcycles. I listen to the train filled with big macs chug by across an empty well manicured soccer field. Exactly on time, no different than before. My starvation time started 6 years ago. And I'm still carrying on. Somewhat hopeless. Not so much in a sad way, but more of a zen way at this point. Going. Closely circling around the small piece that I know is in fact me.

Latest swiftrank.com spam:

2009-12-21T11:48:00.002-06:00

The guy from swiftrank sent this email to a theater company I work with:

"To whom this my concern,

I am writing about a convicted pedophile called Dean Evans which you
associate yourselves with. Dean Evans brags on about his relationship
with you on his web site. This person has been convicted of child
abuse and is on many pedophile watch sites. If you continue to use his
services, you have to warn your customers about him. So people can
choose whether to bring their children to watch someone who abuses
them. If you do not you are as guilty and disgusting as the pedophile
called Dean Evans himself. Unless you distance yourself from him, I
will be posting your details along with his all around the internet as
pedophiles.

I am contacting everyone who associates with Dean Evans. You are one
of those people.

Regards

Tony Ogiyendeyu"

The poor writing gives it away. Thank god. But who knows who else he sent this too. I guess I have to call the police now.

swiftrank continues to Spam

2009-12-15T03:29:00.004-06:00

The angry Scottish fellow from swiftrank.com cooled down a bit but continues to plead his case. This time with:

"@Dean Evans, You sound like a hater of anyone trying to run a business on the Internet! I've seen Swiftrank around and they appear to be a very legitimate company offering search results for their visitors...isn't that what the web is all about?"

Dude, You haven't "seen Swiftrank around". Nobody sees swiftrank around. The only thing anyone sees is your Spam and fake websites. We all know it's you. The same angry guy who said I like to get fucked in the ass by... African Americans.

You might be on to something with the last part of your comment. Yes, the web is all about spamming. But it shouldn't be. It's not supposed to be, anyways. But some people get so desperate to make a quick buck that they'll cheat anyway they can. Luckily google's algorithm is a half step behind you. Not eradicating you entirely, but keeping you idiots in check just enough so that nice people, who's ethics have yet to be evolved out of existence, can still watch videos of people farting.

PS
I can tell how many times you google yourself.

PPS
Why am I still wasting my time with you?

PPPS
Because it's actually kind of fun to imagine you pounding your keyboard.

Second City Anniversary

2009-12-15T03:10:00.002-06:00

I was able to attend a part of the Second City Anniversary on Sunday evening. I'm relatively out of the loop in that scene. I teach my classes there, and I've done two small contracts. I spend most of my time not knowing who people are gossiping about when I am around 2nd city people. But I do enjoy the company. They make funny performers. They are nice to me. I've gotten super fun gigs from the company. I like them. Some of them are my good friends.

Sunday night I was able to see allot of famous people. As with all of their shows, some of the sketches were good, some were so so. But all of the performances were phenomenal, a real sight to see. And this is coming from a guy who can barely watch theater these days. The presence that some of those old timers had is mind blowing. I'll spare you from the name game that is played when ever speaking of that company. But if I were making a movie or TV show that had words in it, I would definitely cast all people from there. Because they know what they are doing.

The writing at that place, in the opinion of myself and my artsy theater colleagues, has never been mind blowing or remotely edgy. But I don't hold that against them. Most people who do are just mad because they haven't gotten a job their yet.

These days, for me, the art happens in the first half second the performer enters the stage. Everything after that is for your entertainment.

Clowny

2009-12-15T02:53:00.002-06:00

I had a rather satisfying talk with a clown scout from the circus. He spoke thoughfully of the art of clown. Things he said that opened my eyes:

- It takes at least ten years to become a clown. And that starts after your training.
I knew that. But it felt good to hear someone tell me again. And he said sometimes it doesn't happen until they're in their 50's or 60's. And some times it happens when they're very young, like 32. Shwew. I'm still in a "very young" bracket for something.

-There are 213 clowns in the world.
He using the term clown to refer to people who are experienced and working on a professional level. Wow. It's like being in some elite force. Some really gay elite force.

I don't know if my ten year clown trial is up. But I'm getting close. This last year was huge for me. I'm re-reading Lecoq's The Moving Body and it's making sense. I can make student clown scenes work almost every time. I can feel good about clowning before during and after a performance almost every time. I can articulate what makes a person shine. I let go of allot of things deep inside me that weren't helping me at all. Thank God. I WAS a good performer and and interesting writer. I am becoming a complete artist, on the stage. That is my work here on earth.

It was nice to feel a moment of relief from the artistic isolation that comes with being a clown.

Word up!

2009-12-03T14:38:00.002-06:00

"Turn on the television. We have a wedding channel on cable TV devoted to the behavior of people on the way to the altar. They spend billions of dollars, behave in the most appalling way, all in an effort to be princess for a day. You don't have cable television? Put on network TV. We're giving away husbands on a game show. You can watch The Bachelor, where thirty desperate women will compete to marry a 40-year-old man who has never been able to maintain a decent relationship in his life."

"That's what we've done to marriage in America, where young women are socialized from the time they're five years old to think of being nothing but a bride. They plan every day what they'll wear, how they'll look, the invitations, the whole bit, they don't spend five minutes thinking about what it means to be a wife. People stand up there before god and man even in Senator Diaz's church, they swear to love honor and obey, they don't mean a word of it. So if there's anything wrong with the sanctity of marriage in America, it comes from those of us who have the privilege and the right and have abused it for decades."

Dear Bridezillas and lime light bachelors of America,

Fuck you!

Dean Evans

iSM

2009-11-26T12:50:00.003-06:00

"Our team of bright and bubbly, talented and (mostly) young guys and girls have a passion to reach out to businesses up and down the country, offering them the chance to feature on any one of our many highly optimised domains.

They do this at all times with a cheery smile and a glint in their eyes."

The last line is especially disturbing.

I just sent a friendly email to Gary, Danah, Jenna, Sarah, Karen, Dawn, John, Cameron and Michael of Internet Search Marketing explaining the situation. I'm sure they'll get back to me soon and remedy the situation.

I know, I know

2009-11-26T12:32:00.002-06:00

It seems that Internet Search Marketing has some "young Telemarketers" to plant phony comments on blogs in an attempt to boost google ranking of their site. The fake blogger IDs link to their websites. I wont even go into how unsound a strategy that is to increase google ranking. In fact, in the long run that really hurts your ranking.

Internet Search Marketing
17d Windmill Way West
Ramparts Business Park
Berwick Upon Tweed
Northumberland
TD15 1TB

OFFICE : +44 (0) 1289 309884

Here at iSM we pride ourselves on the high quality of our products
and services. If you are anything other than 100% satisfied, we’d love
to hear from you so that we can resolve your issue and continually
improve the way we operate. Click the button below to inform us of
your issue.

2009-11-26T12:14:00.001-06:00

Internet Search Marketing Ltd
17d Windmill Way West
Berwick, Northumberland TD15 1TB GB

Ah, that's why arse.

More from the spammer

2009-11-26T11:50:00.002-06:00

Check out the spammer's latest flames:

"Fucking idiot. You are probably the only cunt who looks at this shitty blog. We will leave you to it thick lame arsehole. lol"

"I just posted Dean Evans from Chicago is a fat gay cunt who fucked his own mother to loads of blogs. it will show up in google soon. Silly lame cunt. lol"

"What a wankstained site
Shitty site using CMS written by other people. Fucking thieving gay cunt. Get your arse butt fucked by niggers."

All posted Anonymously. This is fasinating. The fact that there is a spammer out there that is really upset that he got called out is somewhat satisfying.

What we know about this person:
Illegal Spammer
Hates Dean (Get in line)
Homophobic
Doesn't understand how google works
Racist (sheesh)
Very, VERY upset
Probably 14 years old

Possible match: Everyone I went to middle school with, if I had gone to middle school in a country where people use the word arse.

Dear Spammer,

You illegally spammed my site. I called you out. If that upsets you then deal with it. You are responsible for your own actions. All of the other hateful remarks... hilarious. However I have a feeling that you'll keep going forever and ever. Your blood will boil for eternity for someone you have never met. You'll feud endlessly with a stranger 10 thousand miles away. I'm sure I'm not the only one either.
From here on out, I will not approve your comments, or comment on your comments, or hereby acknowledge your existence. I hope that one day you calm down, find peace, and stop trying to make money spamming.

Love,
Dean Evans

Dialogue with a spammer

2009-11-24T11:25:00.002-06:00

I can't believe I'm wasting my time doing this.

"How is it spam? they provide the searchers what they are looking for?"

It is spam because you're creating false identities and posting artificial comments on peoples blogs in order to boost ranking of websites that have no relevance.
The websites are for companies that do not exist. It is spam by any definition. The wosrt kind of spam, in every possible way.

Now leave my blog alone.

(Sorry about that everyone else)

swiftrank.com is SPAM

2009-11-19T12:53:00.002-06:00

Ah yes,

I got to the bottom of it. swiftrank.com
Some asshole has bought a bunch of crappy domain names and attempted to boost their google ranking by spam posting comments on blogs. I can only assume that they would then attempt to sell the domains. Every domain they own has a real crappy template website up. The exact same website for each domain. All for fake restaurants and hotels. All with horrible stock photos of hotels.

I hate spammers. I hate people who try to get rich quick using any un-ethical means necessary.

FUCK YOU SWIFTRANK.COM!

Spammers

2009-11-19T12:42:00.001-06:00

Dear Spammers,

Please stop leaving comments on this blog that link to your crappy hotel in Australia.

Love,
Dean

Vroom.

2009-11-09T11:12:00.003-06:00

Because of the nice weather, I was able to go on the perfect motorcycle ride. I went north on Sheridan to where it gets windy and autumn. The dry golden leaves made nice spirals in the wake of my KLR. It is real comfortable up there, in those rich northern suburbs. But the lack of culture and diversity scared me, as I ate my Bavarian ham outside of the Corner Bakery (Which, despite it's name, is a ridiculous chain store, with delicious ham). When the scales tip too far in the direction of monotony, people lose there minds and forget how to have conversations. Come on Highland Park, just give me a thousand dollars.

After my show closed I treated myself to a 10 day free trial of World of Warcraft. The creators of this game have really made something spectacular. However after three weeks (yes, of course I joined after the trial) , I canceled my account. It's too good. And it's hard to not play it for hours and hours. And after a while my back feels like it did when I had an office job, bad. And I stop getting things done that need to get done. And what little social life I have starts to fade. So I put an end to it. That's the way things tend to go with me and video games. I get into a video game for three weeks, about once every two years. And that's it. Thank God, because there is too much fresh air to breathe in this world. I am greatful for the temporary escape. However I am going to take up archery in real life. No jokin. I was always good at it in gym. And I found a place to do it.
So lets add that to my list of new things I'm learning:

Swing Dance
Aikido
Archery

Mime Spotting:

Peeking out the top of a school bus we see the elusive street mime.

"Um, could you like interact with the guests more?"

2009-10-28T11:51:00.001-05:00

I get inquiries regarding performing as a Mime or Clown for events often. I've always politely turned them down. It's not what I do, or interest lies. I took a workshop in Maine on Eccentric Performance and discovered performing in a theater is the same as performing for one person or a crowd on the street. It was my fear of those situations that made me act snobby.
I decided to take a street gig. I figured it would be a win win. The client would be getting an experienced performer and classically trained Mime, and I would get money for practicing the principles of clown. Even though it's a "Mime" gig. Any gig in which one is almost exclusively interacting with an audience I would place in the realm of clown. Mime is a dense art form of story telling through abstraction. When clowning, mime becomes more of a skill. Although I would surely be expected to mime some simple illusions, I wasn't worried because I can do that if need be.
So I booked this gig in a fancy hotel downtown. For one hour of a roving Mime performance to take place in a swanky high rise hotel club. I put together a costume that looked surprisingly Mimey. I toured all over this country in a Clown show called Kapoot and also did a drag show. So I'm no stranger to make up. In fact I enjoy putting it on, I'm quite skilled at it, and I have a sizable makeup kit.
I was pretty scared at first. So I sucked down a Gin and tonic in my gigantic dressing room. Then I put mime makeup on. Took a cell phone pic of myself in the nude with nothing but mime makeup on. I mean, why not? I then slipped into my costume and left the safety of my dressing room. At first I just kind of walked around in a character and let people soak me in and soak my balls in too. There was a photobooth there. I went in there twice. More to hide than anything. But I did get some shots. I've never been real good at crowds. Corporate executive business types are no fun at all, in any situation. It's way more fun to Mime for the caterers. You can see them smiling even thought they are no allowed to. After one hour, I went back to my dressing room. Washed off the makeup. Put on my regular clothes and walked away feeling… fine.

Finally

2009-10-10T14:09:00.002-05:00

I've been preoccupied. But I have written some new blog stuff. Just haven't posted it.
I'll be honest. I feel really great about this show.
Please come out and support. You'll have a great time. And Brennan Buhl is opening for me and he's so funny.

Magical Exploding Boy
October 10,11, 16, 17 @ 8pm
3421 W. Fullerton

2009-09-23T11:25:00.000-05:00

My New Website

2009-09-22T19:05:00.000-05:00

Sacre Bleu

2009-09-14T01:23:00.002-05:00

I didn't bring my camera to document the performance but I found this picture of my tightly compressed wiener.

Press Quote

2009-09-14T01:22:00.000-05:00

"... pervy Dean Evans." - The Montreal Gazette

Americuh-hu!!!

2009-09-11T23:30:00.001-05:00

Sneak Preview

2009-09-06T14:39:00.000-05:00

I have become more than before

2009-08-24T01:05:00.001-05:00

Start Now

2009-08-24T00:44:00.016-05:00

KLR on a Swamp road. Central Ontario.

The thing about adventuring is the part of your brain that is normally worrying about trans fats, overdraft charges, asswipes, and the past, is busy negotiating your survival from moment to moment, the tent, the fire, the grub, the tight corners, soft rolling curves and the long flat straightaways with tricky perpendicular wind. It's sort of like you see what's around you for the first time. And you can feel what you are to the world. What you mean to a tree and small green plants and buzzing specks that need you to live on. You smell how small and tasty and fragile you are and how magical the sky at night is. But all this means very little. It's what happens when you get back that's the real reason. Thing is, I've been thinking about change for a while. There's this idea of change, that I didn't think of. Basically, you keep doing what works, rather than try to stop what doesnt work, or change what does. That way all the stuff that doesn't work falls away on its own. This is why adventuring is important. Because when you are out of this world, and in another world, and then you come back. You have to start over. And you only remember what works. All the other stuff becomes ancient history.
I once abruptly sat up, from an office chair, at a nine to fiver, and screamed in my brain. I was put on this planet. I can't look back and see that I just sat in a chair and feared poverty, change, starvation and loneliness. I must walk this earth. This large glorious gift. I must see things and do things and go out into it. And maybe I'll be eaten by a tiger. Thank god. Rather that, than eaten by regret or boredom.

I left South Paris Maine in the morning. It felt good to get back on the bike. It was far more brisk than on the way there. I wore my new hoody under my motorcycle greys. I took the 302 because I wanted to go through the white mountains in NH. They were beautiful. And even though I decided to ride through Canada, how could I pass up Vermont again. So I rode through Vermont first. Nice. A young Deer says hi and gallops next to me for a few steps. Then I hopped into Quebec, and rode through Montreal. My previous home of two weeks. I stay in historic Kingston Ontario and learn about Canada. I live right next to this place and know so little of it's history. I was always under the impression that Canada just came along for the ride. That was an arrogance passed down to me, that I have now erased.
I found the perfect road. It winds and curves through miles of swamp (see above pic). I see a giant porcupine. I drive by Toronto and wave. In the night, it is black, and I have no flash light. I hear a wild animal scream like nothing I have ever heard. Three times. But I am not so affraid. I'm not foolish. I do not wish to fight this animal. But I know I am also a large mammal. With sharp tools and long teeth.

I somehow managed to avoid rain for so long. I've been waiting for it. Then I starting asking for it. Begging for rain. I got it. I rode through a violent thunderstorm. It hailed broken glass on me from a black cloud and the wind blew me all over. It was humbling. But I was fine. It was only uncomfortable. So I guess I can check that off my list.

The bike rides nice. Something is sucking oil slowly. I think it might be burning it. And sometimes it doesn't pop into 2nd like I want. So I'm going to have the dealer check it out when I get home. I need it to be perfect. Because soon I will ride from frozen sea to froze sea. The entire length of North and South America. Why not, right? This is my home continent. I should know it. And besides, nothing is stopping me, right?

White Mountain Cascade Hew Hampshire

Maine

Dragon Flies in Ontario

Huge Fire

The Crossroads

Just North of Waterloo On.

The sign for the restaurant below.

One of my nicer camp sites.

Mime Class Starts September 9th. Better sign up!

2009-08-21T15:27:00.002-05:00

I'm teaching another class.

Beginning Mime

This class is an introduction to the art form of Mime. Through a disciplined and playful approach that includes floor and barre work, performance exercises, and laboratory time, students ascend to a new level of physical awareness using the grammar of Mime. In this introduction to the techniques of Marcel Marceau, Etienne Decroux, and Stephen Niedzialkowski, students focus on physical characters, object work, and ensemble performance as they journey beyond words to share silent narrative with an audience.

Wednesday Evenings 7-10pm
September 9 - October 14, 2009
Cost: $200
Dance Chicago Center - 1439 West Wellington
Click here to register for class...

For more information visit www.chicagophysicaltheater.com

Road pics - out of order - mostly Vermont

2009-08-03T12:42:00.019-05:00

Mountain Stream

Some rich persons house in the best spot ever.

French toast with maple syrup for breakfast

Pictured above: Brennan Buhl

Capital of Vermont: Montpelier

Camp site #1 : I effed up the picture

Campsite #2 in Vermont

The first dirt road I ever rode my motorcycle on. I think this was in Indiana

NY state somewhere in the Adirondacks.

Travel log.

2009-08-02T19:37:00.003-05:00

I'm riding my motorcycle from Chicago to Maine. I've decided to ride for a cause, of sorts. My cause of choice doesn't need me to ride for it. And lord knows I'm not the first to do something in it's name. It's a lofty cause and haters might say a cliche one. I'm riding for love. Love, to fill our lonely hearts up with. Because I feel it, for others, and myself, and the world, and who ever made the world. And because I deserve it. That's a hard thing to remember sometimes. So here I am. Riding for love. Every mile. All 1200 there and all 1200 back. Deserving every inch. 1400 if I decide to go through Canada on the way back. Oh yeah. And because I like to make love, sloppily, with the lights on.
***************

I got some used panniers off of craigslist for $30 and a cheap hand held battery powered rugged GPS. I bungied my camping pack to the rack, on top of my sleeping pad. I brought a slice of my memory foam pillow, all my backpacking gear including sterno, tent, flashlight, TP, matches ect.
I got a windshield that's about 5 inched taller and wider. It shoots the wind just above my head and around my shoulders, giving me an extra couple hours a day.
My motorcycling friend got me one of the best gifts I've ever received. A magnetic tank bag. I immediately loaded it with my wallet, keys, passport, ipod, camera, maps, cellphone, leatherman, and my GPS positioned in it's clear pouch. My motorcycle friend is simultaneously riding to Montana from Chicago. Gods speed to him. I wish him safe adventuring.
**************
I rode out at 10:30 pm. Only 30 minutes off schedule. I took lakeshore until it turns into 41. Then, at my friends suggestions, took hwy 6. It was beautiful and passed through a pocket of Indiana Amish country and into my home state of Ohio. Around 7 I jetted up north to the Erie shore and found a camp site. My campsite neighbor was kind enough to give me some firewood and I cooked a Turkey Cheese dog on the fire. I laid next to the flames and watched the glowing orange baby angels float up into the stars. Sometimes it's like I lay back and mother earth gives me a slow BJ while she hums the Best of The Cars album.
**************
In the morning I only ate 1.5 bananas on account of black birds taking advantage of my pee break. Neighbor warned me. Joined back up with hwy 6 through Cleveland, which effed with me for a bit. However, I've said it before and I'll say it again. Cleveland is a fine city. It's got a bad rap. Only because it's enough of an entity to garnsih the worlds attention. You can't say that for Shit Knuckle Oklahoma which is where you're from so quit knocking Cleveland. It's beautiful.
Then 90 for just a tad, then 20, then 90 again, then 86 or 84 just for that little corner of Penn. Then NY. NY is amazing. Country roads are nice. Interstates blow. But I love an empty highway for making up time.

I'm in Ithica NY tonight. Tomorrow the Adirondacks, to test the nobblies.

The Adirondacks are so fun. Drove through 'em. The northern half was better because there were less people. Geez, the bike is running so good. I see more dual sporters the more north I go.

Set up camp just over the Vermont border a the Daghters of the Revelution State Park. Comment overheard by fellow camper at 4 am outside of my tent. "That bike is bigger than the tent"
Vermont is a place to see. It's a shame I saw it for the first time alone. The Green mountains are so wet and alive and totally haunted. All of New England feels incredibly haunted. Things are so small and cute. There are flat valleys and big mountains and smooth curvy roads. And there are dirt roads. Everywhere. I was driving on dirt, gravel and mud for at least two hours today. I hit some rough spots. I love it. I'm practicing for Chili. I feel my street riding has reached the next level. But my trail riding needs tons of work. My bike got muddy today. It's doing what it was born to do.
*******************
Cruised on hwy 2 through New Hampshire in about 40 minutes. Maine is yooj.
ARRIVED:
And oh yeah. I showed up to Maine a day early like a dumb ass. They are letting me stay here for the night. Thank god. 1250 miles in 4 days.

I've spent 5 of the last 12 months on the run. Traveling can spiritually intoxicate you. Finding all of these pieces of your soul does no good if you have no time or patience to sew them together.

I think I'm definitely coming back through Canada.

But for now I clown.

Thoughts on Montreal

2009-08-02T19:14:00.020-05:00

Montreal will make out with you. For a little. But she'll let your best friend get to second and she'll get high and flush a tampon down your toilet.
If you lived in Montreal you would never run out of junk to do. You could dig for treasure, smack titties, fromageria-ville, and even gorge on ambrosia every day, if you don't mind pooping dishwater. And you can strut, everywhere. But, dust off your industrial gutter punk garb from the mid-nineties because that whole fiasco is still happening there. But if mutt wielding pseudo bums are dope to you, then go see Tomboy Cabaret which features such hits as "I don't wanna die from Aids" and "Pump pump the propane" and "The mind police. We call them 'they'".
But I gotta hand it to this city. It has balance. As uppity as they may seem about French'n'junk , they are equally as welcoming. And as lame as the hipsters are, the town is filled with beautiful people. It's the Americans sweating on each other at the Hyatt bar, while the Francophiles are pumping each other silly just out of reach. And if you go to the park with the statue, where you go to get drugs, if you go past the drum circle, past the Larpers, and past the awkward honky dates, you'll find a trail, and it goes to the top of a rock. And you can be alone, and see another lonely soul wearing yellow pants, dreaming of Pussy Corps. And if you close your eyes, you can hear the city busting a nut 24 hours a day.

Troy Stein

Silent Disco

Schwartz's Deli

Showbiz

Molson factory in the bg

Larping = Live Action Role Playing

(Thumbs up)

F-Bomb

mmm bagels

every silver lining has a touch of grey *wink*

I wrote a play

2009-07-28T23:47:00.002-05:00

"One of the more elaborate pieces, Dean Evans’ “Hey Now Everybody,” offers a brief, high-velocity musical set at the backstage of a beauty pageant." - Creative Loafing

I wrote a short play for Dad's Garage in Atlanta. Dad's Garage is one of my favorite theater companies. They made a show called "Fingertips". It was 21 short plays inspired from the 21 short songs with in Fingertips by They Might Be Giants. My plays was inspire by the short song "Hey Now Everybody". Here are some reviews:

http://www.accessatlanta.com/atlanta-events/at-97410.html

http://atlanta.creativeloafing.com/gyrobase/fingertips_funny_shorts_stand_on_the_shoulders_of_giants/Content?oid=922062

yes I'm here

2009-07-22T10:09:00.001-05:00

You'll have to forgive my lack of pictures. I went on some adventures with my camera but forgot the proper cable. I'll post them when I return home.

I haven't yet processed allot of it. So I'll give you the raw list:

Got a brand new motorcycle. 2009 Kawasaki KLR 650.

I adventured to the sticks on my KLR 650 to hang out with mimes. It thumps and purrs and is good for night riding.
I bought a pie and some jam from Amish people. I watched a parade and maybe felt a ghost. I love Gambier. It is a home to me now.

I am in Montreal performing a show called Reverie at the Juste Pour Rire comedy festival. We did a media call and there were more than ten photographers and 3 video cameras. They took us to a party that had red wine and purple lights. Then we got in a van to get hot Montreal bagels late at night. Montreal bagels are sweet and dense and pull apart like pretzels.

Cirque Du Soleil recognized my name from the paper and invited us to their headquarters. It was a magic factory. A smiling man showed us where they made the shoes, wigs, makeup, costumes, props, hats, rope, fabric. We saw them practicing and making the new Elvis show. Then we ate in their cafeteria. I was like a Charlie in a Chocolate factory. I was glad that they remembered me.

I went to the park and saw LARPing. I took some great video of nerds clashing.

I rode a bike to an island and to a market. I went to a museum.

The show is going great. People really love it. I like doing it.

I'm preparing to ride my motorcycle to Maine for clown school.

rabbit rabbit

2009-07-01T00:26:00.002-05:00

I did the funnest thing I ever did on Sunday. I marched in a pink parade in my dinky pinkies, hard hat, and kraftwerk shades. I was like a depeche mode. We were all our own personal jesus'. But afterwards people kept saying I went extra eraser head. And I felt embarassed. But I guess that's what this cock is for. Then I almost died from being so tired but I ate a double char burger and scraped the spf 70 off my freckles. - I fly down the highway, late at night on my red racer, still glowing and ears ringing from the fuckfest. There was a special titty moment, when I was standing ontop the creepin wrangler, wigglin my worm and winking my hole, when MJ kept coming on. And for a second I felt him. I know that I did. In front of all those people, giving them spurting gushes of my white hot love. I tasted his soulful coconut milk in my throat. And I teared up a little when he whispered from heaven to me "mama say mama sah mama kooh sah". I think maybe some peoples insides are so big that it tears their outside to pieces in front of judging eyes. And the judges laugh, because they can't sing.

I'm in there somewhere

On friday I will go on my longest journey yet on my red racer to go see Mimes in the woods. But not alone. My motorcycle gang has grown.

Proud

2009-06-28T01:49:00.001-05:00

I'm working on a new show with Second City called Reverie. It's a non-verbal show. The cast is magnificent. They are really funny and I like working with them. There is allot going on in this show. If I can remember all of the stuff I am supposed to do, I think it might just be really wonderful. I feel fortunate that I get to work with Second City again. I'm looking forward to performing in Montreal.

I'm also looking forward to going to Maine for two weeks in August. I have allot of new energy and motivation to pump into making some new clown work. I'm sure when I come back I'll have developed some stuff to share.

I have this piece in the Second City show that is rather clowny. I'll most likely develop it as a solo piece.

I'm marching in a parade tomorrow, because we couldn't get a pony. I got some dinky pinkies and a weather baloon.

Now that all of that crap is out of the way:
Observations:
Hesitation when accelerating from idle after engine is warm
Black plugs

Diagnosis:
You think it was running rich. Adjusted the air screws to lean it out. Didn't work. It just ran lean.
I think their might be something wrong with the choke.

Procedures done this week:
Set timing
Re synced Carbs
Adjusted tappet gaps

Setting timing is supposedly hard. But I found it to be quite simple. I might even get a cheap timing light from Ebay.

I also stripped a crucial screw which required a trip to Sears to get a screw extractor. Then a trip to O'Reilly's to get a new screw.

Continuing problems:
Hesitates after warming up, still. Please don't tell me I have to put the needles down a slot.
Other than that. It runs great. We'll see what the boys and sohc.net say.

I'm so broke I can't sleep

2009-06-03T00:00:00.005-05:00

I finally know why I'm bitter about Facebook.

Facebook used to be this cool thing that just me and my friends used. So we would goof off, and be dorks, tell dirty jokes, cuss allot, and drink beers we stole from the garage. Then the marching band kids starting hanging out there. And I stuck around for awhile. Even though they wanted to play lame games and didn't cuss. But then they starting bringing their friends. And their friends starting bringing their parents and an undercover cop named Ted. Then my parents showed up with some home schooled kids, the "slow" girl from Sunday school, and my prego cousin with the turd butt. And that was it for all the goofing off and uncensored idiot joking. Remember when my status used to say shit like "Dean Evans is eatin' pussy out"? And it was true. But now I gotta watch myself. And why? Because nerds cry, loud.
The same thing happened for friendster, sparkmatch, myspace, the Subway by Riverside Drive, and Rodney Crouse's basement. The bad kids are always on the move. The neglectos, with skin mags tucked into their jackets, and boners in their acid washed jeans. Right now we're in limbo waiting for the next place. Something tells me it's not going to be goodreads. I'll cum all over that fucking place. Quit following us around, NERDS!

And now I don't even feel right cussin' on my blog. This sacred ground has been salted. Maybe that's why I never write on here anymore.

This is all I want to write about.

2009-06-02T00:22:00.000-05:00

After I put on the new gas tank I starting having a problem. After riding for about 20 minutes or so the bike would act like it wasn't getting any gas. I would lose power and it would stall. It would only start after resting a while. Then I learned I could start it if I put the choke back on and revved it. Basically I was forcing gas back into the bowls and it would run good until that ran out again.
I posted on sohc.net and got some great tips. At first I thought it was a clogged gas cap causing a vacuum in the tank. So I rode it and popped the gas cap every now and then. Not a good idea while moving. I don't think that solved the issue. I then removed the tank and ran a bunch of fuel out of the petcock with the cap closed and it flowed out fine. I was worried maybe the fuel filter was clogged or that I goofed it when I switched it from the old tank.

So then I ended up taking off my whole carburetor. And it looks like I'm gonna rebuild it. I got a rebuild kit. Although it looks like all the floats and jets are perfect. I might just replace the o-rings and clean up the carbs real good. I do need a new air filter. I ordered one.
I also beat up my airbox pretty bad when I took it off the bike. I'll need a little glue to fix that. I have no idea how to get the air box on and off with out twisting it around.

I'm also replacing the filter and o-ring in the petcock and the gas cap just to be sure.

Everything I do on the bike I'm doing for the first time. So sometimes I fuck things up. Took me 30 minutes to figure out how to get the throttle cable off. Thank god for the Honda General Service Manuals I downloaded in PDF form.

So here I am rebuilding my carbs for the first time. I hope I can get it back on the bike and get everything running nicely by this weekend. I'm doing a full tune up on my own.

I want to ride my motorcycle to clown school in Maine this summer.

I'm defiantly not cafe racer-ing the bike out. But I'm not necessarily restoring it to OEM stock either. I'm somewhere in the middle.

Oops.

2009-05-26T21:03:00.002-05:00

I meant Thursday at eight.
I'll give you a hint:

Update

2009-05-26T11:24:00.002-05:00

I made another podcast for the Neos. Listen up...
My first on camera call back is in a few hours. I think I have to not care about it, so I can at least goof off a bit.
I can hear a fly buzzing.
I will be doing a secret performance somewhere in this city on Wednesday evening at 8pm. I'll be revealing an original Mime piece that has only ever been performed on the high seas.
It's time to buckle down and start finishing projects.

I'll write what I want when I wear whisky pants.

2009-05-24T00:20:00.003-05:00

(The Dean Stands Alone)

I don't think I like theater anymore.

This is all I want to talk about:
I put a new gas tank on my bike today. The new tank is in almost perfect condition, and will gleam even more after the emblems get a good tooth brushing. I replaced the petcock and fuel filter with my original one. I also kept the key latch on my original tank and put it on the new tank. I think there's air in the fuel line now. Because it stalled a few times. I gunned it with the choke on, but, I need to learn more. I took it for a ride and opened her up pretty good. Me thinks I could pop a wheely. Tomorrow I'm gonna polish up the emblems and put them on the new tank, and then put my old tank on ebay. Now I'm in the market for some new rear shocks and a 4 into 4 muffler. I got my clutch lever in the mail, but I have no idea how to work on a clutch. Oh yeah, and I replaced the side stand with a shiny one. And the seat cover too. That took the longest. Because I basically had to figure out how to reupholster it by myself. I ended up using gorrilla glue and about ahundred clothes pins. And some rubber chrome car trim. I think I'm gonna ride to Wisconsin next week. I love Japan for making these.

I still have yet to throw a hot babe (wink) on the back and roll up to Medevial times. Come one ladie(s), you know who you are. (cock pic)

Float on green with angels. Split by prism, I rainbow over pieces of this city. Pure color.

2009-05-21T22:49:00.001-05:00

These days...

2009-05-20T21:56:00.002-05:00

I strolled around a great big convention and lived off of free samples for four days. A true scavenger. I enjoyed biking to the far away convention center.

I enjoy being away from theater people for a bit, although I am one, proudly.

I ride my motorcycle fast for fun. It sounds lovely. I am ready to go on a trip now. I will go to a farm, hopefully.

I figured out why facebook went from fun to suckfest. And am at peace with it. Now I only use it for what it's good for. Advertising.
I'm avoiding the third wave criticism too. People bitching about people bitching about facebook. Did I just start the fourth wave?

I had this epiphany about people and their obsession with authenticity. Which, I believe, leads to a false sense of authenticity, which leads to really bad style, which leads to becoming a tacky individual, and a false outward projection of enlightenment. And how I was in a class once and the teachers were saying all this stuff about being authentic and stuff like "You're not being authentic" all the while the students could see how unauthentic the teachers were and we all had collective douche chills and felt sorry for them and each other. My thoughts on this matter are still formulating.

The more one claws for authenticity the less authentic they become, to everyone, but themselves. When you see someone stop trying to be a badass, they seem so freaking badass all of the sudden. I know I know. It reads like the piss poor philosophical musings of a teenager who listens to heavy metal and has English as a second language. But it makes sense to me. By God if I have to live with poison personalities I might as well come up with antidotes.

I think about my latest short story allot but I can't figure out what it's about.

Today was nice, and hot, and lusty, bursting with lust, dripping, spilling over and starting a lust grease fire that refuses to die. I'm already getting tank top tan.
I will go on a farm, hopefully.

My garden bears small fruits. Lay with me and let me feed them too you.

Where can I get one of these?

2009-05-09T14:02:00.000-05:00

Pure Vintage Cafe Racer

2009-05-03T00:03:00.003-05:00

What makes summer awesome? A 1973 Honda CB350F.

Don't blame me for gathering marketing materials.

2009-04-25T11:45:00.000-05:00

"This is what happens when sound effects are spot-on and mime is good. Really, really good. Major props to performer/lead deviser Dean Evans and musician Curtis Williams."
- The Chicagoist

"...showstopper piece..."
- NewCity

"...-ingenious, brain-teasing works by the Neo-Futurists' Dean Evans..."
- The Chicago Reader

" ...Evans, the Neo-Futurist clown with a face like Buster Keaton eating sauerkraut, has cooked up a smashing pantomime routine of a flummoxed astronaut, synched to outstanding sound design."
- TimeOut

"...a terrific piece of mime, superbly devised and performed by Dean Evans... Curtis Williams' music is first-rate."
- Chicago Suntimes

"...witty piece of sci-fi mime..."
- Chicago Tribune

Good Day

2009-04-19T01:39:00.004-05:00

Today I:
Did Yoga,
had a cookout with friends,
watered my freshly planted garden,
watched baseball,
rode my motorcycle down lake shore drive,
turned in a good performance,
rode my motorcycle up lake shore drive,
watched this video,
had a fantasy about you,
went to bed.

Wow, I sound like a dumbass.

2009-04-15T10:36:00.001-05:00

Daddy Bob

2009-04-15T02:17:00.001-05:00

(I love this picture of my grandpa)

Space and taxes

2009-04-15T01:34:00.002-05:00

Turbo tax sucks. I started from scratch with H&R block's online tax thingy and finished my taxes in 20 minutes and didn't spend a dime AND got the same refund.

I made an entire mime piece. I like it. People seem to enjoy it allot. It's in Collaboractions Sketchbook. My piece is called SpaceLab.2030 Use the number code 157 and get $3 bucks off.

I've been wanting to do a straight up Mime piece for years. I never get to Mime in Chicago. People often want me to "fuse" mime into other types of theater. It doesn't work. I've tried it a million times a million different ways. It just makes something else that has nothing to do with mime. And it usually ends with a director patting themselves on the back for reinventing a wheel. SpaceLab.2030 is a Mime piece. With live musical accompaniment by Curtis Williams, who is multi-talented. I'm going to do a section of it on the WGN morning show 6 hours from now.

I didn't get a big role I was auditioning for at the Goodman. It came down to three people. I was terribly disappointed that I didn't get it. I usually don't get upset about casting. Having cast shows myself I understand that getting part is 20% talent and 60% good fit and the dreaded 20% politics. I guess I was disappointed because this was a role I could have truly shined in and really showed my stuff and brought the house down. I've never been a good auditioner and at the 4 auditions for this role I was ok to good at best. But there is not much else you can do. On a positive note, this will give me more time to keep cranking out new stuff AND go to Maine this summer and learn.

I got a small grant to do my solo show. It's not much. But perhaps enough for a little workshop run of some new stuff I've been working on. Besides, somebody in this town needs to get off their ass and start clowning. For god sakes people.

My class, Clown Mime: Live Action Cartooning is going astoundingly well. The students are progressing and creating new work every class. And not the same ol' physical theater that everyone else is making. They are making stuff in a style of clowning that is unique in Chicago. Yay class.

My classes are most likely going to be offered at Second City's Training Center starting around August. They've picked me up.

I had another brief interaction with the worst person in the world. Perhaps I'll elaborate in a separate post. But there is this person, and every time I interact with them it's... well infuriating... but hilarious. Relax, Neo-futurists, it's none of you or anybody else who works there. This is someone else, who I only feel comfortable acknowledging because I know they probably don't read this blog.

(not me)

ugh

2009-04-14T00:51:00.000-05:00

Thank you so much for coming in and sharing your work at the recent auditions for (A show that you are perfect for). Though we have decided to go in a different direction with the role and are not able to cast you at this time, we will certainly keep you in mind for future projects.

i am weightless

2009-04-02T19:50:00.006-05:00

Beginning Mime Class

2009-03-27T01:59:00.003-05:00

Yes, that's correct.

I'm am teaching another session of Beginning Mime. The last class was such a success and the demand seems high. So here it is...

Beginning Mime - Class Starts May 2nd!

Wield limitless stage presence. Share a physical experience with an audience. Expand your range of movement, body awareness, and learn to move with exacting precision. Through a disciplined and playful approach that includes floor and barre work, performance exercises, and laboratory time, you'll develop and strengthen the skills to create and perform vital new works of theater in the art form of Mime. This is an energetic and non-competitive environment where students can safely develop their unique artistic voice while also learning the techniques of Marcel Marceau, Etienne Decroux, and Stephen Niedzialkowski. You'll leave this class with original work, ensemble skills, and a strong foundation in the grammar of Mime. All classes take place at the beautiful Three Pear studio in Andersonville. Read more, or Sign up now...

Saturdays 12-3pm
May 2 - June 6, 2009
Instructor - Dean Evans
Cost: $200 - Register now...
Three Pear Studio - 5219 N. Clark
www.chicagophysicaltheater.com
Discounts available for people repeating a class and ensembles of 3 or more.

This could be you...

Roar! I'm a Bear.

2009-03-23T21:15:00.003-05:00

My class, Clown Mime: Live Action Cartooning, has filled up nicely. This will be a really fun class. Perhaps I should look into a free public performance at the end.

There are still a couple spots in the class left. So if you like to make funny physical things then sign up...

I'm still stewing on my latest short story...
working on a Mime piece for Collaboraction's Sketchbook 2009...
making a new physical comedy video/short film (top secret)...
making some new cartoons with some artistic associates...
waiting to hear about 3 big opportunities...
looking forward to clowning in Maine this summer...
selling my car...
getting a motorcycle...
looking for a live/work space...
Looking for a space for my next Mime class...

If you'd like to offer help on the last four, that'd be great.

Valentine

2009-03-16T18:10:00.001-05:00

"It's just one big thing in lots of little pieces"

Inspiring people to bitterness

2009-03-13T01:05:00.003-05:00

-Why are you butchering this play?!
-It's the ghost of O'Neil.
-This Sucks!

-You guys have no idea how to play O'Neil!

Rehearsal pics

2009-03-11T15:30:00.002-05:00

I made a cartoon.

2009-03-11T04:05:00.004-05:00

This is a cartoon that I drew 10 years ago and just got around to recording the voice over and editing it. The backgrounds were drawn by my girlfriend at the time, Kristin Patton, who is an amazing artist. I drew everything else and animated it in Flash. I then edited the video clips in iMovie and did the sound design in Garage Band.
It's disturbingly dark, as was everything else I made when I was that age. Editing it was kind of fun. The animation is crapsville. The sounds I added help to flesh it out. There is a song by the Carter Family playing oh so gently in the background. Bonus points if you can pick it out. The song at the end is by Modeselektor.

Aesthetic Perfection

2009-03-10T03:08:00.002-05:00

I bought the perfect pair of shoes. They are simple and comfortable and totally rad. They will look and feel nice with a fresh sliced pair of cut-off jean shorts.

I used to be a florist

2009-03-10T03:00:00.003-05:00

for two years.
I often forget that I have that skill. And then someone will buy a bouquet. And I arrange fresh cut flowers with skill and efficiency
.
My roommate bought a sensible and fresh bouquet. I hastily made this: The container was fussy and I didn't have filler to make a grid. But I like the asimetch. And the lilies opened nicely.

I received this arrangement on opening night: I found it to be tasteful and masculine. Understated yet mysterious and exotic upon closer inspection.

Shoes and Flowers

2009-03-10T02:15:00.003-05:00

(the most professional and talented cast I've worked with.)

Allot has happened.

I acted in a show called Strange Interlude by Eugene O'Neil. It was one of the more challenging things I have done in my life. It took a few ounces of soul. But the people loved it. They LOVED IT. I've never seen an audience simultaneously jump out of their seats and applaud with such enthusiasm. And a Goodman audience at that. I found the experience incredibly satisfying. To pour it all out, emotionally and physically and have people appreciate it feels good. So good that my taste buds were tonguing happiness from the other side of a thin balloon. And it scored me an opportunity to do other fun stuff with the Goodman Theatre.

And all the feedback is positive.

Except Fabrizio Almeida. He left after only seeing two of nine acts and still felt the burning desire to post his own review as a comment on a good review of the show. He said the Neo-Futurists are a one trick pony. Welp, I guess if you go to a pony show and only stick around for the first trick, you might very well think it's a one trick pony.

(Reminder: Written by a former ensemble member) I've been in a gajillion Neo Shows. None of them even slightly resembling each other. None of them about the same thing. None of them remotely similar in style, tone, or technique. A live stunt show, a series of sitcom pilots, an almost wordless movement based piece, a drag show, a clown piece as a part of a walking tour and the list goes on.

Unfortunately, some peoples imaginations never step off the front porch. And when they see meta, or anything that doesn't look like a movie, that is all they see (check out his top 5 picks of 2008 to see what I mean... barf city). Poor people. Those who hold the flashlights for artists. Those who hang around us for the hummus and form fitting denim. Some humbly, some bitterly. I hope their dreams come true. I hope they beat themselves talented with dayjobs and can all live in New York together, finally.

Jam

2009-03-01T10:08:00.000-06:00

You have a drum set

New class and website

2009-02-28T00:28:00.003-06:00

Here's my new class:

Clown Mime - Live Action Cartooning

This six week class in physical comedy strips away layers of self consciousness and works with the bare-bones of theatrical clowning complimented with the precision and illusion of Mime. Learn to establish a direct and immediate relationship with your audience and become complicit with scene partners. Using only physicality you'll learn to transform environments and enter into fantasy, dream, and memory. By learning to move Off the Clock you'll begin to perform in Cartoon Time and move with musicality. The class consists of exersizes in Mime, physical performance, clowning, physical comedy, improvisation and creation assignments to prepare outside of class. All classes take place at the beautiful Three Pear studio in Andersonville.
Monday Evenings 7-10pm
March 30 - May 4, 2009
Interested? Then go here...

And here is my new website.

www.chicagophysicaltheater.com

Yeah, I know. Fancy.

Now I can get back to being creative.

Oh for f#@k sake

2009-02-19T23:16:00.002-06:00

Banks! Haven't you already destroyed America enough? Stop it.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090220/ap_on_bi_ge/bank_fees_jobless_benefits

When I was 21 I went on a road trip by myself and this is the only photo I took.

2009-02-17T12:48:00.001-06:00

I'm pretending I'm urban

2009-02-13T12:16:00.003-06:00

I just had a fitting at the Goodman. The underside of the Goodman is a bustling underground city with the motivated, thin lipped, ladies of theater pumping through it's veins. Very impressive.
I like getting measured. It's so relaxing, being gently and mechanically touched in every corner. I've been measured four or five times in my life. It usually goes the same way. An older, highly skilled with a tape measure, woman or man measures every span of your body, while a younger, super stylish girl writes it down. It kind of makes me feel like I'm a battle-borg from the future and they're checking the factory dimensions before they drop me into the Saturn-galactica battle arena. Or like I'm some prince being measured for a ceremonial hunting costume. Either way, I pretend up a storm. They are not allowed to make eye contact with me, and must walk out of the room backwards. Or, they are impressed that the 2nd gen battle-borgs are still holding their own in the electro cages even with the introduction of the new electricity-roosters.
The ladies of costume designing are always tremendously styled yet wonderfully understated. And when they mature in years they become perfectly proportional and exceptionally practical in their clothing choices. I love them all.

Now I have to kill two hours downtown before I go back to the Goodman and record a bunch of voiceover stuff.

So... Now I'm sitting in a place called Argo Tea, and the be-bop that is blasting seems to be the general attitude that they want. And I'm drinking what is supposed to be tea but is really just hot honey. Thank god I brought raspberries and seltzer water. They are some of the biggest raspberries I've ever had. And as I type the keyboard is becoming more pink and sticky. The door to the back room here says "Actors". I'd hate to read the help wanted add for this place on Craigslist (although I'm sure I will soon enough). It probably uses the word rockstar like the rest of them.

I only wear clothes that I find ontop of a car.

Today was an angry day.

2009-02-13T01:16:00.002-06:00

I'm slowly phasing out my existence on social networking sites and generally cutting down on all digital "funhouse mirror" communication.
I've deleted my myspace account and deleted over 250 hundred people from my facebook account. I've also set it to never email me, ever, and I've delete all profile pictures and galleries. Eventually I will delete it all together. But I'm not to that point yet. I feel better and better, the more I delete.

"25 Random things about me" on facebook is the worst thing that humanity has ever done. Sometimes those things are a chance to learn fun and quirky facts about people you know. The other 100% of the time it's young people having identity crises all over your fucking face. I would love to post some of these, and mercilessly dissect them, but I'm don't have the capacity to deal with the consequences.
And here's the real crime. I read them. When I see them. Person - "Hey facebook friends! Watch these medics pull my twisted splattered corpse from this equivalent of a teenage, county road, car crash. This is me. You know me, wacky P. It's just who I am. PS. please fuck me forever!" Me - "ok"

I'm tired of being described as weird. I've gone ahead and used a thesaurus for you. From now on, you can pick from: awe-inspiring, awful, creepy, curious, dreadful, eccentric, eerie, far-out, fearful, flaky, freaky, funky, ghastly, ghostly, grotesque, haunting, horrific, inscrutable, kinky, kooky, magical, mysterious, occult, oddball, ominous, outlandish, peculiar, preternatural, queer, secret, singular, spooky, strange, supernal, supernatural, uncanny, uncouth, unearthly, unnatural

I will eventually delete this blog. I almost did recently. It came to my attention that fuckers actually read this shit and, of course, have various opinions about my writing. And now I feel this ridiculous urge to explain myself and defend my writing. But that's never necessary. And I will never do that.

I thought about moving it to a anonymous location. So that I could refer professional contacts to my website without them learning personal things about me. However, I've chosen to live my life as an artist. It's something very important to me. And what comes with that is being open, and honest, and questing through life like a heavily Mountain Dewed, DIY caped, LARPer. And also, loads of criticism. People, here and there, using the word "weird" to describe me, secretly. So instead I dusted of my web skills and have been developing a new website/entity. It's not done yet. Here's a sneak peek. ooh! professional!

So for now. Here we remain. My 10001101010111 cock in your face. My long drawn out list of 25 things about me. I'll continue to explore writing artfully and musing on my latest creative adventures. And maybe you'll continue to read this. Because you like what I have to say, or because it makes you angry, or because you love me, or because you're mad that I get more attention than you do, or because you think I'm sad, or funny, or whatever.

R.I.P. Lux Interior

2009-02-05T10:39:00.000-06:00

Watch this whole video.

I Melt Away

2009-01-28T13:13:00.003-06:00

I don't want to tell anything but stories. I'm writing a new one. And then another one after that and then I have this other idea. I have so many ideas all the time. I can be frustrating.

I've been experiencing somewhat of a renaissance. I have no limits as to what I can do, or how, or how long, or how many curse words I can use, or what it should look like, or what it's saying about myself or how real it has to be or what I'm supposed to be making or what I'm expected to make or what I was cast to do or what other people like me to do or hate it when I do or don't see why I always have to do. I love making things up. Things that are more real than reality. I love playing characters that are far from me. I like being anyone but me right now.

I found a vest on my car. I washed it. It fits perfect. I wish you would stop reading this.

Lake Michigan in the winter is as beautiful as anything in any far off land. Stand on a glacier and stare into it, if you wish. Stand on an ice shelf and stare into with someone else, if you wish. You might see birds diving deep and gobbling fish and realize just because it's too cold for you doesn't mean that everything else in the world hides in a box. You can bring a bag of whiskey and a can of sausage. But your lips might be too cold. You can bring a pen and paper and a spare pen and another. But none of the pens will work because they might be frozen. But maybe you won't need to talk because you are listening to the best songs ever made, some you've never even heard before, but then they might become your favorite, because they say more than you can with a pen and paper. You won't need to do anything except try to relax, and not to cry, and to block the wind from your face with your hand when it blows fast, maybe. You might feel it is all perfect when you finally take their hand. It is.

I think about what things smell like. Because I don't remember. Like slices of banana in a hot pan with butter and brown sugar caramelizing around them. Like an armful of warm cotton undies being pulled out of a dryer in a musty basement. Like the stale air falling out of a freshly opened cupboard that rarely ever gets opened. Hair, so perfect and falling across a memory foam pillow. Or like farts.

Fuck you Google ads

2009-01-21T16:22:00.003-06:00

I took them off this blog.
Over the last three years I've made $22.02. But they don't pay you until you reach $100. So I'd have to wait another 12 years. I had those stupids ads up for so long I forgot they were there. They were usually way off base.

Let me rephrase that.

2009-01-19T13:31:00.002-06:00

Fact 1:
Dean Evans is a backup plan.

Fact 2:
He is not a viable backup plan because he does not accept being a backup plan.

I wrote a story.

2009-01-19T12:50:00.010-06:00

I wrote this for someone the other day. I feel as if posting it on my blog cheapens the gift a little. But I did ask for permission. And I made some edits. I had to balance out the wussiness I felt for writing it by listening to heavy metal and lifting weights. But I like it ok. It seems to have come from a real enough place.

The Great Engineers of Chicago

I wake up and my arms are outstretched towards the sky. I can't get them down. I stand up, sleepy headed in my grey log cabin long-john onesy. They are still out stretched, my two arms, only now that I'm upright they are reaching towards the wall. I try prying against the wall for leverage, on the floor, but they are stuck that way, both of them, all ten fingers reaching too. I shrug. It takes a while to get dressed and put on my coat and tie my snow boots. I walk north on Paulina, across the street an older woman and her white Labrador stare at me. I'm in the Jewel, knocking things down, picking them up. People don't seem to mind. My indifference to the whole matter explains it enough. City folks need no explanations for strange behavior. The only person to mind at all was the short fellow in front of me in line. My straight out arms nudged him on accident and when he turned around I decided not to apologize and he gave me a glare and went on buying his meat lovers tombstone pizza. At rehearsal the director doesn't say anything, a slightly concerned cast member gently mentions it, I say I'm getting into character.

A few days go by and I notice my feet, once snug under two comforters, now protrude out and over the end of my twin size mattress. My hat squeezes my head and my sleeves are at my elbows. Both arms, still straight. Right in front of me. I check my email, nothing. I look at my phone. No nothing. I check my email again. My fingers now almost to big to type.

I can only fit in my room if I duck down and curl up. My feet are as big as couch cushions now, my teeth, slices of white bread. I'm a little sad that I’m much to large now to play my guitar and that my keyboard feels more like a harmonica in my reaching out hands. But I slowly work my way through a soft red book of stories, word by word. I keep clean, and tidy.

I grow so large that I'm stuffed into my room like a baby bird ready to hatch, but not yet cracking its shell. My straight arms burst out the window a few days ago and now live in the neighbors yard. She doesn't mind, she trimmed the plants around them and even shovels the snow off. My roommates have become slightly concerned. When they open the door to my room there is only my giant eye filling the door way, wet, blinking and making a loud squish sound. We have a system in place. Blink once for oatmeal, twice for grits. They wrote it on the whiteboard on the fridge.

It is only until I disturb the people who live upstairs that all of this becomes a problem. The knobs of my spine break through to the second floor and the small pony like child runs across them, tickling me. I laugh, and the laughter is so loud, on account of my furnace sized voice box, that it disturbs her fathers reading. He's in MENSA. His time is 3.2 times more valuable than average, he's calculated. He makes a quick call. And they come. The Great Engineers of Chicago.

They arrive in trolleys. They have slicked hair like a ravens wing and pens with thick blue ink tucked behind their ears. They wear black leather shoes tied tightly with proportionate double knots and have heavily worn slacks that still maintain a crease. Some wear glasses. There is a backhoe in the street and small crane in the alley out back. The dimwitted teen next door thought he saw a helicopter, the kind that lifts heavy things like sea mammals, sinking ships, and other helicopters but his parents tell him to shut up. The Great Chicago Engineers roll up their sleeves, rest their tin lunch pales on my toe, which takes up the entire front lawn. They roll out blue prints on my clavicle and tickle me with perfect penmanship. They point and measure and a team even surveys my entire torso. Three blocks down children climb on my wrists and store snowballs in the creases on my fingers.

They decide that the solution is to cut me up into smaller pieces. And it's only when baristas from Logan Square protest, and say that it would be cruel to kill me, that the engineers offer an alternate plan. "Reverse his blood flow" Like they did with the Chicago River in 1900. So they begin. They use shovels and a tractor and 3 miles of rope and seven horses, a steam engine, levers, and a forklift. And my blood slowly stops. And then starts up again flowing the other way. And it hurts. My eye lids squeeze shut so hard I see purple and silver. And I get scared. And I think of you.

I relive every mistake I've ever made, on account of my backwards blood flow, like a thin magnetic strip, that recorded everything. I squirm a little and my ankle crushes an empty police car that was barricading the block at Foster. It works. My redwood sized limbs begin to contract in. My thighs and torso shrink. It is painful. I am the size of a man again. I stand now in my front yard. My log cabin onesy, stretched out, drapes over me like a parachute. The crane and forklift drive away. The flat police car is towed off. The Action news van speeds off to another story. Everyone goes back into their houses, the baristas put there picket signs down and ride their bikes home.
-Hey what about these? I ask
-What about what? The last engineer says while rolling up his plans.
-My arms, they won't go down.
-Hmm. Have you tried using a wall for leverage?
-Yes. It didn't work.
- I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that right now.
He walks off with confidence. I stand there. I turn around. And walk back in the house. There is a small care package from the landlord with cheap jam, and cheap cashews. My roommates seem somewhat relieved. Pony girl looks down at us from the hole in the ceiling and then goes back to playing and prancing. The door bell rings. It's the dimwitted teenager from next door. He hold out a new log cabin onesy still in the sack. He balances it on my outstretched arms. It has a card from the neighbors with Get Well Soon scribbled. I say thank you. I put on the new onsey in my room. It fits nice.

I am good for things. I can flip pages in books. I can listen to stories. I can hold you forever and tell you everything is going be alright. I’m getting smaller every day. Soon I will fit into your front shirt pocket. Then soon after that I might get so small you can't see and then so small I’m gone. But don't be sad. Because The Great Engineers of Chicago will come back and fix it all. Everything is going to be alright.

Fact:

2009-01-19T02:17:00.001-06:00

Dean Evans is not a backup plan.

The Extreme Cultural Ignorance of Many Americans

2009-01-16T15:29:00.003-06:00

My Father, whom I don't talk to, forwards me emails. Mostly humorous ones, fart jokes, blonde jokes, jokes about chicks with big tits, videos of how fucking weird foreign cultures are. Pretty damn offensive to begin with. Then every once in a while he'll send me something so racist and ignorant that it's almost spiritual. At which point I get so mad I write him an email telling him to never do that again and that he's racist and he should not send me or any one that stuff. It's a big deal for me to do that in the first place, because it's my father, and we have no relationship. It's bad enough to spread racist propaganda, but think of the sad sacks that write it. Somebody had to take time to construct the tragically faulty logic of this latest one.

Subject: Something to think about...

I wish the rest of the world would really absorb this,

The Global Islamic population is approximately 1,200,000,000

ONE BILLION TWO HUNDRED MILLION or 20% of the world's population.
They have received the following Nobel Prizes:
Literature:

1988 - Najib Mahfooz

Peace:

1978 - Mohamed Anwar El-Sadat
1994 - Yaser Arafat:
1990 - Elias James Corey
1999 - Ahmed Zewai

Economics: (zero)

Physics: (zero)

Medicine:
1960 - Peter Brian Medawar
1998 - Ferid Mourad
TOTAL: 7 SEVEN
______________________________________________________________________________

The Global Jewish population is approximately 14,000,000 FOURTEEN MILLION
Or about 0.02% of the world's population.

They have received the following Nobel Prizes:

Literature:

1910 - Paul Heyse
1927 - Henri Bergson
1958 - Boris Pasternak
1966 - Shmuel Yosef Agnon
1966
- Nelly Sachs
1976 - Saul Bellow
1978 - Isaac Bashevis Singer
1981 - Elias Canetti
1987 - Joseph Brodsky
1991 - Nadine Gordimer World

Peace:

1911 - Alfred Fried
1911 - Tobias Michael Carel Asser
1968 - Rene Cassin
1973 - Henry Kissinger
1978 - Menachem Begin
1986 - Elie Wiesel
1994 - Shimon Peres
1994 - Yitzhak Rabin

Physics:

1905 - Adolph Von Baeyer
1906 - Henri Moissan
1907 - Albert Abraham Michelson
1908 - Gabriel Lippmann
1910 - Otto Wallach
1915 - Richard Willstaetter
1918 - Fritz Haber
1921 - Albert Einstein
1922 - Niels Bohr
1925 - James Franck
1925 - Gustav Hertz
1943 - Gustav Stern
1943 - George Charles de Hevesy
1944 - Isidor Issac Rabi
1952 - Felix Bloch
1954 - Max Born
1958 - Igor Tamm
1959 - Emilio Segre
1960 - Donald A. Glaser
1961 - Robert Hofstadter
1961 - Melvin Calvin
1962 - Lev Davidovich Landau
1962 - Max Ferdinand Perutz
1965 - Richard Phillips Feynman
1965 - Julian
Schwinger
1969 - Murray Gell-Mann
1971 - Dennis Gabor
1972 - William Howard Stein
1973 - Brian David Josephson
1975 - Benjamin Mottleson
1976 - Bu! rton Richter
1977 - Ilya Prigogine
1978 - Arno Allan Penzias
1978 - Peter L Kapitza
1979 - Stephen Weinberg
1979 - Sheldon Glashow
1979 - Herbert Charle S Brown
1980 - Paul Berg
1980 - Walter Gilbert
1981 - Roald Hoffmann
1982 - Aaron Klug
1985 - Albert A. Hauptman
1985 - Jerome Karle
1986 - Dudley R. Herschbach
1988 - Robert Huber
1988 - Leon Lederman
1988 - Melvin Schwartz
1988 - Jack Steinberger
1989 - Sidney Altman
1990 - Jerome Friedman
1992 - Rudolph Marcus
1995 - Martin Perl
2000 - Alan J. Heeger

Economics:

1970 - Paul Anthony Samuelson
1971 - Simon Kuznets
1972 - Kenneth Joseph Arrow
1975 - Leonid Kantorovich
1976 - Milton Friedman
1978 - Herbert A. Simon
1980 - Lawrence
Robert Klein
1985 - Franco Modigliani
1987 - Robert M. Solow
1990 - Harry Markowitz
1990 - Merton Miller
1992 - Gary Becker
1993 - Robert Fogel

Medicine:

1908 - Eli e Metchnikoff
1908 - Paul Erlich
1914 - Robert Barany
1922 - Otto Meyerhof
1930 - Karl Landsteiner
1931 - Otto Warburg
1936 - Otto Loewi
1944 - Joseph Erlanger
1944 - Herbert Spencer Gasser
1945 - Ernst Boris Chain
1946 - Hermann Joseph Muller
1950 - Tadeus Reichstein
1952 - Selman Abra ham Waksman
1953 - Hans Krebs
1953 - Fritz Albert Lipmann
1958 - Joshua Lederberg
1959 - Arthur Kornberg
1964 - Konrad Bloch
1965 - Francois Jacob
1965 - Andre Lwoff
1967 - George Wald
1968 - Marshall W. Nirenberg
1969 - Salvador Luria
1970 - Julius Axelrod
1970 - Sir Bernard Katz
1972 - Gerald Maurice Edelman
1975 - Howard Martin Temin
1976 - Baruch S. Blumberg
1977 - Roselyn
Sussman Yalow
1978 - Daniel Nathans
1980 - Baruj Benacerraf
1984 - Cesar Milstein
1985 - Michael Stuart Brown
1985 - Joseph L. Goldstein
1986 - Stanley Cohen [& Rita Levi-Montalcini]
1988 - Gertrude Elion
1989 - Harold Varmus
1991 - Erwin Neher
1991 - Bert Sakmann
1993 - Richard J. Roberts
1993 - Phillip Sharp
1994 - Alfred Gilman
1995 - Edward B. Lewis
TOTAL: ONE HUNDRED & TWENTY NINE !

The Jews are not promoting brain washing the children in military training
camps, teaching them how to blow themselves up and cause maximum deaths of
Jews and other non Muslims!

The Jews don't hijack planes, nor kill athletes at the Olympics or blow
themselves up in German restaurants. There is not a single Jew that has
destroyed a church. There is not a single Jew that protests by killing
people.
The Jews don't traffic slaves, nor have leaders calling for Jihad and
death to all the Infidels.

Perhaps the world's Muslims should consider investing more in standard
education and less in blaming the Jews for all their problems.
Regardless of your feelings about the crisis between Israel and the
Palestinians and Arab neighbors, even if you believe there is more
culpability on Israel 's part, the following two sentences really say it
all:

'If the Arabs put down their weapons today, there would be no more
violence. If the Jews put down their weapons today, there would be no
more Israel' -Benjamin Netanyahu

"Thanks allot for clearing that up Dad." He says as sarcastically as possible.
"Dare someone add the Christians into the mix?"

Syncronicity

2009-01-09T14:10:00.002-06:00

I fell in love with the Fleet Foxes on the island of Mykonos. When I listen to them I can still smell chalk and ocean and goats and sun.
They have a song called Mykonos. I didn't know until yesterday.
Here's the chorus:

And you will go to Mykonos
With a vision of a gentle coast
And a sun to maybe dissipate
Shadows of the mess you made

Yeah, no shittin', fleet foxes... no shittin'.

2009-01-07T02:30:00.003-06:00

My soul is a short strand of color christmas lights that light up to your words.

2009-01-05T03:48:00.003-06:00

We tramp to my house, us two, talking and smiling, making jokes, laughing. We stomp through the front door and tug off each others boots. I hang your coat up and kiss your pink benumbed cheek. We cast our gloves, scarfs and hats off and about the living room. We chitchat into the kitchen and find reasons for brushing up against. I pour a small glass of milk for me and another for you. Sitting at the kitchen table, under the soft yellow light, wide eyes, smiling, I bring the glass to my lips and... stop... My smile melts. My eyes dim to sadness. I place the glass back down without ever having a sip. "There is no one there". No one across from me. The air that this ghost displaced collapses in on itself and the clap echos long. My head slumps down as I realize what I've done, again. "How silly" to myself. "Pouring a glass of milk for someone else who is not there. Silly man, how ugly you are." I close my eyes. wait. I open them. Take a breath. Clumsily try to pour the glass of milk back into the jug as to not waste it. Place the milk back in the fridge. Fold my arms and collapse against the kitchen counter, head down, silent now. I hope that is not too late. I hope I have not been alone too much, so much that my personality has soured.
I feel cheap, and never uglier, and my large heart goes un-utilized, pumping back into itself, throwing it off kilter.

These days one must be careful to not to swim too far out in one's own fantasy. For one's own sake, one would say.

Be grounded be realistic be practical be honest. But every once in a while. I let 'er rip. If only to remind myself what it feels like to have blood pumping. Slowly, I close my eyes, softly listen for a breeze, and let my feet lift off of the ground. Because it feels nice. And happy. And I'll deal with the shame later. milky skin and soft hair and hot moist lips and long feminine fingers, ankles, neck, hip, torso, and best of all, shoulders. I whisper up against her ear: "Kill this world with me. Choke it with tenderness, burn it with surprise, and bury it with desire."

(Guitar solo with a ton of reverb, like tons and tons of reverb)

Tribute

2009-01-05T01:15:00.003-06:00

The Make-Up is the best rock and roll band ever. They invented their own genre called Gospel Yeh-yeh. They made cool videos with lots of browns and reds and black hair. They are mysterious. I identify with their lyrics allot. They are probably the only band that writes lyrics that I pay attention to. I like every single one of their songs. They have this song called Live in a Rhythm Hive and it's like it comes straight out of my armpits and into your asshole.

She's the most attractive person ever, Alice, the singer of Crystal Castles. These two teenage coke heads make the coolest music on the planet. I dance to them allot and walk around the city drinking whiskey alone with them blasting into my stinging ears. Something I do, don't tell, is get dressed up, like a pilot from the 40's, or a professor of black math, or a Scottish soccer hooligan, or what ever else I can whip up, and then I strut around to dark spots with nothing but bloodshot eyes, anger, and a raging boner. They are good for that.

This is Christian Death. In another life, not so far from this one, I was in a band like this and died very young.

bury me standing

2008-12-28T23:34:00.008-06:00

It is Christmas Day.
I creep up to one of my childhood houses, slyly. I stare through the large front window with my painted eggs for eyes. There is a turtlenecked family living there, they are warm and fat and kneel by each other. They see me looking and I creep on fog breathing it alone. I walk down the tiny street like a creaking Pinocchio past the Grosh's and the Kern's and to the park. I wish I had my bag of whiskey but I left it at Steve's house with my Majesty Snowbird. I think about all of the rap music I listened to when I lived here. NWA "'hundred miles and runnin'!" Public Enemy "Fight the Power". What a little blind soldier I was.
I kick all the way down, to the Scioto river.

I see a duck Jesus and pray but then see that the river is just frozen. I walk all the way down to another child hood home.
They turned the trailer park into a frisbe golf course. "Crummy Frisbe golf?" . I guess the people that live there, and go there in the summer to go fishing, got pushed out further, to wherever the outskirts are these days. Living in such a way is out of style in "USA 2.0 City Style!".

Somewhere constipated kids, still hide, off the grid, worm faced. They have a secret bowel moment next to rapids, the sound of rushing water hides their moans. I pee on the frisbe golf par 3 hole 16 and get a little bit on my mitten. "Damn mittens". I find it strangely erotic to desecrate yuppy things and think about coming on it and how many times this field has been comed on. I don't come on it. I see impressions of the old roads. I stare at the reservoir and the tubs of acid that the crazy lady burned off her finger prints in before she got the shotgun. I discover a burial site of something.

I see the rapids that I always tried to cross at great risk. You can never see what's over the ridge on the other side of the river.

We heard it was a glorious junkyard with rust dragons, chaos, and no rules. Older braver kids would return with amazing spoils. A yellow archery bow, a mini TV that doesn't work, porno, and a cue ball. Real primo gear. Even if you did cross the river you still had to scale the shale hill that falls apart under your hands and feet and then make it past the dogs and bullets. At night you can see how the hot junkyard makes the sky orange and yellow with it's gasses and things on fire. I will get there one day and get helicopter supplies and a new cane pole, hopefully a playboy or even better a Club magazine. The sky is purple now and my lips and toes are stupid. It still doesn't feel right to walk alone by the river at night even though it's nicer here.
I close my watery twig lashed eyes and imagine being under the ice of the black river, floating slowly south, looking up, at the bottoms of brown duck feet as I become mud and my bubbles slow down like violins and say "black stick, jammed mud, crunch dog bones, simple and dead, winning."
I float, slowly through thick.

Past the trailer park is the building I lived in. Beyond that building is the sex place, and beyond that is the quarry which is real mad max and dangerous, and beyond that must be Hades, and beyond that is complete darkness and maybe a few fanged angler fish, and beyond that is a beating heart that you cannot see, and beyond that are jaws to be chewed up in, and beyond that is freedom to be whatever you want to be.

Ay Krismis

2008-12-28T23:32:00.001-06:00

Code Oscar

2008-12-19T03:27:00.001-06:00

I, a raw sliver, am in my warm cotton cave. The snow piles up around me like heaven's bukake. Sealing me in from grave robbers. This blog is one of Herbert's Thumpers, metronomicly calling a giant worm to come swallow me. "Swallow me!". I am so afraid of the world right now. So soft and unprotected like some naked twat. Yet, in the outside I run to fear and danger and throw myself into the scaries. Always gravitating to dark matter, bending into black holes. "Idiot". Oh God, show me your face. Maybe if I eat enough life cereal and lie still enough, I'll grow an exoskeleton. I am so un-kissable and I want to sleep and remain sleeping until I have some value to someone.

When they say "Why? Why?" Tell them that it's human nature.

2008-12-18T00:41:00.002-06:00

A Kempo master asked me what I wanted for Jesus’s birthday. I couldn’t think of anything. Sure, there’s junk I want like: success, a farm, and to sloppily make-out to Thriller, the album, from beginning to end with an emo girl that smells like a new book. But I don’t really need anything else. I took a sabbatical from theater for 8 months. It was worse than hell. I wanted to blow my brains out everyday and I still haven’t processed all of that introspective nightmare. But I got a square’s paycheck and was able to buy junk I need. I got a new computer, pillow, desk, MIDI keyboard, rad electro clothes, and a subwoofer for listening to Crystal Castles in my room with the lights off. Now I have everything. What else could I possibly want? Oh shit. Wait. A fucking dirtbike. I want a dirtbike. I forgot. And a rubix cube. And a banjo. Now I’m thinking of stuff. See? This is what happens when I talk to you. If I think about what I want, then want creeps it’s way into in to my life. Then I feel unsatisfied, nervous, and even poorer than I really am. Winter, I love you. Universe, you will feed me. Now give me the girl and no one gets hurt.

Scraps

2008-12-17T23:04:00.001-06:00

I found this in the pocket of my Second City show clothes.

I'm not good in groups.

2008-12-14T13:56:00.003-06:00

Dumb stuff comes out of my mouth. My eyes avoid, but stare when you're not looking. Silver of the night and I'm overstimulated. And my gums just start mawing idiot slogans. I will never open my mouth in public again unless it's to go "Muh-m-m-- Mercedes". It's not like I said anything embarrassing or controversial. I just look at myself and I see a crooked little brat yapping like Luther from The Warriors. Like I take on this persona as the high pitched sharp chinned villain who's always cackling and judo throwing guys bigger than him. Somebody slap the diet coke from that brats hands and send him on his way. I'm much happier leaning into someone else and soaking them up. Like I did with the still life in the museum. It was just a lobster. But it was so red and bright and beautiful. I stared at that lobster for a long time. I still think about it years later. But like I said. I'm not good in groups. In groups I talk about myself, which I hate. It makes me feel like an actor. I enjoyed being in TML this weekend, but I could see myself start to slip back into some old pants, that never fit quit right and made me testy and hyper and unfocused.
I come home. I pour a large bowl of green jello into a giant ziplock back. I stare into the microwave. My face lit by it's humming brown light, waiting for the bag to reach 98.6 degrees. I take the bag of jello back to my twin size bed and spoon with it, lovingly, like a mother mountain gorilla paws at a trampled baby.
I mean I might as well do that, right?

Note: I tried to put into words my experience in the Sistine chapel. I was trying to compare it to the splendor and sophistication of a person. But I don't have the capacity to even begin to put into words either of those things. Just know that I tried as I laid in bed on this cold winter morning with sleepy eye tears running out of the corners of my eyes, down my temples and into my ears. Just like they did when my head was cocked back as I stared up at God Creating Adam. "Michelangelo" I whisper. Then I whisper another name.