Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Pickey Picker

I was recently eating pho soup in LA’s most hip, Vietnamese restaurant. Want proof? The restaurant doesn’t have its name displayed on the outside, just a blank white board where one would expect the name to be.

I’m sure this is a tactical move by the proprietors. Save money and keep the local American Apparel wearing residents happy that they go to a place you “just have to know about.” It also keeps cost adverse people like me coming because after, all how much can they charge you when they look like they opened for business that morning? In reality it’s been there for years and customers in essence pay them to keep the ambiance at “street-cred” level. Pretty genius when you think about it. Imagine convincing a girl that costume jewelry was way cool and real gold and diamonds was for squares. What a beautiful world that would be. It could happen too. Oprah, please send out a memo…please…come on Oprah! Leave men with something good to remember you by. If Jay Z can kill throw back jerseys with on line in a song then Oprah can end trips to Jareds.

The Pho Café’s real selling point, as it should be, is the pho. It’s incredibly tasty and at any point you can look down your row (there’s only on line of tables) and see people chomping and slurping way more than they are talking.

When I finally came up for air one of my friends I was dining with offered me a toothpick…from his wallet…not in plastic! My other homie took the toothpick. I declined and instead got a nicely wrapped toothpick from the café’s toothpick cup. My toothpick wielding friend was a bit put off but I can’t put something in my teeth with direct access to my blood line that was in somebody’s wallet. I appreciate my friend’s consideration and I’m floored by his conscientiousness. It’s like he’s a professional eater or something. I once tried to have toothpicks on the ready but I put them in my front pocket and my upper thigh didn’t appreciate being tenderized as I walked. Nor did my cuticles enjoy being jabbed to the point of drawing blood every time I reached into my pocket. So I decided to leave my space between my teeth clearing at the mercy of my dining establishments or until I get home and floss. Maybe wrapped toothpicks in a wallet are the answer. Guess I have to start carrying a wallet now. Baby steps.

Two Quick Side Notes (QSN):
>It’s pronounced Pha. Trust me, it is. And no, I don’t know why they spell it with an O
>The Pho Café comes up on a Google search. I guess it’s a not so hidden gem.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Still Ballin’

So I’m watching TV in my hotel room in Tel Aviv at 3am. If jet lag is indigestion, staying up past 2am on your 1st night in a time zone 10 hours ahead of yours is like eating a chili dog to fix it. There was no need to exacerbate matters; I was sleepy so I thought I better lay my head on my pillow and just relax so as not to wreck the following day’s productivity. Then a European basketball game came on and I looked up and saw Allen Iverson playing for the Turkish team, Besiktas. What?!...So much for the next day’s things to do list. A.I. on TV in Israel? My hands were tied.

Allen Iverson has a reputation, earned or not, of being a ball hog and not a team player. Maybe age has made AI kinder and gentler but from my vantage point in room 1812 he was a total team player. Some might argue that his apparent team first attitude will either be short lived or is the product of his waning ability. Maybe he has no choice but to defer to teammates because the days of him dominating by himself have passed.

One could go on for days speculating but I think the best indicator of who he is and has become is that he’s in Turkey playing basketball! A former all star, 1st ballot NBA Hall of Famer and arguably the best under 6’2” person to ever play is willing to lace up his sneaks and play in a gymnasium the size our elite High Schools play in.

I don’t know if he needs the money but my guess would be that he simply needs to play. There’s no senior basketball tour like there is in golf. Although, I think watching greats in their 40’s play hoop has to be more entertaining than watching guys in their seventies walk around in plaid pants for 3 hours.

A.I. played hard every game. He often played entire games with no breaks. He often played hurt and he did this against people who were taller and weighed more than him. Sure, he was athletically blessed but he still left everything he had on the floor every night.

I usually side with the entertainer and despite our so called egos I have meet and worked with many greats who have tasted fame, seen it run its course but still lace’em up every night and give the people what they want. Be it a stadium, cruise ship, makeshift stage in a Turks and Caicos resort or an old folks recreation room.

Only time can reveal certain things and I think time has shown that A.I. is the ultimate performer and competitor. His Turkish team won. He had 10 points. I spent the next day yawning and eye rubbing but it was all worth it. And I hope when I’m 70 telling jokes on a local channel at 3am someone will watch me and appreciate it.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Hebrew Haha

So I met up with a friend of mine who’s an Israeli Stand-up Comic. I went to check out his all-Hebrew show. Watching Stand-up in a language you don’t understand is a neat experiment, especially as a stand-up. I found myself trying to decipher the jokes by tone and body language. Kind of like how an almost blind person can sometimes see shapes, I could see the shapes of the jokes… The old bait and switch, the act out, the rant, comedian in pain over something menial and mundane and of course the beat boxing comedian was particularly easy to understand. Like love, beat boxing is a universal language.

The rhythm of the show was very similar to a show in the US. Without knowing what was said I could tell the guys in the crowd were laughing at edgy things that were either angry or irreverent. The girls were laughing at things that were familiar, energetic and friendly. The comedian “type” was also easy to figure out. The intellect, the party animal, the angry guy were all on display and easy for this non-Hebrew speaker to point out. Not understanding the words seemed to make some things clearer.

Think laughter isn’t contagious? A few times I found myself laughing with the crowd with absolutely no idea what the joke was. I caught myself each time and dialed myself back to “not a fraud”. It’s one thing to not get the joke and still laugh on cue. It’s quite another to laugh when you haven’t the faintest idea what was said. What if he was talking about flogging black people or eating babies but not ironically eating them? It’s possible. It’s not like other countries are as politically correct as we are. Still, I was captivated by the exchange between performer and audience and it really put into focus how much of the crowd’s perception of the performer is based on how they look as opposed to what they say.

The whole experienced reminded me of a friend who’s grandfather did not speak any English but still loved to watch the show “Sanford and Son” I guess “you big dummy!” transcends language.

I’m writing this blog in my hotel room in Tel Aviv watching a German court show. I have no idea what the trial is about but the woman in the yellow shirt sure looks guilty.

This blog brought me back to the time I translated English to English in a NYC laundry mat.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Hey Mate!

I’m always tickled by non-white people with English accents. I get giddy and have to suppress the urge to ask them to repeat what they just said. A part of me wants to believe they’re putting on the accent and can break out of it at anytime.

ME: Look, this Asian guy can make himself sound like a bloke. Cool dude. Okay you can just talk regular now. No seriously cut it out…

I could never condone Dr. Moreau type experimentation but how cool would it be to take a Black child to Russia at birth and teach them perfect English…with a Russian accent. And then when he’s 25 drop him off in Brooklyn. Too cruel? Some challenges for him. Pure enjoyment for everyone he encounters.

ME: Look, homey puts Y’s in the middle of words.*
CWRA**: Styop tyeasing me. Vant a Knyuckle SyandWeach?

I don’t suppose this wildly unsophisticated tendency of mine will change anytime soon. I’ve been hearing non-whites with British accents for ten years and just like seeing someone get a pie to the face, it still amuses me. It’s especially egregious coming from someone who had to hear he sounds “white” most of his life.

*The hilarious and perfect mimic of many accents, Elon Gold. Told me the secret to doing a Russian accent is to put Y’s in the middle of words. Try it at home. (eg. Basket Ball in a Russian accent becomes BeYaskyet Byall) Hours of fun. Okay maybe a half hour of fun.

** Child With Russian Accent
This harps back to a little run in I witnessed on the bus.

Friday, November 05, 2010

Friends in Cosmic Places

Not to be competitive, but I would wager that, unless you’re in a rock band or are a magician, that I know a smidge more odd characters than you. It just comes with the territory. It’s always fun when an acquaintance or friend does something that catapults them unto the odd list or bumps them up higher in the list if they were already on it.

I recently dropped off a friend after a show who had long since held a solid spot on my list of odd people. A red-headed (but more orange), chain smoking comedy booker with a piercing nasally voice and equally piercing inter-personal skills. Still, we get along just fine. Although I questioned his being of this planet when I saw a long centipede looking bug in his hair a while back. The bug was the same burnt orange color that his hair is. He flicked it off when I brought it to his attention but it just took me back to Men in Black. Plus, I don’t think he was sufficiently freaked out that a long slimy bug was in his hair. So for a long time I held a faint suspicion that my friend was not human and in fact just occupied a human shell to do business and blend in until his mother ship returns.

Over time I loosened my belief that my friend who books one-nighter comedy shows in Orange County is actually an under cover extra terrestrial. Why travel across the vast galaxy to book bar shows? Although that would be a pretty convincing cover. So I dropped my friend off recently and he requested I drop him off at a barely lit Los Angeles street corner at 1am with no signs of people, residences or to put it short…life. The alien theory is back in full effect. I think I dropped him off at his portal back to his ship. I Made a U-turn and old red was no where to be seen.

Of course he may simply not want me to know where he lives or maybe wanted to score some drugs before heading to bed but I’m sticking with the alien theory.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Controlled Randomness

I experienced another God Wink. While going to get Pho I drove behind a license plate that said AWESM PHO.

1)who has a pho license plate?!
2)what are the odds of them being in front of me while i'm on my way to get pho.
3) this happened miles away from the Pho place in case you're wondering and...
4) it's pronounced Pha....

Check out the last blog I wrote about God tapping people on the shoulder.

God…Semi Colon, Dash, Closed Parenthesis

Friday, September 03, 2010

Leave The World More Slippery Than You Found it.

I find advertisements for general products quite amusing. Ads that don't ask the listener to buy anything from a specific company but rather to remember that the general product exists. The most notable being the cotton, milk and egg campaigns. Not necessarily in that order though. And who could forget the “other white meat.” (Hopefully that will save me from getting an angry letter from the Pork people.)

In reality, many general products have organizations charged with the task of promoting said product. I recently stumbled upon an ad in a magazine promoting synthetic oil. Ah yes synthetic oil has been there for us hasn't it? From babies taking 1st steps to birthday parties to prom nights, synthetic oil was there every step of the way making sure the engine in our cars kept running. It's integral not only to our happiness but dare I say, our existence.

Okay, the ad was for one synthetic oil company but there was no clear push to sell it so it felt like a general synthetic oil shout out. There was just a write up on the guy who “Changed lubrication History.” I think the editors of the Delta Sky magazine give its readers too much credit. Or this reader at least. Why not engine history or machine history? As far as words go “lubrication” is right up there with “moist.” Both take Gandhi like control to hear and not let out an internal chuckle or feel a little grossed out.

I can't imagine many people will see the ad, then run out and buy Amsoil Synthetic oil. They might giggle or write a blog but how many people on a plane need to deplane and haul ass to the synthetic oil store. I guess if the need for it ever does come up, I will call upon the company spawned by the father of synthetic lube, I guess.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Waiting in Memphis

I recently found myself in Memphis, in front of a cash register in Krystals, waiting to be served. Krystals is basically White Castle south. And much like White Castle, you would have no good reason to go there before 10pm. I was on a late night run with my cousins. We simply needed some sustenance before bedding down for the night. They opted to go to the Mcdonald's on the other side of the parking lot. I wanted those sweet White Castle indulgences they call burgers, but Krystals would have to do.

The vibe was extra ghetto. So much that the lime green Cadillac in the parking lot barely stood out. Separating from my two female cousins, even if though we were only a small parking lot away, seemed like a major risk. And the cop car parked two spots away from the Sprite can Caddy produced from me a smirk but not sigh of relief.

So I wanted to quickly make my tiny burgers run and get back to my kin. There was no line in Krystals but I quickly could tell that getting out of there quickly was unlikely. A woman stood at the register counting money. It was a minute before she looked up. I thought, “okay, she didn't want to lose count but now that that's done...”

The thought was cut off by her barking an order to Keisha somewhere in the back to clock in and man the register. Mind you there were 3 other girls visible and not working. Well, To be accurate one was kind of sweeping but I wouldn't look for her on the 2012 curling team. Fine maybe these other girls aren't train on the register... So another few minutes passed while I waited for Keisha to clock in while me and four idle workers looked at each other like we were all stupid.

Finally Keisha emerges to take my order. The catch? She's wet! I'm serious. Her face and hands are wet. Oh Hell no! Like maybe she came straight from her job at Water World. I've been waiting almost 5 minutes to order, you might as well take an extra 20 seconds and towel off. The health inspection implications are endless.

I know some of you doubted me that the vibe was ghetto. Still doubt me? The burgers were pretty good by the way. Can't let a little condensation and trifling ways come between me and my bite sized pieces of heaven.

Monday, August 16, 2010

What Up Oprah!

I have long since been through with rappers talking about how they charter planes. Really? And not only do they charter planes it's usually a G4 that your favorite rapper brags about hoping on with the same impunity that you display when you jump on the Manhattan bound R train. (Picadilly Line for my London crew :-) The money talk is a real drag.

But along comes a song about money, so catchy and so campy that you have no choice but to like it. I love the 'billionaire' song so much because it captures people's rich ambitions...but not really. Even when I sing it my mouth defaults to saying millionaire. Wanting to be a billionaire is like wanting to be a superhero. It's okay to dream about but too far fetched to stress about when you absolutely never become one.

The fact that the singer wants to be a billionaire so “freakin” bad suggests the singer knows the whole thing is a little silly. And that's enough for me to give him a pass. It's almost like he's singing about being a gazillionaire. Just a guy with a few free minutes playing the “what-if” game. No harm in that as long as he dusts himself off at some point and goes about his daily chores. Lawns don't cut themselves.

Every time he says “What Up Oprah!”, I giggle. It's pitch perfect irreverence. Imagine being so rich that you can shout out Oprah like she's your local skateboarder. It would be like meeting Jesus and giving him a pound while saying “What you tryin' to get in to Lord?”

The main reason for being cool with it all is the fact that Travis McCoy raps about giving the money away as opposed to making haters nauseous. (Haters must have the weakest stomachs)

I just hope the album version doesn't have “effin bad” instead of “freakin' bad” That would tarnish the whole listening experience.

What would yo do with a billion freakin' dollars?

My friend Hasan has a different opinion of my latest guilty pleasure:

Btw: the greatest hip-hop entertainer of all time flys coach...sort of.

Billionaire song By Bruno Mars and Travis McCoy

Thursday, August 05, 2010

The 1st Apple

I was on a train from Edinburgh, Scotland to London. We stopped in York, same York whose namesake is my hometown. I was tempted to get off and tour Old York but time and the cost of same day train tickets stopped me from disembarking in the York old.

From the looks of it, from my seat on the train, New York is quite a departure from Old York. The sequel is usually not as good but I think York Part II is a better watch. I think it's fair to say that New York could be called New and Improved York. I wonder if the people of York derive any pride from the fact that they're name spawned, arguably, the best city in the world. Or maybe they're bummed by the fact that New York has taken their name and really really ran with it. I think I would kinda root for a guy named New Dwayne, even if there was no relation. Then again if New Dwayne found the cure for Cancer or something, I could see it getting annoying having people ask me if New Dwayne was named after me.

ME: Yes, New Dwayne was named after me. Yes he cured Cancer. Yes that is amazing...but I write a blog damnit!

New York used to be called New Amsterdam...(down at the new Amsterdam. Staring at this yellow haired girl. Mr Jones Strikes up a conversation..*) A few years ago I found myself in Amsterdam and I was able to go through the original Harlem and the original Brooklyn. I definitely put my mental lighters up.

Perhaps we will discover new planets and build new cities and one of those cities could be named after my city. “Welcome To New New York.” And if we name a city after that city it could be New New New York. Good times. Do people in Mexico have a special place in their hearts for New Mexico?

An argument for York over New York from the York tourist board. How cute. Plus a little New York/York history lesson.

* Lyric from Counting Crows song “Mr Jones”, one of my top 3 pop songs of the nineties.

Monday, August 02, 2010

Can't Spell South Without The "Tea"

I recently wrote a blog about the ubiquitousness of Tea in England. Not that I tested this, but I wouldn't be surprised if one could order a cup of tea at a chicken fight in England. The hard part would be finding the chicken fight. Once found however, no one would blink as you put 20 on the fowl in red and ordered an English Breakfast, heavy on the sugar.

I was initially comparing the acquisition of tea in England to the same conquest in New York or Los Angeles. Tea time in the South though is about as frequent as Haley's Comet sightings. I never knew how good I had it in La La Land. I was in Oklahoma and almost all of my tea requests were met with a confused look. As if I had actually inquired about a chicken fight.

I could not even get tea in Mcdonalds...during breakfast! I found them not carrying tea to be egregious. I found them acting like I was the weird one to expect them to carry tea to be down right silly. You serve coffee so the ability to heat water is in place. Now dip some leaves in that hot water instead of coffee beans. See Mcdonalds in Oklahoma, That wasn't hard now was it?

The profit margin on tea must be astronomical. Up to 2 dollars a cup?! I can buy a garbage bag full of tea bags for a dollar. Every cup they would sell would basically pay for all their tea inventory. I think that math precipitates all food establishments keeping a box of tea around for the occasional non-coffee warm beverage seeker.

After some thought, a more sinister explanation for my tea woes came into focus. Maybe the places carry tea but my servers were either too lazy or judgmental to whip me up a cup. Whatever the case I know I'm not weird or difficult when a country with a currency way stronger than ours chooses tea as their national drink. Cheers mate...sip...sip.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Money Ain't a Thing

I have a thing for foreign currency. Other countries are leaps and bounds more creative with the design of their notes than we are. I also love that here in the states we say things like “it's all about the green” or “it's not about black and white, it's about that green” These literary jewels hinge on all our money being the same color. All the other countries I have visited have all multi-colored notes. “It's not about black or white, it's all about purple... and orange... and silver holograms...and...”

Other countries also pull from outside of the old guy in a wig box to put scenery or animals on their currency.

U.S. HUSTLER: It's all about the Benjamins baby!!
INTERNATIONAL HUSTLER: It's all about the elephants and mountain ranges and picturesque landscapes mate.

So whenever I can put a foreign note aside instead of cashing it in, without taking too big of a hit, I do it. Money can also give insight to what a nation treasures and into their history as well.

My new prized possession is a 10 million dollar bill from Zimbabwe. A 10 million dollar bill that can probably get you a cup of coffee if you're lucky. Best of all. It has an expiration date on it! Zimbabwe mainly uses US dollars as their own money has gone wayward. I'm not an expert on currency but somehow people lost faith in the Zimbabwe dollar, as money is only worth what the collective agrees it's worth. And having an expiration date on money is not exactly a ringing endorsement from the government.

Can't wait for the hit Zimbabwean game show: “Who wants to be a Gazillionaire Through the End of the Year.”

a white paper on the Zimbabwe dollar hyperinflation:

Warmest thanks to South African Comedian Tony for giving me the 10 Million dollar Bill.

Monday, June 07, 2010

My World Cup Take on NBC Nightly News

Hey Guys,

Just wanted to share with you a piece that ran on the NBC nightly news featuring me in South Africa speaking on The World Cup.


Ask Stephen Hawking (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

QSN: I wanted to add a quick side note here. If you do nothing else make sure you read the link below about Stephen Hawking and health care. Cheers.

I’m not at all familiar with the work of Stephen Hawking. I know his work relates to space and time, I think. I’m told even attempting to understand Hawkings can send an average man running for a bottle of aspirin and a hug from his mom. I stay away from intellectual pursuits that I’m unsure of. Not very brave I know but at least I can say that I might understand Mr. Hawkings’ theories if I ever have the chance to look through them. (replace time with courage.) This is the same reason I won’t take the test for Mensa. I don’t want to labeled a genius anyway. Well, not officially at least.

I am struck with a question though that is so simple it borders on genius: Why don’t we have Stephen Hawking explain the financial situation once and for all and make some solid recommendations. We have the world’s preeminent brain breaking down blackholes. How about some help with Detroit? I say we tell Steve, we’ll listen to your spiel about aliens to your hearts desire but 1st what say you on outsourcing?

I wouldn’t be surprised if he has already chimed in with something people didn’t want to hear or let be heard.

Einstein had some choice words about over consumption.

I didn’t find anything on Hawking and the economy but he did sort of chime in on health care

Friday, June 04, 2010

I’m Packing (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

I don’t want this blog to sound too much like the faux motivational speech George Clooney gives in the Movie “Up In the Air.” However I recently went through a massive lifeboat exercise of sorts. I packed for a 7 week trip and only brought a carry on suitcase and a book bag stuffed to the rim. Also in the suitcase, taking up precious clothes space, were 40 copies of my comedy CD “Dwayne Perkins To The Rescue.”

How many people reading this blog can boast such an achievement? Packing is basically creating an all-star team of your clothes.

ME: Black Sambas, you get to represent Me on my great Europe-Africa tour, congratulations. And to all you other sneakers, thanks so much for trying out. You should be proud.

Sometimes choice breeds confusion and inefficiency. I’ve been a well oiled machine on this tour. Picking an all star clothes team isn’t only about having the best pieces. It’s picking the pieces that best fit together. The shirt that can be worn in casual and dressy situations. The blazer that you can wear to a business meeting or the dance club, without looking like you came from a business meeting.

For my two month trip I chose some select items to carry me through. It reads like a complete wardrobe because of the combinations. What if we had to do this with friends, or jobs or entertainment? Dwindle it down to what or who you would engage if all of a sudden a cap was put on said thing. I’m not suggesting you ditch friends or throw out your Dukes of Hazzard season 3 DVD but do you know what you would part with if you had to?

Thursday, June 03, 2010

Brooklyn, We Go Too Hard (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

So my South African shows have been a hoot. I’ve kicked it in Soweto, The Brooklyn of Jo-burg. I’ve partied. I’ve grocery shopped. I’ve caught a bit of World Cup Fever…Achoo.

I’m not looking at this city through rosy glasses but the danger wrap that Johannesburg gets is over stated. All the dwellings have electric fences around them but don’t many of ours have fences around them too? Every place I’ve lived in LA has had a fence around it and not the white picketed variety.

In a moment of endearment for the city, and science, I decided to prove my point on stage at my show. I told them that I live in an “Adjacent” neighborhood. So all my comings and goings really take place in the neighborhood next to my hood. My hood is quiet but there is a shall we say “element.”

To drive my point home harder than an Alex Rodriguez line drive, I asked the crowd if any of them knew more than 5 people who have been shot. In the crowd of ~50 no one knew over 5 gun shot victims. I proceeded to tell them as I’m telling you that I know well over 20, maybe over 30. I’m not vying for street cred here but I personally know or knew through school, family, my neighborhood over 20 people who have had lead fillings sans anesthesia. Which place is more dangerous again?

I’m not unique in this fact. Everyone in my hood would boast the same stats. So would anyone from The South side of Chicago, Philly, Los Angeles (south of the 10 freeway), Detroit…
So, which place is more dangerous again? I don’t think about it that often when I’m eating scones in my local coffee shop in Eagle Rock, CA playing Spider Solitaire but I shouldn’t know that many victims. And none of the shootings happened during military action. Just around the way gorilla warfare a. Ride around your city for a while. You might discover you’re more 3rd World adjacent than you thought.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

Color Me Human (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

So one hold over of South Africa’s apartheid is an oddly specific classification of people based on color. There are many people who in the US would be called black but in South Africa are called “colored.” So basically colored people are mixed, Think Collin Powell. But it’s not simply based on skin tone. Sometimes a colored person can be shades darker than a black person. Those people are considered Dark Coloreds. Huh? It comes down to language and even you’re pitch black but you speak only Afrikans (the language of the Settlers based on Dutch) then you are colored. Meaning somewhere along the way you’re pure African lineage must have been broken. Coloreds also lived separately from blacks and thus didn’t retain or learn any of the tribal languages.

The US had the field slave versus the house slave. That was often based on skin color but I can’t help but marvel at South Africa’s formalized system. I can’t figure out if it’s more racist or less racist because the settlers were at least acknowledging their own blood on some level. Were the US oppressors more racists, less racists or simply lazy when they just decided anyone with an ounce of black in them would be considered black.

The whole thing is silly. Perhaps the black population in South Africa dictated a stronger “divide and conquer” approach.

I had a colored guy after a show spend 10 minutes trying to convince me that I was colored. See, most of my SA crew is black and they assure me I am black. I think it’s because they like me. They waiver on Beyonce and are torn on Chris Brown’s black status. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time running names by them to see where they would fit. It’s a lot of fun.

The colored guy actually looked a lot like my cousin Haywood and to be honest the characteristics of colored people in SA is similar to those of blacks in the US. We both seem to suffer from identity crisis. Them because they never really fit in anywhere and us because we were striped of our culture and basically had to create a new culture which is still a work in progress.

In case you’re wondering I consider myself black, even here in SA. I feel a kinship toward the black people here. My advice would be for the coloreds in SA is to reassimilate into the black community. I of course am woefully unqualified to say this and it probably opens a can of worms over a century old. Or we can have the coloreds move to the US where they be black to there hearts desire. Either way they can’t be white. That’s what started this whole mess to begin with.

For American blacks we need to keep our black title. It anchors us and every body needs an anchor. Not sure who celebrated harder, the blacks or the coloreds, when Barack won.

Tuesday, June 01, 2010

I Have A Dream…I Still Have A Dream (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

So lately I have been having dreams within my dreams. So basically I’m having a dream, wake-up and then I’m still in a dream, and then I wake up from that dream and I’m actually awake. Is this common?

It’s like, I’ve emerged from my 2nd level dream, stretched and commented on what a crazy dream that was, made some tea (loose leaf) and then turned to the talking chair and discussed sports before waking out of that dream only to do it all over again. Minus the talking chair.

So I did what any red blooded American would do. I googled “dream within a dream.” I came across a website that explains dreams called dreammoods.com. I’m Not sure if they are the preeminent expert dream people but they did go through the trouble of buying a dreamy domain name so they probably know more than me. Apparently, your subconscious does this to protect the dreamer from waking up and the inner dream is usually about a crucial hidden issue that needs to be dealt with...Now if I could only remember what happened in my dream’s dream. I got nothing.

My concern is how many levels deep can this thing go. How can I ever really know if I’m awake? Maybe I’m asleep right n

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Scoot Over

I was caught up in complete scooter fever while in Rome. Every block is littered with Vespas. Business men scoot to work. Young women scoot to meet their BFFs. It’s a scene man. They also have stores that sell Vespa apparel. I considered buying some Vespa gear but then I thought I better hold off until the day I actually get a Scooter. There’s got to be a special place in poser hell for people who front like they ride a scooter. That would be like telling people you reached a higher level in Dungeons and Dragons than you really did. What’s the point really?

When I do get a scooter, if my current spending pattern is still in place, I probably won’t buy a Vespa anyway. Then I would be the guy with the Vespa gear rolling in a Vespa knock off. That’s even worse than not having a scooter. That would be like putting your Hyuandai keys on a Mercedes key ring. There are some cases where “fake it ‘til you make it” simply doesn’t apply.

Then again riding a Vespa while wearing Vespa apparel may be akin to over accessorizing. I think I will get that Vespa T-shirt and stand tall in the face of scrutiny from real Vespa riders and people who would clown me either way. I wear a Yankee jersey and I don’t play for them. Here we go Vespa….Here we go!

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Size Matters

Okay, I went to Rome, maybe the most important city ever in the history of civilization and so far I’ve written two blogs about run-ins with panhandlers. Mi perdoni l'Italia. Of course Rome has much more to offer than skillful beggars. The coliseum, the forum, the Vatican, majestic structures that are clear evidence of man’s intellect, boldness and faith.

This blog isn’t about any of that though. Rome is proliferated with scooters, smart cars and such. At first sight, to my American eyes, it looked like the city was a great big bumper car ride that someone had decided to build a city around. I’ve long since yearned for a scooter but friends nudged me away from the idea. LA being a sea of SUVs, they didn’t have to nudge very hard. A smart car would be safer if you don’t mind waiving your manhood and being shun by the community.

Here I was in Italy, where machismo was born and it’s perfectly okay for a man to ride a scooter or a smart car. I grew up next to an Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn. Nothing girlie about that hood or its inhabitants. Especially on Friday night if they’d been drinking.

It’s called smart for a reason but even the name can evoke jeers in the US where smart has somehow become synonymous with suspicious and elitist. Rome moves with grace and efficiency in no small part due to the small car sizes. I’m not saying we should all trade in our SUVs for smart cars. Just the people who have absolutely no need for SUVs should. Then again I completely understand feeling like you need an SUV just to drive and have a fighting chance amongst all the other SUVs. I still don’t have my scooter after all.

I just don’t know how success or manhood became dependent on car size and horse power. We need a champion UFC fighter to endorse smart cars. I’m not sure If I’m quite tough enough to turn the tide.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Waste Not, Want Not

I’m always amazed at how wasteful the US is compared to most of the world. We run through napkins at Starbucks and McDonalds like the Tasmanian Devil. It’s like every napkin becomes contaminated with cuddies upon making contact with our mouths and to fold it or use another part of said napkin would put us in grave danger.

But the wastefulness doesn’t stop there. We leave lights on like we’re expecting extra terrestrials to stop by and need a beacon of light to guide them in. I’m guilty of it too. I sometimes leave my television on in hotel rooms when I’m gone just to avoid the God-Awful Hotel menu station that pops up whenever you turn on a hotel TV. Wasteful, but that hotel menu station is painful to watch and good luck finding TBS again.

The contrast is stark when you travel overseas. Lights are all on timers, hotel rooms require the key to be inserted into a slot for the electricity to work in the room (which also drastically cuts down on key misplacement) and don’t even think about getting more than one napkin with any food order.

You might expect this type of miserly approach from a place low in resources. A place that might not have enough napkins to go around or operates on generators installed around the time the hula hoop came out. But the place I’m describing is London. I wouldn’t be surprised if London used ½ the electricity and paper that New York uses. Even the soda cups are smaller.

For a person visiting the US our portions and general approach to everything must seem like a stop over in Wonderland. When traveling abroad it takes a day to adjust but then you realize that unless you’re really throwing down some serious barbecue, one napkin is more than enough and your hotel doesn’t need to be illuminated for your imaginary friend (let her imagine the light J

I can’t see us changing our ways significantly anytime soon but until we stop binge eating at buffets, driving humongous cars we don’t need and wearing white sneakers with khakis, we’re going to be the butt of a lot of jokes on the international scene.

Not to worry though I’m spreading coolness everywhere I go to counter the khaki effect…well me and Mos Def.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

The Entertainer Has Become The Entertained (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

It’s funny how we are always on the prowl for entertainment and good times. All over the world people clock out on Friday, leave their place of business and turn their attention to the business of having fun. Sometimes they find themselves in a comedy club. Then it’s up to me and my peers to provide the good times. We proudly oblige them.

Being a part of the entertainment wing of the services industry means I’m working during the peak hours when others are consuming entertainment and in the midst of so called good times. This by no means means I get skimped on being entertained.

For the best things in life truly are free and if you haven’t tried going out some nights without drinking, I highly recommend it. As a non-drinker I can tell you that the joy I get from watching drunk people usually far outweighs the annoyance factor from suffering them. It’s legal voyeurism. I’ve seen friends throw up on friends in San Francisco, people bloody and sobering up from their injuries in England (she wasn’t really injured btw), people shirtless in the freezing cold in Chicago.

It’s the best form of entertainment. Completely real and unconscious of itself. I think every person who gets completely wasted should be videoed and forced to watch the video the next day while nursing their hang over. Then again that might take away from my entertainment.

People tend to be suspicious of the person not drinking. For they will truly remember what happened the night before.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

A Whole New World (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

I recently wrote a blog about a run-in between a bus driver and passenger in Birmingham, England. The passenger had the last word as he said, “Welcome to the real world” just before exiting. I guess my question is did hearing that statement usher in the driver’s arrival into the real world? Or, was he already in the real world and not aware of it as no one had formally welcomed him? Kind of like driving to Las Vegas and missing the “Welcome to Nevada” sign. You may not know it but you are in Nevada. The different color police cars are the best proof of that fact.

I think when people say welcome to the real world they think it will have a profound affect on their listener. As if that lone statement will cause the person it was directed to to do a complete 180. Change their ways, as per the welcome-er.

FRIEND: Bill you’ve changed? Is it your hair?
BILL: No, I finally joined the real world.
FRIEND: Thank God! I was afraid to tell you. Feels good right?
BILL: Feels great! I’m a little bummed that now I can be affected by gravity. I’ll miss stepping off cliffs and not falling.

The next time you’re tempted to welcome someone into the real world (and basically play God) try saying “It is what it is” Instead. It’s way cooler and just ambiguous enough to be open for interpretation and not make you sound like an A-hole.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Go England! Get Busy (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

I’m writing this blog from a Bed & Breakfast in South Africa while Vampire Weekend’s plays from my laptop speakers. I have their song “Horchata” on loop, in lieu of not having any. South Africa is home of the 2010 FIFA World Cup. It always makes for a great story if the home team wins. But even the locals here know that Bafana Bafana* winning it all is a massive long shot. So besides South Africa winning and instantly becoming the feel good story of the decade, I would have to say I’m going for England. Even though the English, like Red Sox fans, seem to revel in losing, I think a country so dedicated and in love with soccer is due for a victory on the game’s grandest stage.

I don’t know enough about soccer to know if England has a legitimate shot or not but it would be cool. Although I would not want to be a part of the clean up committee there if they do win. Why not good ole US of A? It would be awesome if we won and I’m told we have a fighting chance. But how American of us would it be to win the biggest event in a sport that’s not even our 4th most popular sport. Soccer is currently 6th or 7th in the states, maybe. Nestled snugly between WWF (which is not even real) and Lacrosse (also, not real. A stick with a net at the end? Really?!)

Case for the U.S. winning? The U.S. winning the World Cup could do wonders to further soccer’s rise in the states. The term “soccer mom” has been in our lexicon for the past twenty years so it makes sense that some those “soccer kids” would have kept up with the sport.

I just hate it when a person or team that couldn’t care less beats out people with real passion about something. That’s why I’ve never taken up the harp. What if I’m a harp prodigy? How awful would it be for me to sit there at the philharmonic with the other harp players who’ve dedicated their lives to the harp, while I’m eating Funions and reading a comic book in the much coveted 1st harp chair.

And after the show when we go for drinks and the other harpists start sharing horrible harp teacher stories and they turn to me and I tell them I’m self taught, how annoyed do you think they would be? The rest of the world are those harp players. Go England.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Lawn Jockeying

So today I did my P90X routine in a small park in London, well more like a big garden with a nice lawn. The Plyometrics routine consists of a lot of jumping. I was staying in a 200 year old rickety building and not sure if the people below me were in the mood to hear the pounding of my 190lb frame landing over and over and over. So I figured I would tip toe through the tulips across the street.

It was a glorious day for outdoor jumping: Perfect weather, plush green lawn, vibrant flowers emitting agreeable scents. The only way it could have been better was if I had a ghetto blaster accompaniment blaring either Kriss Kross’s “Jump Jump” and/or House of Pain’s “Jump”. Yes, I said better.

About 3 quarters way through my serene vigor some landscaping guys came in to do some sprucing. A frequent occurrence, I’d imagine given this park’s, appearance. Although they were basically gardening and I was doing the “mother of all P90X” routines (as dubbed by Tony Horton, the P90X man himself), I still thought to myself that these blokes were way more manly than me. Sure I could probably do more jump squats than either one but they were working with earth. They were installing grass, moving dirt, pushing wheel barrels using leveling devices and digging with shovels. The very things my workout was meant to emulate and substitute, given my sedentary coffee shop, comedy club lifestyle.

And me? Well, I had to do a Google Image search on “gardening tools” to figure out that thing they were moving the dirt in was called a wheel barrel.

Sad, but boy is my core strong.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

World Tour With Muhammad My Man

So two weeks into my World tour and I’ve finally decided to call it a World Tour. I was reluctant to use that moniker as there’s no affiliation to Live Nation, No ticket stubs, backstage passes, groupies or crowds waving lighters but I am touring the world doing comedy so flipping the word “tour” and “world” is not at all a stretch.

There’s a time to be humble and a time to strut your stuff. Friends tell me my strut count is anemic. Today, while talking to a friend of a friend here in London he remarked on how cool it must be to be on a world tour. I shrugged it off. He seemed a bit thrown by my nonchalance. He mentioned how for some comics getting a few spots in New York is a big deal.

He’s right. There must be dozens of comics right now who would sell their little brother for a few minutes at the Chuckle Farm in Topeka. (FYI Topeka doesn’t have a Chuckle Farm but you get my point) I’m performing in England, South Africa and Scotland and I actually had to turn down a gig in Bahrain because it didn’t line up right. That would have really been hurtful if I could have done the Bahrain gig.

So…I am in the middle of a World Tour. I hope it sounds more convincing coming out of my mouth then it feels in my head. I’ll slowly embrace it. Maybe someone could have a “Good Will Hunting” moment with me and keep telling me I’m on a World Tour until I break down in cheers and finally admit it.

Shout out to Owen, a New Yorker in London who encouraged me to strut.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Tea Time

While crossing the street here in London is still a dangerous proposition for this fast walking New Yorker who’s still looking left for traffic coming from the right, the ubiquitousness of tea almost makes up for the life size game of frogger I must play every time I take a step off the side walk.

It’s quite liberating to be in a country where you can literally have tea in any drinking situation. No cackles from the peanut gallery when I straddle up to a bar and ask for hot tea. No dear in the headlights look from the pubescent headphone wearing sandwich maker at Subway when I ask for Earl Grey with my value meal. This must be what Harry Potter felt like when he first stepped foot into Diagon Alley, “Finally, I’m normal”. Even the construction workers here drink tea, PG Tips. It’s their house blend but in the states PG Tips is some gourmet ish.*

Somehow tea is not considered manly but England conquered the whole world sipping tea with their pinkies out. I think we need 50 Cent to sip on Earl Grey in his next video. Maybe come out with his own brand of tea. Ja ja ja Darjeeling!!

England is the country that basically spawned us. When did we give up the tea drinking? Perhaps we lost the taste for it that cold day back on December 16th 1773 when we dumped all the British tea into the Boston Harbor. Great day for America but a bad day for tea and some 200 years later, for me as well.

And to make matters way worse, a new band of crazies with twisted facts and misinformation are running around associating themselves to my favorite aromatic hot water infusion. The nerve!

*ish - slang for Sugar Honey Ice Tea

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Mind Blowing Bloke

So I was in the green room at a show in Worcester, England and one of the other comics was prepping for a whole new act he had been working on. Apparently he had taught himself to be a mind reader. It’s not everyday you meet a mind reader let alone a self-taught mind-reader. Being comics, the rest of us were of course cynical. Being entertainers, we were supportive of a fellow entertainer and we couldn’t knock the hustle.

So our funny medium gave us a huge book of all the works William Shakespeare and told us to open to any page. We obliged and the mind reader proceeded to read the mind of the comic holding the book from across the room and pretty much guessed a word on the top of each column of the page the book was opened to.

Of course we flipped through the book to make sure that it wasn’t in fact filled with just that same page. It wasn’t. We were thoroughly impressed, not buying the mind reading angle, but impressed nonetheless with the trick.

Then it dawned on me just how lucky slash odd my life is. I’m backstage, in England, talking to a self-proclaimed mind reader like most people would talk to an accountant. There’s a guy reading minds while we all sip on tea and none of it is remotely odd to us. A ventriloquist and knife thrower could have walked in and we would have nodded like co-workers in a factory break room. I feel lucky to cross paths with mind readers, magicians and musicians. I run with an odd lot and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Don‘t Throw Out The Baby With The Toilet Water (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

I’ve now been to more countries than I can count on my fingers and toes and what I’ve learned is people are basically the same everywhere you go. Everyone loves their children, enjoys music, skips in line if they can get away with it, and so on. Another universal but not as talked about commonality, apparently, is that we all flush foreign objects down the toilet of business establishments. Every country I’ve ever been to has signs in public toilets asking people not to flush anything but tissue down the toilet. Even the more…ahem.. civilized places like England feel the need to instruct the rank and file to not defile the common toilets.

The thing is, I’ve never seen such a sign at a residence. What is it about a public toilet that makes people push the limits of the flushing quotient? Does the industrial strength toilets make people want to themselves get “industrial” or perhaps industrious? Maybe people sit at home longingly staring at their toilets wishing they could flush down household appliances with the image of a plumber with his hand out being the only thing holding them back.

Maybe it’s the signs giving people the idea to push the flush envelope. “I never even considered flushing anything but toilet tissue, but now that you’ve mentioned it…”

The funniest sign I ever saw: “Please don’t flush anything other than toilet tissue down the toilet…not even pencils”.

Funny because if there’s a sign for it…

Sunday, May 09, 2010

Hey DJ, Won’t You Play Your Song

I did shows in Birmingham, England over the weekend. After one of my shows, some birds invited me to go see Will-I-Am from the Black Eye Peas DJ at a club. The Black Eye Peas have gone #1 in over 20 countries, they sell out arenas; but just in case it doesn’t work out it’s good to see Will can still do weddings to make ends meet if need be. You think he brings his own crates of records?

I actually understand this from his position. A performer performs. An artist creates. The scale of the project or size of the audience is arbitrary. Although bigger is usually better. I have gone from doing television tapings directly to open mic shows. Granted, I have a special brand of tolerance for pain.

REPORTER: Dwayne, you just won the Academy Award what are you going to do now?
ME: To do 15 minutes at the Liquid Zoo in Van Nuys. Two for one beer pitchers and free popcorn yall!

So maybe Will-I-Am is Will-ing-To-Work. But, for the people going to see him DJ, what’s their motivation? Find out what music tickles Will’s fancy? Even worse you pay a premium to go to club and you get Will-I-Am playing Black Eye Pea songs. Do the songs sound better because he’s behind the turntables?

This would be like paying 40 bucks to see Avatar because James Cameron is running the projector.
Cameron’s spinning celluloid down at the Cineplex, yo!

I wonder what odd things people will pay me to do if I ever get super famous…

Come see Dwayne Perkins make Pizza…Live!!

I didn’t go btw, so I can’t speak on Will’s DJ Skills.


Friday, May 07, 2010

Once Again It's on. A 30 Day Blog-a-thon

no time like the present
to messed with
a 30 day blog-a-thon
tell your mom it’s on
and your Nan just ran to put her glasses on
turning non-believers into avid readers
girlfriends waving hands like “you gotta see this”
laugh and bend, abdomen feels like a thousand knee lifts
have to grin, can’t pretend cause you as high as a ski lift
I provide the best medicine, time for an overdose
peep it when you 1st get in, your work day won’t be morose
I’ll always be from brooklyn, so I’ll always boast the most
so glory glory tell my story from the mountain top
shorty forty minus 10 daily dp blog drops

Monday, April 19, 2010

Rap Music Make Me Violent

Well, not exactly but it does get me amped. I'm not suggesting we censor rap or anything but we should be mindful. Words are powerful. Words spoken over a beat by someone with charisma and swagger are potent. I recently quoted Notorious B.I.G. in a blog. To make sure I had the quote right I youtubed “Who Shot Ya?”. I was instantly transported to Brooklyn, mid nineties. As soon as I heard the beat with the “As we proceed...” I was amped. I was sitting in Starbucks chomping on a Reduced Fat Turkey Bacon with Egg White sandwich and I was charged. Luckily I didn't have my good headphones that encase my ears. Surely the sounds pumping through those headphones would have resulted in me punching the man sitting at the table next to me.

It was 8am and I wanted to get a mosh pit going. Biggie's voice on that track is so hard. It taps directly into the riotous section of your brain. Have you ever been at a party when “I Ain't Never Scared” comes on? Or an early nineties party when Onyx's “Slam” came on? It's like you wanna punch someone. Hell, you don't even mind getting punched.

Have you ever tried to write a quirky blog while listening to Biggie. It's a tall order. To get through my blog I had to change songs. I put on some Michael Buble to bring me down. Well, I had to finish my blog and plus it wasn't cool to be feeling so aggressive in a Starbucks in Eagle Rock, California at 8am.

There's no denying Rap is influential. If Rap can have such an instant effect on a methodical philosopher such as myself, I shudder to think what it can do to impulsive or impressionable minds.

It's powerful stuff. Anytime you can make a room full of women rub themselves...and it be cool...you know you're dealing with something crazy.

For me, I can translate the literal words of rap into my own mental discourse. So “throw your guns in the air” is pure energy. And that energy fills me but I don't take the advice literally. For me “throw your guns in the air” means “let your elf go and tap into your raw energy and let it propel you into a higher strata.” But what percentage of people do this internal editing? And, is it the inappropriateness of their words t o begin with that makes people get hyped? Could Biggie's voice rapping about love or American History make me Head Butt people in Starbucks?

I guess I'll leave that question to the experts...assuming that they are some out there.

Friday, April 16, 2010

I Can Hear Sweat Trickling Down Your Cheek

So, as my faithful readers know, I'm in week 3 of the P90X workout program. It feels like a fraternity with P90 folks sharing a bond forged in sweat affectionately called "X" by us in the fraternal order.

I don't usually take to groups. I write my blog alone. I stand on stage alone. I fight crime...alone. But for some reason I've instantly taken to being a member of the P90X family. It's like the end of Antwoine Fisher...by golly, I DO have a family.

So I decided to do my P90 workout at the gym yesterday. The whole point of P90 is to do it at home but this routine has a lot of jumping and I didn't want to disturb the elderly woman who lives below me during her soaps and daytime Judge shows. She might even get the idea to take me on Judge Mathis. Definitely, a slam dunk case in her favor.

As fate would have it, as I jumped, lunged and squatted in the empty class studio, there was a personal trainer meeting in the spin cycle class right next to the room I was in. All separated my glass walls. I noticed the trainers noticing me, their faces conveying concern, annoyance, jealousy, panic and intrigue all at once. It must have been the same look the people who owned the telegraph companies had when they saw the telephone...uh-oh. Here was a guy getting in an incredible workout with no machines, no equipment and no trainer. Looking on as I kicked major “X”, those trainers must have felt like a pair of acid washed jeans in 1989. Like the end is near.

I had a mind to peek my head into their meeting and say...The future is now! Don't be mad, UPS is hiring.

For the record though I think personal trainers still provide a great and needed service. And P90X is really for people who are either already in shape or highly motivated to get in shape. But nothing motivates as good as a live coach. Even the most elite and driven athletes need coaches to push them. So don't panic trainers. I still love you and it was my work with my good friend Kordo that made me P90X ready in the first place.

But seeing a room full of buffed worried guys was way cool.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

You Oughta Be in Pictures

Have you ever gone into a place of business and seen head shots on the wall? Now, have you ever noticed anyone of the people in those head shots? My recognition percentage has to be less than 10% and I'm in show business. It's like the wall of your local dry cleaner is in fact a graveyard of sorts. A resting place for pictures of people whose careers never took off. To put in in perspective though, most people's show business careers never “take-off” The average income for actors in SAG is $5000/year. And that's after you factor in the millions the top ten get per year for their movies.

My question is what does a picture of someone that customers don't know do for a business.

CUSTOMER: I had doubts but now that I see Tony Carrington The Third aka Cop # 3 in Dog Day Afternoon shops here...I guess I will too.

If you happen to take your car to Prestige Auto in Encino, CA you will see the picture of a young, up and coming Comedian named Dwayne Perkins. The only mechanic I trust, Sako, asked me for the picture. I whole-heartedly endorse Sako and Prestige Automotive. I unequivocally stand by their work. But what does that do for someone already there to get their car fixed? Maybe my picture should be on their website or next to their add in the Yellow Pages. (People under 20 should ask their Moms what the Yellow Pages were :-)

I cringe every time I see the picture and I cringe even tighter when I see my, “witty when I wrote it”, caption on the pic with a purple Sharpee.

I plan on keeping my head shot in businesses count at 1. So if you need a Dwayne fix check out my blogs or head to Prestige Automotive in Encino, California.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

After Before

So I recently started doing the P90X workout routine. I was a fan of the infomercial but was resigned to watching the commercial and picking up a few moves. So my workout was P90X inspired. But Santa Claus was very good to me on my birthday. What? You thought Santa only delivered on Christmas. Perhaps you're not on the “really nice” list. This year Santa got me a Sony E-reader and the P90X workout set. Apparently Santa wants me to be a well read Adonis. Challenge accepted.
Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to take your body through a complete metamorphosis:
I accept but here's the problem, and this doesn't come from my Brooklyn tendency to brag... I'm not a good before picture. It's like I'm on day 30 already. A fact that I'm proud of but they won't use the testimony of a guy who got a little better. I thought about letting myself go for a month to make a better before picture but my vanity wouldn't let me get like that and then take pictures of it to boot.
I've made the mistake of telling people I'm doing P90X. A mistake amplified now that I'm telling the whole Blog-o-Sphere. So now the pressure is on for me to become an action figure. So long bread. I love bread so it's questionable if I'll be able to really get ripped. My close friends have already said they think my body won't change.
But I can't go out like a sucker. I'll just have to get used to being slightly hungry all the time. I'm sure people in third world countries don't eat til they have to loosen their belts while triumphantly rubbing their bellies.
On perk is now I can workout in my boxer briefs. Laundry was dominating my life, well sorta. Now I can workout at home like an action movie villain with no shirt on while wearing my blue tooth...10, 11, 12, have you taken care of our little friend...
I've always wanted to be in action hero shape so...here goes nothing.

Thursday, April 08, 2010

Ye Olde Towne Clock

I recently shot an independent movie in a cemetery. I wrote a blog about it, like to hear it? Here it goes, “Rest In Plush.” The cemetery was more like a park, well kept, lush and breezy. A real mystery as there was no breeze outside the cemetery. Not sure if the breeze was a product of the design of the cemetery or if they have giant fans on either end set to “picnic” speed.

Whatever the case this place made my heart rate drop 10 beats. Serenity right now. The kicker? They have a clock tower on the grounds that chimed on the hour and politely hiccuped on the 15,30 and 45 minute mark. Not only was it peaceful but quite helpful. I think the reminders could really help people better sort out their time. Imagine jumping on Facebook and telling yourself you will only be a few minutes, two dings later and you realize it's been over half an hour. Time to stop Farmville and get something done. I personally don't need this as my internal clock keeps better time than the clock in the dashboard of my Saturn Ion. But for the rest of you folks with internal clocks not synced with the Official NIST Atomic Clock, wouldn't some friendly time cues be helpful?

I propose we install huge town clocks in America's biggest and busiest cities. Imagine a dong resonating all through New York City letting all 10 million people know it's 1 O'Clock. Even people in up in Poughkeepsie would hear a faint noise and put some pep in their step. The goal is that everyone would always know the time within 15 minutes. This could even help sort out domestic disagreements...Baby I lasted 3 dongs. What more could you want?...How about one dong but make it good!


Tuesday, April 06, 2010

Rest In Plush

I recently acted in a funeral scene in an indie movie that was shot at The Hollywood Forever Cemetery. This cemetery is stunning. Most cemeteries are serene. It falls in line with the whole rest in peace thing. But the people in this cemetery are not only resting in peace they are resting in lavishness. I've never seen such elaborate tombstones. Not that I frequent cemeteries or have a large enough sample set to make my case. But that's never stopped me in the past. Besides, my gut tells me the kind of coin it took to make some of the graveyard displays (calling them tombstones would be a disservice) could make a handsome down payment on a house. Many of the pieces had pictures of the departed on them reminiscent of the pictures you see of the writers in newspapers. Not that anyone reads newspapers.

The Hollywood Cemetery is the resting place of many old school legendary Hollywood greats. So I don't have a problem with it having an allure. It would have that without the eye grabbing displays. But this final resting place seemed to have the exact social dynamics of a night club: Invite a few famous people and watch everyone and their brother flock. draped in their best and trying to impress while “fitting” in with the people we've deemed stars.

But the problem it seems, even in death, is that those “famous” people typically have something that separates them that can't be bought. A look, a talent, a mystique that all the bottles of Moet in the world can't capture. Sadly, this cemetery seemed to have a few amazing Hollywood standouts surrounded by people looking over the velvet ropes trying to gain access, not to heaven, but to the heavenly VIP section.

Of course no disrespect to the fallen people or their loved ones. And I truly think all you could ever want is to be love and be loved at some point during the ride. And I'm sure someone loved every person resting there. And if those remaining find some solace in burying a loved one in style, I have no problem with that. I just want to highlight that that love they had trumps any display or the prestige of the place where the empty vessel may rest.



Thursday, March 25, 2010

I'm on The Case

How come cops in movies are always being threatened by higher ups that if they don't get their act together they'll be writing parking tickets. Wouldn't a safe job like writing tickets be a welcomed departure from being shot at. Shouldn't it be the other way around. Shouldn't the detective ask for ticket duty because getting shot at is getting to be a drag?

Basically they're being told. If you mess up you'll get a way easier job for similar pay. It's the same logic that always made me think school suspensions were silly but detentions make sense.

PRINCIPAL: Hate school, do ya? Wanna keep acting up? Well, I'll show you. Why don't you stay at home all next week. Feel the burn?

I say, having trouble in school. How about some more school so you can better address those problems.

I used to get suspended at least once a year for fighting when I was in elementary school. I can't say I enjoyed the suspensions. I mean I did feel like a dry, cracking heel. But at the same time it was fun and refreshing to catch up on old re-runs of the Odd Couple, Bob Newhart and Quincy.

I get that these movie cops take pride in their jobs and they genuinely want to catch the bad guys. But with a clueless captain always threatening to throw them off the case and/or chew their butts off, I say write the parking tickets. The bad guy is gonna escape in part II anyway.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Touched By an Angel

A few days ago I was on parked on Sunset Blvd sifting through my mobile closet I call my car trunk. At any point, I have enough clothes in my trunk to go and start a new life somewhere else. Roll into a new town with just the clothes on my back...and in my backseat...and in my trunk.

My closet raid was interrupted by a friendly passerby. I saw him approaching and I could tell he was the kind of person that will turn even the slightest eye contact into a full blown BFF conversation. I knew this and yet his whole being yearned for a speckle of human interaction. Against my better judgment I nodded and smiled in his direction. Once I grin he's in game begin...

I was in a rush but this guy probably stared down twenty people before me without receiving any acknowledgement of his existence. He probably wasn't homeless but he was homelessy. My grandmother had a theory that she passed on to me that, at any moment anyone might be God coming to test you. Just a stranger on a bus... Not that you should treat people who aren't God like crap but the possibility of them actually being God can really keep you in on your peas and carrots.

I didn't want the next day's headline to read: Dwayne Perkins Snubs God.

So I engaged my non-homeless homeless (NHH) guy. He was friendly and my nodding and affirmations seemed to make his day. But then my charity case made my day. We noticed that he was wearing sweat pants almost identical to a pair in my trunk. He told me he had trouble because the pockets were shallow and had lost a few things because of that. I told him I could dig it. Then he showed me his new pockets. He had zippers installed! And there was my ah-ha moment. It was I who was the charity case. NHH blew my mind.

I have long since wanted to wear track suits 2-3 days a week. Problem? My two prized track suits don't have zippers. What NHH had done was so simple yet so brilliant. Perhaps he was my garment guardian angel. Whatever the case it was definitely a glaring sign that I should implement my track suit plan. As I write this my pants are in the cleaners getting zippers sewn in. Hey world I hope you're ready for my track suits. I'm going Jersey! … Or I'm going Miami … or I'm going Glendale, CA.

The track suit in question.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Now That's What I Call Progress - Volume 1

In show business it behooves you to make as few enemies as possible. Rap music being the lone exception. In rap, a well calculated rhyming war of words can translate into millions. In life in general it makes sense not to burn bridges. Seems like a good idea at the time but you'll regret it when you're swimming through piranha infested water where a bridge used to be.

So I've handled my career with this in mind. I actually like most of the people I know in the business and I'm tight lipped about the ones I don't like; half because maybe I just don't know them well enough yet and half because I don't want to swim with the fishes. So in my whole career I'm actually on record as disliking only one person.

And now the progress report. I hadn't seen my nemesis in a few years and recently had the displeasure of running into him. To my surprise I remembered being on record as not liking him but I could not remember his name. Fair to say I've let it go? The bane of my existence had become a footnote destined not to even make it to future editions of my story.* I would like to say I let go of my mini grudge but in reality I just focused on what was in front of me and kept moving. In time things in the distance became within reach, stationary things in my periphery were left behind, stationary things behind me were left way behind and I forgot who it was I didn't like.

Why the grudge? This guy came into a town I lived in playing the big time executive and dangling a pot of gold in front of the young comics. He tried to tell me I was nervous on stage right after I had in fact had a great set. His aim seemed to throw weight around and shake up the hierarchy that had been established based on funniness. I of course knew he was wrong and full of it. Just four months later I made my 1st appearance on the Late Night with Conan O'Brien show. I probably should have let go then.

He who does not feel me, is not real to me therefore he doesn't exist so poof...vamoose son of a...**

* reference to a Elvis Costello song, “Everyday I Write The Book”

** line from a Jay-Z song, “H to the Hizo”

Friday, March 12, 2010

Brooklyn's Finest

As luck would have it some friends of mine scored some Jay-Z tickets and invited me to accompany them to his show. As Poetic Justice would have it the show in question is in New York. To say I'm stoked about the show would be an understatement. But still, I keep my excitement understated.

I mentioned to a friend I was heading to New York for a visit highlighted by a Jay-Z concert. I'm not sure if it was my cool delivery or the Brooklyn connection but my friend, who I have known for years, who's been to my place, knows what I drive and how much my mortgage is says to me...

MY FRIEND: That's cool about the show. Do you know Jay-Z?

What?! If I knew Jay-Z my friend, you and everyone I know would know that I know Jay-Z. I would work that in as much as possible. I would need a protective case because I would drop it all the time.

ME: It is unseasonably warm. It's funny because I was just saying the same thing to Jay-Z...yes that Jay-Z. Hov said it wasn't unseasonably warm. Wait till I call Sean and tell him other people also think it's warm. You know Jay's internal thermostat has been off since we were kids.

The bigger point to be made is my friend thinks enough of me to think I run with the likes of Jay-Z. Knowing my financial standing, more or less, my friend must think my talent is great enough to grant me entree to that strata of show business. Perhaps my friend thinks 2nd and 3rd tier Brooklyn representers rub elbows with the 1st tier Brooklynites. Or maybe we report to them on our progress to further our great borough.

JAY-Z: Dwayne, please give your status report...ya heard.

DWAYNE: Well, last month I mentioned Brooklyn in 8 blogs and I've written 3 new jokes that touches upon Brooklyn and least week I wore shirts with the word Brooklyn on it 4 times...Don't you think Beyonce should sit in on these status reports.?

I don't know Jay-Z yet but I know his songs and they speak to me so it seems like I know him. My wish is that people will listen to my comedy ready my blogs and get a sense that they know me. Don't get back cuz you do know me like that...

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Zombie FAQs

Sometimes a quick side note becomes so big that it has to become its own blog, a spin-off if you will. (And then Came Maude...)* In a recent post I wrote about people trying to sell their homemade music on Venice Beach. I compared them to Zombies, both in numbers and persistence. This of course led to some Zombie questions...

Why do Zombies and sleep walkers have to walk with their arms straight out or down but stiff? Rigamortis? Are sleep walkers dreaming about being zombies? Zombies should walk with their arms crossed with each arm rubbing the other while trying to stay warm. No? I mean they have no blood running through them so they can't be warm blooded. And why are these dead people 10 times stronger than living people? And what's so good about being un-dead that they want everyone else to be like them? Reminds me of people who live in LA who complain daily but are always encouraging people to move here.

It's like one person depicted Zombies and we were forever stuck with that representation. How about portraying cunning Zombies that live amongst us and use stealth tactics to attack the living. Or would they have to reclassified as Body Snatchers?

I actually have no interest in Zombies but I'm very intrigued by people who are into with Zombiism. Is it really fun? What's the deal with Zombie Walks? People in Non-third world countries have a lot of free time on their hands. I'll tell you that much. Shouldn't real Zombies use the Zombie walk day to plan a real attack. Catch us off guard. Sounds like a groovy movie premise. Hands off it's mine (providing it hasn't been done already. :-)

It's probably all in the Zombie White paper I haven't read.

Youtube Zombie walks if you have 15 minutes to kill...or be killed.

*”Maude” was a 70's sitcom that was a spin off of “All in The Family”

Good Times” was spun off “Maude”

Facts of Life” Spun off “Different Strokes” as was “Hello Larry”

Fraiser” was spun off “Cheers”...it's a fun game.

Friday, March 05, 2010

I Tan Corrected

So I'm at my gym the other day and I got an offer that I could resist. A girl from the tanning salon in the same strip mall as my gym was handing out half-off coupons. As she handed it to me I of course laughed and thought to myself, the tanning promotion girl's got a keen sense of humor and impeccable timing.

Maybe she was hitting on me or just being silly. Or maybe she saw me and said to herself, “How can I make it into his blog?” As she handed me the coupon, as if for good measure, she said:

TANNING GIRL: Maybe you can go even out your tone.

Or, maybe she figured there's one born every minute so why not throw out a net and see if she pulls in a sucker. Perhaps she wasn't exercising her sense of humor but working on saying outrageous things with a straight face. Which, as we should know by now, can make a person millions. I mean if you can sell tanning services to a black man then the Eskimos don't stand a chance when you come with your tidings of ice. Perhaps this Manhattan Beach, California girl had Philadelphia style hustle.

I was almost amused to the point of taking her up on her offer. See the silliness through to the end. Almost. I am often encouraged by my commercial auditions where all the other guys are white and somehow they bring me in. It's like the breakdown* called for everyday white guys and Dwayne. I'm flattered that they feel they can sell their products with the likes of me without it necessarily being a “Black” commercial...Cuz they're not so stingy**.

But I think I will self impose and draw the line at tanning booths. The only booth you'll see me in will be in a diner or a late night karaoke bar.

*Breakdown – description of a role that a producer is casting for

**quote from the silliest McDonald's commercial ever. Hopefully Tongue and Cheek, hopefully. Also check out my blog about being recognized in Mcdonald’s.

Wednesday, March 03, 2010

Two All Beef Patties...

A few weeks ago I found myself in a Mcdonald's in New York City at 2am. Not my proudest moment or the best way to treat myself but the Golden Arches beckoned me. The Apple Pocket tastes better at 2am (pie is something you eat with a fork.) In fact, as the night passes, the fried apple slab continues to get tastier every hour until the Sun comes up and with it rises your better judgment.

I'm in line waiting to order my setback when the the guy in front of me, having ordered his nuggets with an extra side sauce with some difficultly and slurred words, turned his attention to me. Did he need me to supplement his meal? As I looked at him looking at me, he did the drunk finger in the air as you ponder move. There's no telling where that finger's going to come down and what it's going to do. On this night the finger came down into a point in my direction. Followed by...

GUY: I know you! You're funny dude. Hey this guy is famous! What are you doing in McDonald's?!

Why I'm getting a meal I'm going to instantly regret, of course. Isn't that what we're all doing here? I enjoy getting recognized from time to time and my Mickey D's cohort was friendly and clearly a fan. I wonder if I get any more “famous” if I'll have to give up occasional 2am Mcdonald's runs.

MY STOMACH: Come on man get famous already!...Please!

Or maybe I'll be given the coordinates to the hidden McDonald's that other famous people go to. Then I could enjoy my Apple Pocket in the VIP section. Denzel, are you gonna finish those fries?

Monday, March 01, 2010

Nothing Honey

I'm done with honey that doesn't come in a bottle shaped like a bear. Honey in a regular jar just doesn't cut it for me anymore. Give me a bear or give me sugar. Besides the obvious perk of pretending the bear can talk and chopping it up with him while you sip your tea...

ME: Wow Teddy, this tea is awesome. Thanks man! By the way what's Miss Buttersworth like?

TEDDY: I only met her once at this condiment party. She was cool. Very sweet girl.

ME: That's good. I hate it when famous people are jackasses in real life...

There is also the matter of honey application. The squeeze is exponentially better than the pour. When I pour honey out of a jar or use a spoon to scoop it out, I end up with honey all over the place. Throughout the day I'll find honey in and on odd places: my elbow (even though I had on a long sleeve shirt), on my shoes, on my kitchen counter tops, underneath my bed...

The bear shaped bottle is not only cute, it's efficient and clean. Although, bees may be going extinct so honey in any shaped bottle may soon be hard to come by. Save the bees please.

Save The Bees