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.

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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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…

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.

THE INTRUDERS - I'LL ALWAYS LOVE MY MAMA

blogathonrapsmalleditted.wmv

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

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.

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.

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.

After Before

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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.

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!

http://www.time.gov/

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.

http://www.richard-seaman.com/Wallpaper/USA/Cities/JohnnyRamoneAtHollywoodForever.jpg

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hollywood_Forever_Cemetery

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.

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.

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 1^st 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”

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 2^nd and 3^rd tier Brooklyn representers rub elbows with the 1^st 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...

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.

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.

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?

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

No Librarians Please

If you're like me, you have certain professions that you just get along with and others that you clash with. It's implausible that it could hold true across the board but, with rare exceptions, I don't get along with librarians. We suffer each other but it's always tense. Even our 30 second interactions seem to have 30 minutes of suspense. Like we're on thin ice and even graze of a pebble will make the whole thing cave in. It might be my natural inclination to challenge rules vs. their natural inclination to blindly enforce any and all rules.

Book storage takes order but then again the books don't have legs. To be fair to Librarians, I actually have no problem with Librarians. What?! Yes, see the people at the reference desk of a Library who help you find books and deftly explain the Dewey Decimal system 60 times a day are actually “Librarians”. They're usually helpful and friendly. Whereas the people who check out your books are not technically Librarians. The clerk's 'tudes may come from being called Librarians all day but knowing deep inside that they in fact are not. But I'm not bitter. So actually, I don't get along with Library worker people.

I get along with Flight attendants quite swimmingly. It would take a long scroll to list the preferential treatment I've gotten from Flight Attendants. From being bumped up, to free bags of Tazo tea to once even being consoled because I looked sad, flight attendants dig me. They don't “mile high club” dig me but I'm happy for the extra drinks and free snack boxes.

I have a good history with drivers of limos and car services but my relationship with Taxi cab drivers is touch and go. Baristas are ambivalent toward me, even though I usually tip a whole dollar on a 2 dollar tea. I actually have a half way decent relationship with cops. (that admission stays here)

I get along with comedians, obviously. But I like musicians more. I wonder if we could generate a new dating site based not on how you describe yourself but what professions you get along with.

Oh you like Crane Operators and Bakers too? It's Kismet I tell ya.

Pull Over Jesus

A few nights ago, while driving down Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles, I saw two cops, pulled over, and questioning Jesus. I assume it wasn't THE Jesus but then again you never know. Hollywood is littered with look-a-likes who, for a nominal fee, will take a picture with you. Don't think Disneyland with Mickey Mouse welcoming you to the happiest place on earth. No, think a drunk guy in a dirty Shrek costume who smells like an actual ogre and has a yet to be named condition that causes him to spit loogies every 3 and a half minutes. None of these photo-op guys are sanctioned by any official body and they probably wear the costumes to dodge their arrest warrants.

I gather the guy currently portraying Jesus was on his way home from a day of intense character work, tired from all the healing. A method actor no doubt. Maybe he was displaying public drunkenness, or he Jaywalked. I'm thinking he stole a Gatorade from a convenience store. Jesus walks...in and steals. If Hollywood Jesus had any miracles in him the time had come to use them. Cops don't drive the squad car up on the side walk to have nice chats. Still in the back of the cops' mind it's got to be tougher to be a hard ass while looking at Jesus.

COP1: Let me see some ID?

HOLLYWOOD JESUS:My Son, my ID comes from above.

COP2: ID now?! Or we redo the Passion Of Christ. Right here.

COP1: Why is he bleeding from his hands?!

COP2: Okay Jesus...you're free to go and...can you put your finger in this water for me.

Maybe the cops needed some salvation albeit from an actor playing Jesus. I think Hollywood Jesus should rent himself out to people trying to make a point. After he cleans himself up of course. How cool would it be if you got Jesus to appear at just the right moment. Dude, just lend me the money. I'm good for it...what would Jesus do?...Lookie here..why don't we just ask him...I know that's not actually Jesus but that's gotta be a sign...Come on bro just fifty dollars.

Abba Dabba Do

So I saw this report on the pop group Abba recently. Their effect on the world is legendary. Their music? But I come to praise Abba not to bury them. My foot taps when an Abba song comes on (I was going to say “just as much as the next guy”, but what if the next guy is off beat. Or maybe he's doing a syncopated tap.)

No doubt Abba is a major part of the soundtrack of our lives. But this one guy they interviewed had “ABBA” tattooed across his stomach. He proudly showed it off so I don't think he lost a bet or was the victim of sophomoric hijinks. This guy willingly went to a tattoo artist and requested ABBA to be needled across his belly.

QSN: Can we blame the tattoo guy? I mean, a bartender can't serve a drunk person. Shouldn't there at least be a grace period for stupid tattoos? “Sir, are you sure you want a Mambo#5 tattoo?...Why don't you think it over for a few days and come back”.

There is no way to make an Abba tattoo sound cool. It's not a story people want to hear at parties. “I don't mean to cut you off Abba Dude but I'm going back to hear the Insurance Guy's soliloquy on Term versus Universal Life insurance...try the dip.”

At least Mike Tyson has a tattoo of Mao Tse Tsung. Which may not make sense but is so random that it just may make total sense. At the very least people want to hear Mike explain why he got it. Where as with Abba dude you instantly know all you need or would ever want to know. We're all set here Abba Dude.

The craziest part? Abba Dude is a black guy. Nothing wrong with a black guy loving him some Abba. And I say kudos on the stereotype dismantling. But it's a little jarring when someone links themselves to Abba with permanent body ink...When they don't even know them.

Let's hope it was a fake just to get him on TV. Let's hope.

Crystal DNA Ball

Recently on the Today show I saw a DNA expert telling famous people their lineage history. Minus the crystal ball, scarves and sage, it was a lot like a psychic reading. At least with a psychic reading, time will prove whether Madame Lenora is right or wrong. With DNA readings you have to take their word for it. That or get a second opinion. But who wants a second opinion after being told they're the direct lineage of Alexander The Great or have almost identical biological make-up to Julius Caesar.

I don't mean to be cynical but you had to see Meryl Streep's face when she was getting her DNA reading. It was the same look my Aunt Eleanor had when she got her palm read in Soho. Both were like putty in the reader's hand. It's exciting to think of your lineage. You can maybe even gain insight into your idiosyncrasies. Attilah The Hun was my Great to the 30^th power Grand father...No wonder I slap people for no reason.

Way more important than tracing back umpteen generations is how to you treat people today and what you're currently doing with your life. Okay, Shakespeare's blood runs through you and you're a distant relative of Warren Buffet...now what? It might be time to read a book and get that credit score out of the 300s.

I once spoke to my great uncle about my history and the insights he shed were touching and left me feeling better about myself. (shout out to Uncle Rudy) So, no doubt there is value in knowing about your past but even if you don't know your past or your past is not awe-inspiring, you can always choose to make history starting with you. And remember...charity starts at home.

By the way, Meryl Streep is my favorite actress and Eleanor is my favorite aunt.

Alpha Male For Sale

I saw a guy on The Today show on NBC telling another guy how to approach women. He told him to have good posture and walk into a room like he owns it. Bad Boy Swagger in a box. No doubt women like a confident man. I also recently had a group of women tell me the top thing they want from a man is that he be nice. Now when I say oxy, you say moron....Oxy...Moron...Oxy...Moron. I'm not saying a confident strong guy can't be nice but it's more likely that a nice guy may also prove to be confident and strong. He may not demonstrate those traits right away like James Bond. But when you think about it, most of Bond's girls die. High cost to pay for having the “perfect” guy.

Walking into a room like you own it isn't a habit of most “nice” guys. If you're really nice, why would you want to act like you own something that isn't yours? And even if you did “own” the room wouldn't you be a gracious welcoming host?

I say look for nice and hope you find confidence later. That's much better than seeking out confidence and not finding niceness. Then you're left with what has left a bitter taste in the mouth of many a woman: arrogance.

Arrogance and confidence are nearly impossible to differentiate at first. It's like telling a yam from a sweet potato. It's takes a trained eye. That's why you have to seek out good right away. You shouldn't have to excavate for goodness.

When I think back to the times when I had a swagger or pep in my step I was usually scared and overcompensating. When I'm the big dog in a room I don't act like it, I let others show it for me. Of course all this is held over from or cavemen roots. That's why guys all the world over like girls with a 0.7 hip to waist ratio (google it or yahoo it). But we don't live in caves anymore and society lets the weakest man wield the most power if his brain is powerful.

We can't totally escape our innate nature but to guys I say accept a 0.6 or 0.8 hip to waist ratio and women don't make nice guys act like jerks. What if it's permanent?

Emergency Exit Row

Many people will take the emergency exit row for extra leg room. The qualifications for said leg room?

1. Get to the airport early enough to snag one.

2. Say yes when the flight attendant asks you if you'll be willing to open the door, in case of an unplanned mass exodus.

QSN: I'm not too keen on exit row seats myself because to have one you have to give up your “under the seat in front of you” space. I needs my space! And sometimes the seats are narrower. Or they seem narrower because the arm rest extends all the way to the seat. The should call them exit boxes.

When you sit in an exit row you never think you're going to have to perform the duties you've agreed to. You certainly hope not. But I think about that plane that landed safely in the Hudson and all the emergency exit folks who had to step up. How did they fare? I think punctuality and a head nod are not enough qualifications for such an important and stressful job. We don't know how these people are under pressure.

I say we add a new criterion. If you want to sit in the emergency exit row, you have to thread a needle while people hurl insults at you. I figure if you can maintain focus and hand-eye coordination while someone bags on your favorite tweed blazer and someone else is making you rethink your hairstylist decision, then you should be all set with popping open the door when the plane touches down in a corn field in the middle of nowhere.

I've always vowed that I would take my laptop with me if I had to prematurely exit an airplane. I've got 5 unpublished blogs on this thing. The lap top goes with me! But last year, while home in LA, we had an earthquake. It lasted 30 seconds mind you and I was sitting at my laptop when it hit. I ran out of my place with no shirt on and no shoes...and no laptop.

My mom should find comfort in knowing my survival skills are still in tact and I would rather be naked in public than under a pile of rubble with my laptop.

Super Bowl Funday

So I just saw a woman on the Today show giving tips for how to eat this Super Bowl Sunday without taking in too many calories. The segment was called Game Plan For Super Bowl Eating. Game plan?! I'm telling you if we keep having people tell us things we already know we're going to regress into needing instructions to wipe in the bathroom. It's super Bowl Sunday! Eat what you want. It's one day! Eat less on Monday. And if for some reason you can't go to town, then don't eat so much.

Rocket Science it is not. We have to remind ourselves that TV is on all the time and they have to fill all that time with something. As someone who is on TV and aspires to be on it even more, I can't be too critical of the industry I want to break into. But I care about people...even if they don't deserve it and even if I seem like I don't. You always hurt the ones you love and I love you enough to say you don't need a game plan for eating at a super bowl party stupid.

Let's review this one more time. To lose weight you have to burn more calories than you take in. Stop me when it sounds like Quantum Physics. 3500 calories less per week will equal 1 pound of fat weight loss. That's 500 calories more burned, per day, than you take in. Not easy but not mystic either. Take in the same as you burn and you stay the same weight. Take in more than you burn and you gain weight. Working out helps because you burn more calories and even if you take in the same as what you burn and you don't lose weight, you may still turn fat into muscle and appear slimmer.

There is a billion dollar industry of diets and fitness equipment and dvds all based on the previous paragraph. A billion dollars based on a simple truth that we all know. Amazing. Enjoy the Super Bowl.

Who Dat!

Dwayne Perkins To The Rescue

A few months back I wrote blogs about sitting in a park in San Francisco's China town and about a guy typing outside on a typewriter on a elementary school desk. I was in San Fran performing at the famous Punch Line Comedy Club. But What I didn't mention is, I was also there to record a new comedy CD.

It had been a while since my last CD, “She Ate my Haircut” dropped and I felt it was time to lay down some of my new classic jokes. A comedy CD is basically a snapshot of your act on any given night. And just like a picture you want it to be a good one. Did I blink? Is there something in my teeth? Can we take the picture again? But unlike a picture you can't easily do an hour show over and over until you get one that you like. Imagine taking a picture for all to see and you only get one try at it. Now you've got to make sure you look your best but stay loose enough to still look like you're having fun in the picture. Great picture but why are you sweating and gritting your teeth?

My approach was to not let the crowd know I was taping a CD. I wanted organic reactions. True belly laughs, true moans, impulsive clapping. So as I hit the stage to record, my goal was to do everything in its most relaxed natural funny form. But how about the crowd? Would I have to deal with 8 drunk bachelorette parties? Or maybe there would be someone with an over the top cackle laughing hard but distracting everyone else with there snorts. Perhaps there be a frat party and guys barking or whistling at everything that struck a chord with them.

These are the occupational hazards of a Stand-Up comic. We gladly accept these challenges and routinely turn unplanned distractions into comedy gold. But when you're recording a CD for prosperity you want your written jokes to lead the way. You don't want an entire CD that seems like you had to be there to get it.

Luckily for me the San Francisco crowd that showed up the night of my taping was awesome, well behaved and ruckus in just the right way. Thanks San Fran for a great show. My San Francisco treat is now available for all to listen to. I'm and proud, honored and humbled to announce to you the release of my new CD: “Dwayne Perkins to The Rescue”

The choosing of the title is another story but in the end I think my comedy is a break from the norm. Hilarious without being cynical. Truthful without being hurtful. Much of Stand-up has gone awry. But have no fears because Dwayne Perkins is to the Rescue. :-)

Available on itunes, Amazon and www.rooftopcomedy.com