All my life, I've been hip. Or wait, hip ain't even hip enough a word. More like: fresh, fly, funkadocious even. Depending on the year, the resume varies. In 84, I was bad; in 85, I was rad. In the non-quad, I was flexin'; but in 2001, I was flossin' -- or excuse me, I BE flossin'.
Def. Dope. Sick. Stupid. Or (as Snoop would say) stizupid. All adjectives that aptly apply to this big baller/shot caller reppin' the bay. Since my exit from the womb, I've been�keeping�it�real.I'm sorry. I can't do this.
This is not "keeping it real."
Okay, the real scoop. The downlow is as follows: I've never been hip, alright? There. I apologize for frontin', but when I clicked open the job posting, I gotta admit, I climaxed. Never had I read a job description that so perfectly suited me. It was like peepin' the personal of a soul mate. And so I decided I'd do whatever I had to inorder to snag this soul mate of a positiion - even if that entailed perpetrating as a player, when in reality, I'm nothing but a two-bit player hater. But as I was gushing forth such vainglorious prose a few seconds prior, my refractory period hit and a pang of guilt ensued. And now, after some serious Jerry McGuire type introspection, I'm left with my decision to quit the fabrications and - really - keep it real.
Please allow me to revise my opening paragraphs regarding my history of hipness. Since my exit from the womb, I have never been fresh, fly, or funkadocious. Nor have I been def, dope, dizope, etc. Sick and stupid? Perhaps, but in slightly different contexts.
Now before you so quickly dismiss me as a candidate, please, peep my philosophical perspective one time before hitting that delete. The way I view it, my dearth of innate style can be viewed as an advantage.
Let me explain:
When being off the hook or off the heezay doesn't come to one as effortlessly as it does to others, that unfortunate soul puts forth aggonizing effort to compensate for his shortcomings. According to the knowledge Darwin dropped back in his day, in order for an organism to survive, it must adapt to its envorinment. Environment, in my case, consists of clubs, bars, car shows, concerts, DJ battles, raves etc. Now while at first I stuck out like a spontaneous, unwelcomed boner (of Dirk Diggler proportions) at these aforementioned venues, I studied strenuously to learn how to blend in as just another incognito head. In the wee hours of every morning, I inculcated my mind with the tricks of the hip. I memorized the E-40 Charlie Hustle dictionary, rewrote Source articles in tagger fonts, took fieldtrips to raves and underground shows, went to sleep with OutKast on repeat, meditated to DJ Shadow and Qbert, and utilized Del and Saafir lyrics as my daily mantras. I've studied Generation X and Y vernacular like an obsessed linguistics major (on speed), and after years of dedicated focus, I have mastered the perfect balance of idioms, ebonix, intellectual banter, drug-related anecdotes, underground references, and musical allusions that makes up the sacred and esoteric lexicon of the San Francisco underground.
Although in person, I will be forever cursed with my nervous fumbling and mumbling and stumbling and twitching and bitching and itching (damn excema!), as a writer protected behind the camoflauge of the page and printed text, I can excel as the bonafide mack baller I truly am - beneath all my blubber and babbling.
So tell me, whose gonna be more hungry to live vicariously through a hip written voice than this insecure scribe whose been twitching and fiending for validation and redemption eversince he got laughed off the tile in 83 for a back spin gone retardedly awry? I beg for the opporutunity to outlet my repressed freshness, because I tell you, pain and insecurity is the writer's fuel. The writer takes such anguish and ferments it, molds it, refines it, and then turns it into piercing prose. " Hip writer" is an oxymoron; writers are devoid of suaveness by definition, and it is this paucity that lures writers to the refuge of the written word in the first place. I forewarn that if you select a writer whose demeanor is a bit too diggable, his personality a tad too perfect, the result will be smug, souless writing. You need someone with a few demons, someone with a less than healthy psyche. Forget foolz who likes to write; you need a neurotic who needs to write. Someone who clings to his pen like an addict to his needle, like an emcee to his mike, like a DJ to his cross fader. Simply stated, you need me.
Please note: although I keep reiiterating my lack of fonzy-freshness, don't be decieved. Just cuz I'm ain't dope don't mean I'm ain't down. Although socially inept, I got the 411 on the 415. The entire east bay as well - I know it like the palm of my hand. From B-town and the biggetty biggetty Oak to the rest of the nickle & dime getting their shouts. Frequenting all the hot spots on the regular, I stay abreast of all the ish' in the yay area. Whether it be 1015 or Sound Factory or Yoshi's or Blake's or the Up & Down or Abzolut or Justice League, whether I'm bobbin my head to the Living Legends crew at the Martime, swaying my hips to the scratch picklz, skipping in circles to __trance dj__, I manage to immerse myself in all the various venues that no' kali has to offer. And since shorties are never floatin' my direction at these funcadellic functions, I never have any curvacious distracitons impeding my observations. Feeling out the vibe rather than the opposite sex, I'm able to return home with clear, zen-like understanding of each event, which then allows me as a writer to describe the ambiance of each attended gala with precise, idiosyncratic clarity.
As far as writing skills:
Like D'angelo, I make ladies (and fellas) lust in anticipation for my words. But unlike Mr. Voodoo/Dreamy Eyes, my seductive strenghts don't stem from crooning and swooning on stage while caressing chiseled abs, but from carefully selecting and juxtaposing and rejuxtaposing words on paper - while rubbing my jutting gut. D'angelo might have his swagger on the stage, but my sex-appeal comes forth on the page. Tittilating with t adjectives, tantilizing with verbs, and then terrorizing with metaphorical transitions, words aren't only my aphrodiacs, but my ammunition too. Or as the late Notorious BIG once so eloquently stated, "MY mind's my nine, my pen's my mack ten."
In addition to my verbal skillz, I have an inscisive understanding of the pop/underground dichotomy, and such understanding allows me to elegantly fuse the two worlds more seamlessly than Q-bert on a beat juggle. If requested, I can break the damn of the counter culture (damn this! damn that!) and let the main stream gush forth and coalesce with the previously exclusive estuaries of the underground into one, unified oasis of chillin' H20. My all-inconclusive approach will guarantee no crew gets marginilzied. It'll be Brittney Spear fanatics, gothic misanthropes, suburbanite skaters, swinging' dot commers, freestylin' b-boys and rastafarians and ravers all hand in hand, singing the 2001 funk/punk/techno/hip hop/ska rendition of "We are the World" -- or better yet, "We are the Sucka Free City."
Moreover, my ideal age of 24 bisects the 18-30 demographic staight down the middle. This provides me with the perfect balance of edgy irreverance and worldly, old school maturity that one needs in order to reach both ends of the age spectrum. I'll be able to pack paragrahs with testosterone-filled flash without sacrificing refinement and class. In one line, boasting Lil' Bow Wow and Little Kim; and in the next, reminiscing Run DMC and the Real Roxanne.
As far as experience:
Script writing is my calling and was my full time job for a year (working for myself of course). I've written three feature length screenplays, all approximately 120 pages long and registered with the Writer's Guild of America. One screenplay received interest from Echo Rock productions in Los Angeles, and I currently maintain correspondence with Dirk Blackman, the producer of EchoRock, regarding possible future projects. Richard Welschler, the co-producer of Five Easy Pieces (Acamademy award nominee in 1979), served as my teacher and mentor and wrote me a letter of recommendation. I directed a popular studio perfomrance titled Stuff. I interned with Chimpanzee Productions and renowned visual installation artist, Thomas Harris, in the independent production entitled Alchemy, which viewed at the New Langton Arts Museum of San Francisco. Jonathon Ramos, creator of the widely circulated documenatry on filipino and Hip hop, is a close friend, and we've collaborated on a few projects including a basketball high light reel for Jesse Hodge, a legendary playground baller in B-town. I wrote, filmed, directed, and edited many short video productions. I worked with I've created a portfolio of 15 speculative print advertisements filled with catchy tag lines and copy for products ranging from Rogaine to Nike. As a poet, I've been amassing a collection for years and was once lucky enough to have the honor of reciting several poems in the house of worldrenowned poet, Quincy Truope, who wrote Miles Davis autobiography. I've studied all the scriptwriting books and have a keen understanding of all the necessary elements of a good script: character, story, dialogue, action, and the seamless integration of each into one unified, concise story that constantly moves forward with poignant precision. I'd be ecstatically willing to send writing samples if requested. From screenplays to short stories, poems to print ads, my words are quivering in giddy anticipation to pose naked for you.
Finally:
I noticed that my ambitions coincide with that of the company's: we're both determined to get famous first locally, then nationally, and then alas, on the global tip. As a writer of bomb status, I'm confident I'll explode onto the scene in due time. But because we're headed in the same luminous direction, I'm hoping we can make the journey together. Talent is drawn to talent, so I'm sure we'd mesh well and click with Wu Tang chemistry. It is my belief that if we unite, we can bank some big faces and share many cha chings and bling blings in the future.
In closing, I'd like to share with you an old bay area proverb that was first uttered by a sage erudite by the name of JT the Bigger Figure. "Game recognize game in the bay, mayn." Is it true? I think so. And because I'm a such devout believer in this addage, I'll be expecting to hear from you soon.
-DeLaSeoul
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Star Trek Gamma Quadrant
Average Rated 6.27 out of 10 Smileys by Fabrux (with four eps posted)
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"Oh, yes, screw logic, let's go for a theory with no evidence!"
-Omega 11:48am, Jan. 19th, 2001
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"The candidate who slimed John McCain in the primaries and smeared Al Gore in the general election is now the president who pledges to elevate the nation's tone and bring civility to our discorse. Kind of like Michael Corleone brought peace to the mob by killing the heads of the other four families."
--Paul Begala, Is Our Children Learning?
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