hari om… so… we last left our heroine in bombay… (that sounds so strange to say–like we stashed our smack in an alley in india) she was just finishing a performance of her new comedy show “eat, pray, laugh” along with her comedian friend samson at the jewish community center. she–ok, i–was worried that the indian jews wouldn’t really enjoy or understand the racier bits of my indian travel tales… but it turns out that those were the parts they enjoy the most. i capture most of the show on my awesome canon elph camera, which i then leave in a rickshaw the next day, along with all the other photos i took in england of jasper and i. jasper is six weeks old and adorable.

letting go

i am sad for a couple of days about losing the photos. and the camera too. it served me well on my last trip to india. so now i am learning lesson number 8,341 on letting go. but like i’m actually getting it. i mourned the loss, and then i got that, hey, this shit is all temporary. and it’s a great addition to my losses. meaning, now i don’t have a laptop, a cell phone, or a camera to distract me from what’s right in front of my nose. nothing exists but here and now. and what i’m seeing in the here and now with my eyes is also marginal on the reality scale.

whispering woods

co-incidence of strange co-incidences, the method acting teacher i studied with for four years, who has never been to india, is in bombay the exact same week that i’m here. i visit him at the film school where he’s teaching and sit in on a couple of classes. the studio is called whispering woods, and it’s like the canyon in LA. lush, green, undeveloped. i even get to do a deathbed scene while a kind of famous (so i’m told) actor is in the class. talked with some of the other professors there and the head of the film school and might get to teach a class on standup the next time i’m in the hood.

anandashram

i remember sam and his sister alice dropping me off at the train station, but i don’t remember anything about the ride. all i know is that it was overnight and i arrived in khanangad as the sun was coming up. one of my kirtan heroes, krishna das, told me after a concert that there’s a place in india where they chant “om sri ram jai ram jai jai ram” continuously. an ashram called anandashram. so that’s where i’m going. i arrive and somehow i’m not in the guest book, but they let me stay anyway–give me a private room and everything. and it’s a very special time to be there because a saint from tamil nadu (a state in india) is visiting for several days named thuli baba. i’ve never heard of him until now, but it’s very exciting. after each meal, i have the opportunity to have satsang and prasad with his group of devotees. the skinniest, frailest, loudest cat i’ve ever seen curls up next to thuli baba every day. they tell me that the cat was a guru in the last life and is working out some heavy karma for the world by coming back as this cat and not eating.

sun and moon

friends of my friend haridas bring me to the ocean to see the sunset and the full moon rise on the opposite side of the earth. i climb the mountain behind the ashram and leave all my worries there hanging in a tree. letting go for the 8,342nd time. you know what they say… “8,342nd time’s a charm!” the next day (or the day before… who knows!) my german friend sandra and i are walking back from a beautiful little temple in a field and we pass the cows’ maternity ward. on the ground is a five-minute old calf being licked by its mother. they milk the mamma cow and i peer into the giant milk pail of colostrum saying, “whoa.” “you like?” the guy says. the next morning they knock on my door with some cake for me made from coconut milk, sugar, and this thick cow colostrum–let me tell you–i have never eaten anything more rich. plus, when i was trying to “om” it started coming out as “moo” that day.

i joke!

i’m getting daily two-hour massages from these two young women with medicinal hot oil. after five days, it actually gets to be kind of boring! they don’t speak much english, so i’m cracking them up with my mime humor for two hour straight. “cheery” means smile in malayalam. and “tamasha” means joke. (these words strangely come in handy later when i’m being harassed at the train station.) “ichally” means ticklish and “idally” is a kind of breakfast rice dumpling. and they kind of rhyme so i’m just saying “ichally, idally, ichally, idally…” there’s nothing funnier than jokes between people who don’t speak the same language. i’m joking with gestures about how the oil they’re using smells like cooking oil and that i’m afraid all this basting means they’re going to cook me for dinner… and on and on…… stuff that’s way funnier without words.

i know by ths time in my trip that i’ll be spending more time in india in this life. it calls.

i hope your day of giving thanks was full of grace. i have returned from my time in india and i’m back in the bay, so blessed in so many ways. have a gander at the next installment of my adventures below… more to come about Tiruvanamalai in my next note..

In the meantime, I invite you to join Suzette Hibble, Erin Brandt and I, for the next Creativity, Sexuality, and Spirituality Workshop! Please register for the December 10th workshop event with me if you’re interested–soon–it is filling up–only a few spots left!

Namaste,
Alicia

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Dear Fellow Humans from the year 2009,

As 2008 passes like a gall stone, I’m laid up for the first day of the new year, high on early episodes of The West Wing and the belief that the inauguration of our new president will rescue this country from free-fall. It’s been an endlessly interesting year for us all. Electing our first black president, losing 40% of the capital in the stock market, seeing Tina Fey look so much like Sarah Palin, I can’t tell who’s who.

Personally, I’ve had an interesting year as well. It began with a ten-day silent meditation course in India. You all followed my travels throughout India, Thailand, and Cambodia for three months starting last February. I gathered parts and memories of myself scattered in many lifetimes during that trip. I returned home with a powerful sense of independence, maturity, and knowing that no matter where I am in the entire world, I can take care of myself and be happy. Then I came home and saw my parents. (And forgot again. Ha!)

I also joined a year-long training course for life coaching and workshop leading in August, and began coaching people in creativity and spontaneity. After doing standup, working and playing with others to break through to what is most true for them is my favorite thing to do. And after almost two months of work on my solo show, “The Punchline,” I played to sold out houses at the Fringe Festival. It was an honor to win Best Female Solo at the Festival and be selected for the Solo Show Festival in Marin in February (the 24th.)

I’m sending out this new year’s wish to you because I want to reach out and connect with you. I’ve been very affected by the intensity and fear of the world’s events–the end of easy oil, the reluctance of auto companies to completely re-invent themselves in order to protect the environment, the blindness and greed of the mortgage industry, and the sense of scarcity the downturn in the economy has had on us. And the message I want to convey is that it’s time to open our eyes to what’s really happening in the world. And to take a stand. To speak what we believe, and to align our actions with our values and our words. But I also want to say that there is so much more to life than the what’s in the news. Our own thoughts and actions are what truly build the fabric of reality, moment by moment. And together, we have the power to focus our thoughts to send an asteroid crashing into Bernard Madoff’s living room. (But read some of my beloved Krishnamurti and you’ll realize we are all Bernard Madoff.)

So stay tuned for info about my gigs, laughter yoga classes, and workshops in the coming year. I’ll be premiering the full version of Eat Pray Laugh! at some point, and I’m also putting together a down and dirty old-school standup set for the clubs.

To 2009, may all beings be happy.

-Alicia

http://www.aliciadattner.com
http://www.creativeheartcoaching.com
http://www.monkpunk.org
http://www.examiner.com/x-453-SF-Comedy-Examiner
http://www.youtube.com/AliciaDattner

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W. Kamau Bell’s solo comedy show, The W. Kamau Bell Curve: Ending Racism in about an Hour*, now in its third or so run at The Shelton Theatre in San Francisco is pioneering work.  Bell, a standup comedian who got his start in Chicago, the improv capital of the States, developed his conversational, yet sharp, poignant style at Cobb’s Comedy Club and The Punch Line.  But rather than tell you a bit about the show, which you can see in SF, Oakland, or Berkeley, I’m going to tell you a bit about Kamau, who you might also see in SF, Oakland, or Berkeley.

I met Kamau in 1998 around the time that he moved to San Francisco.  There used to be something like an “internship” at Cobb’s, back when Cobb’s was located in The Cannery in the Fisherman’s Wharf district.  Every six months or so, an up and coming comic was chosen to host one of the three weekday showcases as well as host the weekend show once a month, which added up to a lot of stage time one of the two best clubs in the city.  Kamau had gotten the prized “internship” just as Cobb’s was getting ready to move to Columbus and Lombard.

On of my favorite bits of his back then was about the omnipresence of African Americans in popular culture.  It went like this:

“What’s happened to black people in the media?  In the 60’s we had Martin Luther King, Jr. we had Sammy Davis, Jr.,  We used to be everywhere!  You couldn’t swing a nightstick without hitting a black person upside the head.  In the 70’s…”

Some time around 2005, Kamau became a sort of mentor in my standup work.  We’d meet every week and work on bits, listen to great comics and talk about different realms of skill and how the greats did what they did.  What we had in common was that we both approached standup with a desire to speak a more complex truth than is sometimes found in standup, which is hard, because funny is usually simple and short.

With Kamau climbing the ranks of San Francisco standup along with fellow comedians like Dan Rothenberg, Joe Klocek, and Dan Gabriel (and many others), he moved from opening, to featuring, to the honored position of headlining at The Punch Line about two years ago.  His first headlining shows were especially packed and full of heat–Kamau, like Robert Mac before him, had gotten a really short hair cut, and almost immediately started headlining.  Coincidence?  You be the judge.  When Dave Chapelle came back from his trip in Africa, he was doing a lot of sets at The Punch Line, and Kamau performed with him frequently.  Kamau also appeared on Comedy Central’s Premium Blend and recorded his first standup album One Night Only around that time.

So, along the way, Kamau and Kevin Avery had been doing the movie reviews on the Live 105 Morning Show, putting out a podcast (”Siskel & Negro“), working on a screenplay (Kevin) and an internet cartoon (Kamau) and Kamau directed by Bruce Pachtman’s show “Don’t Make Me Look Too Psychotic.”  One thing led to another, and Kamau started teaching The Solo Performance Workshop for people who want to develop a one-person-show or monologue.  Kamau just won Best Comedian 2008 in the SF Weekly, and I’m hoping he takes his show on the road especially because he’s got a plethora of opinions and insights about Obama that make it a perfect time to showcase this work.

What I have always admired about Kamau’s work is that he articulates the questions of race in a genuine way that’s not clichéd.  Especially in The Bell Curve, Kamau thinks he expresses more anger about race than he actually does; on stage he is affable, engaging, and charming.  Kamau’s move from standup into the solo show is a courageous step.  Not only does he re-write his show each week according to what’s in the news, he also continues to develop both the standup and the theatrical elements of the show.  I look forward to seeing future iterations as they unfold.

The W. Kamau Bell Curve in the East Bay:
Pro Arts, 550 Second Street, Oakland
August 2, 3, 9, 10
Buy tickets here

* Directed by Martha Rynberg, The W. Kamau Bell Curve is a co-production of Bruce Pachtman Productions AND Lisa Marie Rollins’ Third Root Production

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Most people remember George Carlin for flaunting the unspeakable Seven Dirty Words on live television. Sure, he pushed the envelope and paved the way for comics like Richard Pryor and Eddie Murphy. Yeah, he was Saturday Night Live’s first guest host in 1975. Of course he was a prolific life-long comedian who put out 25 albums.But what I’m loving today about Carlin is something else.

I was listening to Carlin’s interview on Fresh Air with Terry Gross, and I thought I heard Deepak Chopra talking. Having just returned from traveling for a few months in India, I felt the reverberations of Indian philosophy in his words. He told Terry about his philosophy of molecular connection to all things.

(I’m paraphrasing here) Terry Gross: “Is there anything you do turn to to help provide a sense of meaning… or where you fit in or what are you doing here?”

George Carlin: “Some time ago I figured out with the help of some reading that I can’t recall now that, if it’s true that we’re all from the center of a star, everything atom in each of us from the center of a star, then we’re all from the same thing, and even a coke machine or a cigarette butt on the street in Buffalo are made out of atoms that came from a star. They’ve all been recycled thousands of times as have you and I. So, if that is true, and I am everywhere in the universe, in an extended sense, and therefore, it’s only me out here, so what is there to be afraid of? What is there that needs solace-seeking? Nothing. There’s nothing to be afraid of, because it’s all us. So, I just have that as a backdrop, and I don’t have to go to it or think of it consciously. I’ve kind of accepted the idea that I’m perfectly safe and that life, nature, have waves and troughs, ups and downs, left and right, black and white, night and day, fall and winter, positive and negative. Everything has an opposite. If I have a bad time, I’ll have a good time coming. If it’s a good time, I’m prepared to have a bad time to sort of pay for it. So, nothing really upsets me.”

Terry Gross: “…It’s kind of like a mix of narcissism and mysticism.”

George Carlin: “The trouble is, we’ve been separated from being that universe by being born we’ve been given a name and an identity and being individuated and separated from the oneness, and that’s what religion exploits…”

I saw Carlin for the first time on HBO’s Comic Relief. When all the other eight year old girls were devouring Ramona Quimby, Age 8 books I was voraciously taking in Comic Relief over and over again, laughing at jokes I didn’t yet understand.

I loved the sketches Robin Williams, Whoopi Goldberg, and Billy Crystal did. There was a parade of comedians… Gary Shandling, Tony Danza (who told a street joke about the farmer and his favorite three-legged pig.) Sid Caesar did some physical comedy.

And then there was Carlin’s routine on Stuff. With his five minutes, he packed in more jokes than most comics at clubs today. This quintessential rant on our attachment to the physical stuff that makes us feel at Home was truly brilliant.

He talked a mile a minute, he nailed every neurosis, and hit every emotional note with masterful facial punctuation. It somehow spoke to my inner cranky old guy in mid-life crisis. My parents are sort of packrats and junk-recycling artists, and whenever we traveled, it seemed we’d take enough extra stuff to set up an entire household on vacation.

This was the first time someone had taken my childhood thoughts and feelings about my parents junk-collecting and how out of control I felt, and encapsulated them into short bursts of hilarious insight in that inimitable comedian way of “saying what we’re all thinking.”

Listening to him gave me that sense of connectedness and oneness that Carlin talks about with Terry. And, along with Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, George Carlin was one of the first deeply imprinted artistic influences that made me say, “That’s what I want to do.”

FYI: And in case you missed it, here’s Carlin talking about death on YouTube.

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I like the Comfort Zone. I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want you to know how much I enjoy the sense of safety and security afforded to me by living in one of the richest places on earth. It’s comfortable, in fact, to be pretty rich (e. g. a hot shower or latte any time I want, access to almost any kind of education I want, academic or otherwise, all the free white-out I can use in a 10-minute frenzy at the copy place). But it’s also comfortable to be not super-rich… always having to discern who are the best organizations to give your money to and always having to take time to let people pay you for the great ideas coming out of your head, constantly producing all this value. Value coming out of your pores. People are bottling and selling your sweat like in The Jerk. You’re trying to get some peace and quiet and people are studying how you sleep and rest so richly.

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