Heyyyyyyy

A chart I just made.

Hey, I do voice acting!

Hunter Dyar voice acting demo reel from Hunter Dyar on Vimeo.

More information here

Album - a short film in photos

I have been working on this for about a week. Downloaded 369 photos, the video has 270 or so in it. All of the pictures are from the Instagram Community. The music is Mad Rush by Phillip Glass, which I edited for timing. I wouldn't say I created this video as much as just put the pieces together.

Ah, time to wait! The Book has been sent in.

My book, Not A Flotation Device has been sent to the distributors. In a few days, they will send it to the publishers, who will then review it and make it available for sale. It will be available for sale as an eBook in the following online stores, and available on pretty much any eReading device.

• iBookstore


• Sony


• Amazon Kindle


• Barnes&Noble


• Kobo


• Baker & Taylor


• Copia


• Gardner's


• eBookPie

Which is a lot! And totally awesome! I will also, once the book is "out", make it available for download as ePub or PDF at  hunterdyar.com, through a PayPal checkout process. So now it is time for me to wait, and focus on doing anything else. Let's hope I didn't mess this one up royally! Woohoo!

Running: Day one

I told myself when I came back from college that I would pick up running, or at least jogging, in order to stay in shape. Throughout high school I had conditioned with Squash training and Ice Hockey. In squash, I was predicted to go to college on a scholarship (before moving to Indiana [dreamcrush!]). With Hockey, I had a, uh, "Old School" coach who looked like a WWE wrestler, but older and in better overall shape. All that said, I trained pretty hard, and by the end of Senior year, I was in pretty damn good shape.

Then I went to college and didn't exercise seriously once, aside from the spare unicycle ride. I still ate healthy, slept well enough, and walked at least 5 miles every day, so I don't imagine I got terribly out of shape. That is false.

Tomorrow, I thought whimsically yesterday, tomorrow I shall go for a run! Man I am an idiot.

I woke up at 10, got out of bed at noon, and prepared for my run. NextDraft pointed me to a good article about long-distance running, which motivated me to go.

OK, I told myself. I live at 126th street. I am going to run 1 mile to 116th street, then walk back. Sounds like a good plan, shouldn't be too hard, I lied to myself.

I put on my athletic shorts, found a pair of running shoes buried depressingly deep in my closet. I hoisted my socks up high and proud, put in some earbuds, grabbed my FitBit, and walked to the intersection. I started a light run.

Shit, which leg first? Oh damn, ow! F***! I forgot to stretch! Are my legs different heights? Why am I leaning to the left? I think there is something in my shoe. My hamstrings hurt. My throat hurts. How do I breath? Should I be just breathing through my mouth? Lemme try my nose. Shit, not enough air. In nose out mouth? Nope. What? Frack! How do I do this? My arms are cramping up. My elbows are solid, should I be swinging? (Here goes a fit mom, she seems to be having no trouble at all). I watch the fit mom for technique ideas. She smiles at me as we jog past each other, she probably thought I was a pervert. But arm movement isn't critical, although I am bent over way too much. Damn slouching posture! I probably look like a grandfather attempting to flee from a home while having an asthma attack. How do people do this to themselves? I could be in my computer nest, trying to make music or practicing juggling or... doing any god damn thing else. The worst thing was when a stitch hit. These are diaphram muscle spazms that I had been plauged with during middle school Gym classes, but took a leave of absence in High School. Nope, I still got them. They are caused by my internal organs bouncing up and down and straining my other internal parts. THAT ISN'T GOOD. (Now, as I look into the issue, I realize my breathing is entirely at fault). I considered giving up, and passing out on the side of the road - or worse, picturing my old coach yelling at me. He once skated me until my legs literally gave out and I collapsed on the ice, he is a dangerously good motivator. Just as I was contemplating my options, I realized I was only 100 or so feet from the end. oh. I thought. I can do that.

I ran the mile in almost exactly 7 minutes. Oh. Not actually that bad.



I walked around, crossed the street, walked a bit, and got myself motivated. Actually I lied to myself I am feeling pretty good. I have certainly felt worse, with more in front of me. Lets do this. Lets jog back! Judging by my pace, and the music I was listening to, I ran .3 -.6 miles. Probably just under half a mile back. This latter attempt was a mistake. I felt like my sides were tearing open and being stabbed by small pointy things (concurrently). My throat decided that it would dry out, I started coughing. I felt like I was going to throw up - I think I even dry heaved a few times. When I knew I wouldn't make it, I set a visible goal (that mailbox!) and let myself stop there. Even this was too far, by any health nut's standard. My body reported it was considering giving up on my brain, which was able to keep itself motivated and kept the legs moving (a la old Coach). But just because my legs would listen to my brain doesn't mean any other part would. Stomach: "I hate you" Mouth: "nope" Lungs: "Good luck breathing without me, jerk!" . Walking back, I stopped twice for air, but forced myself to at least w

 

alk. I regretted not moving to a land filled with benches and water fountains. Walking back, the song Woody Woodpecker by Dan Deacon came on, taunting me further. As I was dealing with being laughed at continually by my music, I passed a small group of healthy-lifestyle 20 somethings from my neighborhood. One of them got a laugh at my pain. I could feel their judgement, burning at me.

I ripped off my sweaty shirt before I even got in my door, which due to collapse, I opened using primarily my face. I looked like the 'after' portrait on a TV commercial advertising gang rape. I climbed up (damn) stairs and collapsed.

 

Do it again tomorrow? Sounds like a plan!

Nook for Fire...Kobo?

I own  a Nook eReader and a Kindle Fire Tablet. I was curious if the kindle fire had a Nook app, despite the Nook Color being a direct competitor. As it turns out, the is no Nook app for Kindle Fire (on the amazon app store). But there is a Kobo app.... What's up with that, Kobo? Ignoring rivalries and providing a more complete, better experience for customers? Who do you think you are?

The Vagina Monologue

I wrote and gave a Vagina Monologue for my school's new way to end the original play, and here it is. Pardon the grammatical or spelling errors, it was written to be performed orally. Sadly, no video exists of the performance.

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Hello. My name is Hunter, and yes. I’m a guy. You are all probably very confused- what’s a penis doing on stage? He doesn’t have a vagina! And that’s true. I am not a masquerading Hermaphrodite. I do not have a vagina.

That isn’t to say I’ve never wanted one. Vagina’s are pretty cool! They are mysterious, like a grandfather clock to a child. I can look at it. I can point out the pieces, I can even tell you what those pieces are called, but I really have absolutely no clue how they works. Health class gave me the impression that vagina’s were strange alien-like tube-filled contraptions that had the power to destroy souls. While the jury is still out on the soul destroying ability of vaginas, It doesn’t need to be restated that I am naive. My naivete extends past vaginas and to the entire female body, to their brain, and their actions. I do not understand women.

For example: High heels. I have two sisters. They like to look pretty. They wear high heels because high heels make their legs look good. I don’t disagree. 2 parts confuse me. One: They are wearing a very long dress and nobody can see their good looking legs. Two) they are so uncomfortable that women end up walking like this, and then later just carrying the shoes.

I know I am not the only man who does not understand women. Other clueless men include my dad, Charlie Sheen (or chris brown), and the entire city of philadelphia. So why are men so clueless? I have a theory: Guys make friends with guys, and guys are easier to be friends with. When guys are angry, we may hurt each other physically. Girls, on the other hand, hurt each other emotionally. I will listen to no denial of that fact. Behavioral and developmental psychologists have published science (yes, science!) which shows this. The emotionally cannibalistic tween girl community makes fathers sigh and brothers groan. My older sister once got an entire class to perform the silent treatment to one poor girl as a rebuttal to her saying my sister was short. (We learned to stay on my sisters good side). The key difference is that boys, being, in general, more confrontational, tend to be easier to forgive. Once the bruise on my shoulder heals, or we get over the heated words yelled, guys are back to being friends. Girls tend to be much better than guys at making enemies for life. It’s not easy to forgive sustained, constant, and daily emotional battery. 13 year old girls walk a field of landmines filled with a precise balance of compliments and insults delivered to just the right people. It’s no wonder that girls think that guys are shallow, simple-minded ‘jock’-ish brutes! Tween girls have to think like a battlefield general 24/7! Fellow men, there is no way we can comprehend these chess grandmaster-level emotional attacks that have been employed by 13 year old girls. The US Army could learn a lot from them.

I know a lot of you are probably defensive in regards to what I have said, but I am not accusing any of you of any of that. The behavior I described of a tweenage girl is in no way a representation of a college aged girl. We have grown up and we’ve matured - we can look back and laugh over silly things we have done or felt, and that we don’t do anymore. But, here’s the thing, us guys have played witness to countless emotional attacks growing up, and preconceived notions and tendencies are a hard thing to get past. We still hang out in mostly gender-separate groups of friends. I understand a bit of this, guys live with guys, and gals live with hals, and we do extracurriculars like sports together, of course we make friends with the same gender. But why such the massive separation? Why could this be? Is it a strange underlying sexual tension? Well, maybe a bit, but that doesn’t play as big of a role as one would think. My point is, guys, and gals, do not be afraid to befriend the opposite gender! Why cut away 50% of all possible friends? Why walk into a room of unknowns and immediately clump into gender defined groups? There should be no fear of the friend-zone! The friend-zone, if you aim for it, is a fantastic place. There is nothing, or at least very little, to be afraid of people! Guys: they don’t bite! Make friends regardless of gender, and put middle school memories, antics, behaviors, and assumptions behind you. Guys, you are making friends with women, not girls. Girls - behave as the women you are! I will put up with no immature, backhanded reactions to conflict. Guys, no hasty generalizations about women and how they act!

We must get past our gender differences and start learning to be friends with each other, like a lot of us were before puberty hit. Be mature. Be friendly!

In middle school the one boy who hung out and sat at the girl table was called gay. How does that make any sense? . . . doesn’t matter? It is no longer the case! We can hang out and be friends with each other! It’s not that hard!

So I conclude. Girls, start talking to a guy without thinking he is flirting or whatever. Guys... just start talking to girls.

I’m Hunter Dyar and thanks for listening.