These Are My Regrets, Volume One

Hello friends, welcome to my new column: The Dap Corner. My name is Ashok Kondabolu, but people call me Dap or Dapwell. I was formerly the South Indian backup dancer for American rap group Das Racist. In an attempt to not bore anybody, work too hard, or be too creative, I’ve decided I’ll use this blessed space to share my thoughts, rants, regrets, and maybe–if you play your cards right—my sexy body.

These are my regrets, volume one.

Wooden Artist’s Model
I drunkenly bought this wooden human form mini-mannequin (or whatever it’s called) at a bric-a-brac store near my house that used to be a teenage homeless shelter. The owner told me that the first year she opened, teens would occasionally come in and ask if they could sleep there and she was like, “Eww, no way.” Well, not really, but she didn’t let them sleep there.

Occasionally I’d sit inside and read her comic books on the sofa for like an hour. This time, I noticed through the bentness that no other customers had walked in the entire time I was hanging out, in the middle of the day. Feeling bad on my way out, I decided I should buy some shit so I didn’t look like a dirtbag—the only problem being that everything they sell at the store sucked. This wooden form is the only thing that seemed “sort of cool,” so I bought it for three dollars, hoping it would fit into my current home decor and add a pseudo-artsy, boho vibe wherever it landed.

Only upon returning to my home with it did I learn two things: a.) People use it to practice drawing the human form, and b.) it’s creepy as fuck. I’ve been scared of the dark, ghosts, and aliens since I was a kid, and I keep imagining this thing moving on its own late at night and ripping my dick off. As of late, I’ve grown to love and enjoy manipulating it into various “OH, BEHAVE!” positions.

Above is my attempt to draw a running man using the artist’s model.

Issey Miyake Plantation Frock

Das Racist played the Tibet House benefit concert at Carnegie Hall with Phillip Glass, Laurie Anderson, Lou Reed, Stephin Merritt, etc. It was jam packed with rich, white people and it was awesome. We did our chart-topping hits “Rainbow in the Dark” and “Michael Jackson” with a four-piece orchestra (which definitely sounded like shit) but was maybe entertaining and then I danced around while Rahzel came out (for a second time) and beatboxed.

None of that matters at all though. A few days before the show I figured I should wear some outrageous shit since I don’t know how to do anything but almost-dance so I should just look weird as shit. I bought this piece of 100% nylon couture from the ‘80s so I could look like a brown Gustav Klimt, and wore the shit with some brown loafers. I figured I would wear it to public gatherings, award shows, etc., once again projecting the image of me as an eccentric, affluent man. Das Racist broke up less than a year later and now I'm stuck with this overpriced piece of garbage. Somebody buy this thing from me for three thousand dollars, please!

NASA Space Center Jumpsuit

A friend at East Village Radio (where we do our weekly show Chillin Island) came into possession of this space suit, which his father used to wear while working at the Visitor Center for NASA in Huntsville. I’m heavy into jumpsuits—and the idea of jumpsuits—so I bought it right away. At the time I was exclusively wearing jumpsuits on-stage as a way to combat the “HEY, LOOK AT ME!” nature of live performance. I thought if I looked like a janitor or an orderly, I could come in, do the job, get the money, talk to a few people, and roll back to the hotel right away with my duckets.

It also made it extremely easy to pack for long tours: gear (music, not drugs), jumpsuit (which I’d be wearing), underwear, and toiletries. I looked odd in the airport, but I figured fuck it, since I usually get randomly selected for a pat-down anyway. As of late I’ve been opting out of going through the Rapiscan full body scanner for the intense pat down, since I enjoy the rough cupping of my buttocks in public. Long story short, the band broke up and I don’t really need this jumpsuit anymore.

Before I’m 35 years old (I’m 28 now), I’m going to sell all my clothes and use that money to commission seven designers to create seven jumpsuits in seven colors. For rest of my life I’ll wear one of the jumpsuits on a specific day of the week. I’ll know what day a photo of me was taken by the color of the jumpsuit I am wearing. My goals are to a.) reduce vanity, b.) save money, and c.) finally achieve full eccentricity.

But mostly I love wearing jumpsuits. Jumpsuits are fun!

Dapwell really does love jumpsuits. He's on Twitter — @dapwell