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I am an alchemist of the surreal stumbling through the artist, healer, actor, ad man, mad man, puppeteer, photographer, filmmaker, writer, painter, pirate, poet, sit-down comedian, alternapornographer, vintage futurist, rule-breaker and recovering hypochondriac/narcissist who is looking for his sixteenth minute of fame.


My name is Donavan Freberg, AKA Son Of Stan. I am 37 years old, going on seven going on seventy going on the seventies. I am a native of Los Angeles. I didn't get the name "Donavan" till I was 5 years old and Santa Claus named July. The Christmas tree was still up, it's bone dry branches adorned with flags and firecrackers. I used to get a present every parents called it a "morning toy" and said that it was a reward for waking up. I started drinking coffee at four. I've never stopped since. Milk, no sugar.

As for how they decided on Donavan, my sister is named Donna, as was my mother. My dad had writers block so he just elongated Donna. Until then, they called me baby boy, a name I shared with the family dog, a freakishly small but very cute Yorkshire terrier. I had bells on my booties. The dog had bells on his collar. My mother would yell "BABY! WHERES MOMMAS BABY?" from her room, and me and the dog would come jingling through the halls of the giant spanish mansion that I grew up in. We would climb into her double king sized bed and eat cheese-whiz and ritz crackers while watching Magnum P.I. Before meeting my dad, my mother worked with Frank Sinatra and hung out with JFK at his beach house. She smoked five packs of cigarettes a day and wore Chanel. My dad fashioned impromptu puppets out of dinner rolls at fancy dinner parties. Ray Bradbury taught me how to make a hot fudge sundae.

My childhood was a Wonka infused cross between the Osbournes & The Royal seen through the eyes of Tim Burton, David Lynch, and Woody Allen. My parents used to vacation at The Beverly Hills Hotel. We lived 1/2 block away. When I was four, my father would take me for pony rides (now the Beverly Center) at 2AM. As a small child, I had long blonde hair, powder pale skin, and bags under my eyes the size of Louis Vuitton steamer trunks. As a baby, I cried whenever I saw a clown. I once got a hernia from lifting my bicycle. I am allergic to cats. Blue cheese makes my lips break out. Sometimes I sit down to pee. I love the smell of dry cleaning fluid.

Shaun Cassidy and Debby Boone were my babysitters. My sister's first kiss was from David Cassidy. My first kiss was from an Elvis impersonating lesbian tap dancer. My nanny was an internationally recognized threat assessment and stalking specialist. My other nanny was a classical guitarist who wore black leather gloves and used to take me on adventures to abandoned buildings. Grappling hooks and night-vision goggles were employed. I used to cut school, and the principal would call and chastise my mom, who would quickly retort, "you're lucky he shows up at all...he's busy getting a real bug off". I had sleepovers at Princess Leah's house. Paul Simon was there, as was Jack Nicholson. His breath smelled like peanuts (Jack's). I never got close enough to Paul to smell his breath, but I do remember that he had very small hands. Carrie had a bird named bill-as in Murray. I almost killed it by feeding it a frozen banana. Danny Ackroyd once came over and when I saw him I said, "The Toilet Is Upstairs". I thought he was the plumber. I was baptized in Pat Boone's pool. I drew on the walls. When the refrigerator got full of old food, my mother put a giant padlock on it and threw it in the garage. Our basement was haunted and filled with enough memorabilia and junk to fill the Rose Bowl. Once, in high school while shooting a homemade horror film down there, I found the original sheet music to "Somewhere Over The Rainbow". The man who wrote the screenplay to The Wizard Of Oz lived there before us, and died after tripping over his schnauzer (named toto) on our front staircase. We had an olympic sized swimming pool that filled with mud every time it rained. My dad took me to the park in the middle of the night and swung me in the moonlight. If it was cloudy, he used a flashlight. I was the voice of Charlie Brown when I was seven years old, and Linus at six. When I was 16, Drew Barrymore flirted with me in P.E. class and asked me if I had any pot. I didn't. I wish I had. I was parodied on Saturday Night Live. I once sold Encyclopedia Britannica's on national television. Whoopie Goldberg asked me for my autograph at the Mall. I have over a thousand dollars worth of camping equipment. I have never been camping, and don't plan on it. I have a very sensitive stomach. I love hot dogs and Coca-Cola. I am obsessed with luggage. I don't like traveling. I have seven gore-tex jackets. I live in Southern California. I was married to a Scottish girl from a town of 100 people. She would punch me in the stomach as a way of telling me she wanted to have sex. I had a dog that ate light bulbs and tried to mount my pet rabbit. The rabbit's name was uncle bob. It died of a heart attack after I put pink floyd on at too high a volume. No relation to my real uncle Bob, who was a colonel in the Strategic Air Command and told me he saw UFO's. At eight, I shit in my pants at Rosemary Clooneys house in front of Dean Martins son while we were picking strawberrys together in aunt Rosie's garden. Then I went scuba diving in her black bottom pool with her two golden retrievers and got hypothermia. When I was thirteen, I dressed in a suit and tie and carried around a pocket bible pretending I was a preacher. Frank Zappa's son once threw up french fries...on my face. Earlier that same evening, I crashed my BMW into a runaway truck ramp on Mulholland drive while racing Tom Cruise. At eight, my brother in law taught me to fire a Heckler & Koch MP5 Submachine gun. At nine, we went out to the desert and fired a rocket from a portable launcher into a car. The smoke burned my eyes and I was partially deaf for nearly a week. Star Tour buses would stop in front of my house and I would go out to wave at them dressed in a skin-tight leather jumpsuit with Elvis glasses on. I loved watering the lawn and wore red rain boots every single day, with a matching red cape. At ten, I hugged Jim Henson. His beard was scratchy and he smelled like doughnuts and coffee. His speaking voice sounded just like kermit. He was tall. He was lovely.

I was rich in a past life. Things are a bit leaner now, but I am rich in other ways. I still however, use the same fancy french cologne as Ozzy Osbourne (my former neighbor). I still sleep in 400 thread count sheets and buy my coffee at Graffeo. A boys gotta have his indulgences. And I still get asked for my autograph. Mostly because people think I'm Phillip Seymour Hoffman or Rain Wilson. I sign.

My older sister's name is Donna Jean. She is a brilliant writer who hyperventilates when she gets into elevators. She is married to a deconstruction worker/post-modern theologist that used to be a roadie for AC/DC. She has a puppy that looks like a stuffed animal. My Niece is named Rylee. She is like wonder woman. I adore her.

As for my parents...My mother died almost ten years ago. I miss her beyond measure. My dad estranged himself from the family shortly after my moms death. I miss him beyond measure as well.

I have been in therapy for the last 20 years. My shrink is like Maude, I am like Harold. I'm a piece of work in progress.

I have ADD, OCD, IBS, Low Blood Sugar and a touch of PTSD. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and listen to my heart with a stethoscope. I read the DSM-IV for fun. I also read pornographic comic books. I hold a doctorate in homeopathic medicine and am in the process of getting a double masters in Chinese Medicine and Clinical Psychology. This process has lasted over a decade. I never got my bachelors degree and didn't graduate high school. I skipped the fourth grade and never went to kindergarten. On the first day of school, I sat next to Angelina Jolie. She smelled like baby powder and had a book of puffy stickers. My mother came with me to the first week of school. I wore my cape and carried a purse. I still do.

And that is just the tip of the Baby Boy Freberg.

I have poured most of my adult years into studying acupuncture, tonic herbalism, classical and complex homeopathy, nutrition and counseling psychology. I have spent a great deal of time flying and adventuring as an herb pirate in the magical land of the mostly bullshit. I have recently come to the conclusion that I'd rather put my former new age feet on the ground and make my living as an actor, writer, advertising man, photo maker and general artist extraordinaire while using my healing skills free of charge.

Hmmm...what else to say?

I am aware of and believe in wonder, mystery and magic. I love great books, movies, art, plays, poetry, music, photographs and all things that mirror our humanity back to us and make us feel. I am a hope-full romantic and a cynical optimist. For kicks I like to- Fight conformity, open my mind and others minds, be kind to strangers, fight for the underdog, give gifts to people who aren't expecting them, defend people who cannot do it for themselves, hang out with old people, children, and other wonder-filled creatures, take decadent afternoon naps under big puffy comforters, eat popsicles in the rain, Hug big trees and get all barky, jump into pools with my clothes on (or off) , amaze and astound myself and others with great feats of utter wackiness and complete stupidity, act instead of react (a daily challenge), spin untill I fall down on the grass in a pile of giggles, write love letters with a fountain pen and seal them in wax, go to the grocery store in my pajamas, flail, dance a jig, wonder, ponder, render, wander, write, read books, watch and make movies, make stuff, take photographs, swing by moonlight, LIVE! ! !

That is when I'm not feeling depressed at the insane state of the world, nostalgic, pessimistic, crabby, tearful, messy, scared shitless, narcissitic, self-absorbed, distracted, flatulent, tired, wired, angry, confused and generally anti-social....hiding underneath the covers, whining, battling ennui and practicing my self-depracation/gratification.

If you read through this entire bio without needing a cookie, a nap, or a prozac, I think I might be in love with you.

Even if you did need one.

Perhaps especially if you did.


music, npr, advertising, naps, ice cream, roald dahl, cheese, magazines, egon schiele, toys, david lynch, hugs, coca-cola, cartoons, puppets, dreaming, garbage, lomo, sark, girl talk, soap, dinosaurs, erotica, interrupting people, putting needles in people, film (making & watching), eastern philosophies, pulses & tongues, voyeurism, tonics, cutlets, cunnilingus, sitting down to pee, carl jung, oliver sachs, microscopes, microphones, masturbation (solo or mutual), glue sticks, giant bathtubs, giant robots, diane arbus, lisa yuskavage, found magazine, yoshitomo nara, junko mizuno, marcel dzama, the force, the moca store, r. crumb, crayons, superheroes, cigarettes, bubble gum, barbarella, daniel clowes, wes anderson, shel silverstein, cs lewis, japanese pop culture, puffy stickers, permission slips, gurus, gore-tex, photo booths, skeleton keys, dragon bones, lucky cats, shooting myself, i ching, qi, 4 star public toilets, digital cameras, oompa loompas, big friendly giants, boba (tea & fett), macintosh (the computer and the raincoat), junior mints, depth of field, the museum of jurassic technology, friendster, werewolves, zombies & vampires, moonlight, flashlights, mini-dv, naked happy girls, jesus (the cool, compassionate, hippy jesus that hung out with tramps and hookers and did magic tricks, not the right wing poster child of neo-nazi fundamentalists), krishna (who wouldn't love a guy that had a harem of concubines and blue colored skin?), buddha, swings, slides, spooning, swimming pools, caffeine, 24 hour room service, free love, tea parties, terriers, yo-yo's, magic wands (harry potter and hitachi), mad hatters, gelato, spin the bottle, joysticks, roller skating, feathered hair, girls with glasses, tree-houses, tennenbaums, over spending, running late, self-depracation, self-gratification, chanting, whining, hypochondria., writing, photography, gadgets, books, psychology, central park, comic books, muppets, dark chocolate, video games, acting, singing, annie hall, polaroids, google, fried chicken, postcards, turtles, edward gorey, miniatures