Cell Phones, Beepers, and Other Electronic Devices

-- Written six years ago --

"Cell Phones, Beepers, and Other Electronic Devices"

CAMILE: Look at this! Would you look at this? One intermission. I know for a fact this play is three hours long. They expect us to get by with one intermission?

CLAUDETTE: Well, what do you know? Helen Richardson has gotten herself another lead role. You know, I don’t understand why they think she’s so great.

CASSANDRA: This is so wonderful. I mean, isn’t it just wonderful to be spending a night in an actual theater? It’s so cultured.

CAMILE: Now, if it were two hours and thirty minutes, they could get away with only one intermission. I could survive that. But with three hours, the play should be broken up into three parts, and you should have a break after each part!

CLAUDETTE: God knows she has no believability. She talks like an actress saying lines. (Imitating HELEN, very overdone.) Well look at me, talking like an actress.

CASSANDRA: Doug thinks I wasted my money getting a season subscription. But then again, Doug’s idea of culture is a movie where somebody’s head gets shot off by Bruce Willis. Well, I said, at least our children will have ONE cultured parent to guide them.

CAMILE: The intermission is the oasis of a play. If the play’s good, it comes quickly and sometimes you don’t even need it. But if the play is bad, you need the intermission just to keep you sane, because leaving would be totally inappropriate.

CLAUDETTE: Now if I was a director here, I would take great pride in NOT casting Helen Richardson. She would show up for the audition, and I would say, 'Sorry Helen, you’re not getting into MY play just because you’ve been with this theater company since the Great Depression.' Imagine the look on her face…(Laughs to herself.)

CASSANDRA: Now I don’t plan on getting stuffy, mind you. I said right off the bat that if there was anything I didn’t like, I wasn’t going to pretend to like it just so as to go along with the high-brow crowd. For instance, that absurdist drama they’re doing here next month; I already know I’m going to hate that.

CAMILE: Sometimes I get so claustrophobic watching plays. Just knowing that an actor is right there saying lines, trying so hard to keep themselves in the moment, and none of it is real! It makes me just want to storm the stage and scream at the top of my lungs--’LIARS!’

CLAUDETTE: Some might say she’s just doing period acting, but I’ve seen enough of the shows she’s been in to tell you that’s just not true. She keeps the same voice and physical movement for every character she does--every single time. Sorry Helen, but I happen to know there was more than one period in the entire canon of theater.

CASSANDRA: Shakespeare I never understood. I liked that one about the guy who broke his kingdom into three parts and gave the parts to his three daughters, but to be frank, I didn’t see what the big deal was. Let him try breaking a Sony Play Station into three parts; then I’d understand why he went crazy.

CAMILE: Is my cell phone off? (She checks it.) It’s off, okay, I just needed to check again, because sometimes you think it’s off but then you hit the ‘On’ button again by accident, thinking you were just checking to make sure it was off, and then somebody calls you during the middle of the show even though they know you’re watching a play or a musical or something, because they just want to leave you a message, and why they can’t wait until you’re out of the show--I don’t know! I should check my phone again.

(She does.)

CLAUDETTE: I was taught that an actress was somebody who could become a different person each time she took on a new character. I learned to figure out beats, and minor beats, and goals, and motivation, and subtext. Do you think Helen Richardson still puts all that work into her characters--my ass, she does.

CASSANDRA: Now my friends Connie and Barbara went to see this art exhibit in New York, but I couldn’t go because I had the middleschool's bazaar. Well, they said that the entire exhibit was comprised of naked pictures taken by a man of himself--well mainly his hoo hoo, if you know what I mean. I’m sorry, but it is not worth a four hour drive to New York City just to see something I can see on my anniversary every year for free.

CAMILE: I hate that theater is live. Anything live makes me nervous because anything can go wrong. I wish they would just tape it beforehand and show it to us on a big screen, because really, who would know the difference?

CLAUDETTE: You want to laugh? I hear she teaches on the side. Let me tell you something, if Helen Richardson tried to teach me anything about acting, I’d break out my copy of classic Greek dramas and show her how Medea is SUPPOSED to be played, thank you very much.

CASSANDRA: Of course, this isn’t my first time seeing a play. My mother used to take us kids to see the Rockettes every year at Radio City. Now those girls are what I call performers.

CAMILE: Oh God, I hope there isn’t any audience participation. There is nothing more humiliating than being participated with during a play. One time an actor tried to converse with me in character, just to get a laugh I suppose, and I kneed him right in the crotch, because I hate audience participation.

CLAUDETTE: I wonder if she’s married. I pity the poor man that has to show up at every one of her opening nights and smile like he’s married to somebody with talent. Maybe he’s blind or something…

CASSANDRA: I can’t even get Doug to come see Disney on Ice with me and the kids. He thinks ice-skating is queer. Of course, put a stick in one of the skater’s hands, and tell him to bash another guy’s forehead in, and all of a sudden ice-skating isn’t so queer anymore, is it?

CAMILE: Why do they always start plays late? It really doesn’t matter does it, because no matter how late you start the show there will always be somebody who comes in ten minutes after the lights go down. It’s like they wait out in the lobby until they know the show has started and then say to whoever they’re with, ‘We’re going in, and remember, we’re in the front row!’

VOICE: Ladies and gentlemen, please turn off all cell phones, beepers, and other electronic devices. Thank you.

CLAUDETTE: Come on, Helen. Do your worst. I’m ready for you.

CASSANDRA: This is so exciting. I should call the kids and see if they want me to pick them up anything after the show. Where’s my phone?

(She searches for her phone. The lights go down.)

CAMILE: How long until it’s over? God, I can’t take the suspense. Help me!

(A CELL PHONE RINGS. CAMILE SCREAMS.)

CLAUDETTE: Daddy, it's me--Helen's done it again!

CASSANDRA: How exciting…

The End

The First Dress

-- The first ever dressmaker monologue --

"The First Dress"

Make the neckline plunge lower
Might as well let the husband
Know he made the right choice

Oh, she won’t mind
I went to high school with her
She was never happy just entering the room
She wanted the room to enter her

It’s a beautiful dress, isn’t it?

I love working with fabric like this
It makes working feel like playing
I was going to use this fabric on my dress

My hypothetical dress, of course
I’m speaking very broadly
I certainly wouldn’t be able to have a plunging neckline
I don’t have that kind of chest
With my chest a plunging neckline
Would be a lethal weapon

The sides would have to be taken out—-
Otherwise I’d end up looking like a deformed hourglass

My hair would have to come down over my shoulders
My arms need to be covered—-
I don’t like my arms

But it could still be a nice dress

And I wouldn’t charge myself much, obviously...

. . . . .

I did make a dress once that I was...fond of, once

The bride liked it
But she thought it was too old-fashioned
She wanted something more modern
So I left it in the corner for a couple of weeks
And just glanced over at it from time to time

Then one day...

I slipped it on...

And it looked nice

My shoulders
My arms
My waist

It all sort of....

...Fit.

It made me feel sexy

It may have been old-fashioned
But I felt new in it

And to think something I made
Something that came from my head
My imagination
Could make me feel so good

I never thought I would be the one
To make myself feel that good

I couldn’t have felt any better
If there was a man standing next to me in a cream-colored tux

Or maybe beige

Hmm…It looks good.

It’ll look good on her

The beads around the wrist might look tacky
But that’s fine, I guess

She’s a little tacky herself

And if she doesn’t like it...

I’ll just put it in the corner

...For another day.

You Have to Be Brave to Be Living Today

You have to be brave to be living today
To be loving today
To be trying today
To be not dying today
To be striving today
And alive-ing today
Not surviving today
Because we're all get by-ing today

You have to be thinking you’re some Arthur Lincoln
As my old friend the Scarecrow would say

To be living and loving and learning
And earning and forgetting and betting
And not sweating the fact
That you're living today

When words tend to fail and fall in pails
In puddles of indescribable things
Only to grow wings and fly past spoken thoughts
That can't sing cause they sting
When they hit the wrong notes

Words know how to fly or they die, that’s the thing
You gotta be flying, or you’re lying today

You have to have merit
And let it go by
Sometimes

Is my speech sounding like places you’ll go
Things that you‘ll try?
Well I love Dr. Seuss
So that’s probably why

And yes sir, I do like my green eggs with ham
Things do still surprise me
Like lottery winners, Morocco, and SPAM
I live in a world where meat can be canned

I’m addicted to shows about Housewives
People whose lives
Are less active than mine
I indulge in other people's passivity
My favorite activity is watching inactivity

I don’t like heights
I don’t like the rats
And there seems to be more
With each day that goes past

I don’t like the ignorance pervading
And invading my next door neighbors
And ice cream flavors
And school waivers
And parades

Why can't we just have a good parade?

You have to be careful when handling the truth
In my youth I was daring to say it was beauty
But now I know truth can get caught on your lips
And distorted before its supported and slips
Into something else other than what it really is

So you have to be careful when handling the truth

You have to be funny when dealing with life.
Though some may say funny is keeping you single
Those who date dullards will soon wanna mingle with people
Who can make their funny bones tingle
A six pack can fade and the mystery’s solved
But the love gets absolved when the passing of time gets involved

Look at me
I can make you smile
I know how to be funny when dealing with life on your behalf
I can be better than the half you're stuck to now

And when I can’t fix the problem
At least we can laugh

You have to be delicate when loving a woman

She won’t want your hands in her pockets too fast
You have to be delicate
And satisfying
And free

Cause if you aren't free
That’s the first thing that you need to be

But most of all kids
You just have to be brave

Maybe we’re not always smart as we should be
But I’m always compelled by how awesome we could be

The sons and the daughters
The savers and the saved
Let them engrave on my tombstone

I was here
I was there
I was scared

And still brave

Steve, 32, Trumpet Player

I can breathe purple smoke
I can exhale
Inhale
Take in
Breathe out
Purple smoke clouds
That encircle the small tables
With just enough room
For a candle
And a glass
Of something

I've kissed girls at those tiny tables
And they say, 'Steve, you're so good'
And they might be right
Because I can play the trumpet
And kiss a girl two minutes later
Without her knowing
That my lips were just blowing music
Out over her very head
While she knocked back her
Something

I don't mind staying up late
I don't mind dying young
I don't mind finding out I'm nobody
I don't mind empty nights
And unclean apartments
And messy beds
And lousy parties
As long as I get a shot
Of something

Flick back your hair
Toss your stares
Pull back your laugh
Push up your lies
Prep your story
Construct your past
Live out of a box
Or something

The best kisser in the world
Is the best liar in the world
Is the best artist in the world
Is a man who makes music
Is a guy who can smile upside down
Is a creator hell-bent
Is a man with regrets
Is a prince among kings
Is a king amongst gods
Is a snake with two heads
And a dog with two tails
And nowhere to go
And nothing but trouble
And something

Do I have the right to do what I do?
Do I not make music that moves you?
Do I not inspire sheer revelation?
Do I not deserve to live how I wanna live?
Do I get to pour your another glass
Of something?

Show me some tricks
I want to see you
Turn me
Into a different man

I want to see you know me better
Than I know myself

I want to guess how I'm gonna let you down
Will it be by getting home too late?
Drinking too much?
Caring too little?
Caring too much?
No, definitely not too much
Caring's the one thing I don't do much of
All I have is a trumpet
And a feeling at the back of my neck
That there's something I forgot to do
You know...something

And while you try
To be that something
I'll breathe out
Some purple smoke

Press my lips
Plant my feet
Wink at the guy
Playing next to me
Wonder if I'm still as dumb
As I used to be

You'll think you know me
And then you'll hear the music
And I'll become all the people
You want me to be

That's how it works
And that's why it never works

You know what I mean?

It's messed up, right?
And yet...it's something

It's really something

Things We Can't Talk About

I’ve come up with a list of things we can’t talk about if we’re going to maintain any kind of friendship. If you really do want us to be friends, and that wasn’t just break-up jargon, then I hope you’ll avoid the following topics:

1) The Actual Break-up. It happened, and although at times I may want to know your reasoning—-even if you’ve explained it to me before-—it would be best if you never brought it up-—especially if you’re going to try and make it sound like it went well—-because it didn’t--or that it was the right thing to do, because though it may have been, I didn’t think so at the time, and it will only serve to remind me what an absolute idiot I was, not just then, but for the entire duration of our relationship.

2) Your New Love, whoever that poor, sad, unlucky soul may be. I also don’t want to know about any dates you’ve been on, who you have crushes on, who you find attractive, what you hope to find in another person, or new things you’ve discovered about romance since we’ve broken up. As far as I’m concerned, your dick dried up the moment we split up, and for what you’ve done to me God has made it impossible for you to ever find true love again. In my mind, you’re nothing but a lonely soul wandering through the desert of life incapable of joy or happiness…however…should you start seeing someone, and should they do to you what you did to me-—or worse-—please inform me of that, as it will be incredibly cathartic.

3) Your Thoughts on Me. You are no longer allowed to have an opinion about what I do, where I go, who I’m with, who I date, what I wear, if I drink, and if I drink, which I now do because of you, what I drink, what I smoke, what pills I take, if I’m feeling well, what my plans are, who I’m fucking, why I’m fucking them, why I say the things I say, act the way I act, or believe the things I believe. The only thing you’re allowed to think and tell other people about me is that I was a saint who put up with your bullshit for far too long, and you don’t know what I ever saw in you. Basically, throw yourself on my mercy every time we talk and don’t ever—-EVER-—try to criticize me or anything about me. My friends can do that, and you are not my friend.

4) Our Relationship. Our relationship has been evaporated. And although there are certain memories I may find hard to let go of, as far as I’m concerned, I was living in a fiction novel for the past two years. I don’t even want to look back fondly on those two years with you. I don’t want to recall good times. I don’t want to remember when. I want to pretend what happened between you and I never existed, and if you or any other hipster psycho-babble bastard wants to tell me that’s unhealthy, I’ll punch your front teeth in, and theirs, because I don’t want to be healthy. I want to be bitter. I want to pretend I spent those two years in Tibet studying with monks or in Nashville recording country music singles like ‘I Wish I Liked Women’ and ‘Stupid Me (Yeah Me!)’—-in parentheses. I want to think that part of my life was meaningful and honest, instead of what it was, which was anything but that. So don’t ever bring up you and me again, and finally—-

5) Getting Back Together. We will never get back together-—ever. We may sleep together a few more times in our lifetime; it would be stupid to think we won’t. We may make out a lot more times. We may even attempt to date again and make all our friends cringe with discomfort and disappointment, but we will never be truly back together, because the person I thought you were doesn’t exist anymore. That person is gone, and although I will miss him every day of my life, I have to accept the possibility that maybe he was never even there to begin with, and I have to move on with that awareness. So don’t ever talk about us getting back together, because there is no ‘us’ anymore. There’s just me. And if you want to be friends with me one day--not today--but one day, then you have to do everything I ask you to do and respect the fact that I may be an evil, hurtful, disgusting person right now, because all my friends know that and they’re still hanging in there cause they know I’ll get better, because that’s what friends do. Can you do that?

I guess we’re both not who we were…

But hopefully one day we’ll get to the point where we don’t have to talk about it anymore…

We’ll just understand.

God, wouldn’t it be nice to just

…Understand?

The Graduation Speech

Graduates, as I stand before you today, I don't plan to recite any cliched definitions out of the antiquated Webster's Dictionary. What, you may ask, is a definition anyway? The newly organized Webster's dictionary says that a definition is "what you're reading now, jackass." That new edition sure is cheeky, ain't it?

Today you are about to embark upon an intense journey. Now, the media would have you believe that this journey will lead you to a hospital in Seattle where you'll fall in love with a married surgeon and have a diverse group of friends who'll all sleep together and cry a lot. And you will. You will find that hospital, you will sleep with that married surgeon, and you will spout that trite voice-over narration that will be playing in the background over independent mellow music for the rest of your life.

Congratulations! Do you know the places you're going to wind up? Do you mind up winding up there? When you're finding up will you be minding up? Don't let yourself start binding up...Um, I was going for a Dr. Seuss element there, but I think I might have gone with the wrong word--and putting "up" after it...clearly a mistake.

Look at the person next to you. Do you find them attractive? I remember at my graduation I sat next to a hottie. That's why I forgot to go up when they called my name. Look at the person next to you and wonder whether or not you'll sleep with them somewhere down the road. It's a small and narrow road, ladies and gentlemen, and the hotties are few and far between.

What have you taken away from your college experience? I took a few pencils from the Anthro department, but that was about it. I remember sitting where you're sitting--except a little more to the left--and thinking, what have I learned over the past six and a half years...and what will I learn next fall when I come back to finish off those last few, pesky, feisty, little bastard credits? I learned that there's no such thing as a free lunch--not if you lived in Brogan Hall! Those cheap f**kers wouldn't give a drowning man a candy lifesaver...Hahahaha...not that it would help...ahhh...those f**kers. Points for days, and nobody'll buy a guy a muffin when he's starving and his girlfriend just told him she's f**king her Geology T.A.--not because she loves him either, but because he's helping her pass the class--a class you flunked...that you'll be repeating...in the fall...with that T.A...I'm sorry, where was I?

Remember to treat people kindly. I'm not talking about everyone. It would be impossible to be nice to everyone. And frankly, should you be nice to everyone? I don't think so. Are you going to be nice to Hitler if you meet him? I mean, he's dead, but would you be nice to him? I hope not. Stalin? Well, maybe...I mean, he wasn't Hitler, but still...Or ex-girlfriends who f**k their T.A.'s because they can't tell the difference between and an igneous and a metamorphose rock and they don't want to open their f**king textbooks to figure it out. No need to be nice to them. And stupid people. Why bother being nice? They won't notice. Don't worry about being nice to racists, bad drivers, freaks, tools, potheads, losers, people who work at the D.M.V.--no point there, any of those f**kers who are graduating from Brogan Hall who might have called you the Turd Nerd for the past six and a half years, c**ksuckers, a**holes, people named Shep--who the f**k names a baby Shep? Oh right, your mother. Just avoid all those people, plus mass-murdering tyrants and geology whores. Everyone else deserves nothing but your utmost courtesy and respect, because you have been blessed with an education, and chances are, they have not.

Kids, life...is like a book. A long book--you hope. Even though some of you may not like long books; trust me, you want this one to be long. You don't want your life to be a pamphlet or even a copy of Vogue magazine that can sometimes weigh in at hundreds of pages, because most of it is advertisements, and you don't want your life to be advertisements. I mean, doesn't that just piss you off when you buy this magazine and you have to flip and flip just to get to the table of contents? That really bugs me. Anyway, your life is a book. What kind of book is your life going to be? Maybe it's going to be a thriller. Maybe it's a mystery. Maybe you killed somebody, or you're going to, and you have to evade a snappy detective from California who's hot on your tail. Maybe your life is written by Dan Brown. Wouldn't that be fun? You could figure out what happened to Christ's baby. Did any of you know Christ had a baby? I didn't. Clearly, my life was not written by Dan Brown. Nevertheless, no matter who writes the book of your life--you are at least its publisher. So publish well, kids. Publish well.

Thank you, and go greatly into the world.

...or don't really...

Life is about choices.

Yeah, that was my message...

...That might have not come through...

...But it was.

Sam, 65, Retired

You wake up at 6am
You go back to sleep
You try, you try
You try to sleep
You get up
You go into the kitchen
You check the mailbox

No mail
Not yet
The mail comes later
Why so late?
You could use mail now

Mail to read
Mail to sort
Mail to go over

You make yourself two runny eggs
You dip toast in them
You munch
You clean the plate with the toast
You rinse the plate
You go back to bed

You try to sleep
You try
Your wife can sleep
You can't
You can't sleep
You get up

You ran a hardware store
For thirty years

You sold tools
You made friends
You had customers
You had friends
You talked shop
You talked about screws
You talked about wrenches
You talked about building things

But you never did build anything yourself
Except a tree house and a tool shed
And the tool shed fell apart
During last year's snow storm

You retired
You've been retired
For three months

You are waiting to die
People say 'No'

They say life is just beginning
They say enjoy yourself
They say take a cruise
They say it's one big vacation
They say catch up on your reading

You want to tell them
To go fuck themselves
But you don't

Your kids give you suggestions
Suggest hobbies and travel spots
And things you can do with yourself
While you wait to die

You watch bad television
You watch game shows
You watch cooking shows while eating bratwurst
And drinking warm beer

You mow the lawn
You water the lawn
You look at the lawn
You hate the lawn
You cater to the lawn

You go to Tate's Hardware
Your old competition
The guy that you still think put you out of business
Even though you retired
Even though it was time
Even though you're sixty-five
Even though your wife begged
After the heart attack

You still hate fucking Tate
And his lousy fucking screws
That fall apart so you have to buy more

Is that how this schmuck stays in business?

'Hey Tate'
'Hey Sam'
'I need more screws.'
'They're on sale.'
'I bet they are'

Tate's seventy-three and still going
Son-of-a-bitch

No wife
That's why
No kids
That's why
No doctors telling him to slow down
That's why

You come home
You read the paper
You scan the paper
You look at the paper
You hate the paper

Dinner is made
Lunch is made
Breakfast is made

Meals, and meals, and miles of meals
Markers to mark the days
The days until you die

A few weddings
Some births
Birthdays
Grandkids
Christmas
Then
Death

Yay

What a fucking life

Thirty years and nothing
Thirty years and you wasted it
Wasted it all
Providing for your family

Your family which now includes a son
Who runs a strip club two towns over
And a daughter who married a missionary
And took off to Africa

And your wife
Your wife
Suffering wife

Suffering more than you

You get into bed at night
You say--

'Lizzie?'
'Yeah?'
'You love me?'
'No.'
'Fine.'

You roll over
You shut your eyes
You feel her hands
Those sturdy hands
Slide around your shoulders
And down across your chest

She says--

'I'm glad you're home'

Then--

'I missed you'

And you know she doesn't just mean today

And you reach your hands
Up to her hands
And you play with the ring
She still wears in her sleep
Even all these years later
Rusty and brown

And you ask her--

'So what do you want to do tomorrow?'

And she says--

'Nothin''

And that's fine
That's just fine

Why Would I Want You Now?

Why would I want you now
Now that your monogamy's fizzled
And you're drizzling from the rain
And the pain of your heart
Is starting to stain my brand new carpet

Tell me, pet
Why would I want you now?

Why would I want a used tissue
With issues and fissures
And other boy's clothes?

I don't want to know why he tossed you
All I know is he lost you
And not the other way around

And I don't sink to the ground
To soak up the sun
If he's done then I'm done
And you should have run to me
Before he ran away
Because now you're staying where you are
And that's far away from me

I don't need to be your second chance
You should have danced with the right one
The first time
Cause now I'm out for the night
And you're right back where you started
And you don't even know how

Or how to answer my question--

Why would I want you now?

Xavier, 26, Actor

Hi, my name is Xavier

Today I will be performing a monologue
Written by Kevin Broccoli
From one of his monologue shows

The monologue is entitled--

What?

Um, well, the shows don't really have a name
I mean, not a name to cover ALL the shows
There are many shows
So we just call them the monologue shows

Anyway, the monologue I will be performing is---

What?

Kevin

Kevin Broccoli

No, I didn't think you would have
He's a playwright

What?

No, he hasn't actually write a play per se
He's just written a bunch of monologues
And I think he adapted something...once

But the monologue is really good and--

He's from Rhode Island

Rhode Island

No, not Long Island
Rhode Island

Well, it's sort of near Boston

Is he what?

Well, yes, people do know him...there

I mean, some people know him there

He's...it's...it's a thing, you know?

Um...

Do you want me to--

Yes, his last name is really Broccoli

Yup

Like the--yup.

Pronounced--yup.

You got it.

No, the monologue is not part of a bigger piece
It's a stand-alone monologue

I don't know WHY you would just write a monologue
I guess he has a short attention span...or something

Huh?

Who DOES these shows?

Well...actors...do them

Yeah, well, I mean
I haven't ever really SEEN one of them
But I hear they're very--

Well, I hear they're doing them in Des Moines now
Which is kind of cool, I guess

Des Moines is in Iowa

No, that's not at all near Boston

Um, would you like to hear the piece now?

No, I don't know him personally, but--

You know what?

Why don't I just do that Ibsen monologue I have?

You might like that a little bit better

Julio, 18, Fast Food Drive Thru Window

Number Nine, Number Seven
And two Number Threes

Please, drive up

Christiano, that woman?

The one who just ordered?

She wants me
Wants me bad, man
Real bad

It's sick
Sick how much she needs it
Needs it in her LIFE, man
In her LIFE

My shit in her LIFE
All up in her LIFE
You know?

Sick, man
Real sick

Here you go, ma'am
Here's your order

That'll be eleven seventy-five

What a lovely---

See how fast she drove off?
That's cause she could taste it
She could taste it on her TONGUE

My sick nasty love juice
Pouring out of my eyes, man

Pouring into her chicken fries

Yes, yes
Yes, yes
I am--

Hello, and Welcome to Dodge
Would you care to try our new Semi-Slice?

Uh huh...

Four Number Sixes and a Number Seven?

Thank you, please drive up

Ohhhh, did you hear that?

That bitch wants a TASTE
She wants a TASTE of my Cheerios
She wants to dip back the bowl
And let the milk go down

You hearing that, Christiano?

Take notes, man

See how I seduced her with my voice?

Uh huh...

Hear what I was doing there?

Uh huh...

I'm saying--

I can give it to you, baby
I can poach your breakfast eggs
I can shampoo your tangled hair
I can deliver your package
To your door
Have you sign for it
And then open it up on Christmas DAY

On the DAY!

On the--

Here you go, ma'am

That'll be ten sixty-two

Say, is that perfume you're wearing--

Ohhh, look how scared she was
That she was going to lose control
And hop through this drive-thru window
All over this fine piece of eighteen-year-old
Applewood smoked honey ham

I bet if she hadn't had that mini-van full of kids
She'd have been pulling me into that car seat
And driving away with my ass
You know what I'm--

Hello, and Welcome to Dodge
Would you like to try our new--

Uh huh...

Just a Number Seven?

Thank you, please drive up

Man, that dude has it bad for me
That poor queer dude

I feel bad, Christiano
Give him some extra fries

I can't work here anymore, man

It's beginning to go to my head

Rashad, Lawyer, 24

Hi, I'm Rashad

I'll be representing you today

Now, let's get something straight

You're guilty
And I don't care

I'm not here to save anybody

I didn't spend two raised ranch mortgages
To become Robin Hood
At the Round Table

I'm here to make bank
Get on Larry King
And upgrade my flight home

And you don't get any of that
By defending the innocent

You're guilty
You shot the guy
We're moving on

Now, at what point did they accuse you of being a terrorist?

. . . . .

Oh, come on, Nick

You want to get out of this, don't you?

Well, guess what?

When you shoot a guy in a mall food court
In front of over a hundred witnesses
You ain't gettin' away with shit, kitten

Luckily for you

You're Middle Eastern

Okay, fine, you're Italian
But you look Middle Eastern
And I'm Middle Eastern

And we're living in a liberal state
That feels guilty
For persecuting innocent dark-skinned people
Post-post 9/11

And that, my friend
Is your ticket out

So let me ask you again
At what point did they accuse you of being a terrorist?

Because if they didn't
You're going to jail

If this is about whether or not you shot someone
Then you're going to jail

If this is all going to boil down
To whether or not
You got mad because you found out
Some guy was banging your wife
And you went to the mall
And blew him down
In front of a Taco Bell

Then, baby, you're going to fry

But if this is about bias
And racism
And prejudice
And one hundred witnesses
Still in terror over what happened that fateful day in September
A day when MANY lives were ruined
For MANY different reasons
Including an entire culture being branded as murderous
Causing people to VIEW people of that culture
In a VIOLENT way
Then you'll be home free

Did you notice how I was using keywords there, pal?
Did you pick up on that?

Look, they brought me in
Because I'm a minority who defends minorities
Better than anybody in this country

I make Johnny Cochran
May he rest in peace
Look like a fucking joke

So you tell me
Do you think you've been treated unfairly
Or are you just another good old American
Ready to get shoved in a chair
And lit up like Vegas?

. . . . .

I thought so

And tell me--

At what point did one of the policemen tell you
That he had a brother who died in Iraq?

Medieval Martin Learns His Lines for "Richard III"

-- I wondered the other day how difficult it was for people already surrounded by hardships like...you know...the plague...to learn tons of classical lines. And so... --

"Medieval Martin Learns His Lines for Richard III"

Now is the...

Now is the...

Damn, all right

Let me look at it

..Winter of our...okay, got it...

Now is the...

...MARGARET! Could you please butcher the turkey somewhere else? I came outside to learn lines. We do go before the Queen in FIVE DAYS! Please? Thank you.

Uh, all right...

Let's see...

Now is the...

Harold, I told you, Daddy will bleed the wound after dinner. Until then, wrap up some of the cow droppings into a cloth and hold it up against where it's swelling. That should ease the pain.

That's a boy.

All right, here we go.

Now is the...the...spring?

Let me look at it.

DAMN! Winter of our--

Got it.

What is it, Kate?

Darling, I told you. You'll be married next year when you're a woman. You're only ten years old now. What sort of sicko would I be if I let some man have at you now?

Don't you want someone who respects you?

That's a girl.

Now go pray to God to absolve you of the inherent sin that rests forever inside your womanly soul.

Now, where was I?

Right, now is the winter of our...

MARGARET!

TELLING YOU TO STOP BUTCHERING THE TURKEY WAS NOT MY WAY OF ASKING YOU TO SLAUGHTER THE PIG!

PLEASE WILL ALL OF YOU JUST STOP?

I AM A THESPIAN TRYING TO PERFECT THE ROLE OF A LIFETIME!

. . . . .

Now is the winter of our...discontent

YES!

YES!

YES!

All right...

Next line...

Matthew, Age 5, Mutant Ninja Turtle

...Back in 1989...

Raphael, please come in...

Have a seat



God, how do I say this?

Raphael, you know that you're my favorite ninja turtle
But lately...

I've been...noticing things...

Look, I know what you're wondering

Why is Matthew looking at me funny?
Why is he wearing a lab coat he borrowed from his Dad?
Why are all the other stuffed animals placed in a circle all facing me?

But I think you actually know the answers to these, questions Raph

I think you do

We're all here
Because we love you
And because...

You're an addict

Yesterday, I came home from school
To find you laid out on my bedroom floor
Surrounded by pop tart crumbs

Did you think I wouldn't notice?

Ralph, we've all noticed

You missed G.I. Joe's birthday last week
And you showed up with vanilla frosting
All over your face

I was repulsed
We all were

Hee-Man went to the toy bins two nights ago
And he said he found you at the bottom of the bin
Eating strawberry filling
Off that Barbie doll Grandma gave me
When she couldn't remember which grandkid I was

Is this how you want to live?

As a fellow, honorary, self-appointed mutant ninja turtle--

Given name: Van Gogh

--I had to step in

Raphael, I can no longer support you
Emotionally, financially, spiritually
Or ask my Mom to buy you that ninja turtle van you want...

If you do not agree to leave today
And go to the rehabilitation center
I've set up in my closet
Using the Ghostbuster House
And run by my old friend, Teddy Ruxpin
A recovering pt addict himself

I'm going to have to sell you at a yard sale

Please accept this gift
So that we can go back to fighting Beebop and Rock Steady

I want you to be there
When I watch my first rated PG-13 movie

I want you to help all of us
Help you
Help yourself

You're the best, Raph
I'd say I love you
But that would be weird
Because we're both dudes

So...

Will you go?

. . . . .

Cowabunga, man

Cowabunga

Joe, Watch Salesman, 36

This clock stopped on 2pm
Saturday, December 6th
Two years ago

I want to tell you a story
About Saturday, December 6th 2pm

It's a story
About time

The beggar outside understands time
And for a nickel
He'll give you a philosophy on it

I don't need any nickels
For my time

On Saturday, December 6th
I went out to buy my son
The ninja turtle van he wanted
And a car crashed into the side of my van

The van I use for work

And that particular day
I had just gotten a delivery
Of the Axxon 480
One of the finest watches
In the world

The car nearly split the van in two
And the Axxons were everywhere

The entire crash site
Was covered in time

Little hands
Big hands
Still ticking

They didn't write that in the report
But there was the distinct sound
Of ticking

As for me--

I was 1974
I was 1987
I was 1995
I was 2004

I was last year
I was next year
I was delineated

I was my mother making her way home
From the watch store
When my Dad owned it
On the night it snowed
And he told her to stay

She had to stay and close the shop

They said she would have hit the tree so fast that...

I still have her watch from that night
December 6th
The big and little hands
Frozen

It's still fogged up
From the cold
And the ice

I have my grandfather's watch
That he wore to Normandy
Frozen the minute he hit the water
And the bullet lodged itself
In his side

Frozen

And I have my father's watch...

Still ticking

A life full of dents
And detriment
And dirtiness
And damage

And still ticking

And when the car hit the van
And I felt my body
Fly out through the windshield

I have to tell you
That all I saw was time

And I thought it would look like water
But it doesn't

It looks like fire

And in that fire
I heard my father

I was lying on the ground
Thinking I was going to die
On the same day as my mother
And leave behind my wife
And my son

And I heard my father
I heard him walk through the time
Past the fire
Right up beside me

I felt him pull the time around me
And cover me in it
Like a blanket

He stopped it
My father stopped time

A few weeks later
I got out of the hospital
Not nearly brand new
But not dead either

I told my wife what happened
And she became very spiritual about it
I'm not a spiritual man
I don't think it was the spirit of my father
With me that day

It doesn't change what I believe
About him or my past
Or my childhood

But it does change
What I think
Of time

Charles, 28, Sci-Fi Author

They ask why I write what I write

'Does Science Fiction make you more money?'

Well...it can

It doesn't

Not in my case

But in other cases, yes

But that's not why I write it

I write it because...

Okay, well...

When I was seven

I got beat up everyday at school

By Marshall McClintock

The meanest and dumbest kid
At Park Allen Elementary

Marshall would beat me up
For absolutely no reason
And then the day would continue on

And I didn't really mind the beatings
Because after awhile, you get used to anything
And once it became part of the routine
I didn't really want it to stop
Because I'm a creature of habit

I was, even then...

...uh...

Sorry, I've drifted...

Oh right, well...

One day Marshall died

He had a food allergy
His lungs closed up
He died

I was...

It was very strange

He was the only person at school
That ever interacted with me

I came from a very weird family
And they would dress me
WIth whatever was lying around
And everyone was terrified to touch me
Including my family

--No hugs, none of that--

But Marshall would
Marshall would...

...And then he was gone...

And I remember coming into school that day
And hearing what had happened
And...

I went to this place

This really different place

In my head, of course
I was aware that I was going there
In my head

The teacher had a moment of silence
And then cried
And then, sort of just said--

'Well, on with the day'

--And we went into fractions

And I saw a blue light force
Swallow up the teacher

I saw naked waves of energy
Delete the surface I was standing on
And then there was gray tiles
Black and gray tiles

And there was Marshall
Suspended in mid-air
Telling me to come on
Saying I could live here

I could stay and watch the four suns
Illuminate four different parts
Of the different sections
Of the world I was on

It was a world without a name

But it was all about connection
I felt connected there

I felt touched

And Marshall grabbed my hand
And we went up four flights
And drifted over an ocean
Where there were giant fish
That you could stand on
And dive into the water
Breathing the whole time

And there were trees
That gave shades of warmth

And even though the entire floor of the planet
Was black and gray
The black and gray
Is the brightest kind of black and gray
And even the darkness explains things to you

It's the lightest kind of dark
You can imagine

And when I woke up
I was sitting at my desk in school
And the lights were off

Everyone had gone home without me
And it was past five

I walked home
And I wrote my first story
About that place
With the black and gray tile

That's what I wrote
And that's what I've been writing since

I write to create the world
I'd like to live in

I mean...

Isn't that why everyone...

...writes?

Russel, Beggar, 19

For five cents, you can get a philosophy
For ten cents, I'll give you a poem
For fifteen cents, a democracy
And for a dollar, kid
You can take me home

I'm not appreciative of anything
Just 'cause I got nothing
Don't mean something's something
I gotta give thanks for

Look up the words
In the dictionary

Funny they don't have
A dictionary for silence

All the things a silence can mean

The reason I'm here
Begging on the streets
Is cuz I didn't understand
The different kinds of silence

So when my Dad said--

'Did you touch my wife?'

Regarding my stepmom
Not my mother
Who is dead
Who was dead
Who is dead
Who was dead

Hard to tell
The difference now

I thought the brief pause
That followed the question

'Did you touch my wife?'

Was a joking pause
A kidding pause
A laughing pause
Or perhaps a pregnant pause
About to give birth
To a berth of giggles

But I did NOT think it was
A serious pause

And because I didn't understand that pause
The silence living in that pause
Came out and bit me
And hit me so hard
I wound up on the streets
Looking for change in time

Time is something I cannot appreciate
Because time has not been kind to me

Today was kind to me
Ten centers, one poem
But time itself
Is not kind

It is...unrelenting

My father does not care where I am
He believes I have transformed into Santa Clause
And now he no longer has a son
Just a lying wife
Who tells him
That men touch her
When all they do is ask
If they can stop touching her

Time and things
And cents
And sense
And numbers
And dates
Are all
Unrelenting

Denting cars
And people
With permanent dents

And that's your philosophy
Now where's my five cents?

Ray, 22, Lost

Two weeks ago, Gerald Fine
Thirty-eight
Devoted father
Loving husband
Toll booth worker on Long Island

Went missing

He's been missing for two weeks

In some ways
I am Gerald Fine

I'm gone
Lost
Two weeks
Missing
Wanted
Searched for
Missed

Well...

Yeah

I don't know Mr. Fine
But there's a silent coalition
Within the Missing

All missing persons
Are part of the greater Missing

Lost

And sometimes you wonder
Or maybe you ask
What's the difference
Between missing
And lost

Lost is when people stop missing you
So I guess if you wanted to know when I got lost
You'd have to ask the people who stopped missing me

I don't want to make them out to be mean or anything
I'm glad they finally got over it
It makes the guilt fade faster

Some people would say 'lost' is something I am
I think of it as something I do

Like an occupation

I have chosen 'lost'
I have dedicated my life to 'lost'
And yes, it's something you work at

But it's also a calling, I feel
Something you feel chosen for

I never liked connections
I never liked roots, ties
Nothing like that

My first memory is of reading 'Peter Pan'
And desperately wanting to be a Lost Boy

My mom used to read that book to me
And I think it scared her how much I enjoyed it

I couldn't really attach to anybody

I used to fantasize about people I knew dying
To see if I could illicit a reaction from myself
But...never any luck

Oh sure, I'd feel sad, but...

Devastated?

No...

I wonder sometimes
I wonder what devastation feels like...

Extreme emotion
Heartache
Sobbing

I wonder

Two weeks ago I was going through a toll booth
And who did I meet
But Gerald Fine

Lost, just like me

Thought if he got married
Thought if he had kids
Thought if he really, really tried
He could connect
He could attach
He could...

But no dice

He took one look at me
And there he was

--Lost

He took my change
He looked at me

Maybe he saw my flyer somewhere

Ray, 22, Lost

And that was it

That was the day he went missing

But one day he won't be
One day Gerald Fine, Thirty-Eight
Will just be another lost person
Out there in the world

Something else my mom used to tell me?

We've all been breathing the same air
Since the world was created

It's all just recycled air
Nothing ever really goes away

I hope she remembers telling me that
I hope she remembers that everything that's ever been here
Is still here, and always will be here

I hope that gives her comfort

Martin, 27, Pet Groomer

-- Jay's Suggestion --

"Martin, 27, Pet Groomer"

...Mmm...

...'S nice...

...Fur...mmm...

...Kitten...

...Named it Silly Pants...

...Doesn't have any pants, really...

...Just a name...

...Do you like your name?...

...I think you do...

...That's Boxes over there...

...He's a Boxer...

...'S how he got his name...

...He's being a sad pants because I'm paying attention to Silly right now...

...He doesn't really have sad pants...

...'S an expression...

...Do you want a piece of gum? I have gum in my pocket...

...' could give you some...

...K...

...I like grooming Cherish...

...She's the hamster over there...

...The one with the giggly pants...

...'S another expression...

...I've got an English degree. That's how come I got all these expressions...

...Blame it on the rain, as my Mama used to say. Milli Vanilli said it too, but my Mama said it first...

...So, you know...

...'S an expression...

...Cherish is my favorite to groom, because she's so little I have to use the doll brush on her, and it makes me giggle, and then she gets to giggling, and pretty soon we're like a little slumber party full of girls with crushes on Ricky Nelson...

...'s dead...

...Sad...

...Died of tuberculosis...

...I think...

...Might be lyin'...

...You never know...

...That's an expression...

...Polka dot is the turtle over there...

...Can't groom him...

...He's my brother's. I just watch him. Can't groom somethin' without fur or hair or some soft spot of some kind...

...I think he can sense my indignation...

...I wish Polka Dot would grow fur so I could groom him...

...Probably not gonna happen though...

...Que sera sera...

...My Mama said that too, but Tony Bennett said it first, I think...

...Might be lyin'...

...Fool you once, shame on you...

...'S an expression...

...Well, I gotta get back to Silly Pants before she gets testy and tries putting on her Testy Shorts...

...Wouldn't want that...

...'Cause she's got hairy legs...

...Not fun...for shorts...nope...

...Hide them legs, girl!...

...Just kidding with her...

...Ohh, now she's testy...

...You better leave...

...A hurrican's a comin'...

...'S an expression...

...Just somethin' people say...

Max, Operations Manager, 23

-- Max learns a valuable lesson about not joking around when Kevin asks for monologue titles. Keep in mind, he didn't say WHAT exactly this fictional Max manages operations for... --

"Max, Operations Manager, 23"

So if you go in room two
Lita ties you up
And recites the opening soliloquy
From Richard III to you
While the Stones play in the background

And--

PUT THAT DOWN!
MOSHA, PUT THAT DOWN!
THAT IS NOT A TOY!

No, it cannot BE a toy either
I'm using it to fix the broken fuse
Now go back to Room 328

Mr. Glitten is going to be there in ten
And he says this time
You better sound EXACTLY like his third grade teacher
Or he's only paying half price

Sorry, where was I?

Oh right--

If you go in room three
Tiki teaches you to hula
Makes you a hot fudge sundae
And then watches Mr. Smith Goes to Washington with you

That's one sick bitch, let me tell you

In room seven, we have Madison
Who likes to decoupage her men
Then treats them like a coffee table

The last guy who went in there
Walked out with rings all over his body
Because Madison forgot to use a coaster

Then we have--

MOSHA!
THE BLUEBERRIES ARE FOR THE PANCAKES
FOR THE PANCAKES!

If Zila finds out she can't do the blueberry trick with the pancakes
She's going to use those cymbals on you
And I don't feel like driving to the emergency room
On my day off tomorrow!

. . . . .

I'm sorry, where were we?

Oh right, in room twelve
You have Braja

Do NOT go in room twelve

We don't talk about room twelve
We don't think about room twelve
I slide food under the door every three days
And occasionally you can hear Braja sing 'Beyond the Sea'
While somebody whimpers
But that's about it

In room fourteen--

MOSHA!

DON'T GO IN ROOM TWELVE

NOOOOO!!!

...Excuse me, I have to go...

I don't think Mosha's going to be able to work tonight

Saints and Lovers

You can have it on the Blue Island Expressway
While I'm on my way home
Hands crawling down
Underneath the steering wheel
Trying not to drive me off the road

You can have it
You can take it

Saints and lovers
That's what you wanna be
Be my saint
Have me be your lover

See if we can keep the motor oil
From mixing with the holy water

You can pray for my salvation
You can hope that I won't tempt you with my wares
But I'm a bitch, boy
I can lie like other guys sing the blues

I get nasty
I get feisty

Saints and lovers
Boys and boys
And fruit and cake

Do you like the bad boys, sweetie?
Do you wanna be my victim?
Do you have a harp to play?

Because with me you pay up front
And I think you like my treads
I think your head's abandoned you
And other parts are making your heart
Do all the wrong things

All the things I like

Like saints and lovers
Flings and whims
And swimming
In roped off pools
Trying to stay cool
When it's just getting hot

So you brought your halo, huh?

Is that all you got?

Do You Believe Your Own Lies?

Do you believe you've only kissed
As many guys as you say you have?

Do you believe you don't miss the friends
You left behind to find some other
People to tell mistruths to?

Do you believe that putting up your hair
And displaying a caring glance
And playing the 'Truth or Dare' card
Will magically turn you
Into more than a shard of the person
You once were?

Sometimes it's hard
To believe what I'm seeing
But not nearly as hard as believing
In your own lies

Do you believe those marks are what you say they are?
Do you believe those long walks were to where you say they were?
Do you believe in Santa Clause and crop circles
And elves and yourself
And your slowly diminishing shelf life?

Because you know
It wouldn't be that big a surprise
If I found out
You believe your own lies

Sierra and the Stars

That one's called Asarus
It was named after an Arabian princess
Who traveled so far from her home
That she found herself at the edge of the world
Crying tears into the great abyss

She cried and cried
Until the abyss filled up with tears
And then she made a boat out of her dress
And sailed across the abyss
To the other end of the world
Where her home was

And that was how Asarus learned the value
Of moving forward
And remembering
That everything is cyclical

And so, they say, if you keep Asarus above you
And continue to move forward
She will bless your journey

. . . . .

Not a bad bit of bullshit, huh?

Wine makes for good storytellers

Do you have any star stories, Ryan?

The wonderful thing about the stars
Is that there are so many of them
You'll never run out of stories to make up about them
And nobody can tell you that your stories are made up either
Because who knows, you know?

I can't see the stars where I live

It makes me uncomfortable
I feel like I can get lost a lot easier now

When you grow up in the Midwest
You know the importance of stars
Of things above you
Looking down on you
Casting a shield above your head
To protect you from falling objects
And solar waves

When you live in the city
The stars are still up there
But you forget
And so you do things
Forgetting that you're being watched

That you're disappointing cosmic beings
That have watched you
Since you were a kid

You become unwatched

It's...

...not pleasant

...at all really

. . . . .

Do you want to make love to me?

On this blanket
Under these stars
Sanctioning our activity
Liking our status
Believing in our transgressions

I need to feel connected to the night around me
I feel like time is going by
And I'm grabbing at it
But I'm not catching it
Not because it's not possible to catch
But because I don't have anything to catch it with

A physical interaction with you
A connection between two people
That is undeniable
Would give me a marker
And that's what I need

A way to stamp time
Stamp it down
And say this--

This place
This moment
This time

I did something here

I did something today

I participated in the Universe today

I didn't just wish on a star
Then took a nap
Waiting to see what would happen

I was somebody

Do you understand that?
Does that make sense?

. . . . .

See that star?

It's named after me
It's called Sierra

The star named after the land
After the Earth

Sierra

The story is that a girl was so tied down
That she eventually became the Earth
And other people walked on here
And trod their paths on her
And thanked her for supporting them
But she never lived a real life

Until one day a man spread out a red and white blanket
On top of a hill
And popped open a bottle of wine
Underneath the stars
And made love to that girl

And she went up
Up and up and up

And she took her place
In the sky

Unprepared

You ask why
I'm not more inclined
To let you invade you
Let you persuade me
To fall farther
Than what I'm allowed

You know why
I'm so nervous
You know I'm tender
You know I'm used

You say I can be new now
New again, impossible
But according to you

It's just I feel unprepared
I feel undeclared
Like I'm not sure
Not just where I'm going
But how fast I'm running
Or if I'm moving at all

This is spontaneous
This is too much
Too much unprepared

I'm not good at thinking on my toes
I'm not good at thinking at all
I'm not good at doing what's right

You have all of the answers
To none of my questions
Just floating around

I fight with every intention
Don't trust my own instincts
Don't know if I'm strong enough
If you're stronger than me

I don't know all your secrets
I don't know your history
I don't know your problems
Your problems might be me

I'm too unprepared now
Shaking and scared now
Thinking I'm thinking
I'm thinking I'm thinking
Thinking too much

Too much unprepared
And you look too ready
You just seem so ready

Why does that worry me?

The Rose on the Record Player

She puts the needle down
To let the band play 'Ev'ry Time We Say Good-bye'
From back in '05
When he would take her to the city
And she'd wear the red-striped dress

Heading back home
Over three different bridges
She'd let fog and rain clouds
Crowd up her hair

So that when she came home
She'd have to sneak past the servants
And not show her weakness
In the morning

Now she puts a rose on the record player
Lets it stop and skip the music
Lets it dangle the last note
Before ending it altogether

That's what a mistake sounds like

She puts the perfume on her wrists
On her breasts
On the back of her neck

She sprays every doorway
She leaves shoes all over the rug
Steps into them
Dances around them
Leaves a pair, picks up another
Dances like she used to dance
Back on those city trips

Then she heads into the guest room
And lays herself down
On the turned down sheets
Seeing where he's laying
But not praying that he'll wake up anymore

Now parts of him are ashes
And parts of him are bone
And parts of him are cloth
Mixed in with the blankets and the sheets

She'll be there until she sleeps
Until she's really asleep
Until the rose falls off the record player

And the music--

Fades away

Ashley Walks Them In

Ashley walks in the girls
Who come with their boyfriends
Who come with their friends
Who come with their brothers
Who come with their parents

She feels like
Not enough
Come with their parents

But she doesn't think about that

She walks them through the line
Of people with picket signs
And into the doors
And there she stops

Beyond the doors
There are moral complications
That Ashley can't agree with

But she agrees that girls
Need someone to lead them
Especially when they show up with nobody
Which is far too often

Her family says she's perpetuating the sins
That go on inside
By standing by the sides of those
Who are determined to walk through those doors

She's told that some use it as birth control
But she's never seen an example of this yet
That she could pinpoint

She sees forty-year-old women
And fifteen-year-old girls
But never anyone
Like what her family describes

How funny that they wouldn't come within ten miles of this place
But they're so sure who goes in and out of it
What happens inside it
What the people work there are like
What Ashley is like for walking with these girls

She's had things thrown at her
Words, objects, hateful glares

But still she walks them in

Across town there was a bombing
At another place like this
And that was when Ashley's Dad
Demanded that she give it up

But Ashley has her conviction

She believes in God
She believes in Jesus
She believes Jesus would be walking these girls in

He would forgive them for their sin
As he was walking them into it

Isn't that the absolute forgiveness?

Sometimes she has days
Where she judges
Where she thinks she knows
The girl on her arm

When she doesn't feel badly for them
When she wishes she could be somewhere else
When their shame washes over onto her
And she feels like she's the one
About to walk through those doors

But then she'll get a girl her age
Who looks like her
Who is walking through the doors
Because they had one less drop of luck
Than what Ashley got

And she holds her head up
And takes their hand
And walks with them
Right by their side

And as she walks with them
She feels someone
Something
A presence
Walking her
Walking the girls

To wherever it is
They need to go

Cori at the Touch

Rollercoaster
Five-star meal
Devastation
School expulsion
Conspiracy theories

Cori can't concentrate
Because she's too busy
Trying to concentrate
On not concentrating

Feeling his hands
His lips
On her waist
On the sides of her
On the top of her
Coming from underneath her

His breath feels like the first time
You let your body fall into a pool
On the first day of summer
When it might still be too cool

Reverberating
Rhythm
Restless
Rock star
Ripped up

She loses her hands in his hair
And his hands down her thighs
Around the bend
Back from two doors down
Where her neighbors are probably
Possibly
Probably
Listening

She wants to let him take her over
Like a wave overtaking the sand on the beach
But instead she runs into the house
And down the stairs
And into the basement
And there's a bed
And she's under the covers

But already she's shaking
Taking time
To remember
That he's only trying
To make her feel good

And then she feels the Touch
And it's the right touch
It's a capital 'T' kind of 'Touch'

And she's there
Seven miles above him
In love with him
Ready to marry him
Kind of love

And tomorrow they'll have bagels
And crack jokes at each other

But for now
This is it

This is Cori
At the Touch

Gold Stars

Our parents never gave us
Gold stars

So now we give ourselves
Gold stars

We get them for not fucking
Each other's lust partners

We get them for not screwing up
The healthy relationships we've managed to maintain
During Sundays in the rain
When we'd like to do the crossword puzzle
Of other bodies

Going up and across
Down and answer
The riddles
Posed by the New York Times

We get them for using the potty
And not partying too loud
On a Monday night

We get them for not fighting in the hallway
Praying we're not really
The way we make ourselves out to be
Being the best we can be
The rest of our being
Being only sub-par
And marring our reputations
With insubordination
And hallucinating
That we're better
Than we are

We get them then we hang them
Up on ceilings
Feeling proud of our adult behavior
Never wavering in the belief
That the relief we get
From not getting wet during the day
In the spray of mistakes
We used to make
Once again rearing
Their ugly heads

We sit in bed and we look up
At all our gold stars
Hung over the broken frames
Maimed knick knacks
And right below the ceiling cracks
Above the weighted-down bookshelves

Wondering if we've really earned them
Since we gave them
To ourselves

Mariella in the Sand

I went to the beach yesterday
To see Mariella

The temperature was above eighty
And so I covered myself up in sand
Until all that was left
Was sound of the ocean
And the cool crumbly cookie crumb feeling
Of the individual grains of sand

I wanted to see if Mariella was there

And she was
She always is

That's the nice thing about Mariella

So I burrowed into the sand
Until I came upon Mariella's Sand Cabana
Located right next to the sand castle
That she lives in during the winter

'Mariella, how do you live here? Don't you get sand in your bathing suit?
'Never. Not ever. WAIT! Nope, no, no.'
'That's unusual.'
'Frogs are unusual.'
'Not really.'
'Would you like to brush my hair?'
'YES!'

So I brush the sand out of Mariella's hair
And it takes a REALLY long time

Her gentlemen all stand around her with umbrellas
And every time she scratches her big toe
They all shuffle and move around
Because Mariella doesn't like the umbrellas over her
To stay in the same place all the time

'...And that was when I left Venice...forever...'
'That's a wonderful story, Mariella.'
'I think I'll make a sand balloon.'

So she picks up a pile of sand between her hands
Dips it into a pale of water next to her blanket
Balls it up
And sends it floating into the sky

'The last one went up slower.'

Mariella's little dog Stanley
Keeps eating the sand ostriches
That run around him
Until Mariella clicks her tongue
And then he comes back
And sits on his sand pillow

'You'll spoil your appetite, Stanely'

Sometimes in the summer
Mariella crawls out of the sand
And we go dancing in the ocean
Reciting lines from 'From Here to Eternity'
And making Stanley be Deborah Kerr

Then we raid the cooler
And eat the jelly squares my mom made us
With toothpicks in them
And little strawberries
Sticking out of the toothpicks
Like umbrellas

But now it's cooler out
And we can't go to the beach as much
Because I have to go shopping
For school clothes

'Mariella, would you like to come home with me?'
'No, darling. I like it here on the beach--in the sand.'
'But what about when it's winter and nobody will be here anymore?'
'I don't mind being alone. And I have Stanley, of course.'

Stanley frowns when she says that
But I don't think Mariella notices

She thinks she can be alone
But that's only because
She never has been

It starts to rain
And all the men with the umbrellas
Take out extra umbrellas
To make sure Mariella won't get wet

'Boys, relax, I like a little rain with my lemonade.'

They move the umbrellas
And she stands up
And takes my hand
And we run into the ocean

Water coming down on us
Water down below us
Water, water, water

Mariella picks me up
And throws me into the air
And instead of falling

I go up, up into the sky
And Mariella flies up to meet me
And we float there
In the rain
Amongst the sand balloons

And we wait to come down
But part of me hopes
That it won't be
For a very long time

Rory's Words

Rory's little brother Taylor
Was diagnosed on his first birthday

Most of it gone
The hearing
More may follow
Some may come back

Rory was six
And although Taylor would never need to adjust to the news
Rory had to be told
And it was difficult

'He can't hear?'
'No'
'No'

(Rory)
(Mom)
(Dad)

'Good thing I'm learning to write.'

(Rory)

'Well...'

(Mom)

To sign

They would learn
They would all learn

It would become like second nature

It would be even easier for Rory
Because he was young

It would be a good skill
For him to have

But Rory didn't want to sign
Rory wanted to write

'That's what writing's for.'

(Rory)

Soon he was taking Taylor everywhere with him
Using the wagon he'd gotten for his birthday

He'd hold something up
Then hold up the word
That attached to the thing

Rory's mother was reminded of 'The Miracle Worker'

'Water. Water.'

(Annie Sullivan)

It wasn't until a month had gone by
That Rory's mother noticed
That the things he was writing on the little dry erase board
His father had bought him
Did not match up with the objects

Object: Flower
Word: Girls

'Rory, that's a flower. Not a girl. Certainly not girls. That's plural.'

(Mom)

'But girls like flowers. He needs to know that.'

(Rory)

She was going to say something
But she decided to let it go

Rory would grow out of this
And Taylor was so young
What difference did it make?

'All right'

(Mom)

Soon, Rory's words became something else
A window his parents
Into his associations

What meant what to him

Object: Cucumber
Word: Disgusting

Object: Giant Refrigerator Box
Word: Castle

Object: Swing set
Word: Disaster

'Rory, why did you write "disaster?"'

(Dad)

'When you put it up, Mom said--"Wait until Rory falls off one day. It'll be a disaster.'

(Rory)

Soon Rory realized
That it would be easier
To stick words all over the house
On little Post-It notes

Object: Photo of Grandma May
Word: Money

'Money?'

(Mom)

'Dad says she's made of money.'

(Rory)

Object: Rocking Horse
Word: Fred

'His name is Fred.'
'I figured that.'

(Rory)
(Dad)

Object: Red Wine Stain on the Carpet
Word: Auntie Jane

'It's so Taylor learns about responsibility.'
'I like how you think.'

(Rory)
(Mom)

Soon Rory was looking up words
Or asking for words
More words
More descriptive words

His teachers said
He was flying through vocabulary
And so when Taylor's specialist said
That this little exercise
Was not a good idea
That it would confuse him as he got older

Rory's mother and father nodded politely
Then thought to themselves--

We'll see

The truth was
They'd grown used to Rory's words

Object: Microwave
Words: Black Box Lava Souffle

Object: Bag of Golf Clubs
Words: Dad's Sunday Afternoon

Object: Blue Sweater
Words: Cozy Winter Hot Chocolate Reminder

Now the entire house
Was covered in words

It felt like living in a dictionary
A strange dictionary
A more poetic version

'We should stop this'
'I know'
'You do it'
'Fat chance'
'Fine'

(Dad)
(Mom)
(Dad)
(Mom)
(Dad)

Meanwhile they were diligent in learning to sign
And they had decided that words or no words
Rory would learn too

When they informed him of this
He politely declined
So that they had to tell him
This wasn't a choice

He would have to learn to sign
It was better for Taylor

'So what I'm doing is hurting Taylor?'

(Rory)

Mom and Dad looked at each other

'It's not that it's hurting him.'
'It's just not going to be very helpful to him in the long run.'
'Well, it will--'
'Yes, I mean, it will--'
'Just not as much as signing will.'

(Mom)
(Dad)
(Mom)
(Dad)
(Mom)

'Okay. Never mind. I'll learn.'

(Rory)

And he did
And the notes were taken down
Not by his parents
But by Rory

Once the notes were down
His mother realized how pointless the whole thing had been
Sweet, of course, sentimental
But pointless

Rory was trying to teach Taylor sound
With words, and that wasn't possible

How do you describe the sound a microwave makes if you can't hear it?
How do you explain to a little boy what his wealthy grandmother sounds like?
How do you convey an orchestra or an airplane going by or the first word a baby says?

Rory was giving everything names
But he couldn't give them sounds

That was something that Taylor
Was just going to have to live without

Then one day, Mom was going through a closet
Rory was in the living room watching Taylor
Doing the alphabet in sign
Over and over
Occasionally letting Taylor
Chew on his fingers

'Rory, don't let him do that if it hurts you'
'It doesn't hurt, Mom'

(Mom)
(Rory)

She came across the album
At the back of the closet
Underneath a box of winter clothes

It was the baby book they'd kept for Rory
Although, once they'd had Taylor
She and Dad forgot to update it

Such is the guilt of parents
With more than one child

She opened the baby book to the first page

'Baby's First Photo'

And there she was, with Dad
Holding baby Rory

Next to the photo was a note--

Note: Big Joy

The next photo was Dad holding Rory, both fast asleep--

Note: Safety Dad

Then one of Mom holding Rory while he took his first step--

Note: Always Okay

And even Grandma May--

Note: Cash in Cards

With every photo there was a note
And each note was a few words
A thought
Adjectives
Nothing much

It wasn't the sound of the wind on a spring day
But it was, clearly, sufficient

It occurred to Mom that even if Taylor had his hearing
Rory might have thought to do this anyway

He was telling his brother
Everything he needed to know
About the world

She looked in the living room

Taylor was on his back
And Rory was next to him
They were looking at the ceiling
And reaching out their hands

It looked like they were willing
The ceiling to come closer

And Rory was moving his fingers around
In a strange sort of way

Then she heard him say--

'Sky'

(Rory)

Fingers tracing--

'Sky'

(Rory)

Fingers curving
Carving words
Out of air

'Almost Sky'

And as Rory's fingers moved
Taylor's fingers reached up
And grabbed
And wrapped
Right around

His brother's hands

More Notes with the Actors

(Raises hand)

Umm...sommmmme people are hanging around backstage because they don’t have anything to do because they don’t have lead roles and the people with lead roles are trying to focus on all the stuff they have to do because they DO have lead roles and they can’t because the people WITHOUT lead roles who might be said to have SMALL roles—at least, smaller than LEAD roles which are the biggest kind of roles—really need to concentrate on their roles so that the next time they do a show they don’t wind up with small roles which are still roles but not as good as LEAD roles.

…And we need more paper towels in the dressing room.

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Excuse me, but tonight I took three steps onstage and then stopped and started the scene. Normally, I take two steps onstage, stop, and then start the scene. I usually take the extra step but tonight I didn’t, and I’m not sure why. It maybe because my mother is in the hospital getting her tonsils out and that’s where my heart is but I understand that I should leave that at the door but nevertheless I took two steps annnnnnnd I kinda liked it. Did you like it? I really feel that without that extra step the whole scene is a lot tighter. Didn’t it? Didn’t it feel tighter?

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Um, you told us all to listen really carefully, and totally I was really listening. Did you notice me looking like I was listening? Because every time I was onstage I was totally thinking about how you told us to listen and I tried to make sure I looked like I was really paying attention and I was just wondering if you noticed that.

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

So when I'm striking the blue chair, do you want me to pick it up by grabbing the seat and taking it off or by grabbing the sides of the back and taking it off? Do you have a preference? Oh, and should I do it in character?

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Ummm, so, soooome people are elongating the second phrase of the opening number so that it’s becoming ‘Let us taaaaaake you’ instead of ‘Let us taaake you’ and so the ‘take’ becomes a half-second longer, which then adds a half-second to the opening number, which then makes act one a half-second longer, and before you know it there’s complete chaos and people are eating kittens in the streets. So could people please shorten the ‘taaaaaake’ to ‘taaake’ so that kittens don’t have to die needlessly. And also, we’re definitely adding a long ‘u’ to the ‘rue’ in the second verse of the second to last number in act one, and that’s a very 70’s thing to do and we decided that the show’s supposed to take place on December 31st, 1969, so could we please honor that decision? Thanks.

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

I just wanted to let you know that every time I’m backstage, I’m still staying in character, and I was wondering if you can feel me staying in character even when I’m not physically onstage?

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

So, I just saw daylight coming through the door at the back of the theater, and that reminded me that the light cue that’s supposed to happen when I walk on for Act Two was a little bit slower tonight, and that made me forget all my lines and where I was—you would agree that that was the lighting guy’s fault, right?

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Do you think my mother ever really loved me?

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Ummm, sooo, soommme peeeople, whose name may or may not rhyme with Fennifer Tosenfelt seem to think that they should get last bow just because they’re playing Sally and the name of the show is ‘Oh, Sally!’ and they may or may not be saying that some of us are getting last bow because we may or may not be indirectly related to the director, music director, and the set designer, and I would just like to ask your thoughts on gossip and if you feel people who do it should worry more about their one eyebrow and non-existent lower register?

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

I decided that my character in Act Two, Scene Two, is a Communist. Thoughts?

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

I'm really worried that I don't have enough time to go backstage after I cry onstage, reapply my make-up, get back into a happy place, put on new earrings, and casually walk—as I feel my character in the next scene would do—to the other end of the stage and walk on happy as if my heart wasn’t just ripped out. I just think emotionally that’s a really long distance for me to travel. Is there any you could, like, add a tap number to give me some more time to get there…emotionally?
. . . . .

(Raises hand)

I just decided that if my character were a vegetable, she would be an eggplant. Thank you.

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Ummm, sooooooooo, soommmmmme peeeeeeople defaced the sign-up list for the get-together at my house that is NOT a cast party, but rather a celebration of people within the cast who enjoy each other but do not enjoy other people in the cast whose names may or may not rhyme with Fennifer Tosenfelt, and I just think we should really reflect on what it means to respect other people’s personal belongings, like sign-up lists for refreshments for get-togethers that have really nice calligraphy on them and hand-drawn unicorns. Also, there’s a sign-up list for the ACTUAL cast party, which everyone is invited to attend. I will not be able to attend as the get-together which is NOT the cast party is the same night, but I will be there in spirit.
. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Do you think my character hitchhiked across the country during Spring Break and ended up riding to Ohio with a guy named Razor who made her take shrooms and dressed her up like the Easter Bunny finally leaving her in a motel in Toledo with nothing but a backpack full of Altoids and a note that says ‘You’re lucky you didn’t wind up like the last one’...or something?

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Should I be breathing while I’m onstage or would you rather we held our breath until the show was over? Because I’m totally committed enough to do that.

. . . . .

(Raises hand)

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, soooooooooooo, soooooooooooooome peeeeeeeeeeeeeople should stop doing theater and become veterinarians

...Just a thought.

Maybe I'll Find You in the Night

Maybe I'll find you
With bright blue eyes
Green skin, scaled
Tongue sliding out
To approach the air

Maybe I'll find you
With the hood still on
Unshaven, unclear
About where you are
But not far from the pier

Maybe I'll find you
Holding a red red rose
Waiting with your camera
For a damn good shot

Maybe you got yourself lost in the fight
Or maybe I'll find you in the night

Is it green where you are?
Are there castle walls
And tall buildings
And lights lighting up
Unilluminated areas?

Is there learning going on?
Have you learned anything
About how to bring
More of yourself
To the kitchen table?

Is there a suitcase
With your things mispacked in it
Stacked on a bench next to you
Doing nothing but reminding you
That you're not finding anything
Out in the wide vast world?

Maybe you've learned to make things right
Or maybe I'll find you in the night

What're You Gonna Do?

Lori?

Lori, it's Connie.

I just had a big fight with my daughter.

With Chrissy.

She's going over that boy's house
Says she's gonna get pregnant

Says she's gonna have five babies with him
Then marry him
As soon as he divorces his wife

Well, what COULD I do?

Stop her?

She's a grown woman
Just like I was when I was sixteen

It's not like I could tackle her
To the floor, Lori

A girl wants to date her principal
What're you gonna do?

You know what I mean?
What can you do?

Nothin'

At least she gets good grades
Straight-A student that one
Honor roll

It's because she loves going to school
At least now I know why

Not like my Johnny

Johnny hasn't been to school in two weeks
He's been walking around the house
Wearing a smock
Talking about becoming a hairdresser

Yeah, he does good work
You should come over
He'll fix your bangs

Just don't talk to him about school
He'll bite your head off

The other day he threw his clippers at me
Almost took my eye out

I should have punished him
But thirteen's a tough age
They're coming into their own

What're you gonna do, you know?

Drag him into school
So he can get his ass kicked
When he tries to give one of the football players
A cut and color?

I say, let your kids live their lives
That's the only way they learn

Now my husband, Walter
That's a different story

He told me yesterday he spent his entire paycheck
At the dog track betting on Loose Cannon

That's the name of the dog, Lori
Loose Cannon

I know, it's a cute name, isn't it?

I don't know how it got it, Lori
Maybe it has a bad temper

My father had a dog like that
Bit everybody
Should have put him down
But what're you gonna do, you know?

So now Walter's out of money for the week
And we're behind on the rent
It's a big mess

The man can't stop gambling
I wouldn't mind so much
If he were winning

It's not really the gambling I mind
It's the losing
I'm sick of the losing

But what am I gonna do?
Tell him to stop
It's what he enjoys doing

Some men enjoy fishing
Some men enjoy golf
He enjoys losing hard-earned money

What're you gonna do, Lori?

Nothin'

Can't do nothin'

I'll tell you one thing though
All this sure is hard to watch

Let Me Know If You're Coming

Let me know if you're coming
I won't bake a cake
But I will take the light bulbs out
Of all the lamps

I'll clamp down the windows
Cause the last time
We broke the glass

And I'll class up the joint
Point the weather vane
Towards the storm
And warn the couple next door
We're about to floor them

If you're coming I'm making drumsticks
And tricking my friends
Into thinking I'm on vacation
Delaying my imaginary staying
As I'm praying you get here faster

So let me know if you're coming
And I'll crack the oven
Shove in the chicken
And pick up a movie
That we've seen before

I'll rip the sheets off the bed
And instead of lighting candles
I'll see if you can handle
The comforting dark

So park your car
Then call to say you're outside

And if you decide
You're staying in tonight

Then let me know
When I should head over

Rumpelstiltskin Tries to Order a Slap Chop

Hello, I'd like to order a Slap Chop.

I'm very excited to see that your product can chop hard-boiled eggs so effectively.

Hmm?

No, I won't be needing the 'turning straw to gold' attachment.

I'm sure it IS a popular item, but I'm all set.

Now do I have to give you my name?

Uh huh...

Right

Well...

Couldn't you just guess it?

Okay, well just tell me what you think it is...

No, it's not Ivan.

Why would that be your first guess?

I sound Russian?

In what way?

Do I have an accent I'm not aware--

Angry? I sound angry?

So all Russians sound angry?

No, I'm not offended for me. I'm offended for the Russians.

I'm sure there are some happy Russians.

And no, I'm not angry. At least, I wasn't...

Okay, I'll give you a hint.

My name has fifteen letters in it, and it begins with an 'R.'

No, this is not Robert Pattinson. Please stop screaming.

Your daughter doesn't love me. She loves Robert Pattinson. I don't blame her, but nonetheless, that's not who I am.

Look, can I just give you my Visa card number?

Oh, excellent. That'll take care of that.

Now let me ask you something--

Can the Slap Chop dice the first-born son of a prince?

Hello?

Hello...?

Watch My Hair

Watch my hair
Get chopped off

Watch it dye from black to white
Watch me blonde myself

Watch me roughen up the edges
Slash off the bangs
Bang up the back

Watch me make it asymmetrical
Watch me take it to new levels
Of uncomfortable

Watch me mullet it down
Then business it up
Get it short on the top
And wild in the front

Watch me shave it all off
Then let it grow back
Until it's down my back
Until it gets back your attention
Did I mention why I'm doing this?

They say sometimes
People who grieve
Will cut off their hair

But I'm not really grieving
Because you're not really here

Instead you're with him
And he got a new haircut
Just for you

So what should I do?

I'll tell you

I'll punish my hair
For being on my head
For making me look good to you
For all the times you yanked it back
In that playful-but-not sort of way

Watch my hair pay
For the hate that I have now
For how stupid I let you make me feel

Well now I'll look real stupid
Instead of just feeling that way

Watch my hair
Watch it go as crazy
As you think I am

Then watch all that crazy
Get cut
Away

King Richard the Fanatic Explains Sex to His Son

Well, to begin with--

One must undress the woman

To do so, one must remove her clothes
And while this happens
The man must be vigilant
And not look at the woman
For if he does
His eyes shall light afire
And fall out of his skull
As the angels cry from above

Once the woman is undressed
The man--

Still with closed or shielded eyes

Must respectfully mount her
And--

Oh wait, I forgot

You must also disrobe yourself

It's easier to do this
Before the woman enters your chambers
But be sure she does not look upon you
Or her purity will shrivel up
And fall onto the floor
While she turns into a brown badger
Which must be killed and burned
For it will not only have the soul
Of the tarnished woman
But of the devil himself
And the angels will cry from above

Now--

Once you're both disrobed
And you've mounted her
You must say the Lord's Prayer
Over and over again
To cleanse the sin from the fornication
Which is, in and of itself, sin
So it's a very tricky procedure
Which requires a lot of focus

You must say the prayer
While fornicating
And not falter
Or else you shall become glued to the woman
At the spot which you are joined
And you shall stay this way
For all eternity
And the angels will cry from above

You must say the prayer
And, of course, maintain stiffness
Or the entire process
Will be for naught

And when you have...completed your journey
Through this sin-filled, disgusting
Wasteland of human relations

You will have, hopefully created an heir
A male heir, a strong male heir
Preferably with hair as blonde as Gabriel's
Or else you will risk angering the Lord
And your male parts shall grow to the size of a willow tree
And engulf the rest of your body
As punishment

Meanwhile, the woman shall be killed
In front of a chanting, feverish crowd of onlookers
For failing to do her duty
And her innards will be spread over the kitchen floor
Of her family home
As a warning to all those girls
Who believe fornicating without a pleasing result
Is acceptable in a holy kingdom

...And the angels will cry from above, of course

So...

Any questions?