The Plague Has Come and Gone

The plague has come and gone
But in many ways
We still find it to be useful

We use it
As a tool
To help remind people
How important it is
To uphold their morality

When a child swears, we say--

'Careful, young child.
Swearing was one of the reasons
The Lord chose to send down the plague.
Every time you swear
You risk the Lord hearing you
For He hears all
And deciding that as punishment
For that foul language
He shall cause your mother's tongue
To turn black
Grow feet
And crawl down her throat
Where it will eat her alive
From the inside out'

That didn't actually happen
During the plague
But the children are so young
They don't remember
What was and what wasn't

Such is their innocence

And so, you see,
We can turn a negative
Into a positive

Turn a time that was fraught with tragedy
Into a powerful weapon
Against poor behavior

Hardly anyone is scared
Of the plague returning
So occasionally
We have to label other things 'the plague'
To help buoy those fears
Otherwise our sword
Will lose its edge

So now, when a man falls off a house
And breaks his neck
We point at his body and say--

'The plague has struck again!'

And people return to their churches
And pray for forgiveness
And act accordingly for at least a few months
Until they start to slip again

To be honest,
I don't remember what caused
The actual plague

It might have been that dead horse carcasse
That we left in the center of town
For four months
Afraid to touch it
Because its wound bore a striking resemblance
To the Virgin Mother

It doesn't matter

History is just something we use
To create the future

And so we shall create
Much like the good Lord created
And we shall not look back and question
Why this was that
Or that was this

Why our brothers lost their minds
And rode pigs like horses
Yelling about the demons
That live in the hen houses

Or why our sisters cut off their hair
Threw on burlap sacks
And drank nothing but river water
And sow's blood
For days on ed

We shall just remember the events
In our own special way
So that the wounds
And the sores
And the festering pus
All benefit
From the beauty
Of distance

Amen

It Used to Mean Something to Be From Here

...You know, and I'm always coming into it
In the middle of the conversation
So I have to, like
Assume
What's been said
And go from there
Which makes things
Difficult, you know?

But mainly, what I'm hearing is, like--

'You should be grateful'

Right?

It's like--I should be--we should be grateful
Because, like, our area's being cleaned up

And there is so much
About that particular statement
That particular way of thinking
That just, sort of, makes me want to
Put my foot through someone's ass

Nothing about this area
This neighborhood
Needed to be 'cleaned up'

And the word 'grateful' implies
That we were this, what?
This dystopian society?
That needed rescuing
From, like, some sort of
Non-Australian-But-Still-White Mad Max figure?

Hey--when that movie came out
Did anybody question why the only people to survive the end of the world
Were the AUSTRALIANS?

The thing is--

We were a neighborhood
Yeah, we weren't the prettiest neighborhood
But it's not like we were a slum either, okay?

We weren't destitute
Or, like, plague-ridden

We were diverse
We had layers
There was substance here, you know?

It used to mean something
To be from here

It meant you were tough
And hard-working
And that family
And friends
And community
Meant something to you

Now it means you listen to the fucking Shinn's
And wear sunglasses made out of wheat
And your sandals cost you more
Than two months of rent

That's what it means now
And that's what we're talking about
When we say we're concerned
About the direction
The neighborhood
Is going in

Because it's changing the meaning
Of this place
And so to be from here
To identify yourself with this place
To say 'these are my roots'
Suddenly that means--

Uh, um, fuck, it just--

It means like 'I'm Whole Foods'
I'm 'Trader Joe's'
I'm Jack White
I'm Coldplay
I'm satchels and B.A.'s in Eastern Philosophy

There's nothing wrong with all that shit
But it's not what this place
Used to be about

It just used to be a place
And now it's a biodome
Without the dome

We're living in this fucking hippy dippy paradise
And it's freaking me out

But you know, you try to have these conversations
And people are scared
They're scared to have them with you
Because they don't want to offend you
But at the same time
They're going right ahead
And making these decisions
Doing these things
But not telling you about them
Because they think if one day you wake up
And it's all just happened
Maybe you won't feel as bad about it?

I mean does that make any fucking sense?

I keep walking into the middle of these conversations
And then they stop

They come to a dead stop

And I just want to say to these people--

'Hey, don't worry about me.  I want to have the conversation, okay? 

I'm very interested
In having
The conversation.'

But nobody will have it

And meanwhile, the bulldozers keep on dozing

And that's it, you know?

The meaning has changed
It's been steamrolled

Suddenly you wake up in a different place
With the same couch

And you keep saying--

'Why didn't anybody tell me this was happening?'

Why didn't anybody
Let me know?

And Johanna Wins Awards

Other actresses are working
Or choosing not to work
Or reading scripts
For new projects
Directed by people
You're not supposed to want to work with

People whose movies
Involve women in bikinis
And explosions
And wise-cracking robots

Other actresses will be working
With these people next year
And grace the covers of magazines
And eat small salads at nice restaurants
With people who can create futures
The way old women can make quilts

And Johanna wins awards
For a movie nobody wants to see
But everybody keeps applauding

For a tough, cancer movie
Where there's no background music
The camerawork is shakey
And Johanna not only shows her vagina
But has one of those 'looking-in-the-mirror-at-your-cancer-ridden-naked-body-including-your-vagina' scenes that will defeat even Holocaust movies
At just about any awards show

Johanna wins awards
And people go to the bathroom

Johanna wins awards
And ratings plummet
Because people in Idaho
Do not know
Who she is

Johanna wins awards
And nobody is surprised
And nobody hates her
Because she's not popular enough
To hate

Johanna gets offered theater work
While all the other nominees in her category
Get offered more films

Even the old legend
Who often appears
In the little box
Next to Johanna's little box
Right before the name is announced
And all the other little boxes aside from Johanna's
Produce a soft smile and a polite clap clap clap

Even that old legend
Clap clap clapping
Is enjoying a mild comeback
And can now transition into playing
Grandmothers
And people who die of old age

Meanwhile, Johanna has the awards

So many awards

Awards she didn't even know existed

Awards from foreign counties
And various cities
And their film critics

Awards from magazines
From associations
From gay people
Because her cancer-ridden character in the movie
Just happens to be a lesbian

Awards that look like astronauts
And monkeys
And dinner plates
And one that resembles
A Norwegian troll

The awards enthusiasts comment
On the categories
Where a surprise win
Is actually possible

And Johanna wins awards

Her dresses are always too simple
To make it on either the best or worst list

Her interviews are always too boring
To make the highlight reel
On the entertainment shows

Her movie is too damn sad
To enjoy a bounce at the box office
Due to its nomination

Its one nomination

For Johanna

One nomination means she's usually alone at these shows

No co-stars
No director
No writer

Just her
Representing the little film
She's growing less and less fond of
With each passing show

That same old clip
Of her final words
To her adopted daughter
Being shown over and over again
And immediately after
The reaction shot

A shot of her reacting
To her own performance

It was almost cruel

Johanna goes to the last awards show
And, ironically, does not win

She loses to Living Legend
Who can now die in real life
Not just on screen

She feels herself sort of...smile
At the fact that she's lost
And that she's not only lost
But lost the Big One
So to speak

The one she's not supposed to lose

And yet she does

They must have gotten sick of me, she thinks

No surprise there
She's even gotten sick of herself

She goes back to her hotel room
The one she's been staying at
Holed up in
While award season
Was in full swing

She'll check out tomorrow
And take a plane
Back to the house in Massachusetts

Consider the theater offers
Read a few scripts
And drink copious amounts
Of tea
Like some sort of elderly British detective

Back at the hotel
Her awards are on every flat surface
Of the room

Her agent's even had the ones from out-of-state
Shipped in
As if he felt the entire family
Should be together
For this momentous night
Not realizing it wouldn't be all that momentous
After all

She takes the awards off the tables
And the countertops
And the nighstand in the bedroom
And she lines them up
From shortest to tallest
In the living room

Then she creates a circle
A big circle
Whee they are the outer
And she is the inner

She sits down
Cross-legged
In the middle
Of all this praise

And she feels like she's playing some wild game
Of duck-duck-goose
With a bunch of dwarfish statues

Then she lies down
And closes her eyes

Feeling somehow protected
And somehow foolish
And somehow adorable
All at the same time

Across town
The other four women
Released from their boxes
Are dancing
And drinking
And crying
And firing people
And fucking
And not fucking
And driving around poetically

And Johanna's sleeping soundly
On a lovely hotel carpet
While her awards stand guard over her
And practice smiling
For the camera

Waiting for Pills

I'm going to die
Waiting for pills

That's what I tell them

Little blue one
Little red one
Little blue one
Oops--which one are we on?
Blue?
Red?

Does it matter?

It doesn't matter

I'm going to die anyway

The pills have an order
A progression
A way of doing things
All their own

And we must follow the rules
Of the pills
Or we risk
Their wrath, or worse
The opposite of their wrath

Their potential ineffectiveness

Because when the pills are kicking your ass
It's a good thing
And when they're leaving you alone
It's a bad thing

The pills dictate the day
The time
The passing of moments

Is it time for pills yet?
Is today a blue pill day?
Is it true that pill's stopped working?

I imagine the pills
Working in little offices
Little cubicles
Where they labor tirelessly
To help me kick this thing

And then every once in awhile
They have to take a day off
Maybe a sick day
Wouldn't that be great?
If a pill
Took a sick day?

And when they do
I feel it

I feel those empty cubicles
Their loneliness

I'm afraid that one day
They're going to pick
The wrong time
To take a holiday
And I'll be left sitting somewhere
Drool coming out of my mouth
Or, the opposite, cottonmouth
Hair falling out
Pitched forward in my wheelchair
Ready to drop

. . . . .

The pills make me forget things
But then enable me to remember
That there are more pills
To take

They cut me
That much
Slack

The pills sometimes too much
Often too little
And always feel
Like bad candy
Going down

I wait for them
Like an expectant child
Waiting for her delinquent father to show up
And take her to a movie

I wait, and I wait, and I wait

Then a clock strikes
A cup of water appears
And a pill is place on my tongue

Down goes the bad candy
Down goes the worker
Into its little cubicle

And then...

......

.....More waiting

Didn't I tell you?

Did I forget to tell you about that part?

I forget so much

I forget what I'm forgetting

See, after you're done waiting for the pills
That's when the real wait begins

The wait to see if there's a reason
For all this
Waiting

You Have to Do It

- What would you say you've taught her?
- Nothing.  She's unteachable.
- Everyone is teachable, John.  Everybody can learn.
- She can't.  She doesn't.  She doesn't learn.
- So you don't...
- 'Hills Like White Elephants.'  She liked that.  She seemed to respond--
- Did she?
- Yes.
- So you see?  Teachable.
- I guess.
- And she's sure?
- Yes.
- How sure?
- How sure do you need to be?
- You're sure she's not--?
- No.  I mean, she wouldn't.  She's not.  I don't want to say--
- --Smart enough.
- Right.
- Well...yes.
- It's better if we just say what needs to be said.
- Agreed.
- So she is?
- Yes.
- And she's...
- She's...

     . . . . .

- Yes?
- Determined.
- I see.
- To, you know.
- I see.
- And if she did--
- That shouldn't--I mean, as far as we're concerned, that wouldn't.
- I know
- I mean, I'm not sure I could move on from that.
- Nobody would expect you to.
- I think I've been pretty, you know, about all this as is.
- Of course, you've been.
- I mean, I know I broke your wrist.
- And toe.
- I stepped so hard.
- Yes.
- It felt good.
- I'm--well, glad isn't--
- There are things I can, sort of, deny.  I can deny things.  But how do you deny something that's actually tangible.  Nothing that's been done is tangible--yet.  I didn't see anything.  I have no evidence.  I can pretend.  I can't pretend if--
- Right.
- So...
- ...?
- So you have to do it.
- I can't.
- John--
- I can't, Sophia.  Really.  I can't.  I--what am I supposed to--?
- You just explain, I mean, to her--this is--this is a terrible situation.
- I think everyone's aware--
- I guess not.
- --that this is--
- I guess not, John.  I guess not everyone's aware because otherwise this would already be taken care of, and it's not.  You need.  To talk.  To her.
- What if--
- What if what?  She--
- No.  Not that.  What if--I mean...
- What, John?
- What if you talked to her?

    . . . . .

- Are you--are you asking me--?
- Sophia--
- John--
- She respects you, Sophia.
- Are you kidding me?
- Sophia, she does.  She really does.
- John, I'm not--
- Sophia--
- You're her teacher.
- So are you.
- I was.  I was her teacher.  I taught her Wuthering Heights, you're teaching her subtext.  I can't--
- That's--
- Clearly I made no impression.
- I hate to say this.
- Say what?
- Maybe it's not respect, but it's--
- It's clearly not respect.
- Fear.  She--or intimidation.
- Fear?  She fears me?
- You--
- I mean, that would be all right, and it's all right to say, and we're being direct, but clearly, John, it's not true.
- It is true.
- John--
- Sophia, she'll listen to you.  What choice will she have?
- You want me to ask her--
- You're the one who wants it
- You don't want it?
- I--
- Do you want her to have it?
- No, it's--I mean--
- Please try to be more eloquent.  Stop stuttering.  Just speak.
- I wouldn't mind her having it but I'm not sure how much contact I could have with it.
- Because you'd be a terrible father?
- Because of you.
- I detect blame.
- No blame.
- I swear I detect blame, John.  I can feel the blame rolling off that.  Rolling off 'Because of you.'
- Am I incorrect?
- It wouldn't be because of me as much as it would be because you fucked a sixteen-year-old when you were married to me.  That's what it would be because of.
- You're right.
- Just keep saying that, John.  Just keep practicing saying 'You're right.'  That's really all you need to know how to say from here on in.
- Fine.  You're right.  I'm wrong.  I'm awful.  Terrible.  I'm a monster.  And you're right.  And you're a saint.  And you should just leave me.  All of it.  All of it is true.  But I can't talk to her, and that's also true.  I can't ask her to kill my child.
- Oh for godsakes, John--
- I can't, Sophia.
- You sound like a bishop.  Like a raving lunatic.  It's barely a lentil at this point.
- I can't ask her to do that.
- So I have to ask her is what you're saying.
- It's not your child, so...
- I'm sort of afraid that you don't see how that sentence is insensitive.
- I--
- What with our situation.  Our previous situation.  My situation.  And the situation we now find ourselves in.
- I--
- I'm worried that it's not just about you cheating, or you needing something, something I didn't have, or that you just like young, fresh skin, John.  I'm worried that you're not just a pedophile or a statutory rapist or whatever else you are, but that, on top of everything else, you're completely unaware of when you're being a hurtful cunt to your wife.
- Men can't be cunts.
- I disagree.  I would venture to say that whoever invented the word 'cunt' and thought it could only be applied to women probably never dreamed up a scenario like this one.
- Sophia--
- And I'm also fairly sure if that person--that man, a man, right?  It would be a man--I'm pretty sure if that man met you, John, he'd happily label you a 'cunt' and not think twice about it.
- You have to do it.
- John--
- No joking this time.  If you say 'No,' it's a 'No,' but if you say 'No,' you do need to know--
- Is this about to be a tale of how I'll be punished if I don't instruct your girlfriend to abort her child?
- It's not a punishment, it's just what will happen.
- That's usually what a punishment is.  The natural progression of a series of screw-ups made by other people insensitive to the feelings of others.
- She'll keep it.  If you don't talk to her and I don't talk to her, she'll keep it, and if she keeps it, and she has it, I won't be able to ignore it.
- But if she--
- I can live with knowing it was never here.  That it never really existed outside of being, you know, what you said--
- A lentil.
- Right.
- Right.
- But if it's born.  If it comes into this world, then...I can't pretend it's not there.  I can't say I won't see it.  I can't say that won't affect me in some way.
- So those are the choices?  Have the talk.  The unbearable talk.  The unspeakably awkward and humiliating talk or...what?  Lose you?
- I wouldn't say--
- You wouldn't.
- You could be--
- What?  The stepmother to the thing that ruined my marriage?
- It's not ruined.
- Not yet.
- Sophia--
- But close.
- Sophia--
- I'll talk to her.
- You--you mean--
- Don't worry.  I'll do it.  I'll talk to her.  She'll, uh, she'll reconsider.
- But if she--
- She will.  Like you said, she's scared of me.  She should be.  I'm a woman clinging to nothing but common sense.  The sharpest weapon of them all.  Somebody said that, I think.  I can't imagine I thought that up on my own.
- I love you.
- Fuck off.
- I--
- Fuck off and I love you, and I can't believe I love you after you've asked me to do this, but I guess I must love you because I am going to do this and that makes me hate myself even more than I hate you. Yes, I'll talk to her.  Yes, she'll reconsider.  She'll be better off for it.  Not because she won't have a child, but because she won't have any connection to you once it's done.  In that way, at least, in some way, this is, this talk--is--it's...sort of...not completely selfish of me.
- Sophia--
- Or you, or--FUCK!
- I--
- Just let me swear and be coarse and unwomanly for a second, all right?
- I--
- Fuck you, you whore-fucking man.
- Okay.
- And I love you.
- Right.
- I'll talk to her.
- Thank you.
- But John?
- Yes.
- It's going to be a long time before...
- Before what?
- Before we talk again.  Like this.  Directly.  Really talk, you know?  It's going to be a very long time.
- I understand.
- Oh John, I don't think you do.  As a matter of fact, I think there's an awful lot you don't understand.
- I...maybe.
- But I guess we'll just have to hope you're teachable, right?  What do you think, John?  Are you teachable?

What I Used to Say When I Was Straight

I don't like labels
I don't like being labeled
I don't like being called something
I don't like this and that
Being put on men

Like we're this
We're that
We're this way
We're that way

I don't like talking about
My private life

These are things I used to say
Before I'd just come out
And say I was gay

I don't like fashion
I can't be gay

I don't like Madonna
(I did)
I can't be gay

I can't see myself
Being married to a man

(That's a clue.  It's something unsaid.
It's 'I can see myself
Having sex
With a man)

I'd lower my voice
And declare my love for boobs

(As if gay men can't appreciate boobs)

I'd check my stance
Straighten up (ironic, huh?)
Cough and say
I'd be fine with being gay
But I'm not

See?  --I'm putting it out there
I'm defusing the situation
A gay man would hide
A gay man wouldn't put it out there like that
He'd be ashamed
Wouldn't he?

I didn't dance like nobody was watching
I only danced when nobody was watching

And I watched

I watched my hands
I watched my tone
I watched my words

Nobody's ever stared at their words
As hard as I have
While they were still
Sitting on the line in my mind
Getting cold
Before going to service

People say I sounded happier after I came out
Why wouldn't I?
My words were warm now
My ideas were still fresh

Nothing was picked over
And censored
And sent out of my mouth
Stripped-dry structures of what they once were

I wore fear like bad cologne
Lies like new shoes
And everything was a costume
Everything

All the world's a stage
And yet
I was my own understudy

Never allowed to go on
Unless the lead got sick
With the truth

What I used to say when I was straight
Was nothing of note
Nothing that held weight
Sank or swam
Made an impression
Carried itself
Past the moment of no return
When I finally said--

'I'm brave enough
To say
I've lied'

And then held that bravery out
To everyone I knew
To see if they would take it
Upon themselves
And accept me

Or leave it
Right where it was

Everything I've said
Since then
Has been something new
Sometimes things
I didn't even think of before

Like--

Well...

I question what my favorite things
Really are

Because I had to adopt false favorite things
That would support
My chosen persona

Every word can just come out
It doesn't have to wait
To be verified

Every opinion is untested
Every statement unstructured
Everything is so
Damn
Delicate

And yet it all sounds better
The way food tastes better
After you stop smoking

Except some miss the smoking
I don't miss looking at the sky
And saying 'it's blue'

Or saying the sky doesn't like labels
Or the sky like its private life
Or the sky isn't the sky

Maybe I wasn't as obvious
As the color of the sky
But something tells me
I was

We can't deny the sky
And yet we can deny ourselves

Isn't that something?

Of all the things you say
Sometimes the things you say to yourself
Stick to your lungs like honey
While everyone else is busy forgiving you
Accepting you

Saying, 'It's okay.  It all washed off'

All those words
Didn't stain

They fell like something dropped
On a hardwood floor

But the honey you can still taste

The honey's still sticking to you
Long, long after
The sky decides
It's time to be
Tonight

And So Now I Have to Turn You Over, Love

And so now it's a book
It's a cup of coffee
It's a time stamp, date stamp
You've been here
You've been there
You don't know where
You're going

It's a list of things
That don't make sense
Unless you're you
To see them

But I can't keep baking
The same old bread
Hoping it'll rise higher
Than the last loaf did

I can't keep reading
The same three books
Expecting different endings
Expecting the books to let me decide
How they should end

And so now I have to turn you over, love

And I think we both knew
This time would come

Put a foot in the water
Then the next
Then a hand
Up to your arm

See there?

Now you're barely here

Doesn't it feel wonderful
Being barely here?

Or barely anywhere really

The time has come to fold you up
And stow you away
Like some sentimental suitcase
That only gets dusted off
Every ten years

For reunions, and weddings
And the occasional anniversary trip
Planned by a guilty husband
At the very last moment

I have to say--

'Well, this was mine
And now it's not anymore'

And it could be a shame
It could be a real shame

Or it could free us both

The trick is how you turn it

How you unclasp your hands
And raise them up, up, up

To say--

'This is fine
I'm fine with this'

This is exactly
How I wanted this
To be

Orpheus, Revisited

I don’t have the heart to tell them yet

That it’s closing

We’ve been bought out

By…I don’t know exactly

What the company does

My only hope is that it isn’t interested

In turning my father’s theater

Into a parking lot

I won’t be around to see what they do with the place anyway

I’ve taken a job

In London

I’m getting as far away from here as possible

People say you shouldn’t run from your failures

But I fail to see the benefits

Of living across the street

From them either

I don’t know when I’m going to make the announcement

Just saying the words…

The Orpheus Theater is Closing

My father would have died

Before he’d let that happen

But my father was always in the present

That’s what made him such a great artist

But a lousy businessman

He could never see the storms ahead

And fifty years

Means a whole lot of storms

Am I embarrassed

That the theater

Is falling apart

Under my supervision?

Well, I take responsibility

If that’s what you mean

It was my job to keep the place going

And obviously

I haven’t been able to do that

I could blame the economy

Or the culture

But the truth is

At the heart of every problem

Is a person

Not doing their job

Theater is no different

I guess, if I need to stay upbeat
I could tell myself
That fifty years
Isn't a bad run

This theater meant a lot
To a lot of people

I used to think my mother hated this place
Because it essentially destroyed her family
But the first time she heard me say
That I hated the Orpheus Theater
She sat me down
And said 'No, no, no'

It's easy to blame a place
But a place can't take the blame
For the things
The people in it do

My mother was a wise woman
But she put a little too much stock
In happy endings

Never liked a play
If it didn't end happily

She wouldn't admit that
To many people
But it was true

So what kind of happy ending
Could I give you now, huh Mom?

Well...

Dad always said
People don't remember the shows
They remember the pictures
What the pictures tell them to remember

Out in the lobby
There's a photo of the acting company
The first acting company
All standing together outside
At their production of Orpheus Descending


Mom was beyond pregnant with me
And Dad was smiling that smile
That meant--as soon as they take this photo
I'm going to fire somebody

Kidding--sort of

And it was a beautiful day
And it was going to be a beautiful night
And this group of people--

They were going to do something important
That day

They were going to make something
Where nothing had been before
And then they were going to wash it all away

That's what I'd like to remember
That's all I'd like anybody to remember

Just a bunch of smiling actors
Ready to put on a show

The Illusion

Ultimately, I think writing a play

About theater

Is pretty obnoxious

‘Here’s what we think about ourselves’

Really?

Who cares

But the reason I chose to write

About the Orpheus Theater

Is because I think

It speaks to more

Than just

People doing theater

Here’s what it’s about

Get ready

Because I’m about to hit you

With the phrase most used

When anybody talks

About what something is

About

It’s about—

America

Yeah, I know

But in this case

It’s appropriate

This theater

Has been around

Since 1962

We’re talking pre-Kennedy assassination

Right up until the present-day

And in that time

We’ve had a major cultural shift

In this country

And at the same time

There’s been this company

This acting company

This core constant

That’s stayed in place

And not only weathered the cultural changes

But actually embodied

And adapted to them

I find that fascinating

But—

And this is the only reason

I’m writing about them now

As opposed to—

Well, whenever I could have written about them

--Is because they used to point a mirror

At the culture

At what was going on

And somewhere along the way

That mirror cracked

And now they’re just trying to keep up

With this thing

This rapidly moving thing

That they’re never going to get a hold of

And that’s always been the case

That’s nothing new

They just think it is

Because what they actually used to do

Is say ‘To hell with it!’

We’ll just stay ahead of it

We’ll just stay ahead

Of whatever it is

That’s coming next

And by doing that

You stay critical

To the conversation

This place it’s not…

It’s out of the loop, you know?

It’s…sad

Really

Look, I didn’t just come here to summarize my play for you, okay?

I, uh…

Well, we’re all here to share memories right?

About the theater?

I don’t even know where to begin

My parents started taking me there

When I was eight-years-old

And I never stopped going

The thought of that place not being there

It just…

It’s difficult to imagine

But all I can think about is

How much longer can they ride this wave?

This wave where they’re invincible

To the fact

That the shows suck

And the money’s drying up

How much longer can they just go on

Living on their legacy?

Not long, right?

I need them, whoever they are

Whoever’s in charge

To wake up

To start turning this thing around

Because theaters that close

Don’t reopen

They don’t come back

One the show’s over

It’s over

The Bad Seed

I remember that they wanted me to cut my hair

And I had no intention

NO intention

Of cutting

My hair

They thought I was being all cute and precocious

Like, ‘Oh, isn’t she sweet.  Doesn’t want to cut her hair’

And so then the director said—

‘Sweetie, you have to cut your hair.

Otherwise you might not be able to be in the show’

So I threatened to take them to court

And then they backed down

You know, they were sooo put off

By what a little brat I was

But then again

That’s why they cast me

We were doing The Bad Seed

For crying out loud

Of course, this was four years ago

So I’m a little older now

A little more easy to deal with

That was back before I discovered Eastern philosophy

And Adderall

Mostly the Adderall

But I’m not here to share treasured childhood memories

I’m here because I recently became the National Spokesgirl

For Penmark Jeans

And sadly

That makes me

One of this theater’s most successful alumna

I wonder how that must make

All the actors feel

Knowing that their own administration

Considers them second place

To a girl who booked a national campaign

Just because she was walking through the mall

At just the right time

The problem with the Orpheus

If I may be so bold

Is that it’s currently run by spin doctors

And not just the people who are paid to be spin doctors either

But everyone—

The Artistic staff

The actors

The ushers

They’re all about fame

This place is a theater

Fame has nothing to do with it

Although we can’t really start talking about fame

That’s a different show

This is just about actors and acting

And I am not an actress

I never was

Not a good one anyway

I was decent enough at playing myself

But putting on a character never suited me

Although I suppose I’ll be a pretty good

Spokesperson for those heinous jeans

But that’s nothing to be proud of

The actors here should be proud

But they’re not

Because people like me

Get paid more than they do

And what’s worse

We get more attention

And most of them will never be okay with that

Which I find incredibly sad

Because the truth is

I’d rather be them

Than me

I used to look up to these people

Even if I did make their lives a living hell

While I was working with them

And now…

Well now they seem even smaller

Than I was back then

Well, if you’ll excuse me

I think they want to take my picture or something

Taking pictures is still one thing

I know how to do

Well

The Matchmaker

I took my grandmother back to the theater

In 2004

And it was the first time she’d been back there

Since they forced her

Into early retirement

I never got the full story

Because by the time my grandmother

Was ready to go back to the Orpheus

It was only because

She wasn’t entirely in her right mind

As best I can understand

She was dismissed

During the crazy Enrico year

When people who’d been with the company for years

Were just tossed out

Like garbage

Even though everybody agreed

That Enrico was nuts

Nobody hired back any of those actors

The Orpheus is like the Chocolate Factory

Nobody ever goes in

And nobody ever goes out

So once you’re out

You stay out

Then I get free tickets to The Matchmaker

And I asked her, on a whim

If she’d like to go

To my surprise, she said ‘Sure’

And then ‘Might as well see it one more time’

The unsaid part of that was—

‘—Before I die’

When we got to the theater

My grandmother kept looking around

In this way that…

Well, it was how someone might look

At their childhood home

She walked by all the pictures of past productions

Listing off facts about them

Stories

Memories

Then we got to the picture of Beau

The Founder of the theater

And she stopped

Just stopped

She walked up to the photo

Smiled and said—

‘Hello old friend’

It was really something

Then she turned to me and said—

‘Let’s go’

I said—‘Gram, we still have to see the show’

She sighed and said—

‘Well, all right, but it’s going to take away from the moment I just had’

She’d have those occasionally

Those sharp moments

Even after all those years

And her mind

Slowly coming away from itself

She was still the classiest woman

You’ve ever met

And always

Always

An actress

Mother Courage and Her Children

Every year

In the spring

When they put the season posters together

A bunch of us in the business office

Would get together

And determine

Which show

Was going to fail

In 2010-2011 Season, it was Mother Courage and Her Children

We just had a feeling

It would fail

Everybody put money down

Toasted another season on the books

And bid each other farewell for the summer

I went to my family’s lake house

In upstate New York

And read all the plays for the upcoming season

Once again, I was pretty sure

That Mother Courage was going to bomb

The summer goes by

I get back together

With the boyfriend I broke up with

Before the summer started

In the event that I wanted to mess around

With one of the lake boys

We start the season

The first two shows tank

In the Boom Boom Room was a huge disaster

Then Mother Courage opens

And we’re all thinking

This is it

Brace yourselves

And…it’s a hit

A huge hit

People loved it

To this day, I still don’t know why

Not that it wasn’t a good show

But…I don’t know

I don’t know what it was about it

That people responded to

You never really know

You can’t just look at a poster

Or a title

Or a script

And figure out

Whether or not

People are going to check into it, you know?

It never occurred to me until then

That staring at poster art

And making a determination

About what would one day be this full production is…

Silly

Especially for me, you know?

I should know better

But we still take bets every season

Because it’s something to do

Except now, I never count anything out

It’s theater, right?

It’s all about surprises

Tiny Alice

I wrote the article

Because it seemed important

That the people at the theater

Knew how serious I was

The place had become a cult

I mean, we used to tease about that

But by 2009

That’s really what we were dealing with

We were doing Tiny Alice

I was just—

I wasn’t an actress

I used to be in marketing

But I always felt like I was prevented

From moving ahead

Because I wouldn’t drink the Kool-Aid

And say we were the best thing to happen to theater

Since the cavemen reenacted the story of making fire

And I got asked to write this article

For this local magazine

Just a puff piece

On the rules of marketing in the current economy

Even though the rules of marketing in any economy

Are exactly the same

Push, push, push

And I was going to write something straight-ahead

Very matter-of-fact and simple

And then I said ‘Forget it.  I’m writing the truth’

I said ‘We need to be more critical

We need to be harder on ourselves

We need to raise our expectations

We need to stop saying we’re so great’

I stopped short of saying ‘Because we’re not’

But I still got called into the whipping room

When the article came out

And everybody acted as if I had said that

As if I’d come right out and said the real truth

Which is—

We were in bad shape

Artistically, anyway

The ironic thing is

At that time

We were doing Tiny Alice

And it was great!

I loved it!

And so everybody was pointing to it

Saying—

‘See?!?  See?!?  They still have it!’

What we had was an anomaly

Every so often we’d put on a decent show

And people would herald our comeback

Say—‘There!  That proves it!  We’re fine.’

We were not fine

We hadn’t been fine

In a very, very long time

I was suspended

Just for a week

With pay even

But going back…

I just felt like the air

Had been let out of me

From that point on, I just sort of kept my mouth shut

I sat in this place

Of great artistic vision

And expression

Keeping all my opinions

To myself

Lysistrata

There was in-fighting

Because suddenly

There were twice as many women in the company

As men

And twice as many males roles

In the season

So you do the math

Suddenly, we were a company full of bitches

I even heard one of the male actors

Make a remark about it

Those women—so catty

Well, asshole

You try fighting for your job

Everyday

Then you tell me

How catty you get

Not to mention

They were still trying to pawn some of us

As being half

Our actual ages

I’m not one of those women

Who likes to believe

She’s still twenty-one

So when I’m asked to play Opehlia

I don’t feel flattered

I feel concerned for the sanity

Of the person who’s asking me

Which leads us to Lysistrata

We did it in 1999

At the height of the—‘All These Crazy Bitches Hate Each Other’ Era

And halfway through the show

I got an idea

All the women in the acting company

Went to Samantha’s office

And said—Woman to woman

That we needed more representation

In the theater’s season

Or we’d all be forced to walk

This was a big threat to make

When there wasn’t exactly a shortage of actresses

Who would be happy to take all our places

And play whatever meager roles

Got slid across the counter to them

I was nervous at first

But then I remembered that my grandmother got up everyday

At 5am to make breakfast for her family of seven

Before going to work in a factory

Building warplanes

And suddenly, I was all Helen Reddy

About the whole thing

But the other girls were a little too young

To know who Helen Reddy was

And they were sweating

It turn out all right though

Our demands were met

Did we play the girls united card?

Absolutely

Did the men like it?

Of course not

They only liked it

When we were at each other’s throats

Samantha promised

There’d be a more even distribution of roles

In the upcoming season

And she lived up to her promise

Even when the boys bitched

We would have abstained from having sex with the guys too

But those peckerwoods were so disgusting

I don’t know who’d want to have sex with them anyway

From that point on,

The girls seemed to get along a lot better

Although when we got a new, male Artistic Director

Things sort of settled back

Into their pre-Lysistrata ways

That’s the thing about being a woman in the theater

The fight’s never over

I’m sure the Greeks

Can back me up on that

Sleuth

I get really pissed off sometimes, you know

Because everyone’s always, like

--I mean, I know I’m one of the junior company members

But I’d still like my privacy—

I mean, everybody talks

Obviously

Behind people’s backs

And whatever

But at a certain point

It starts to affect the work

And at that point

I would hope

That my Artistic Director

Or somebody

Would step in

And say ‘Guys, what you’re talking about

Is really none of your business

And please just try to stay professional, okay?’

I mean, I think that’s all it would take, you know?

But instead, I hear—

‘What’s the big deal?  It’s a theater.  Why can’t he just--?’

And I’m supposed to do what?

Say—‘Oh gosh, that hadn’t occurred to me!  That it would be that easy!’

Because clearly

All that’s on my mind

Is how other people would react

Clearly it’s not a personal thing at all

Clearly my family and my friends

None of whom are in this fucking acting company by the way

Would in any way have any opinions

Or feelings

About me, you know, doing that, and I mean—

We were doing Sleuth, okay?

This was last year

Last year, we were doing Sleuth

And it just got ridiculous

With the—

Because I guess…

One of the acting interns

Had a crush on me

Because the acting interns are always, you know

And they always have these ridiculous names

Like Miquel spelled with a ‘qu’

Or whatever

Where it seems like it should be Mee-quell

But it’s not

And so everyone says—

‘Wouldn’t it be cute—‘

And I’m going—

‘I’m not a fucking teddy bear!  It’s not my job to be cute for you, you fuckers!’

But obviously I don’t say that

I just try to keep doing my job

Because that’s all I’m there for

And that’s all that should be expected of me

That I do my job, you know?

I mean, what else do they want from me, really?

Everybody in this company

Thinks they have some kind of ownership

Over everybody else in the company

But it’s not true

This isn’t, like, the Russian mob, you know?

So no, I’m not going to address it

Or announce it

Or do anything

Except what I’ve been doing

And if that’s not good enough for everyone

Then maybe I don’t belong here

And if someone like me

Someone who’s…

If I don’t belong in this theater

Then I don’t know who does

I don’t know

Who else should be here

Who needs to be here

If not me

Okay?

The Best Man

Tennessee doesn't like it
When we talk politics
Or we try to make things too political
And whenever he says that
I just want to shake him and say--

'You're an Artistic Director!
You're running a theater!
How can you do that
And stay apolitical?'

I suggested we do The Best Man
I think I suggested it in 2010
And everybody threw their hands up
Oh God, here she comes
With her political play

Well, hell yes
I want to be political

There is a war in this country
And it is a war
On what we do!

You know, suddenly--

Obama gets elected
And everybody's a friend to the arts

Suddenly it's a non-issue
The arts
When just a few years ago

--I'm sure you all remember

We were under attack
For being frivolous
For being unnecessary
For being extra


I used to watch CNN
And dream of going on one of those programs
To say--

The arts are not extra!

We are vital!

We didn't do The Best Man
We did Charlie's Aunt instead
Which is just insulting
To everyone

Audience, actors, everyone

I want to say something as an artist, you know?

I want to make an impact

And I say this to Tennessee and he says--

Maybe next year
If the economy picks up

Well guess what?

It is never going to pick up!

Not to the point where it's safe
To stir shit up!

So you just have to go ahead and do it

At least that's what I thought anyway

People in this country are walking around
Dying to find a way
To say what they're feeling
And we, as artists, have that power
To express those feelings
So if we say 'No, we're not going to do that'
Then it's like Superman refusing to fly!

I love working at this theater
I really do

But sometimes I feel like
I might as well be doing the roadshow
Of Annie, Get Your Gun
For all the difference I'm making
By being here

Sometimes it just doesn't feel like enough, you know?

To stand by
And be silent

To not speak up
It's...

Well, it's frustrating
I'll just say
It's frustrating

But, uh, don't tell my boss I said that, okay?

I mean, I don't want to be out of a job right now either

It's nuts out there

Speed-the-Plow

We’re doing Speed-the-Plow

Next year

Even though I begged him

To do Jesus Christ Superstar

It’s a rock opera

It’s Andrew Lloyd Webber

It’s Jesus

It’s a sure thing

But Tennessee is very—

He’s still interested

In preserving the sort of

Dignified impression of this place

That hasn’t actually existed

Since the sixties

I tell him—‘We’re not really a theater anymore, Ten

We’re a complex.’

An arts complex, yes

But still, a complex

We house shows

We don’t really produce them

We sure as hell don’t conceptualize them

As soon as an audience hears the word ‘concept’

They assume you’re going to be smearing grape jelly all over yourself

And milking goats onstage

So we try to avoid screwing around with things too much

I like to say we ‘present’ things here

We don’t really do productions

Just presentations

And if you’re asking me

Or if you’re going to ask me

Or whatever

If I feel bad about that

The answer is ‘No’

I don’t

Because my job is the business side of things

And presentation

With a theater as big as ours

Is about all we can get away with

And even then, sometimes, it fails us

There was a year we did nothing but Shakespeare

And it flopped

Totally flopped

Of course, that was before my time

Before Tennessee was even here

But still, if you can’t count on Shakespeare

What can you count on?

Tennessee wants to do Speed-the-Plow

Which is Mamet

Which is not awful

Which I can sell

Sort of

Hopefully

Maybe

But I wish he wouldn’t keep sticking a toe

Over the line

I wish he would just realize

That this is the new reality

The new reality is Jesus Christ Superstar

That’s what the audiences want

And, you know, if the rest of us are trying to, like, keep our dignity or whatever

Then we do it by telling ourselves

That if it were up to us

We’d do nothing but weighty, artistic, heavy shows

That really meant something

But until the economy does a one-eighty

Or until people want to learn

How to milk a goat

We do things my way

And if that makes any of you sad

Then just consider it looking at it

From a different vantage point

And then another

And then another

Until you start to see

How these circumstances could actually be beneficial

To the work we’re doing here

After all, I’m in business

If there’s one thing I believe in

It’s the power of perception

Look Back in Anger

There’s a picture of us all in—

God, I don’t know

The early 70’s?

I think that’s when we were doing Look Back in Anger

And I had my hair done

Like Diana Ross

Jesus, was I on drugs

I can’t even remember what drugs I was on

That’s how many drugs I was on

I remember thinking I was one of those girls

In long flowing dresses

With flowers in my hair

Telling everyone how right I was with the world

It’s so strange to think about

Because I wonder if that girl’s

Still inside me somewhere

I have no stayed the same

That’s either the fortunate

Or the unfortunate thing

I am not…the same

Not at all

For one thing, I used to be eccentric

And now I’m just old

Or older, I guess

And I could tell you I don’t feel old

But I do

I feel it everywhere

And I started feeling it

Before it even showed up

That’s something most old people

Won’t tell you

So there you have it

But this isn’t about me getting old

This is about the acting company

Did it keep me young?

On the contrary

It aged me

Not because it was tedious

But because it wasn’t

Things just flew by

Shows, time

I looked up one day

And the seventies were long gone

And, thankfully, so was the Diana Ross haircut

But so were so many friends

People I admired and liked

They left—either voluntarily

Or because, well, life is life

People just…

I wouldn’t say I’m angry

But I am confused

I’m constantly confused

Why do we celebrate time passing?

It doesn’t feel like something

We should be celebrating

It feels like something we should be mourning

Look at all that time

Just gone

Just completely and utterly gone

Time can never be anything

But lost

That’s the thing

But at least we have the pictures

Where we look silly

And make serious faces

And tell ourselves

‘Oh, we were so young’

When we were never really young

I don’t know what we were

But we weren’t young

Maybe we were just optimistic

And that felt like being young

Or maybe we were stupid

And that felt like being optimistic

Whatever we were, it didn’t last

But it’s still a nice picture

Long after we’re gone

Somebody will still have the pictures

And they’ll say—

‘Who are all these people?’

These forgotten people

Immortality—ha.

It’s nice in theory

But there are some things

Even a picture

Can’t do

In the Boom Boom Room

I tell the girls

I can get them jobs

At the theater

I promise

I smile

I sell it to ‘em

I tell them we’re casting

In the Boom Boom Room

Which I thought was funny

That we’d use strippers

Just because the show sounds sexual

The show is dated

And depressing

But Tennessee likes discovering lost classics

So he dug it up

And stapled it to the stage

Every night after rehearsal

I go to the only strip club in town

Left standing

At one point, there were about twenty

But by 2011

Most of them were already shut down

That’s okay, I only needed one place

I sit and drink my drink

And some girl says—

‘You work at the theater, don’t you?’

And I’m expecting this

I say ‘Yes, I’m in the acting company there’

And I even consider

Putting on a fake British accent

And she says—

‘I used to act’

And I say, without missing a beat—

‘I bet you still do’

By the time I’m done talking to them

They think I run the place

They have no concept of how an actual theater is run

They think it’s just me

A few cardboard sets

And a curtain

But they want in on it all the same

They promise me everything

But the teeth out of their mouth

If I can get them onstage

And I say, ‘Sure, sure’

And then I take what they have

Sometimes even the teeth

Because why not, right?

It’s not a game

Maybe at some point it was

But it’s not anymore

Now it’s just a way to pass the time

I’m sitting there

And some girl’s, you know

And I think

They believe it

They really believe

This is the moment

When their luck changes

Buried in some guy’s lap

And in five seconds

I’m going to give them

Exactly what I promised

And ain’t life grand?

It must be nice

I always think that

I always think

It must be nice

To still believe in all that

To still have that much faith

In a promise

And a smile

Broadway Bound

My last show here will be Broadway Bound

Which is really kind of cool

When you think about it

Because that’s pretty much what I am

I’m doing the show

And then moving to New York

Which is, like, cliché, I know

But it’s still something

I feel like I need to do

I talked to Ten, um, to the Artistic Director

My boss, but also, sort of, I don’t know

Like a father figure to me

I talked to him about it

And he was like—

‘Well, if you have to do it’

And I said—‘I think I do’

It’s like—

I could get comfortable here, you know?

I mean, this place has been around for fifty years

I could just hang out

And be here in another fifty

And they could wheel me out

And say—‘Look at this old fossil.  He led a comfortable life’

But I don’t want that!

Maybe I’m not good enough to make it in New York

Or anywhere other than here

But I look around

At this acting company

At all these people

Who just wound up staying here

Because they were too scared to try anything else

Or because they felt like they owed it to somebody

To their spouses

Their kids

To the other people who work here

I’m loyal, don’t get me wrong

But I can also hear my life going by

And it’s starting to freak me out

I’d like to leave on good terms

But the thing is, nobody really does

They hate you when you leave

Because they’re scared you’ll do it

They’re scared you’ll be the one

Who actually makes it

And it means they might have made it too

If they’d really given it a shot

So I’m not going to tell anybody

I’m going to write them all letters

And send them all out at once

Like I’m tossing them off a roof

Or something

And they’ll all say the same thing

‘To the Acting Company,

Don’t hate me

I had to try’

They’ll still hate me

But at least maybe then

They’ll think about trying too

Eventually somebody’s gotta step outside these doors

And see what else is out there

Because there’s gotta be something, right?

Good or bad

There has to be something

Besides the Orpheus Theater

And the acting company

And fifty more years

Of just waiting

For something else

To happen

The Subject Was Roses

You hear a lot of these stories

About actors who had to choose

Between the theater

And something else

And ended up choosing the theater

Well I didn’t

I chose the something else

The last show I was in  wasn’t that long ago

2009—The Subject Was Roses

Then my wife said, ‘Enough’

‘Time to get a real job’

Because she’d read some article somewhere

About all these regional theaters going under

And she was worried about my lack of job security

I told you when you’re an artist

There’s never security

So she made me stop being an artist

And start being a championship poker player

Believe it or not, she considered that

Less risky

So now, when I’m not betting my entire life

On whether or not somebody has a four of diamonds

I’m sitting on my porch

Drinking a beer

Thinking about theater

I won’t say it’s all I think about

Because I have kids

Kids with braces

A wife who seems determined

To have more kids

Than the mother on The Waltons

And a house

That will never, ever be fully paid for

Or restored

So I think about all that

And then I think about theater

You know, I gave it up a few times on my own

And when it was my decision

It was pretty easy

But having someone make you do it

Is just…

It’s a whole different thing

I drink a beer

I hear crickets in the yard

I realize it’s three am

And I’m wide awake

Mouthing lines to plays

I was never even in

It’s like I’m haunted

Not necessarily by what I miss

But by the decision itself

I feel like I abandoned something

A child or…

Never mind, that sounds crazy

And does it hurt?

It doesn’t hurt

That’s the thing

It really doesn’t

It just pulls at you

The way, I don’t know

The way a little kid

Would tug on your arm

To get your attention

Theater—it…tugs on my arm

It says ‘Where’d you go?  Why’d you leave?

When are you coming back?’

And I just keep saying—

‘I don’t know…’

I don’t know