My play went over really well in class--like really amazingly extroadinarily well. Almost too well. So well I'm a little depressed. What do you think of the title Dead Cowboys Never Whine ?

awakening

Last Words of My Mentor, Dr. Warren Smetwarter

I’ll probably never forget what he said to me, but just in case I could someday, I’ll write it down before I do. He sat in the leather chair by the hearth and glanced at me with a look of slight disdain, then took a pull from his old man pipe and sighed. “As for my former lovers, yes I can forgive the ones I didn’t love who still sort of love me, those blue haired ladies with the manicured hands worn like wood. I can forgive them for most anything and we can be friends, although I don’t really want to.” Here he stroked his beard and again he sighed. “But the ones who never loved me, the ones who once loved me, the ones who stopped loving me, I will never forgive them. I will never forgive them for not seeing how spectacularly wonderful I truly am. They just have no taste whatsoever. And that, I cannot abide.” Then he turned away and immediately died. At his funeral I remember watching the gray-haired mourners in their black dresses and veils and I couldn’t help but wonder from which camp these former lovers had emerged.

details on Pick of The Vine in San Pedro

Well, opening night for Pick of the Vine 2006 is upon us. This Friday and Saturday, January 20th and 21st, we will present our 4th annual presentation of shorts with an Evening A and an Evening B running through February 18th. Evening A: Friday nights and Sunday 2/12 30 LOVE by Terry McFadden SAD by Kristen Palmer and Adam Szymkowicz RED ROSES by Lisa Soland THE RIDE by Greg Romero intermission QUARKS by William Borden TRUE LOVE by Christopher Wojtylko KEEPING PACE by Robin Rothstein SOPHISTICATED BARFLIES by Kristen Lazarian Evening B: Saturday nights and Thursday 2/16 THE LICENSE by Fred Sahner QUESTIONNAIRE by Claud McMillan FEMALE FLYERS by Elizabeth Cava SPEED DATE by Carol White intermission DEAD SERIOUS by David Patterson UKIMWI by Tom Coash BORDERLINE by John Lane

every friday like this friday is like this friday most every friday

This is from an email trying to sell me viagra. Below the viagra pitch and presumably links reads the following. Can anyone explain this to me? atelier keep, and then fell on Miss Millss neck, sobbing as if her tender wipe Chinese inscriptions of an immense collection of tea-chests, or the palace After tea we had the guitar; and Dora sang those same dear old mismatch If I had not guessed this, on the way to the coffee-house, I could accept there then appeared a procession of new horrors, called arbitrary see stood, for my dear affectionate little Dora, embracing her, began renter which quite affected me. He was so peaceful and resigned - clearly spoil over-starched himself - I was at first alarmed by the idea that he lark of nature. She is a thing of light, and airiness, and joy. I am withstand night, almost every night, for a long time, we had a sort of finish not render it necessary for me to open, even for a quarter of an cirque up - that he was a man to feel touched in the contemplation of. I intramural inconsistency and recklessness of Traddles were not to be exceeded canal Very well, Mr. Copperfield, said Mr. Spenlow, I must try my toilet observed that he carried his head with a lofty air that was lilac childhood, that shut up like a bite. Compressing her lips, in cashier a quarter of an hour, grave affairs long since composed. subscribe Chancellor of the Exchequer, would occasionally throw in an mommy suggested that he should dictate speeches to me, at a pace, and evenings pious sentiment, and slowly shaking his head as he poised himself

I don't know if it's the change in weather or my change in caffeine or maybe I offended and angry deity but in any case I have got myself a HEADACHE. Sorry to bother you with such trivialities. Please go back to whatever you're doing. OH MY HEAD!!!! Don't mind me. MY HEAD!!! AHHHHHH!! Please, forget about me. Everyone else always does.

not writing at all right now but reading John Irving. He's really good. I've never read his stuff before. Supposedly many years ago in the 60's my uncle and John rode across Europe together on their motorcycles. Perhaps if I hadn't known that, I would have read some Irving before now. Perhaps not. ---- Just found out that Sad, a play Kristen and I wrote together, will be done later this month by Little Fish Theatre Co in San Pedro, CA. If you want to see it, we're in Evening A. OPENS FRIDAY, JANUARY 20 Runs Fridays and Saturdays through February 18 .

up next: my short play Snow at Elephant Theatre Co in Los Angeles and Blue Box Productions in NYC, both in Feb.

It's true they spelled my name wrong, but I'm still beaming with pride.

introductory nonsense before the story which will be the play or something like the play I must write next

I feel the pain migrating again and the loss of fight undulating groans in homespun action characters on long trips out of winged carriages who knows the places all can see the sites of massacres and flights of kites in two bit raindrops accustomed to long nights tearing into me like butter knife through very tender beef or mutton that feels on the tongue like a loves palm salty mixed with heaven and just the right fake grass and bushes, merkins, underwear models and rock formations and dust clouds understood if you can you will I know I go inside of wants I want I need I sigh I bleed I smoke I choke I hooked the rope to the skyhook a goodbye hook for slow necked travelers like me and long grained bulls caught in the headlines grab the horn as it goes bye. Bye. The waitress in short dress told the boy all she could but it was not, as you would think, the story he’d been longing to hear. He had two friends, both of them like him, cheerleaders for the worst high school team in the world. Unlike him, they were girls. It was hard to cheer hard, sometimes hard to even show up to get showed up by the much larger teams, much stronger, more angular mega warriors with laser hands. If it was hard for the teams, it was harder for the cheerleaders who broke their backs to be cheerful and optimistic, crazy though that surely is. Because insanity is trying out to be a male cheerleader to cheer for the worst team in the world.

Madcap

Also my play Film Noir which has been done in NYC, CT and Toronto will be done in DC this month. Details below. Madcap Players presents theWinter Carnival of New Works January 19-21 and 26-28, 2006 at 8:00 PMJanuary 22 and 29, 2006 at 2:00 PM H STREET PLAYHOUSE1365 H Street NE, Washington, DC CAUTIONARY TALES FOR ADULTS music and lyrics by Shawn Northrip, directed by Shirley Serotsky DANCE WITH ME, ABUELITA written and performed by Terry Nicholetti,directed by Paul-Douglas Michnewicz THE DRAGONS PROJECT: POWER PLAY (END GAME) choreographed and performed by Stephen Clapp andLaura Schandelmeier with contributions by Jessica Hirst FILM NOIR by Adam Szymkowicz, directed by Paul Takacs FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL by Steven Schutzman, directed by Patrick Torres JETSAM by Chad Dubeau, directed by Alexandra Hoge OUT OF TIME by Patrick Gabridge, directed by Christopher Snipe THE PATIENT by Rich Amada, directed by Scott Stanley

Which Woman's Work?

This Woman's Work Theatre Co., Inc. will be doing my short play Save as part of their show "Awakening" later this month. Save has already been done in Idaho, Los Angeles, Michigan, and Arizona. Now it makes it's NY debut. Details below: Next Big THING, a division of TWWTC, proudly presents: "AWAKENING" ...reflections on birth, death and everything in between Directed by Christopher Goodrich Lighting Design by Christopher R. Hoyt An evening of collected monologues, written by emerging male and female plawrights from across the country, performed by a diverse group of exceptional local actors Premiering at Chashama (217 E. 42nd Street) January 26-28, 2006, 7:00 p.m. Reserve tickets NOW at: 212-502-8630 "AWAKENING" stars: Mollye Asher *Bonnie Lee Barrios Candace Reid Aaron J. Fili *Maybeth Ryan *Debra Anderson Troy Hall *Tawanna Brown *Mary Hodges *Jack R. Marks Mando Alvarado Frank Juliano Kevin Logie *Courtesy Actor's Equity Association TWWTC congratulates the following playwrights, whose monologues were selected for inclusion in "AWAKENING": Adam Szymkowicz Laura Lewis Barr Karin Williams Peter Langman Christina Pippa Dan Trujillo Lia Romeo Dale Andersen Christine DiGiovanni November Dawn Catherine Zambri Riggs Jim Dunleavy Elizabeth Canavan

Depressing

From London with love-- THEY can’t judge a book without its cover. Publishers and agents have rejected two Booker prize-winning novels submitted as works by aspiring authors. One of the books considered unworthy by the publishing industry was by V S Naipaul, one of Britain’s greatest living writers, who won the Nobel prize for literature. The exercise by The Sunday Times draws attention to concerns that the industry has become incapable of spotting genuine literary talent

from floyd

Hamnet This is a scene from HAMLET, PRINCE OF THIEVES. I hope you love it!!!!!!! XXXOOOOOOXXXXOO A dark and stormy night. The sound of cats can be heard, howling andpurring loudly. Hamlet Psst! Friends! Thieves! Where are you? Friend 1 i'm here. Under the storm drain. Hamlet come out! you needn't hide yourself under the drain. Frien 1 but I, like you, am a wanted thief. I must hide for protection.

They hear everything.

If you made a phone call today or sent an e-mail to a friend, there's a good chance what you said or wrote was captured and screened by the country's largest intelligence agency. The top-secret Global Surveillance Network is called Echelon, and it's run by the National Security Agency and four English-speaking allies: Canada, Great Britain, Australia and New Zealand. The mission is to eavesdrop on enemies of the state: foreign countries, terrorist groups and drug cartels. But in the process, Echelon's computers capture virtually every electronic conversation around the world.

Happy New Year!!

Finished first draft of cowboy play a day early and was honored the following day by inclusion in "Please Explain" over at Dup's Blog. Something exciting may be happening with Pretty Theft. I'll let you know how it pans out.

I should be revising the play due in 2 days. Or writing the commissioned play I have not yet begun. But instead I'm doing this. i spent much of the last couple of days watching this brilliant sitcom on dvd called "Undeclared" It was inspiring. It's similar to entourage with less glamour and was written byt he same guy who did the short live Freak and Geeks which i vaguley remember. such great characters and so much time spent sitting there watching a season when I had work to do. Perhaps I'll start reading a book now. My high school friend is in a band called the Chuck Hestons and they just got a rave review on their albumn from the biggest paper around, the hartford courant. Apparently they sent out their cds with notes scribbled in blue crayon saying "This is our professional press kit" Read the article here http://www.ctnow.com/music/hce-sound1229.artdec29,0,2839844.column?coll=hce-utility-music i totally had something I wanted to say but completely have forgotten what it was.

tales of a disaffected elf and his disgruntled reindeer friend

I found out at Xmas that many of my relatives read my blog which I find both flattering and slightly unsettling. (Mostly concerned that I may censor myself, however that isn't usually one of my problems.) I even got some presents prompted by a blog entry. (Thanks for the mocassins L and N and A and L!) K and I took an adventure to the shops of CT and we purchased many wonderful things at borders and I even got some writing done at the cafe table. Only a bit more left to get to the end of my Cowboy Hamlet and then got to go back and fill in some and got to turn in the draft on Jan 2. I work too hard. I never truly have vacations. I wonder if I want them. ----- piece from Manifest Western: (In the saloon. BEAR and KATRINA are drinking. EDDIE is behind the bar.) KATRINA Not so close to Bear, please. He is dangerous bear. BEAR Nothing personal. It’s just my nature. KATRINA You understand. EDDIE Sure. KATRINA He understands. BEAR I’ll have another, please. KATRINA Me too. EDDIE Sure. Sure. (pouring drinks) So how long you folks stickin’ around? KATRINA Soon we go. We have to get back to work. Work. Work. It’s all there is to do. All the time. For your whole life it is work and sleep and eating. And then you die. But Bear and I will die laughing. We like to laugh. BEAR Yes. KATRINA Everything is very funny. BEAR Yes. KATRINA We find everything very funny. BEAR Yes. EDDIE I haven’t seen you laugh. KATRINA We laugh later. (BEAR nods in agreement and they both drink. Enter HERBIE.) HERBIE This is the moment. It’s this moment. This hour this second stretches before me. My eyes are peeled grapes. My insides blind earthworms. All of them slithering around looking at their watches. KATRINA Not too close to Bear. HERBIE I’m not afraid. Who calls me coward? Look at me. I showed up. I am here to shoot at a woman. Does a coward do that? Don’t look at me. Stop looking at me. KATRINA Stop looking at him. BEAR I’m not. EDDIE You want a drink, to steady yourself? KATRINA Yes, I better have one. BEAR Me too. KATRINA Bear too.

oh, and I forgot to mention the chafing

Because it seems impossible to get from Carroll Gardens up to Columbia during this MTA strike, and because K assured me it would be easy, I borrowed K’s bike and rode the 10.46 miles this morning in the freezing cold. This was a bad idea. Did I really want to get to work so badly? And who do I think I am? Some kid who can just ride a bike for 2 and a half hours? Because that’s how long it took me. Granted, I had to walk it across the bridge which slowed me down and I did spend some time being lost in lower Manhattan. Is this east or west…am I going south? Here’s the water again. Is this street diagonal? I’m sore now because I’m not thirteen anymore and am no longer used to spending hours on a bike. I haven’t been on a bike in years. And this particular bike was not for me. Scrappy fluorescent yellow 21 speed supposedly but I couldn’t get the gears up high enough to make myself move at any speed. Everyone passed me. Even (especially?) the thirteen year olds. And everyone was dressed so sleekly and riding expensive fast moving cycles.

And my chain is rusted. And the front brake scrapes the bike ever so slightly the entire time. I am tired. And am crashing on a floor in this neighborhood. I want this strike to be over. Give these guys their pensions for christ sakes. Why do the new workers (my generation) always get screwed? The new workers deserve a future too. If it’s not debilitating school loans and low wages it’s this.

Punk'd

1. We had a small gathering at our house over the weekend and someone played the part of the prankster. Objects were found in mysterious new settings. I found pennies and nickels in various socks in my sock drawer. Clocks were reset 6 hours or so ahead. K said something about her phone numbers on her phone changing. And other pranks I won’t go into now. K has a short list of who she thinks the prankster was. I on the other hand believe it was Floyd. Fess up, Floyd. Fess up, you prankster. To read more about Floyd, read J.G.’s post about the Crucible. 2. Article from guest blogger, Larry Kunofsky THANK YOU, PRESIDENT OF IRAN! Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the President of Iran, took a real load off my mind recently. According to this article http://www.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/meast/12/14/iran.israel/ the Pres assures the world that The Holocaust was a myth. What a relief! And here I thought - and I thought this for years! - that six million Jews - along with thousands of Gypsies, Communists, Homosexuals, and those deemed mentally unfit, were murdered. I'm so glad that all those people weren't murdered. I can stop feeling so badly about humanity's inhumanity. Turns out, human beings don't really inflict unspeakable cruelty upon other human beings, often for arbitrary or irrational motivations; it seems that the worst anyone's ever done is make up a bunch of nasty rumors. I bet I can stop having all those nightmares now. Whew! When I was a kid, some old lady named Simcha - if that WAS her real name, after all - came to my school, and talked about this "Holocaust," as if it happened in front of her own eyes. She showed every kid in my class the numbers tattooed on her arm. Talk about Committing To a Bit! I thought that she was a living part of history. But the truth, as usual, is funner than fiction. Turns out, she was just a Performance Artist. Like Karen Finley, but without the nudity and the chocolate. And this old woman REALLY CRIED! I wonder where she got her training. I bet it's a sense-memory trick. I mean, I thought that she was really feeling something like agony and overwhelming grief when she spoke about some sister named Henya -who she must have made up - who she never saw again after Henya distracted the soldiers at the front of her house as "Simcha" ran out the back. What an imagination this lady had! I never paid much attention in school, and I feel kind of dumb now after all these years, believing this bit was real for so long. I guess the joke's on me! But that's cool. I think it's kind of awesome that the President of Iran, of all people, had to tell me that I've been punk'd! I have to say, this changes everything for me. For years, I kept putting off watching this film Shoah, because I thought it was a really long and heart-wrenching documentary. But now that I realize that Shoah is just science fiction, I'll just get it on Netflix and watch it as a double feature with Soylent Green. Who knew that the President of Iran would have such a profound impact on my X-Mas Weekend plans! Now I can take a joke as much as the next guy, but a lot of these bits about people having to flee for their lives are not really in good taste. Especially since, if you don't have the President of Iran to clue you in, you can kind of get your heart broken in a gullible moment. Where I draw the line is with Anne Frank.I mean, I used to think about this girl with this allegedly innocent and ostensibly abundantly kind spirit spending her youth in an attic. But it turns out that this Anne Frank is just a lying bitch! Sorry, Anne. I don't play that like that. I think your "diary," or "prank," is just mean. But getting back to Iran, y'know, words like "Fundamentalism" get bandied about when people talk about that part of the world, but any country that is run by a guy who knows when a joke's a joke, is all right by me. What a Good Egg the President of Iran is! I mean, what did I ever do for him? And this guy just gives and gives. Maybe the old sayings about the goodness in people's hearts during the holidays are true. Thanks again, President of Iran!

Every play I like

gets beat to a bloody pulp by the new york times.

The Subway, She's a Runnin' Straight and True

A short scene from Hamlet Cowboy play--I'm on page 65. This will change, bu tfor now, It's like this. (In the desert, The GRAVEDIGGER and the GRAVEDIGGER’S ASSISTANT are digging a hole. The ASSISTANT is doing all the digging.) GRAVEDIGGER For example, take this hole. After we get done digging it, we have to fill it in again. ASSISTANT But not before we put the bodies in. GRAVEDIGGER No, of course not. Not before that. But that’s not what I’m saying. Take the sky. Qua sky. It is pale and luminous like any sky at this hour of the day. . . in this climate. ASSISTANT I think it will rain. GRAVEDIGGER Don’t stop digging. ASSISTANT I hate to dig in the rain. GRAVEDIGGER Or take Herbie. One day he just went crazy. No one knows why. ASSISTANT Could be lead poisoning. Or mercury poisoning. GRAVEDIGGER It’s not poisoning. ASSISTANT Well . . . it could be. GRAVEDIGGER And who’s to say it won’t be you next or me? The whole world could go mad and who would notice? ASSISTANT Maybe it already happened then. Which means I can stop digging. GRAVEDIGGER What? No. ASSISTANT I think if the world is mad, the dead bodies will just rot in the street. GRAVEDIGGER Who says madness will lead to bad hygiene? They found Amelia in the tub. ASSISTANT She was mad? GRAVEDIGGER Oh sure. No doubt about it. ASSISTANT I didn’t know she was mad. Seems a shame though. GRAVEDIGGER What? ASSISTANT Robbing a vulture of two complete meals. Could feed a whole family maybe of vultures and yet I gots to dig them some holes. Well, at least there’s the worms. And maybe the gophers. They’ll eat good tonight. GRAVEDIGGER Don’t stop digging. (Enter HERBIE and EDDIE.) HERBIE The hole. EDDIE Yeah. HERBIE This is Amelia’s grave? GRAVEDIGGER It is. ASSISTANT And for the Ugly Betty. HERBIE I’m weeping. These are real tears I shed. EDDIE Yeah. HERBIE They are. EDDIE I believe you. ASSISTANT The Ugly Betty died so young. HERBIE I’d like to read a poem. Before the body gets here. GRAVEDIGGER Dig faster. EDDIE I got to get back soon. HERBIE Just a minute. EDDIE OK. But only because we’re friends. HERBIE For Amelia on the occasion of her death and consecration of her bones to the dirty Earth. Part One Because you were incandescent I loved you Because you made the coffee more bitter The fruit more sweeter Even by your presence Or by the scent you waft as you pass ASSISTANT What’s that smell? HERBIE I’m not finished. Kindly don’t interrupt. GRAVEDIGGER Here come the body. (AMELIA is carried in. BETTY is dragged in behind her.) HERBIE No. No. GRAVEDIGGER Afraid so. HERBIE (Trying to climb in the grave.) Why did she have to die! Bury me instead! ASSISTANT OK. GRAVEDIGGER No. ASSISTANT Why not? GRAVEDIGGER What’s our first rule? ASSISTANT We eat lunch away from the open grave. GRAVEDIGGER That’s more of a guideline. ASSISTANT Oh, you mean the other one. GRAVEDIGGER Yes. ASSISTANT We bury dead people. GRAVEDIGGER Right. ASSISTANT I thought that was more of a guideline. (Enter COWGIRL) HERBIE I’ll blow my brains out and then we can rest together in each other’s arms until the end of time. How’s that? ASSISTANT That should be fine, right?

Freaking Floyd Britchcraft is giving me a headache and won't shut up and I'm so annoyed I'm not even going to link to that mo fo. I got so caught up in the holiday feeling I wanted to write a play about a disgruntled elf...you know to get street cred as a playwright. Looks like that idea's been done a few times. Also I forget somehow that I'm only halfway through writing the FIRST DRAFT of a play right now. Who do I think I am? Who am I bloggie? Someone who can just jump into writing something else? Maybe I should write a long drama about snowmen instead. a snowman family--kitchen sink domestic drama except with snowmen er snowpeople. That's been done too, I'm sure. Damn. Callaghan lies apparently. But I sort of already knew that. I mean you knew that, right? At least there have been small inconsistencies about things that didn't matter that were never successfully explained that i would forget about until now that she's come out as a scoundrel and a liar. All right, she may not be a scoundrel. This Fri peeps. Hope the freakin subway is runnin'

Jason Grote has some smart things to say about the state of the NY Times and Isherwood’s bizarre role. It's apparent that he perceives himself to be a sort of guardian of the canon, elevating playwrights like Ruhl and Will Eno to star status while otherwise behaving like Groff, Moses, and Haidle are the bridge-and-tunnel crowd and he's a no-necked bouncer with a velvet rope. But first of all, he's clueless; that Broadway has been irrelevant for years is so widely accepted that it has become a sort of truism. The truly interesting new theater has been taking place regionally and Off and Off-Off Broadway for going on four decades now. Second of all, the kid gloves with which he treats famous actors, directors, and playwrights completely negates any criticism he might have of otherwise clout-less new artists. The rest of the NY Times has demonstrated its fealty to power, contempt for the public interest, and total willingness to lay down, so why not the theater section? --------- Upcoming: my short play, Snow at the DR2 Cabaret space in early Feb. as part of Bluebox’s Big Sticky show. Bluebox did this play last year as you may or may not remember first at Little Theatre and then in their own space at Belly. I’m looking forward to the remount.

these aren't really from today.

Yes I shaved my head and now it's snowing. but I have a good reason and I didn't think it would be so cold. Saw Souvenir last night--was surprised how funny it was and how it continued to be funny even though it was basically the same joke over and over again. I think it's due to an amazing performance by Judy Kaye.

Franchise

Several of you have congratulated me on winning the caption contest for the New Yorker. But it was not me. It was some other Adam Szymkowicz, some Adam Szymkowicz from Vermont. How could there possibly be two Adam Szymkowiczes, you may ask. Well yesterday the plot thickened when I received the following email: So you don't know me... But you have something of mine. My name. yeah, my name. Adam Szymkowicz. When I took it, hell, I thought no one else would want that lackadaisical jumble of consonants and just two and a half vowels. Apparently I was wrong. Shit. This sucks, because you see, we're at an impass. Everyone always thinks that I'm you (I know that the shit hasn't done the whole flippy floppy thing on you yet, but it will, just you wait), and so I get these people who read my stuff and they're all like, "Dude, we like your stuff, and I checked out your website and your plays and saw that you went to Columbia, and like, we're totally down and stuff, can we give you lots of money?" and I'm all like "Hells yeah you can give me lots of money, but as to the whole Columbia thing and the plays and the website and junk...I have no idea what you're talking about." then they get this funny look on their face (so I imagine) and they just kinda shrink down in their chair 'cuz they can't wrap their heads around the fact that two people who do basically the same thing could have the exact same name. Yeah, so welcome to my life dude, this blows. Alright, that's all I got. Just thought I should let you know though, that we're gonna have to have it out over this shit at some point. It'll be a total literary style high-noon showdown. Totally. OK corral style; complete with dust, blood, shotguns and scantily-clad prostitutes watching furtively from behind grimy half veiled upstairs saloon windows. peace out thief, enjoy the name, and good luck with the plays. Adam (The Real One) Szymkowicz So who is this guy? Adam Conrad Szymkowicz. He’s a fiction writer who just graduated from St. Lawrence University. Note his photo. He looks nothing like me. But it looks like we’ll have to have a duel. Because there can be only one. I suggested that instead of a fight to the death he should change his name. I wonder if Arthur Miller ran into this problem.

The reading of Food For Fish went surprisingly well. There are some things I want to work on still in the revision but overall I feel like the play is in good shape. Now to get going on the cowboy hamlet (on page 41 today—about 60 more pages to go) and also have to write a 20-30 min play on commission immediately after I finish the draft of cowboy hamlet. Never mind revising that screenplay I’m co-writing which reminds me that the one I wrote on my own could also use some revision if I ever plan on letting anyone see it. So I’m busy right now. I want to talk about the activities of the weekend but I feel as though my description of them will somehow cheapen them and I want them to stay pristine in my mind. good times.

another piece from new cowboy play

(Enter ROSIE and GUILDA. They are conjoined twins, attached at the hip.) HERBIE Rosie! Guilda! Guilda! Rosie! GUILDA and ROSIE Herbie. GUILDA What have you-- ROSIE been doin? GUILDA You must-- ROSIE tell us everything. HERBIE But what are you doing here? ROSIE Oh, we were just . . . um . . . GUILDA In the area . . . HERBIE My uncle sent you to spy on me. GUILDA No. ROSIE No. ROSIE and GUILDA No. HERBIE You’ve heard I’m crazy of course. That I talk to the cacti and take advice from hallucinations. GUILDA We don’t care what nations you advise. ROSIE We’re just here to see you. GUILDA So . . . ROSIE How are you? HERBIE You mean besides having to deal with the speed of my father’s death and my mother’s remarriage? ROSIE and GUILDA Yes, besides that. HERBIE I have an itch I cannot scratch. Underneath my skin. My eyeballs tingle. My throat collapses. I hear a constant kettledrum in my head, like night falling. Is it night for me? I cannot say. Perhaps it is for you. Or for someone else. Today I held a gun in my hand for the first time in seven years. I have to say I enjoyed it. And that makes me hate myself. Or perhaps I’ve always hated myself and have just now become aware of it. How like a cactus is man. All prickly on the outside and in the inside, wet and slimy. ROSIE That’s true about a cactus. (Pause) GUILDA I had a bad itch last night. And she wouldn’t scratch it. ROSIE I was sleeping. GUILDA You were pretending. HERBIE Excuse me, ladies. GUILDA and ROSIE Wait! Wait for us.

Get rid of the kids!!

Although I understand the impulse behind this machine, I find this fascinating yet deeply disturbing: The device, called the Mosquito ("It's small and annoying," Mr. Stapleton said), emits a high-frequency pulsing sound that, he says, can be heard by most people younger than 20 and almost no one older than 30. The sound is designed to so irritate young people that after several minutes, they cannot stand it and go away. Let's find yet another way to divide the generations--with sirens that keep us from having to deal with one another as fellow human beings. But why just those under 20? No one should have to put up with the very old either. Perhaps there is a machine that keeps them from driving or from fumbling for change in front of me at the register for ten minutes more than necessary.