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.

QP

Excellent post by QP on her blogging rules: Other rules have been. Do not try to explain. Do not shy away from the too personal or lines that could contain a story or character recognizablee to others. (disclaimer: that rule has been broken). Do not stop. Do accept comments and compliments and continue. Do put it out there, if it's been written with that feeling, put it out there. don't think too much. I think it's a good rule for art in general. To put it out there, not to shy away from what is scary to you or be too concerned with what your family or friends will say when they see it.

scene from my comedy cowboy version of hamlet--draft

(In the saloon, PAUL, AMELIA and COWGIRL) PAUL They say he’s gone crazy. No one knows why. Did you do this? AMELIA What? PAUL Make him crazy? COWGIRL Mens is all crazy from the get go. Aint no woman ever drove a man to craziness that wasn’t already headin’ there hisself. PAUL Shh. He’s coming. (Enter HERBIE.) HERBIE Amelia. AMELIA Herbie. HERBIE Your skin, it’s so smooth and breakable like fine china. Take it off. AMELIA What? HERBIE Take off your skin. For me. Do it for me. I want to see you for how you really are. AMELIA But— HERBIE The real you. Why do you hesitate? AMELIA But I can’t— HERBIE You don’t love me. You never loved me. Get away from me. AMELIA No. No. I’ll do it. I’ll take off my skin for you. HERBIE Too little, too late. (To PAUL) I want to buy a gun. PAUL Uh. . . HERBIE You said you wanted to sell me a gun. PAUL Sure sure. It’s just that there’s a waiting period. HERBIE I don’t know nothing about no waiting period. Sell me a gun. PAUL I really— HERBIE Sell me a gun! PAUL (Opening a case. Taking out a pistol.) Um sure um. How’s this? (STAN appears or Paul becomes Stan if it’s a smaller cast. HERBIE looks at the gun in his hand.) STAN Feels good in your hand, don’t it? HERBIE Shut up. Shut up! (STAN disappears. Everyone stares at HERBIE.) HERBIE Yeah, this one will do fine. (HERBIE straps on the gun and exits.) AMELIA Wait. Wait. Cut off my skin. I’ll cut off all my skin for you. (AMELIA tries to cut off her skin with a knife. COWGIRL takes it away from her and slaps her.)

Monday I'm hacking up various substances

I have a bad headcold. And my mind is all messed up. I'm sick from work and I need to work on this play but I'm high on Dayquil. I am 25 pages into this new play and i have a month to finish the first draft. a month with X mas in it. What was i thinking? In other news, Madcap Players of Washington DC will do my short play Film Noir in Jan.

out of town

Those signs on the highway...the ones that say Speed Limit Monitored by Aircraft...that's bullshit, right?

I'm having a reading of my play in progress Food For Fish on Sat Dec 3 at 11 am at Juilliard. Let me know if you would like to attend and I will add your name to the list so you can get in.

cowboy play piece--1st draft

(Enter KATRINA. She leads in a BEAR on a leash.) KATRINA (in a Russian accent.) Hello cowboys and ladies. I am Katrina. You have probably heard of me. This is Bear. (BEAR bows.) KATRINA We do for you some tricks for our dinner and for your entertainment. I will dance and Bear will sing. (BEAR whispers to KATRINA.) KATRINA Not today. Bear has sore throat. But I will do leaps and acrobatics and Bear will juggle several hatchets. In succession. (BEAR whispers to KATRINA.) KATRINA Oh. Well then. Not today. Bear has thorn in his paw. But I will sing and Bear will ride unicycle through flaming hoop. (BEAR whispers to KATRINA.) KATRINA Not today. Bear stubbed his toe very early this morning. (BEAR whispers to KATRINA.) KATRINA Yes. For me please and for Bear some vodka. Please gather around to watch amazing Bear drink vodka for your amusement. (KATRINA and BEAR do shots.)

Improving My State

I've convinced myself that I can make my life better with one or two simple changes. I've narrowed it down to three possibilities. A. Quit my job--I could write all day long, walk around in pajamas, watch TV, sleep when I want go to museums, be drunk all the time. Of course I won't be able to pay my rent and so I will eventually be out on the street where my hefty school debt will consume me. I'm not sure if Sallie May sends out thugs but when I'm living on the street that will be one more downside--Sallie May Thugs. OK, so maybe that won't make my life better right now. B. Become a monk--This is a lot like the previous one--except monks are probably not drunk all the time. And probably don't watch TV. And I really want the opportunity to wear robes all the time and the life of a monk sort of sounds good some of the time. But then I'd have to come down on one side or another in this god thing--very few agnostic monks I'd imagine. C. Buy moccasins--Is that all I'd need to change my life for the better? Some different footwear? But where would I find nice moccasins. Or maybe I should get cowboy boots. Where does one get the very right ones though. So you can see why my life has not improved recently. They gave me a mug and a framed certificate at work today.

so here is this thing I enjoy doing

I took the monologue from previous post and I translated it into korean using google. then I cut and pasted translation and translated it back into english. Fun FUN FUN! There is a possibility you seeing and when, as is to be opened the distant COWGIRL the west to be wide. In order to fill other the each one and all and for all your relative the there ' S room for your wild oneself a guard in the emptiness which is legitimate it waits and an ' inside small formation of a cabinet indicates. For the large candle won explaining bite whisky beverage in the actual place bar my boot time it is it for quality of the I horse to peel, as it likes in the morning when it is born. The Wesson It ' S the here which is wild? The I the won ' T comes and it ain ' T, but it ' S from by aim me which am severe the donkey territory which gets wet more does well most anyhow, under wildness but in from Mister and Mister in us the taming el us who get the E for opportunity all and su Miss. And we ' use the em, liberalism. Won person from here selects large candle won dogs ' ll bite ' round. So, the gunslingers is bad more. They die and it kicks hard with the bud payth. For the shootin which most part it spreads out ' seeing at the outside et ess c. Now that time after, don ' T pleasure. When possibility there is you, ci height, it is to live in that lwup remainder of comfort, try the fact that it tries the fact that it defends. And up it already inside the box I didn ' T, ten:00 bedspreads under illusion languages.

new

COWGIRL The west is wide open as far as you can see. Just emptiness waiting to be filled and there’s room for each and everyone and all your kin to ride in an’ stake a little piece for yourselves. I like in the morning how the prairie grass tickles my boots when I horse it to the local saloon for a bite or a whiskey drink. It’s wild here—I won’t pretend it ain’t, but it’s a damn sight better than the wet ass teritory I come from and anyways, it may be wild but we all got us some instruments of taming from mister Smith and mister Wesson. And we use ‘em, liberally. Cause even the prairie dogs’ll bite ‘round here. And the gunslingers is worse. They spit and bite and kick and shoot. You got to watch out for the shootin’ mostly. Now then, don’t fall behind. Try to keep up with the rest of the group and try to keep alive if you can. And in case I didn’t say it already, welcome to town.

go here to see one of my posts someone had translated.

You don’t hear much about the Holy Spirit anymore. God, sure, Jesus, yup, but not much Holy Spirit. At least the whackos on the trains and in the streets shout a lot about God and Jesus but none of them ever mention the Holy Spirit. Why is that? Has the Holy Spirit outlived its usefulness—like the Greek gods? If God is everywhere, what do you need the Holy Ghost for exactly? God and Jesus are much easier to put an image to anyway. The holy spirit is less imagistic. I imagine someday our Judeo Christian God will go the way of the Greek Gods—no one will really believe anymore but there will be a soft spot in everyone’s heart—the “if only” or the nostalgia of a Santa Claus or what leprechauns are in Ireland. Then we’ll all become some sort of Buddhist or earth loving religion or all take on some science-based belief system. Really. That’s what I think will happen in the US. Even in the red states. In like 300 years. Or 2000. How long we gonna be around anyway? I should get around to reading the Bible—bet there’s a lot of stuff in there.

food for fish

scene from Food For Fish--draft

(ALICE and JAMES in the restaurant. ALICE is about to take blood.) ALICE This is going to pinch just a little. JAMES Is that really necessary? I’m not good with needles. ALICE Do you want there to be a second date? JAMES Will there be a second date? ALICE Not if you keep whining. JAMES I’m not whining. ALICE Be a man. JAMES I just don’t want to faint and hit my head again. ALICE Will you stay still so I can find a good vein? JAMES Can we not talk about veins please? ALICE This is going to pinch just a little. JAMES No, no wait. ALICE What? JAMES OK. Go ahead. (ALICE takes blood. JAMES faints.) ALICE Oh, shit. (ALICE picks up a glass of water and throws it in JAMES’s face. JAMES wakes up.) JAMES What? What is it? ALICE You fainted. JAMES Where am I? ALICE You know, James, I’m thinking I may stop dating altogether. JAMES I love you. ALICE It’s not you. Although the needle thing is kind of annoying. JAMES Needle? (JAMES begins to faint again. ALICE slaps him awake.) ALICE Stop that now. OK? You there? What was I saying? Oh yes. So I’m sorry but I don’t think there will be a second date. JAMES Is your name Alice? ALICE Will you focus please? JAMES Everything’s so far away. ALICE I know. That’s always the way it is, isn’t it? The thing we really want is always so far from our grasp. You just really want one thing, right? It’s all you want and no matter what you can never have it. No matter what you do or how cute you dress. It will never happen for you. And you move through every day hoping for a compliment or a smile—some little thing from him—one little crumb or two and you know it’s all you’ll ever get but still you live for it. And then he goes away and won’t answer the phone and you may never see him again and so what’s the point, I ask you? What’s the point of getting through the day if he’s not there at the end of it? Why go on? JAMES Are you talking about suicide? ALICE No. Yes. I don’t know. I mean life is suffering, isn’t it? JAMES That’s what Catholics believe. ALICE Maybe I’m not supposed to be happy. I do have my work, which is I suppose in some ways just a veiled attempt to get what I want or at least deal with it. Maybe it’s not completely hopeless. My sister could die or he could suddenly see he loves me. Maybe you’re right though, maybe if you can’t get what you want in this life you should just kill yourself. JAMES Did I say that? ALICE I don’t know. Maybe I’m not even depressed enough for that. Maybe next week. I just want to go to sleep. JAMES Me too. Hey, why do I feel woozy? ALICE (Holding up vial of blood.) I took some blood. (JAMES faints again.)

List

These are some of the places my Thanksgiving Play for elementary kids has been done. CT, MA, GA, CO, SC, FL, WA, WI, TX, NC, AL, TN, IA, IL, IN, MD, NV, NJ, CA Links don't work on this computer but if you would like to take a look at this play go to: http://www.dramasource.com/cgi-bin/itempage?1=TP

beginning of Ambience Pizza/54th and 9th

(A pizza place. April in an apron. John in street clothes. They are not aware of one another at first.) JOHN. Every day at lunch APRIL. Every day at lunch JOHN. (overlapping) I stop in-- APRIL. (overlapping) He stops in, for a slice, at the pizza place where I work. JOHN. I know she’s beautiful because whenever I think of her, I think of her in black and white. APRIL. When he comes to the counter I give him three napkins although I know I’m only supposed to give two. The pizza is saucy; the pizza is greasy. I don’t want him to be without sufficient surfaces with which to wipe his face and hands. JOHN. I like old movies because of the pacing and the quips—the back and forth. Sometimes I think our conversations will go like that. But they never do. ARIL. They go like this. (They speak to one another now.) JOHN. Hi. APRIL. Hi. JOHN. A slice of cheese. APRIL. Of cheese, right. JOHN. Three twenty five. APRIL. Right. Yes. Three twenty five. (Back to the audience.) JOHN. I always think I will come up with something witty to say. Right there. On the spur of the moment. But I never do. I have nothing witty to say about the price of pizza.

I think the title of my play is "Manifest Western"

It'll be a comedy. You know--like this but funny. and BRIGHT and very dark.