The Mad Hatter
What, in the name of all that is good and decent and leather, has happened to hats? No, I'm not talking about these baseball caps and all their self-self-conscious irony: the ones with the dirty, scratched, frilled bills (some from genuine use, others painstakingly "pre-distressed" at the hands of their owners or the more calloused, brown hands of Din, the Vietnamese who makes 18 cents an hour to fuck up articles of clothing so that Americans will pay more for them), or the Flying Von Dutchman worn crooked as a New Jersey gubenatorial administration. What I am talking about are honest to God hats.
When's the last time you could say, without flinching, that you were going to throw your hat into the race? Or upon losing by 3.7 million in the popular vote, that you simply had to tip your hat to your opponent? The fact is that most of the great men of history were bonafide hat-wearers. You never saw George Washington out and about without his favorite old three-corner atop his would-be kingly dome. Lincoln's stovepipe hat was a trademark, and a convenient place to hide the Constitution when suspending Habeus Corpus. Hell, had he been sporting that night at Ford's theatre, it might have even saved his life. Leaders and iconoclasts from all generations favored one kind or another: Popes wore big hats, Kings wore gold hats, and J.C. himself was known to sport a Halo---surely the ultimate hat. It seems highly dubious indeed that Napoleon would have had as much stature-swelling success without his chapeau, or that Patton would have marched quite so far up Hitler's ass without his four-starred Fritz helmet. If you're still not convinced just think about Harry S. Truman, the man who ushered the world into the nuclear age. Original trade: haberdasher.
So the next time you see a man in a fez, wish him the best. Don't bawl at the bowler. Don't diss the derby. Don't ha-ha the Hombourg. Instead, stick-up for the Stetson. Fend for the Fedora. Befriend the beret. Ok, well maybe scratch that last one, but you get the point. Hats are more than just the things we wear because it's socially unacceptable to adorn our phalluses. Sometimes, like on a frosty evening, locked outside a cheap hotel in Brussels, smelling of stale wine and cheap perfume, they are the only thing between you and indecent exposure until you can ring your tailor. So, to all the proud covered heads around the world (and to that umbrageous if not sprightly young Flemish prostitue), I say "Hats off!"
DRF
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Can you tell I just saw The Incredibles?
Superhero stories aren't about supergood, but superevil. Sure, it's fun to have x-ray vision or the speed of a cheetah on methamphetamine or the power to 100% accurately discern sarcasm. But accomplishments are more impressive than abilities. Putting an end to corporate malfeasance or saving a bus-full of baby bunnies is only so amazing. But saving the world from Dr. Deconstructionism Lit-Crit Beam is something to write home about.
And if you give the bad guys powers, the good guys have to have them too, or else it just seems flat out unfair. And if a story appears flat out unfair, royalties are owed to the estates of David and Goliath. So, the good guys get powers.
But how often have we seen them fight without powers? Trimephite collars or Glonphagen windshield wipers that bring them back down to the level of mere mortals. And still, they find ways: they fashion a lock pick out of that strand of gelled hair or a reflector capable of redirecting a 7.8 kaligawatt laser beam out of the shiny foil-side of a gum wrapper.
The point is, the evil they face is the biggest you can imagine: conglomerations of evil, maintained by unimaginable sums of money. They are our worst enemies, write large: the faceless bank, if not for regulation, would soon end up as First National Savings, Loans, and Murder.
When they overcome the Dirigible of Death, then, it is the same as you getting the store to accept the return even though it's the 31st day after you bought it and it's the Assistant Store Manager's first day and the computers are down. So, did you just read 1984 and you know the system can win? Or Grapes of Wrath, and you know it already has? My prescription is comics. Comics that let you know that a single person (perhaps with sidekick) or a small group of people (if it's a good month for crossovers) can do anything. In 6 parts, each costing $2.95.
Superhero stories aren't about supergood, but superevil. Sure, it's fun to have x-ray vision or the speed of a cheetah on methamphetamine or the power to 100% accurately discern sarcasm. But accomplishments are more impressive than abilities. Putting an end to corporate malfeasance or saving a bus-full of baby bunnies is only so amazing. But saving the world from Dr. Deconstructionism Lit-Crit Beam is something to write home about.
And if you give the bad guys powers, the good guys have to have them too, or else it just seems flat out unfair. And if a story appears flat out unfair, royalties are owed to the estates of David and Goliath. So, the good guys get powers.
But how often have we seen them fight without powers? Trimephite collars or Glonphagen windshield wipers that bring them back down to the level of mere mortals. And still, they find ways: they fashion a lock pick out of that strand of gelled hair or a reflector capable of redirecting a 7.8 kaligawatt laser beam out of the shiny foil-side of a gum wrapper.
The point is, the evil they face is the biggest you can imagine: conglomerations of evil, maintained by unimaginable sums of money. They are our worst enemies, write large: the faceless bank, if not for regulation, would soon end up as First National Savings, Loans, and Murder.
When they overcome the Dirigible of Death, then, it is the same as you getting the store to accept the return even though it's the 31st day after you bought it and it's the Assistant Store Manager's first day and the computers are down. So, did you just read 1984 and you know the system can win? Or Grapes of Wrath, and you know it already has? My prescription is comics. Comics that let you know that a single person (perhaps with sidekick) or a small group of people (if it's a good month for crossovers) can do anything. In 6 parts, each costing $2.95.
Friday, November 05, 2004
eShop? Yes. eVote? Eventually. eViscerate? As soon as we give them claws. But evoke? Never.
I have faith in computers. Already, they can beat us at chess. Long ago they surpassed our mathematical figuring ability. On the horizon of surpassments are such accomplishments as speech recognition, paragraph comprehension, and ability to annoyingly suggest grammatical correction where they are inappropriate. To the Joe Laganases of the world: watch your back. (ed. note: You may not actually know Joe Laganas, but look back into your memory of Middle School, and think of the twerp you most wanted to punch, and you know at least the concept of Joe Laganas.)
I even have confidence that in not too long robots will walk among us. We all know the auto-workers will be kicked out the door, and chauffeurs' jobs are as obviously on the line. But do you realize the damage that could be done to our elementary schools? A walking computer could be the most effective bully: its knowledge of probability and income distribution would allow it to know whose lunch money was worth taking. Its interweb connection allows it limitless knowledge of fashion, to make fun of the shades of fuschia, periwinkle, and blinding orange that the children of the color blind find themselves in.
But for all my faith, I also know there is one thing computers will never equal humans in: the ability to utter mundane sentences that, because of the history of the people in question, carries arctic iciness. Even when sent by IM, borne by the soulless machine's backs, a single comment can rip out your insides. A statement of fact remembers different times whose distinction from the way things now are makes everything seem broken means the good day you were having is over.
Computers can inconvenience us. Soon they will be able to rip us limb from limb and steal our medicine. I have always known that my death would come at the hands of an automatic stamp licker. But they will never be able to truly hurt us.
I have faith in computers. Already, they can beat us at chess. Long ago they surpassed our mathematical figuring ability. On the horizon of surpassments are such accomplishments as speech recognition, paragraph comprehension, and ability to annoyingly suggest grammatical correction where they are inappropriate. To the Joe Laganases of the world: watch your back. (ed. note: You may not actually know Joe Laganas, but look back into your memory of Middle School, and think of the twerp you most wanted to punch, and you know at least the concept of Joe Laganas.)
I even have confidence that in not too long robots will walk among us. We all know the auto-workers will be kicked out the door, and chauffeurs' jobs are as obviously on the line. But do you realize the damage that could be done to our elementary schools? A walking computer could be the most effective bully: its knowledge of probability and income distribution would allow it to know whose lunch money was worth taking. Its interweb connection allows it limitless knowledge of fashion, to make fun of the shades of fuschia, periwinkle, and blinding orange that the children of the color blind find themselves in.
But for all my faith, I also know there is one thing computers will never equal humans in: the ability to utter mundane sentences that, because of the history of the people in question, carries arctic iciness. Even when sent by IM, borne by the soulless machine's backs, a single comment can rip out your insides. A statement of fact remembers different times whose distinction from the way things now are makes everything seem broken means the good day you were having is over.
Computers can inconvenience us. Soon they will be able to rip us limb from limb and steal our medicine. I have always known that my death would come at the hands of an automatic stamp licker. But they will never be able to truly hurt us.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Devils in a Blue Dress -- Second Scene
This is a continuation of, not suprisingly, the first scene of this one act.
(scene 2)
(at dinner, in a restaurant, with the girl. The meal is finished, the plates dirty but not picked up.)
Guy: No, I do want to know about you. I'm just not writing the back of a trading card: "Spent six years at Richard Nixon Elementary, two as a starter before being called up by Gerald Ford Middle School. Traded one season later to sunny California and Loma Verde High School for one Vending Machine and three textbooks to be named at a later date." I want to know you, and the facts about you only as much as they help towards the first goal.
Girl: Let's see: I'm the daughter of a New Mexican Research Scientist and a transported Southern Belle Debutante, which explains why I have a knack for math and a shaky body image. I spent last summer interviewing sex workers for a documentary, which means I know all their tricks. And my uncle's a stamp collector, which means I know it's not dirty to be philatelic.
Guy: I'm really glad you decided to come out to dinner to me.
Girl: Me too.
Guy: My strategy paid off.
Girl; You had a strategy?
Guy: Of course. If I had asked you out while you were, I dunno, swimming with dolphins or being fed peeled grapes by Abercrombie models, I probably would have gotten a quick no if you'd even bothered responding. But by asking you while you were stuck caring for a pukey friend, relatively, I was God's gift to women.
Girl: Do you really think it's wise to enter a relationship as the lesser of two evils?
Guy: This was a nice dinner. The food was passable, the service mediocre, but the company superb. (Y'know that moment right before a kiss when you're both silent and the world is calm? Yeah. That. Except, there's no traiditional post-pre-kiss kiss. Because Plot Device Girl has entered the restaurant, with Needs-to-be-Popular on her arm (unclothed), and comes up to Girl. At the recognition that PDG is present, Girl is tagged-by Needs-to-be-Popular)
PDG: Hi!
Girl: Oh, hey.
PDG: I didn't think I'd run into you here. Don't you love this place?
Needs-to-be-Popular: Yeah, totally. (standing). Lindsay, do you know--
Guy: We've met.
PDG: Yeah, hi.
Popular: So, did you hear about Wendy and Brad?
PDG: No.
Popular: Well, you know how she's been basically throwing herself at him for the past two months.
PDG: Doesn't he have a long-term girlfriend?
Popular: Well, yes, but last Tuesday, her picture moved from next to his bed to the bookshelf off in the corner.
PDG: Ah, commitment through photography, the surest sign cheating is about to begin.
Popular: Wait for it. Last night, she told him that old joke, "What do you do to an elephant with three balls?"
PDG: I dunno, what?
Popular: Walk him, and pitch to the rhino.
PDG: It's not the greatest joke, but, nothing not to hook up with a girl over.
Popular: Except, Brad (holds three fingers over her crotch)
PDG: No!
Popular: Carrying a spare, yep!
PDG: Is that even possible? It violates everything I know about bilateral symmetry.
Popular: During the draft for World War Two, there were nine documented cases in America alone.
PDG: Does that get you out of the draft?
Popular: Hmm, I dunno. Yes?
PDG: Why?
Popular: Bigger target?
PDG: How do you know all that?
Popular: Well, when he gets drunk, Brad can't stop talking about his condition. He can barely stop showing it off.
PDG: Eww.
Popular: Well, let's just say, he seems to have an extra portion in other places, too.
PDG: Oh my god, you're too funny. She's outrageous, you know that?
Guy: I'd been getting the impression.
PDG: OK, I have to get going. But will I see you at Kara's party tonight?
Popular: Oh, sure. (PDG exits) (sitting again) Wow. She's the type of girl I never thought I was cool enough to be friends with, but then I got to college, and look at that. Asking me to the party. (tagged-by Ambition)
Guy: Very cool, I have to admit.
Ambition: So, what was I saying? Oh yeah, well, I want to make films. This school doesn't offer a major in it, but I found a professor who liked me. I took his seminar, and he kept asking me, "what year are you? A senior", and I was like, "no, freshman," and he would say, "well, you're the best writer in the class."
Guy: That is rather impressive.
Ambition: So, I'll probably design my own major, which he'll approve cause he likes me. Then go on to grad school at, I dunno, somewhere in New York or LA.
Guy: It sounds like you have a solid plan.
Ambition: Are you patronizing me? Look, I've had people not believe in me before, so it might be easier for both of us if you're honest. (tagged-by Unexplained Coldness)
Guy: No, I mean it, you sound like you have a very good idea of what you want to do, and perhaps more importantly, how to get there.
Unexplained Coldness: OK.
Guy: Great. So, like, I was saying, I really think that this dinner has been great.
Unexplained Coldness: Sure.
Guy: I'm sorry, did, did I do something wrong?
Unexplained Coldness: Why would you think that?
Guy: Oh, nothing.
Unexplained Coldness: Good.
Guy: Cause if I did, I'd love to make it better.
Unexplained Coldness: Could we just -- you know.
Guy: Yeah, sure. (long pause as they pick at dinner remains) What lesser-known meat would you try, if you could?
Unexplained Coldness: What?
Guy: Or, more specifically, lesser-known meat from Australia? Kangaroo, Koala, Duck-billed Platypus?
Unexplained Coldness: What are you talking about? Do you really think that that's a way to get to know me? Asking me nonsensical questions just to make yourself appear witty? Anybody can think of three funny words to string together. Look, I'll do it: gopher, fellatio, shoehorn.
Guy: (after a bit more of a pause) (to the waitress) Check!
(scene)
This is a continuation of, not suprisingly, the first scene of this one act.
(scene 2)
(at dinner, in a restaurant, with the girl. The meal is finished, the plates dirty but not picked up.)
Guy: No, I do want to know about you. I'm just not writing the back of a trading card: "Spent six years at Richard Nixon Elementary, two as a starter before being called up by Gerald Ford Middle School. Traded one season later to sunny California and Loma Verde High School for one Vending Machine and three textbooks to be named at a later date." I want to know you, and the facts about you only as much as they help towards the first goal.
Girl: Let's see: I'm the daughter of a New Mexican Research Scientist and a transported Southern Belle Debutante, which explains why I have a knack for math and a shaky body image. I spent last summer interviewing sex workers for a documentary, which means I know all their tricks. And my uncle's a stamp collector, which means I know it's not dirty to be philatelic.
Guy: I'm really glad you decided to come out to dinner to me.
Girl: Me too.
Guy: My strategy paid off.
Girl; You had a strategy?
Guy: Of course. If I had asked you out while you were, I dunno, swimming with dolphins or being fed peeled grapes by Abercrombie models, I probably would have gotten a quick no if you'd even bothered responding. But by asking you while you were stuck caring for a pukey friend, relatively, I was God's gift to women.
Girl: Do you really think it's wise to enter a relationship as the lesser of two evils?
Guy: This was a nice dinner. The food was passable, the service mediocre, but the company superb. (Y'know that moment right before a kiss when you're both silent and the world is calm? Yeah. That. Except, there's no traiditional post-pre-kiss kiss. Because Plot Device Girl has entered the restaurant, with Needs-to-be-Popular on her arm (unclothed), and comes up to Girl. At the recognition that PDG is present, Girl is tagged-by Needs-to-be-Popular)
PDG: Hi!
Girl: Oh, hey.
PDG: I didn't think I'd run into you here. Don't you love this place?
Needs-to-be-Popular: Yeah, totally. (standing). Lindsay, do you know--
Guy: We've met.
PDG: Yeah, hi.
Popular: So, did you hear about Wendy and Brad?
PDG: No.
Popular: Well, you know how she's been basically throwing herself at him for the past two months.
PDG: Doesn't he have a long-term girlfriend?
Popular: Well, yes, but last Tuesday, her picture moved from next to his bed to the bookshelf off in the corner.
PDG: Ah, commitment through photography, the surest sign cheating is about to begin.
Popular: Wait for it. Last night, she told him that old joke, "What do you do to an elephant with three balls?"
PDG: I dunno, what?
Popular: Walk him, and pitch to the rhino.
PDG: It's not the greatest joke, but, nothing not to hook up with a girl over.
Popular: Except, Brad (holds three fingers over her crotch)
PDG: No!
Popular: Carrying a spare, yep!
PDG: Is that even possible? It violates everything I know about bilateral symmetry.
Popular: During the draft for World War Two, there were nine documented cases in America alone.
PDG: Does that get you out of the draft?
Popular: Hmm, I dunno. Yes?
PDG: Why?
Popular: Bigger target?
PDG: How do you know all that?
Popular: Well, when he gets drunk, Brad can't stop talking about his condition. He can barely stop showing it off.
PDG: Eww.
Popular: Well, let's just say, he seems to have an extra portion in other places, too.
PDG: Oh my god, you're too funny. She's outrageous, you know that?
Guy: I'd been getting the impression.
PDG: OK, I have to get going. But will I see you at Kara's party tonight?
Popular: Oh, sure. (PDG exits) (sitting again) Wow. She's the type of girl I never thought I was cool enough to be friends with, but then I got to college, and look at that. Asking me to the party. (tagged-by Ambition)
Guy: Very cool, I have to admit.
Ambition: So, what was I saying? Oh yeah, well, I want to make films. This school doesn't offer a major in it, but I found a professor who liked me. I took his seminar, and he kept asking me, "what year are you? A senior", and I was like, "no, freshman," and he would say, "well, you're the best writer in the class."
Guy: That is rather impressive.
Ambition: So, I'll probably design my own major, which he'll approve cause he likes me. Then go on to grad school at, I dunno, somewhere in New York or LA.
Guy: It sounds like you have a solid plan.
Ambition: Are you patronizing me? Look, I've had people not believe in me before, so it might be easier for both of us if you're honest. (tagged-by Unexplained Coldness)
Guy: No, I mean it, you sound like you have a very good idea of what you want to do, and perhaps more importantly, how to get there.
Unexplained Coldness: OK.
Guy: Great. So, like, I was saying, I really think that this dinner has been great.
Unexplained Coldness: Sure.
Guy: I'm sorry, did, did I do something wrong?
Unexplained Coldness: Why would you think that?
Guy: Oh, nothing.
Unexplained Coldness: Good.
Guy: Cause if I did, I'd love to make it better.
Unexplained Coldness: Could we just -- you know.
Guy: Yeah, sure. (long pause as they pick at dinner remains) What lesser-known meat would you try, if you could?
Unexplained Coldness: What?
Guy: Or, more specifically, lesser-known meat from Australia? Kangaroo, Koala, Duck-billed Platypus?
Unexplained Coldness: What are you talking about? Do you really think that that's a way to get to know me? Asking me nonsensical questions just to make yourself appear witty? Anybody can think of three funny words to string together. Look, I'll do it: gopher, fellatio, shoehorn.
Guy: (after a bit more of a pause) (to the waitress) Check!
(scene)
What I Miss in Formality
I don't dress up much. This may dismay my mother, who spent many of my visits to her house during my high school years sizing me for coats of various exotic materials. Camel Hair, Suede, etc. The one that sticks in my memory had a label insisting its fabric was somehow related to trees. But now, I find the idea a bit repellent. I can do many things well. Potentially in the top percentile. Code. Cover the ass of an insane College Pseudo-Marching Band. Write Pseudo-intellectual blogs. But not dress up. I can dress in the style of Bentley, but not in the style of Klein or Karan.
But I do miss the ability to behave formally, in respects. I have no desire to sip from "flutes" or sit in "chairs". A bunch of white bourgeois-wanna-bes gyrating wildly in suits and dresses to the latest hip-hop fusion is hardly my idea of a good time.
What I do miss is the ability to lead a woman around with my hand in the small of her back. Trivial? Maybe. But also incredible. Such a feeling of trust and intimate communication to find someone willing and able you to follow you from the front.
I don't dress up much. This may dismay my mother, who spent many of my visits to her house during my high school years sizing me for coats of various exotic materials. Camel Hair, Suede, etc. The one that sticks in my memory had a label insisting its fabric was somehow related to trees. But now, I find the idea a bit repellent. I can do many things well. Potentially in the top percentile. Code. Cover the ass of an insane College Pseudo-Marching Band. Write Pseudo-intellectual blogs. But not dress up. I can dress in the style of Bentley, but not in the style of Klein or Karan.
But I do miss the ability to behave formally, in respects. I have no desire to sip from "flutes" or sit in "chairs". A bunch of white bourgeois-wanna-bes gyrating wildly in suits and dresses to the latest hip-hop fusion is hardly my idea of a good time.
What I do miss is the ability to lead a woman around with my hand in the small of her back. Trivial? Maybe. But also incredible. Such a feeling of trust and intimate communication to find someone willing and able you to follow you from the front.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Devils in a Blue Dress -- First Scene
Apologies for absence. Here is scene from my first play that could maybe be about love. Because you can be a funny hack just writing jokes all your life, but still a hack.
Persons:
(A note of explanation: The girl is not just 8 facets, but 8 actresses. The physical body of the girl is represented by, surprise, a blue dress. And whichever one is wearing the dress is the personality you might see in the girl at that moment. Ideally, the actresses who were not in the dress would be naked, to expose their vulnerability, ephemerality, and boobies. But, let's face it, I'll never find 8 of those, so let's say they're wearing matching bra/panty sets.)
Scene 1: A party. Debauchery all around. Music blaring. Between each mini-scene, scenelet, scenette the lights fall for about 5 seconds.
Scene 1a:
Randall: Isn't this awesome?
Guy: What?
Randall: What?
Guy: (getting louder to be heard) This is too loud. I can't even hear myself being sexually frustrated.
Randall: What?
Guy: I can't even hear (music cuts out. Room is silent) myself being sexually frustrated.
Randall: The sudden silence. Tough break kid.
Guy: I could have stopped early, but then everyone would have just heard "myself being sex".
Randall: Lesser of two evils. Quite. See you at home?
Guy: When will you be home?
Randall: (getting pulled off by a girl) If I'm not home by Tuesday, wait till Thursday.
Scene 1b:
(picks up right after introductions)
Girl: Nice to meet you, too.
Guy: Nice dress.
Girl: Thanks. (tagged-by Popular)
Popular: Where do you live?
Guy: (shaking head) Oh no.
Popular: What?
Guy: Where do I live, what am I taking, where am I from, what am I majoring in, no, not going to do it. I've done it too much for one lifetime.
Popular: OK, then I guess I'm not sure what to--
Guy: Kill one: puppy or kitten.
Popular: What? (tagged by Girl)
Guy: Fine. Falling off a cliff, one on each side, kitten and puppy, you can only get to one in time, which do you save? See, far less moral culpability.
Girl: Are you always like this?
Guy: Only when I have to be.
Girl: Kitten. Cuter. Cuddlier. Intelligent enough to actually be your companion. You?
Guy: Puppy. And here's why: If the situation were reversed, and it was you on one side of the cliff, puppy on the other, the kitten would just sit there, batting its eyelashes. The puppy would at least come over and try to play as you fell to your death.
Plot Device Girl: (to girl, who's getting replaced by Popular) C'mon, let's go, Cindy and Jake are totally about to hook up. You should come with us.
Popular: OK, I'm sorry, I've got to go--
Guy: (to girl) I'll see you later, don't worry. (to Popular) Nice to meet you, too.
(mini-scene)
scene 1c:
Drunk: (stumbles upon him, as he's talking to others, who are also happy to talk without him, so it's all on the DL) You! I know you!
Guy: Yes you do.
Drunk: Do you remember me?
Guy: Yes.
Drunk: So you remember me?
Guy: Yes.
Drunk: You re--
Guy: Are you drunk? (puts his arm around her)
Drunk: And a little stoned.
Guy: Congratu--
Drunk: I love weed.
Guy: And I'm sure it loves you.
Drunk: We met. Do you remember me?
Guy: (holding and talking sense into her) I am never going to forget you. Ever. Not even a little. Not even for a minute.
Drunk: Do I know you?
(mini-scene)
scene 1d:
(Motherly is by a toilet, helping a friend puke)
Motherly: It's all right, honey. Let it all come out--
Plot Device Girl: I can't believe he thought he could-- (pukes)
Motherly: Yeah, I didn't mean talking. There we go. Let it all come out.
Guy: When last I saw you, you were the one needing taking care of.
Motherly: I'm sobererer than she. Than her.
Guy: Ah, the prodigal daughter.
Motherly: Do you even know what that means? (tagged-by Girl)
Guy: No, but on a good day I can spell it.
Girl: Why me?
Guy: That had neither a verb nor a subject, and barely an object, but you really must think that's a sentence, huh?
Girl: You seem to like me, why? You don't know me.
Guy: What was the last book you read?
Girl: The Golden Gate.
Guy: By Vikram Seth. That's why I'm interested in you.
Girl: OK. Why do I like you? (Plot Device Girl starts to puke again. Motherly takes over just in time, but doesn't put on the whole dress. Instead, she just gets her arm through the hole, and is one-handedly holding back hair while girl and guy engage in conversation)
Guy: You obviously have your hands full. You'll find out at dinner Tuesday why you're interested in me.
(scene)
Apologies for absence. Here is scene from my first play that could maybe be about love. Because you can be a funny hack just writing jokes all your life, but still a hack.
Persons:
- Guy
- Girl
- Girl.
- Drunk.
- Needs-to-be-popular.
- Needy.
- Motherly.
- Horny.
- Unexplained Coldness.
- Worldly ambitions.
- Girl.
- Randall. Guy's best friend.
- Plot Device Girl: A highly developed character
(A note of explanation: The girl is not just 8 facets, but 8 actresses. The physical body of the girl is represented by, surprise, a blue dress. And whichever one is wearing the dress is the personality you might see in the girl at that moment. Ideally, the actresses who were not in the dress would be naked, to expose their vulnerability, ephemerality, and boobies. But, let's face it, I'll never find 8 of those, so let's say they're wearing matching bra/panty sets.)
Scene 1: A party. Debauchery all around. Music blaring. Between each mini-scene, scenelet, scenette the lights fall for about 5 seconds.
Scene 1a:
Randall: Isn't this awesome?
Guy: What?
Randall: What?
Guy: (getting louder to be heard) This is too loud. I can't even hear myself being sexually frustrated.
Randall: What?
Guy: I can't even hear (music cuts out. Room is silent) myself being sexually frustrated.
Randall: The sudden silence. Tough break kid.
Guy: I could have stopped early, but then everyone would have just heard "myself being sex".
Randall: Lesser of two evils. Quite. See you at home?
Guy: When will you be home?
Randall: (getting pulled off by a girl) If I'm not home by Tuesday, wait till Thursday.
Scene 1b:
(picks up right after introductions)
Girl: Nice to meet you, too.
Guy: Nice dress.
Girl: Thanks. (tagged-by Popular)
Popular: Where do you live?
Guy: (shaking head) Oh no.
Popular: What?
Guy: Where do I live, what am I taking, where am I from, what am I majoring in, no, not going to do it. I've done it too much for one lifetime.
Popular: OK, then I guess I'm not sure what to--
Guy: Kill one: puppy or kitten.
Popular: What? (tagged by Girl)
Guy: Fine. Falling off a cliff, one on each side, kitten and puppy, you can only get to one in time, which do you save? See, far less moral culpability.
Girl: Are you always like this?
Guy: Only when I have to be.
Girl: Kitten. Cuter. Cuddlier. Intelligent enough to actually be your companion. You?
Guy: Puppy. And here's why: If the situation were reversed, and it was you on one side of the cliff, puppy on the other, the kitten would just sit there, batting its eyelashes. The puppy would at least come over and try to play as you fell to your death.
Plot Device Girl: (to girl, who's getting replaced by Popular) C'mon, let's go, Cindy and Jake are totally about to hook up. You should come with us.
Popular: OK, I'm sorry, I've got to go--
Guy: (to girl) I'll see you later, don't worry. (to Popular) Nice to meet you, too.
(mini-scene)
scene 1c:
Drunk: (stumbles upon him, as he's talking to others, who are also happy to talk without him, so it's all on the DL) You! I know you!
Guy: Yes you do.
Drunk: Do you remember me?
Guy: Yes.
Drunk: So you remember me?
Guy: Yes.
Drunk: You re--
Guy: Are you drunk? (puts his arm around her)
Drunk: And a little stoned.
Guy: Congratu--
Drunk: I love weed.
Guy: And I'm sure it loves you.
Drunk: We met. Do you remember me?
Guy: (holding and talking sense into her) I am never going to forget you. Ever. Not even a little. Not even for a minute.
Drunk: Do I know you?
(mini-scene)
scene 1d:
(Motherly is by a toilet, helping a friend puke)
Motherly: It's all right, honey. Let it all come out--
Plot Device Girl: I can't believe he thought he could-- (pukes)
Motherly: Yeah, I didn't mean talking. There we go. Let it all come out.
Guy: When last I saw you, you were the one needing taking care of.
Motherly: I'm sobererer than she. Than her.
Guy: Ah, the prodigal daughter.
Motherly: Do you even know what that means? (tagged-by Girl)
Guy: No, but on a good day I can spell it.
Girl: Why me?
Guy: That had neither a verb nor a subject, and barely an object, but you really must think that's a sentence, huh?
Girl: You seem to like me, why? You don't know me.
Guy: What was the last book you read?
Girl: The Golden Gate.
Guy: By Vikram Seth. That's why I'm interested in you.
Girl: OK. Why do I like you? (Plot Device Girl starts to puke again. Motherly takes over just in time, but doesn't put on the whole dress. Instead, she just gets her arm through the hole, and is one-handedly holding back hair while girl and guy engage in conversation)
Guy: You obviously have your hands full. You'll find out at dinner Tuesday why you're interested in me.
(scene)
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