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From my Award-Winning Paly

I won first place in the Script Tease of Short Plays, sponsored by The Scripteasers in San Diego.  It struck me that you might not have read this play (and the two others in the suite) so I have taken great pains to place them here in serial form. 

Please don't be a serial killer and read them all --and comment.  Here now is

Love, Unrequited, in Three Galleries Morning (American Masters).

MORNING (AMERICAN MASTERS)

 

The lights come up on an art gallery (preferably an existing one at the San Diego Museum of Art). A museum guard, ANDRÉ, is getting ready for the morning’s first visitor. He is oldish, largeish, dark-skinned and very handsome in his uniform and cap. He IS the American Gallery; as much a resident as the American Masters displayed there. ANDRÉ busies himself readying the gallery: checking on the leaflets, straightening benches and checking the air filter. It is a comfortable life for one who loves art and people. He speaks to the paintings and calls them by name.

 

ANDRÉ

Good morning, Miss Bernadetta. Slept well, I trust. Miss Rose, looking pensive as ever, I see. Mrs. Crane. Easy, Doctor Moore. All right, ladies and gentlemen – and landscapes. Time to shine. I want you all to be on your best behavior today, as if you didn’t know what day it is. Tuesday, kids. Tuesday is Mrs. Moore’s day. I know. Now, don’t worry. You’ll be fine. She loves you all the same. Just like I do. All the same. Remember that.

 

ANNOUNCER

 

ANDRÉ and ANNOUNCER

Each guest is a treasured guest, so treat them all as you would your own family.

 

ANDRÉ

Not my family. I’ll treat them all like Mrs. Moore if you don’t mind.

 

As if on cue, MRS. MOORE enters. She is a striking, impeccably dressed woman of advancing years. She is as white as ANDRÉ is dark and as small as he is large. She commands attention because she genuinely nice. She is comfortable in the museum because of her love of art and people.

 

MRS. MOORE

Good morning Andre! So nice to see you.

 

ANDRÉ

Mrs. Moore. Is it Tuesday already?

 

MRS. MOORE

You don’t fool me, Andre. You got here extra early to rally the troops for my visit. Don’t deny it.

 

ANDRÉ

Mrs. Moore. If I spoke to the paintings, they’d lock me up and throw away the key.

 

MRS. MOORE

Nonsense! How long have you worked here, Andre?

 

ANDRÉ

More years than I can remember, Mrs. Moore.

 

MRS. MOORE

You probably know more than all those young punks who call themselves curators these days.

 

ANDRÉ

They have all the degrees, Mrs. Moore.

 

MRS. MOORE

Yes, but you’ve absorbed so much and you pack heat. And I know you know more than most of them.  Last week I heard you discoursing on the Rembrandt.

 

ANDRÉ

Well. He’s our Rembrandt. The son of Harmen on the Rhine. The old Dutch Master and pretty good with light and shadow, Mrs. Moore.

 

MRS. MOORE

You are being altogether too coy, Andre. Tell me something I don’t know about one of these American darlings.

 

ANDRÉ

I think you know more than I do.

 

MRS. MOORE

When did I start coming here, Andre?

 

ANDRÉ

Right after I started in the janitorial staff and neither of us wants to know how long ago that was.

 

MRS. MOORE

All that time alone with the paintings, the sculptures, Andre. Keys to the vaults, the books and the archives. I know you didn’t waste it.

 

ANDRÉ

That was a fun time, Mrs. Moore. I could tell you stories…

 

MRS. MOORE (to herself)

I wish you would, Andre. I wish…

 

ANDRÉ

Ma’am?

 

MRS. MOORE

Oh, nothing. Just remembering Gerald. How much he loved art. How he educated me and how he…

 

ANDRÉ

It’s been eleven years, now hasn’t it?

 

MRS. MOORE

Yes, Andre.

 

ANDRÉ

I miss him.

 

MRS. MOORE

Me too, Andre. Me too. Now! Come on. Tell this former trophy wife what you know about… (she points to Simone in a Blue Bonnet #1) That one.

 

ANDRÉ

I’ve already said too much, Mrs. Moore. I’m a guard after all. I stand and menace. From afar. It’s my job.

 

MRS. MOORE

Nonsense! No one will begrudge a doddering old widow a few minutes conversation with the most knowledgeable member of the staff. Besides, I think they’re all afraid of me here. They treat me like I was made of glass.

 

ANDRÉ

You’re very valuable… to… the museum, Mrs. Moore. We all treasure you like family.

 

MRS. MOORE

Not my family, I hope. Rich people are so boring, Andre.

 

ANDRÉ

You don’t seem rich or boring. Oh, forgive me, Mrs. Moore.

 

MRS. MOORE

That’s the nicest thing anyone here has ever said to me.

 

 

ANDRÉ

Well.. I…

 

MRS. MOORE

Come on. Tell me what you know.

 

ANDRÉ

About Lil’ Simone? Interesting that Cassatt was so good with children and she never had any. She was past childbearing age when she painted Simone Number One. 58, I think. Cassatt was in her full flower as a painter and the blindness and all the other sickness hadn’t got her down yet. Can you imagine? Going blind has got to be a thousand times worse when you’re a painter. I’m not sure who the baby is. She had several nieces, but…

 

MRS. MOORE

What? But what?

 

ANDRÉ

Well, that baby looks as if she’ll grow up and be twice as pretty as Mary Cassatt if you’ll forgive me.

 

MRS. MOORE

She wasn’t pretty?

 

ANDRÉ

Not to me, no, but I love her any way. Look at the use of pastels, the odd color combinations, the trailing off at the end so we get to finish the piece in our minds…

 

MRS. MOORE

And never get it even ½ right.

 

ANDRÉ

Exactly.

 

MRS. MOORE

An artist going blind. An unattractive woman who painted beautiful children. It’s like a romantic in love.

 

ANDRÉ

I don’t follow you, Mrs. Moore.

 

MRS. MOORE

Love is painful for the romantic, I guess.

 

 

ANDRÉ

Humm… I’d like to, uh.. ask—

 

ANNOUNCER

Mr. Sherman to the Gift Shop for customer service. Mr. Sherman.

 

ANDRÉ

Oh.  That ain’t good. Please excuse me, Mrs. Moore.

 

ANDRE hurries out leaving MRS. MOORE alone with the American Masters.

 

MRS. MOORE

Oh, Little Simone. So innocent. So unwise to the ways of love, though you’re probably older than Andre and me put together. (She looks at the dates on the frame). Well, close at least. What can you tell me? More than old Medusa about love, I guess. And little Manueleta is too young at (looks again) eighty, to help me. Oh, why can’t he just say something? I… I come from a time when gentlemen do the asking and ladies to the accepting. And ladies don’t mix with the help and let’s not get started on the race thing. Oh, God! What am I talking about! I don’t believe in god. Never did. I’m going to be – an age where it shouldn’t matter what people think. What did Hamlet say? “At your age the blood goes cold in the veins,” or some such nonsense. Gertrude may have had an old lady name but let me tell you (turns to Medusa) no you, Medusa – ladies don’t get as cold with age. No it’s more like a slow burn and those can be deadly. I’m sure you know what I mean, sister. Too powerful for your own good. Too scary for polite company. Don’t get me started.

 

She stares off in silence for a moment. ANDRÉ returns.

 

ANDRÉ

You all right Mrs. Moore?

 

MRS. MOORE

Tell me you didn’t see me talking to the art.

 

ANDRÉ

No. And, don’t worry. I do it myself, sometimes.

 

MRS. MOORE

So, Mr. Sherman, what is so important about customer service that you have to run out of here, and why is it that I’ve known you longer than my children and I never knew your last name?

 

ANDRÉ

You still don’t.

MRS. MOORE

I beg your pardon?

 

ANDRÉ

Code. Mr. Sherman is my code name and Customer Service means suspected shoplifter.

 

MRS. MOORE

How very romantic.

 

ANDRÉ

Just a couple of kids. No problem. As soon as they see me, they leave.

 

MRS. MOORE

Aren’t you going to tell me?

 

ANDRÉ

Excuse me?

 

MRS. MOORE

Your name, Andre. Good heavens! With all this code… Is it possible that I’ve been calling you Andre for so many years and it’s really…

 

ANDRÉ

It’s Andre, Mrs. Moore. There are… there is an unwritten rule about giving out our last names. Prevents… uh…

 

MRS. MOORE

What?

 

ANDRÉ

Stalkers.

 

MRS. MOORE

Well that’s two of the nicest things I’ve heard and both today! Imagine a woman who’s “blood grows cold in the veins at this age”

 

ANDRÉ

Hamlet?

 

MRS. MOORE

I’m impressed. You know, Gertrude is my Code Name.

 

ANDRÉ

I don’t know. She was a bit of a mess… And that boy of hers was just a little too attached if you ask me.

MRS. MOORE

I never thought of it that way. How do you know so much about Shakespeare?

 

ANDRÉ

I guess I’ve seen ‘em all. We get free tickets sometimes. Park employee thing.

 

MRS. MOORE

I subscribe. I’ve never seen you there…

 

ANDRÉ

You wouldn’t recognize me without the cap and Jacket.

 

MRS. MOORE

I would recognize you anywhere… I think…

 

ANDRÉ

We’ve probably been in the same theatre.

 

MRS. MOORE

Imagine that.

 

There is an awkward pause.

 

ANDRÉ

Well, uh… I’ll just…

 

He goes to stand and menace at the door. The Following takes place in soliloquy.

 

MRS. MOORE

What would it look like? Us together at the theatre. At the Opera. And why does it matter so much? I am an old Gorgon…

 

ANDRÉ

Angelica Moore. Everyone calls you Mimi. You live on the mountain. Daughter out in

New York

and the son in San Francisco – gay as old Leonardo. Collects china or some such thing. Oh, I know all about you, Mrs. Moore.

 

MRS. MOORE

Good god. I’m a modern woman. I burned my bra in 1967. Marched on Washington in ’69. Gave money to every Democrat since Kennedy. I even voted for Jesse Jackson – in the primary. I wonder if we both attended the same rally at the Organ Pavilion? God. What if he’s a republican?

 

 

 

ANDRÉ

God. What would she say? She’d have me arrested for sure. She’s just being polite. God. What if she’s a Republican?

 

MRS. MOORE

He’s so polite. I wonder what he’s like at home. Where he lives. What he looks like without the cap and jacket and… (looks at Chanticleer) forgive me, sir. Oh, OK. I’ve gone insane. I’m two years and a large grocery bag away from living in this godamned park – and I want some sex!

 

ANDRÉ

Could I have sex with her? Could I have sex? I mean, at my age the blood runs cold…

 

MRS. MOORE

God. Let’s not get out of control. What would (nodding to them) Misters Beckwith and Wentworth say?

 

ANDRÉ

OK. Time to relax and breathe. OK, breathe! (he breathes).

 

MRS. MOORE

I mean, it’s not like I’m giving him nothing. I’ve given him openings you could drive a truck through. I have been more than polite.

 

ANDRÉ

If she was outside the walls, I’d say… I’d hear what she said differently for sure. But, I’ve got on the uniform. She’s a treasured guest. And a donor. And a pretty lady no matter how you look at it.

 

MRS. MOORE

..with needs as same as any man… If we were out together, I’d bet he’d be different… He’d…

 

ANDRÉ

…still be a gentleman and she’d still be a lady but we could…

 

MRS. MOORE

… talk. Actually talk together and he’d call me Mimi and I’d call him…

 

ANDRÉ

…Angel. I can’t call her Mimi… Who am I kidding she’s a rich, white…

 

MRS. MOORE

And I’d be, who? Mrs. Andre who? Johnson? Washington? Oh, god I’m a racist.

ANDRÉ

No. She’s a woman and I’m a man…who loves…

 

MRS. MOORE

..Is that possible? Or is it…

 

ANDRÉ

Impossible! Good heavens. Shit, now I’m talking like her. I’m going crazy. I’m two years and one dirty overcoat away from living in this damned park!

 

MRS. MOORE

Impossible! Damn.

 

They smile warmly at each other form across the gallery.

 

ANDRÉ

Getting to be about that time, Mrs. Moore?

 

MRS. MOORE

Good heavens you’re right. Why do I even play bridge? But, I’ve been doing it for so long I guess inertia takes over.

 

ANDRÉ

I understand completely, Mrs. Moore.

 

MRS. MORE

I will see you next week, Andre.

 

ANDRÉ

I’ll be here, Mrs. Moore.

 

There is an awkward pause. MRS. MOORE exits. ANDRÉ walks to the center of the gallery.

 

ANDRÉ

Goodbye. Angel.

 

He looks at the paintings one by one in turn as he turns in place.

 

ANDRÉ

What? Oh, yeah. Like it’s so easy. You try… living with… inertia… in America… Well, kids, there’s always next week.

 

And the lights slowly fade.

 

CURTAIN

Circus Performance

I was in Brewster New York, on the Connecticut border, last week and the week before that.  We did a circus show for troubled children.  It turned out better than expected.  The kids were a troublesome lot but I ended up loving them all... Like the Sun.  I mean, I'm not going to get too close or I'll burn to a crisp...

Here's the Circus of the Kids' over amplified sound system.  The music is so loud that an attack squadron of FA-18s could fly over and no one would be the wiser.  Worse, it only plays circus music.

The video set up is even more complicated and expensive.  Four cameras linked remotely.  Some operated by humans, others remotely.  The remote camera is operated by the one who operates the main camera, so I guess it is human operated.  The system takes hours to set up and strike and is valued at just over $30,000.00.  We had to set it up repeatedly as various kids missed various performances.  The hours of video ends up, after two days of editing, in a Circus of the Kids DVD that parents can purchase.

Here's Circus of the Kids founder Bruce Pfeffer working through video angles with the harried staff.  With all the cool goodies he has, Bruce's nickname is Inspector Gadget.  He's got one of everything.  A walkie-talkie set out of the future, computers that do God-knows-what and all the circus apparatus you could want -- and more.  Especially if you have to load it...

COTK has a fully-break-downable performer's entrance made of vinyl, aluminum and tape that it took nine of us about an hour to raise and longer to strike.

Here are views of back stage and on stage looking out on the auditorium/gymnasium.

Four shows played for about five hundred people.  over 50 kids performed on trapezes, lyras, bikes, and all had a pretty good time.

Here's one of my favorite photos.  The lyra is three hoops lashed together and hung from the ceiling.  It spins and twists and three (or more) kids can do all manner of tricks from it.  Here there are no kids.  The quiet and warmth of the sun through the skylights
is as pleasurable as the rarely quiet gym.

Back stage before the afternoon performance, Justin and Paul set up the fire-eating props.  Yes, I can eat fire and, yes, we allowed disturbed teenagers handle fire.  One of the kids, who hissed like the very Devil, had to drop out when his parents found out that he would be working with his favorite thing in the world: FIRE!  Probably thoughts of their house burning down as their fine young son hissed the words to Hell's Bells prompted their refusal.  I don't know for sure.

The crew (l-r): Jaleen, Jamie, Avril, Justin, Paul and the helpers from the school, Tilly and Ryan.  A great crew to be sure.  And a great show too.  Shortly after taking this picture, I remember texting my girlfriend with the cryptic message: "Next time I tell you about a COTK gig, please remind me it's not worth the money..."

A Playwriting Award

Check this out!  I won first place in the Scripteasers' Script Tease of Short Plays.  I submitted three plays and also got an honorable mention, so I'm two for three.  The three plays are in a suite I call Love, Unrequited, in Three Galleries.  Below is the press release and here is a link to the Scripteasers website.

I hope you're not doing anything on November 21st.  That's the day they read the plays and I'd love to have all my San Diego friends come.  Now, read this!

Download scripteasers_press_release.doc

Another Month Another Camp

So I'm sure you're wondering how posh the accommodations are where I'm doing my residency with Circus of the Kids, information that you've been waiting weeks for.  I took a number of photos when I first got here, nearly two weeks ago but haven't been able to share.  The only human on Earth who knows how to get on the wireless Internet went to England for a wedding, and, uh... 

So...  Here are a few photos with comments.

This is the obligatory married couple in our bunk.  To bad Jaleen's not a boy and engaged to boot.  Jamie is all cuddles and hugs with her anyway and we all think it's cute.  Sort of.  Note the stylish bunk beds reminiscent of a southern prison... uh... so they tell me.

Here's my little corner of the cabin.  The smell is like, oh, mank plus dirt plus spores multiplied by the thousands upon thousands of people who have ever stayed there (probably since the 70s)
My bunk was not cool enough so I pimped it out.  Note the red sheet hanging down like a country squire's bed.  The stripped sheet covers the light that burns outside my window all night.  I also pushed two bunks together so that I have more space and created...

The writer's nook.  There are only two problems: 1. I can't get the internet from the pimp palace; and 2. I'm always too tired to write. 

I am writing now, of course -- now that the sho's up -- and I have been journaling.  I put a lot into a new book I'm going to write (after the first one gets shopped -- have to a second in the works when selling the first) and a new play I'm writing on commission. 

My problem is that I usually can't read my own writing...

Writing has been going well for me.  I just won an award, about which I will tell you everything -- suffice it to say that you all should save November 21st for a table read of my three latest short plays.  I'm also the playwright in residence at Swedenborg Hall for 2009, so that gives me the opportunity to get one, two or three plays produced.  I'm in the process of doing re-writes on my favorite -- Love Negotiated and a few others to ready them for production in 2009. Woo Hoo!

Coming up:
The Performance (it was good and even great at times even though full of non planned drama)
More on new plays -- an award winning one and a play in the works for Halloween 2009.

For these things (and more) and all the fun I'm having, am I completely happy and grateful.

I'm a big damn crybaby

I have cried at auditions and about every day of rehearsal for the circus residency I'm doing this week.  Three days of tears; not a lot but enough.

It could be anything...  I'm getting older, maybe.  Maybe I'm getting more introspective.  But probably it's because of the stories.

At auditions, we weigh and measure the kids for their costumes because they will be in the circus no matter how they do at auditions.  We refer to the kids by number but have to get their first and last names for the school's records.  The particular school we're in is for children with all kinds of special needs.  Some have no parents, some have been taken away from their parents, all are troubled and, I believe, all are being medicated.  I asked one kid for his last name and he said, "I don't know."

I didn't feel the tears until I was relating the story to others after auditions.  Two little ones.  Not much really.

Another story I heard was about one of the boys in the bike act.  He's a lovely, quiet little kid who can't seem to concentrate.  I spoke about this to his staff guardian -- one of the ones assigned to him for 12 hours a day.  Seems he's unable to tie his shoes.  He also doesn't retain information well and has a hard time reading and writing.  Not too bad for a young kid but it turns out he's eleven.  The tears came faster, before I could send them back to where men keep them (away from the prying eyes of the general public, I'm sure). 

The others don't come so readily to my memory.  Probably stuffed back in with the tears that only make a brief appearance in my ducts anyways.  I fear that If I let them come they might not stop.

Another theory is that I'm finally getting in touch with my own feelings.  My default setting was fear up until about eight years ago and my default reaction to fear was anger.  Now I'm reacting with sadness and quickly too; before fear paralyzes and anger destroys.  When will I react with detachment?  Or compassion?  Or love or at least acceptance?  I'll let you know.

I will leave you with a cute story. 

The kids have their emotions and tears at the ready.  Sometimes they just get so flustered, like when the bike rolls past and you have to get on it and you have already been run over by the thing.  This one sweet little girl just got so worked up that she freaked out, shut down and had the beginnings of an episode.  So, when she calmed down, I told her how I deal with fear.

I told her that I experience fear too.  A lot of it sometimes.  I asked her if she had, like I do, a voice telling me not to do things because they're dangerous, potentially harmful and just scary.  She said she did as I pondered the wisdom of telling a child in a place that is two steps away from being an asylum that we hear voices.  So I told her that when I get those soundings and when the thing I'm going to do is perform or fly on a trapeze -- and I think it's worth the risk -- I just shut the voice off.  I actually made a little clicking sound as I turned of the imaginary voice with an imaginary switch on my left temple.

Then we went on with the rehearsal.  It was in fact the same rehearsal where I learned about the 11-year-old who made me cry.  When it was time for her to get on the bike, I saw her eyes get big and her hands wave side to side as her feet alternated up and down.  This is the sign that she's scared and that anything can happen.  This time, I swear this is true because I saw it with my own eyes, she put her right thumb and forefinger to her right temple and switched herself off.  At least that part of herself that couldn't react with anything but fear.  Then she just did the damn thing.

It was sweet.

Travel Humpage

By now I'm used to getting humped in airports.  No, not like that.  Leave that to Republicans in Minneapolis -- and the odd detective.  No.  I get humped by paying $3 for a bottle of water and eating horrible food.

The most recent humpage took place this very morning (September 8, 2008) when US Airways wouldn't let me check a bag unless I paid $15.  Here is their policy.  Now, had I known that, I would have carried two bags, which is free.  But I am traveling for business and will be away for two weeks.  It's also doubtful that I'll be reimbursed for the baggage both ways.

It comes down to the idea of being stuck and companies knowing that and HUMPING the HEINE off the people who are stuck.  Oh, have to travel?  How about paying a premium for things you take for granted?  I remember the first time I was charged for a meal on a plane. 

Let me get this straight... YOU want ME to PAY YOU for a horrible meal?  How about here's the church, here's the steeple, open the doors and FUCK YOU!?  I actually got a meal on Sun Country Airlines last week when I traveled to and from Minneapolis.  I stuffed it down even though I ate a HUGE meal previously, anticipating the charge for inferior food.  And, you know what?  It was pretty good; better actually because they had me heine over a barrel and didn't even try to hump it.

Kevin's score for Sun Country Airlines: odd name for an airline based in Minnesota.
Kevin's score for Northwest Airlines: Anal Rapists
Kevin's score for US Airways: Anal Rapists with Glass.

The woman at the US Air (aka Anal Rape With Glass Airlines) counter kept going on about on time rates and I'm like, "you're supposed to be on time, it's not something I feel very good about paying $15 for." 

Actually that's not entirely true.  What I actually said was, "You know what?  Stop talking."

PS
I am an award winning playwright and a playwright in residence and it all happened after I flew Anal Rape Airlines to New York for the summer, so I guess it's all good.  As long as I don't sit down for too long -- like on a flight to New York...

Jennie's First Surfboard

Jennie took up surfing a few weeks ago and has progressed to the point that she needs her own surfboard.  (No, none of my nine boards will do.  Trust me, I'm a professional.)  So, the fact that she's good enough and had a birthday on Friday prompted me to find her a board.

I settled on a Wavestorm from Price Club for a few reasons.  We work with them at my surf shop and they are as good as more expensive foam boards, in fact I think they're the best foam boards on the market.  Foam boards won't knock out my honey if she gets run over by her board -- something that happens more than you think.  And my friend Kymri is a Price Club member.  The final reason is that I heard a guy, on the outside in pretty big waves, say, "Wavestorm comin' through!" and sure enough he was ripping on a store-bought foamie.

Now Jennie's goal in life is to repeat the feat.  Here are some photos of the board as we presented it to her on Friday.  She was surprised because she thought she already got her present from me, the shiny new wetsuit you see her in.

Many thanks to Kymri for shopping with me and to Zuri for helping me color the Birthday image on the board.  And of course, thanks to Jennie for surfing the hell out of the Wavestorm.

"Comin' through!"

Trapeze and Money

Here are just a few photos of what I've been up to lately.

I returned from New York, spent a week home and went right to Minnesota.  Marine on Saint Croix Minnesota to be exact, where I taught a bunch of hard-core trapeze artists how to have even more fun on their equipment.

Here is one picture of the Minnesota Trapeze Club and another of me catching.

But the coolest thing happened to me after I returned to San Diego.  No!  Not that!  Well, that too but I also let Jennie talk me into going to the Del Mar race track on Monday after we surfed.  More surf pictures later, but for now, how about a picture of how we fared...

That's right, sports fans. 

Seven hundreds, three twenties, three fives and two ones.  An amazingly lucky $777! 

We picked the four horses in the seventh race to come in in order.  It's called a Superfecta.  We bet them all ways and, at $0.10 per bet, we paid $2.20. 

If we had bet $22, it would have been $7,770 and change but we were happy with the 7-odd hundred bucks.

We actually won so much that we had to go get a Social Security card.  By the time we got back, it was time to bet on the 10th race...  So, we bet four horses.  When the ticket printed, it wasn't the four we wanted but we thought that our luck was just that good.  Needless to say, the four original horses cam in for the Superfecta -- and paid $1,000 -- but that's just life.

I'm thankful for what I have:  good friends, a cool jobs that take me all over and a good luck charm that looks great on my arm!