Monthly Archive for February, 2005

February 28, 2005

Published on 2/28/2005 in Dear Diarrhea. 0 Comments

“I want to exchange pleasantries please? No, not the jumper. Pleasantries… ” I don’t know what that means, I just wrote down the first thing that came to my head. It does make me want to write another play snippet. Here we go…

This play snippet takes place in a JC Penny’s in South Carolina. Missy, the cute little 12 year old, is with her redneck mom shopping for her first training bra. They are at a table that has a sign saying “Training and Trainer Bras”

MISSY: (Holding one up) Momma?! Lookie at this one. Ain’t it purty?

MOMMA: Shut up Missy! I’m lookin’ at my nails…

MISSY: But Momma, I wanna this trainin’ bra!

MOMMA: I said, shut up! (Looking at bra) Naoo! (this is how to spell a long-drawl southern ‘no’) I don’t want you wearing one of those tiny ones. Get ya something that you can grow into, Missy.

MISSY: I want a training bra Momma!

Bobby, wearing a headset, hears the commotion and speed walks toward the mother and daughter.

BOBBY: Can I hep you with somethin’?

MOMMA: Naoo, we’re just lookin’.

MISSY: I wanna training bra.

Bobby smiles and pats Missy on the head.

BOBBY: Well you came to the right table. We have all sorts of bras for training purposes… You gonna get some braces on those crooked teeth of yours?

Missy turns red with embarrassment.

MOMMA: Do what?

BOBBY: I’m kidding. (Rubs her head again) Now back to the training bras. This is a good one! I bought one like this for my neighbor about a year ago and she’s still wearing it. Lots of room to grow into and she’s got huge knockers now.

MISSY: I want it Momma!

MOMMA: Naoo! The answer is naoo! Let me see your teeth Missy…. Open your mouth Missy… Them teeth ain’t that bad are they?

MISSY: I’m too embarrassed.

BOBBY: Oh, come on. Let us see those crooked little teeth of yours?… Just kidding. I bet you wish you and your mother had enough money to fix those god-awful thangs don’t you?

MOMMA: I… I… don’t know what to say?

Bobby smiles and rubs Missy’s head again.

BOBBY: So you guys are too poor to get old piranha mouth fixed, huh…

Missy starts to cry. Momma is in shock and hugs her daughter in a speechless embrace.

BOBBY: Poor little piranha mouth ain’t got enough money to get braces… What are we gonna do about that?

Bobby whispers into his headset.

BOBBY: Bring out the doctor… That’s a Roger…

BOBBY: See that table full of cute jumper-tops? See that flower arrangement? Go on and wave to it because… YOU’RE ON DREAM RETREIVER!!!

Momma and Missy are confused… A dentist comes out with a tooth mold and pries Missy’s mouth open and asks her to bite down on it.

DENTIST: Just taking a mold of your teeth young lady so we can set you up with some braces and make your dream come true!

MOMMA: Wait! That’s not the braces we were asking for!

BOBBY: What are you talking about! Ha ha haaa.. We have your Dream Retriever file right here and it says braces. See?

Bobby points to a little card and shows it to Momma.

MOMMA: Naaoooo… Brace. Not braces! Missy has scoliosis and we can’t afford a brace for her back…

BOBBY: Ohhhh! Ha ha haaaaa!!! BACK Brace! I though you wanted TEETH Braces! That’s so funny!

Bobby and the dentist laugh really hard. Missy stares at the mold that the dentist just pulled out of her mouth. Quite an array of crooked teeth she bit into that thing.

DENTIST: I guess you won’t be needing me anymore! Ha haaaa… Here Missy. Why don’t you take this mold as a souvenir?

The dentist walks up to the hidden flower cam and says goodbye.

MOMMA: So… Ummm, are we gonna get a back brace for Missy now?

BOBBY: Well that wouldn’t be a surprise now would it? Tell ya what…

Bobby looks around from side to side like he’s about to make a drug deal.

BOBBY CONT: Go on and grab ya a couple them training bras Missy. Go on now…

Bobby ruffs up Missy’s hair again and then takes Momma by the arm and walks her a few feet away from her daughter.

BOBBY: Excuse us for one moment Missy…(Whispers to Momma) Why don’t you fill out this Dream Retriever card and request for another back brace. I’ll try to get a hidden camera crew down at your place next week and we’ll, um… surprise her when she comes out of the shower or something simple like that. Keep it in the low budget range, ya know… Just put her brace sizes on the card and we’ll get that back of hers all braced up and secure and what-not…

Missy is still clutching the mold. A training bra is the last thing on her mind.

MOMMA: Thank you so much… (Back to Missy) Honey! Don’t just stand there, grab a couple them bras and let’s get the hell out of here before they change their minds.

Missy finally snaps out of her funk.

MISSY: Do what, Momma?

MOMMA: Never mind! Let’s go.

Momma winks at Bobby and then grabs a handful of bras and stuffs it in her purse. They leave the store and the rest is history.

And…. SCENE!

Sounds like a win win situation to me! Way to go Dream Retrievers!!!

I need to go and write some goals down…

Bye for now!

February 23, 2005

Published on 2/24/2005 in Dear Diarrhea. 1 Comment

This is a word document, brought to you by Microsoft Word. Still amazed with the technology of today. Freaks me out to tell ya the truth. I want to bring a typewriter to a Starbucks and see how long it would take for me to get kicked out because of all the noise. It’s all right to yell on a cell phone for an hour but god forbid anyone uses an electric typewriter and a fax machine in Starbucks!

I’ve always wanted to get an old laptop and glue bacon to the screen and go to a pretentious coffee shop, open up my computer and start beating the side of the screen like one might do to an old black and white television. Then I’d look really worried and go up to someone and say, “Do you know anything about computers? All I’m getting on my screen are bacon strips… Damn computers… I swear you can’t trust these things for anything.” That would be really fun. This is just one of the millions of things I’d love to do if I had the time and money.

One thing that I’d love to do is get an old car and- Hold on! I’m jumping too fast with this. Let me first set it up a bit more… Back in the day when I lived in Los Angeles, I would have a ton of time thinking these same deviant thoughts as I was trapped in my truck for hours and hours every week. Now back to the car thing. I’d love to get an old car and have a switch where my trunk would catch fire with a ton of smoke billowing out and all, and I would have smooth jazz blasting as loud as my massive speakers could handle. When people would signal to me that my car was on fire I would act like I couldn’t hear them… Here, I’ll do a scene for ya now…

Los Angeles. Pulling up to a red light.

I’m sitting in my car listening to Kenneth G as loud as my 200-watt speakers can handle. VERY LOUD. Smoke and fire are coming from my trunk. I am clueless to this.

A car pulls up beside me and a man in a sporty BMW convertible screams towards my direction.

MAN: Your car is on fire!

BOBBY: What!?

MAN: Your trunk! It’s on fire!!!

BOBBY: I can’t hear you! (then I point to my radio) Kenneth G!!

MAN: (Frantically pointing to my trunk) FIRE!!! FIRE!!!

BOBBY: You’re calling me a liar?! It is too Kenneth G!!!

Then I hold out my hand as to say “wait a second, I’ll get the cassette case to prove it to you”, then I reach into the glove box and pull out the Kenny G cassette case and hold it out the window for him to see.

BOBBY: See! I told you so!!! He made this album in nineteen hundred and ninety-two!

Then the man starts yelling and making hand signals that are being covered up by all the smoke, which is now starting to make a huge scene at the intersection.

BOBBY: Do what?! I can’t see what you’re saying!

Then the light turns green and I flip the switch to stop the fire. Turn off the jazz and at the next light I ask the guy why he called me a liar.

I’ve always wanted to do the same thing that that guy did to me but scream things that were right with their vehicle. Most people like to scream out to you when your lights are off or when your gas cap is dangling from your car. You know, you see them in your peripheral vision, honking to you and making a flashing signal with their hand and pointing to the front of your car. I think it would be fun to scream and point out to people things like, “Your gas cap is screwed on!” And then make a hand gesture that resembles someone screwing on a gas cap. Then they’ll pull over and check their car. By the way, you only do this to people that drive recklessly and look like assholes. I would never do this to a lady that is about to deliver a baby or anything like that… “Your back right tire!… It looks fine!!! Your back RIGHT tire!”

So many things that I’d like to do if only I had the time and the pyrotechnics to do so.

February 14, 2005

Published on 2/14/2005 in Dear Diarrhea. 3 Comments

I guess the logical thing to talk about today is valentines and all of the festivities that go with it. This is a typical thing to say but I’m glad that I don’t have a girlfriend right now going into such a loving and expensive evening. I can’t really think of the last time I spent Valentines Day with someone that I loved.

Enough about me for a second. I’m watching a cute young couple right now that looks to be taking a lunch break and I say that because the guy just put on his Con Edison lime green rain jacket to go outside to smoke a cigarette. Now he’s walking across the street and heading into the PETGO Pet Supplies, Fish & Grooming Store. I was wrong about him smoking. I just assumed that that was what he was about to do since he left his young lover to continue drinking her coffee on this wet and cold day. I wonder if he’s going to the pet store to surprise her with a new fish or something alive like that for Valentines Day? Maybe he’s just checking “Get Litter” off his to do list.

It’s gotta be nice to have a union job at that age. (I’m guessing that they are in their early twenties) The closest thing to a union job for me at that age was when I worked for UPS unloading truck after truck of parcels from 4 to 8 in the morning. That had to be the worst job I ever had in my life. Totally sucked more than anything I’ve ever done. I was in good shape at that time though, that’s the only positive I can think of about that experience. I had to be fit because I lifted boxes up to a hundred pounds for four straight hours without a break. All of this for a whopping eight dollars and hour! I’m serious, that was a lot of money per hour back in 1992 in North Carolina and that was the only thing that kept me working there for a month.

I remember the camel that broke the straw in half was one day after a stellar work morning, my boss takes me into his office and tells me that I am doing a tremendous job and he wanted me to move up the ladder and possibly train to deliver packages via the big brown truck. “I don’t just do this for anyone, Bob”

(People called me Bob back then. I was struggling to find my identity back when I was a tall and scrawny kid without a career to speak of anywhere in the near future. Bob made me older and more mature. The girls still called me Bobby, but most of the men called me Bob.)

“You picked up on everything that I threw at you very quickly and I think you’d be a good candidate to start training with the big boys.”

You mean the big brown boys? I wanted to say that but didn’t. I had an opportunity that was knocking on my door and I best not screw it up with a bad joke even with him being a big white southerner and anything remotely close to a racist joke might’ve helped my cause more than hurt it.

“What does this entail? This training to be a driver stuff.”

“Well, first of all, I’ll get you off the unload and get your feet wet on the loading dock. After you master that, which I’m thinking it won’t take long by the way you’ve progressed thus far, we can get you on a couple drive-alongs.” (I seriously doubt he used the word “Thus”, I just added that to make him sound smarter)

“That sounds great! Let me think about it for a while.”

And I did. For all of the ten minute drive home. I had to find a way to quit without hurting his feelings. No way in hell was I going to be a UPS man for the rest of my life, especially if I had to get my feet wet on the loading dock. Maybe, just maybe I would think about the possibility if I got promoted straight to driving the big brown truck. At least that way I could get some good pictures of me driving the truck and I would have some funny stories about how I pepper-sprayed a bunch of frat boys for acting like stupid dogs or how I accidentally delivered the “wrong package” to Ms. North Carolina and video taped the whole ordeal… Not the loading dock! I hated everything about this job and the last thing I wanted was to be good at it. I was hoping that he was calling me into his office to let me go due to the lack of packages in the tri-state area. Then I could collect unemployment checks for a few months as I slept between the hours of 4 and 8 in the morning.

So the next day I ‘hurt my back” picking up one of those hundred pound boxes. My back always hurt from the first day I got there to the point of no return so I wasn’t really lying. It always hurt like hell and I needed to save my back for all the physical comedy that I was to do when I moved to New York to start the career I’m doing now. I don’t know, I guess it’s the same thing as taking a sick day at work for when you just want to play hooky… “Mr. Johnson, I can’t come into work today because I’m sick” And then when you hang up the phone you clinch your fists high into the air and say… “Oh, I don’t know… I’m sick of WORK today!!!”

My boss wanted me to file for some sort of medical observation thingy after my third day in a row of not showing up for my future. He had this UPS doctor call me so I could set up an appointment to get my back checked out to see if I was lying or not. I think their main concern was that I didn’t file for workmen’s compensation or anything shady like that. Little did they know, all I wanted was to just quit but I didn’t have the balls to tell my boss since he put me on such a high pedestal a few days before and I didn’t want to let him down. I ended up telling the doctor that I would only go to a chiropractor because I didn’t believe in medical doctors looking at my back and I had been going to a chiropractor my whole life. Which is true. That was my “out” and both parties knew and accepted it. The doctor was all like, “It has to be one of our doctors and we don’t use chiropractors” That offended me and it was then very easy to say “hasta la vista, brown baby!”

And that was it for my union work. Now I’m in another union, which I like to call the Guild! The, oh I don’t know…. Screen Actors Guild!!! Now that’s a union I can trust! Plus, when all of my benefits come my way; I can get chiropractic and massage therapy on my health plan. Screw you UPS and your medical staff!!!

You think that a month was a short time to work for a company? My record for shortest work period was back in 1988 in Myrtle Beach SC. I worked at this beach clothing store for two hours. I remember thinking about what the hell was I doing with my life as I randomly folded the hot pink ruffled t-shirts, the ones that look like they were barely saved from a paper shredder. I went up to my boss and asked if I could take an early lunch because I had hypoglycemia and I had to go deal with my blood-sugar levels so I wouldn’t pass-out on the salt-water taffy display. He agreed and I’ve been on that lunch break ever since.

It would be really funny to go back after all these years and try to clock back in. When they’d ask me what the hell I was doing I’d say that I was in a blood-sugar related coma for all these years and I’m ready to get back to work. And then, with much excitement I’d ask, “Do I still make $3.45 an hour!?” Then the manager would pat me on the back and say, “Welcome back!”

They still owe me a check!

February 8, 2005

Published on 2/8/2005 in Dear Diarrhea. Closed

It’s gotta be 45 degrees outside right now. Absolutely gorgeous! People are really pumped to be alive it seems. Thousands of people are kickin it out in Union Square as we speak. The snow is melting and it’s turning into slush and all the dog shit is revealing itself like eggs once lost in an Easter egg hunt. Just had to ruin that beautiful warm and sunny New York City description with dog feces. I’m sorry.

Speaking of Easter eggs. I remember one Easter I walked into the kitchen to find my mother setting up for our annual dye fest, but something wasn’t right. Normally we would buy a box of Easter egg dye and use the little metal wired egg holder scoop thingies and dunk the eggs in the stereotypical colors of red, blue, green and yellow. Then we would add creative crayon designs on the eggs and then dunk them in the dye again and the wax kept the dye from getting on the fancy flowers and whatnot that we etched on the little oval canvases. Pretty much the same way each year for as long as I can remember until this one Easter. I’m thinking it was around 1988 or ’89, something like that. Anyway, I ask my mom what she was doing with all of the herbs and spices on the counter, all poured out into little bowls and boiling in water on the stove like a frighteningly herbal potpourri. I was also curious as to why there were so many leaves and sticks in the kitchen. Did she leave the door open during a windstorm? Turns out that this year was the year that we, or shall I say she, was to dye all the eggs like the cave men used to. And we all know from the history books how those silly cave men loved dying Easter eggs.

All I remember is that there was a huge mess in the kitchen and all the eggs ended up looking like mother nature literally shit all the eggs out. It would’ve been easier to just buy some free-range brown eggs and roll some of them in the front lawn to add some grass stains for variety. It was truly the only Easter that I remember that I was afraid to eat the eggs. Really thought it might be dangerous to eat eggs that might’ve been dyed with crushed poison ivy leaves and rhododendron ashes. I’m not giving this story enough justice. I absolutely would rather dye eggs the all-natural way as opposed to using the dye tablets. If or when I ever have kids I am going to teach them a valuable lesson early and not allow Easter eggs to be dyed with anything other than natural dyes that are indigenous to the surrounding area. If I ever see them bringing a box of Easter egg dyes into the house I will make them put the dye tablets in their mouth and go door to door in the neighborhood and ask people where the local dentist is. Parents need to be creative with their children like my parents were.

One of my favorite creative parenting’s came back in the early eighties during Christmas. I think my father didn’t have a Christmas tree in the budget that year and he decided to make a tree out of bamboo and evergreen tree branches. I’ll admit, I wasn’t too excited at first with the idea of going into people’s yards during the night and ripping off branches from their well pruned trees. But once we got started with the branch thievery, it actually turned out to be the best part of that Christmas. My sisters and I felt like criminals with a free pass to go anywhere we pleased and strategically vandalize the neighbor’s property. If we got caught, all we had to do is get teary eyed and look at the cop or neighbor and say that we couldn’t afford a tree and we had to gather branches and set them on fire to keep our family warm. All that while my dad was back at home base busy preparing the bamboo shaft with holes for the branches to fit snuggly into.

After the tree was complete I remember that the next step was to come up with clever ways to avoid having friends see the tree. As much as I loved the tree making idea, I didn’t want my friends to think we were in poverty and we couldn’t afford to buy a tree. I got over the whole avoidance thing quickly when my old friend George Alexander thought that it was the coolest thing he’d ever heard of doing for Christmas. And he was right. It was the coolest thing to do for Christmas. And dying Easter eggs brown and baby shit green was the coolest thing to do for Easter. I have the coolest parents because they did their best to be different and creative. And now that I’m rehashing these memories it just hit me that that is why I do my creative thing on stage… THAT”S WHERE I GOT IT FROM! Wow… It’s all making sense now. Thanks Mom and Dad!