Hey! Oh my goodness. I mean oh my goodness! Good to see you. My. I haven’t seen you since Dave and Paul’s party this spring. Yeah! Yes, I remember you-silly! Of course. You look great. Just great! You’ve been working out. Pilates! Oh my gawd! I tried that once and nearly broke in half, girl! It works for you, though. Damn. I’m telling you, I was on my way to my second pilates class, and caught a different bus and went to The Massage Place on Montana instead. I said: “I value my life more than that.” Well, good for you. Wow. You look great. And I’ve got to say, your nose job looks alright. Yeah! Don’t be shy! No! It looks okay. Yeah. No, I’d heard some things, but from what I’d heard I had a totally different image in mind. But, no, it looks like…not bad at all. Totally. Would I lie? I’m like George Washington over here, girl. I’ll be the first to tell you I took somebody home last night and then passed out half way to second base and then kicked them out at six in the morning ‘cause I had the runs. No, believe me: its just about passable. Yeah! Are you walking this way? I can walk with you. Oh, I’m in a hurry too. Maybe I’ll just walk with you to the parking garage. Okay. Oh, you’re getting a phone call? Go ahead answer it, yeah, no, I’ll just walk with you.
Play
June 11, 2009
Your Nose Job Looks Alright.
Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Improvised Writing, Play, ScriptLeave a Comment
February 20, 2009
Script: Breaking Up Is Hard To Do (for 4-5 players)
Posted by Ryan McGivern and J.J. under Comedy, Improvised Writing, Play, ScriptLeave a Comment
The scene is a Chinese restaurant. There are no customers. Amy and Tamika wait at the entrance. Mona stops mopping the backroom and races to the front to great them as she picks up two menus.
Mona: Hello. A table of two?
Tamika: Three actually. Another’s coming.
Amy: Yeah. We need a table for three-a nice table.
Mona: Okay. [she picks up a third menu]. How about the window seat here?
[Mona leads them to their table, waits as they sit down]
Tamika: That’s perfect. Thanks. People watching is always nice.
Amy: Its alright. (as she and Tamika sit) I like your apron.
Mona: Thanks. (hands menus) Can I get you anything to start off with? Water, Beer?
Tamika: Umm, maybe I’ll have a—
Amy: I watched the Olympics this year. (leans in to Mona like it’s a secret) Its beautiful there….China. (looks to Tamika for support) Its beautiful there. Beautiful people.
Mona: I’m actually Lebanese Greek, myself. But I watched a lot too. We got gold in archery.
Amy: [Obviously is not listening] China. Beautiful. I love Chinese cinema. That one movie. (looks to Mona to name it)…..maybe you haven’t seen it. You should its beautiful.
Tamika: (nervous and embarrassed for Amy) Well, this menu looks great thank you–
Amy: And you’re very articulate. You deserve a raise. I don’t know what you make, but you deserve a raise. Your speaking is very good.
Mona: [a little testy] That’s funny you say that cuz I’m from Minnesota and I usually get that I sound like I’m from the movie Fargo. Can I get you anything to start? Water, Beer, Wine,
Amy: I still think you deserve a raise…….
Tamika: I’ll have a beer.
Mona: I’ll be right back with that beer. [Mona walks to the back room which is one-third of the stage, unseen by the dining room but seen by the audience. Burns hand on stove, hits head on wall, puts hand in pot and pulls it out with a lobster snapped onto it, Mona slips and falls in the wet area and lies still, sprawled on the ground, dead]
Tamika: [after long silence looking at menus, to Amy] I think uh, maybe she was offended.
Amy: [to Tamika] How did I offend her? I complemented her.
Tamika: I dunno, Amy. Maybe she was just a little offended. I don’t know.
Amy: Maybe she’s a bitch.
Tamika: Do you wanna go somewhere else?
Amy: No. Boss’ll wanted to eat here. The Crab Rangoon is to die for and I’m not letting the shitty service ruin my dinner. This is a special occasion and I’m going to enjoy myself
Tamika: [A pause] I thought she was nice. Maybe she took something we said wrong. I don’t know.
Amy: Yeah, whatever. That slut can lick my clit.
Tamika: Shhhh. C’mon. Clit? Really? How’s Michael? You said on the phone that he’s been getting on your nerves?.
Amy: Still ain’t found a job.
Tamika: It’s the economy.
Amy: No its not, Tamika, no its not.. Its those uppity tight ass directors at the Opera House.
Tamika:…What?
[two men come into the restaurant and wait at the “Please Wait To Be Seated” sign]
Amy: Remind me to order some take out Crispy Duck for Michael by the way.
Tamika: Now wait. What about the Opera House?
Amy: He’s auditioned for Madam Butterfly like twice in the last week and they keep turning him down
Tamika: Michael was a checkout clerk at the porn shop, last I heard.
Amy: Oh he quit that like a looong time ago.
Amy: He just got sick of it. Wanted something more, you know.
Tamika: I didn’t know he sang.
Amy: He’s got a good voice, Tamika. A Great Voice. Why are you always so negative? He deserves that job.
Tamika: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I just meant that I know that he’s a heavy smoker and often has laryngitis—
Amy: He’s a musical genius, Tamika.
Tamika: And he’s always saying ‘musicals are gay’.
Amy: Those cunt wads are really going to regret not getting him when they had the chance. I’m really proud of him, you know. He’ll be an opera star and I’ll be his debonair socialite girlfriend. Say Tamika, do you happen to have any pot hookups? Our dealer is dry. And I mean really dry. Sobered up, bought a suit. Last time I stopped by his trailer he gave me these brochures about Jesus. Where you gettin’ your weed?
Tamika: I don’t smoke anymore.
Amy: [shakes head] Why you got to say it like that?
Tamika: What do you mean?
Amy: ‘I don’t smoke.’ Like you’re a Pollyanna, the way you phrased it. I asked you a question about your knowledge upon a certain given specific subject and you told me an irrelevant answer. Even if one don’t smoke, one could still have hookups, no? Point made. It’s a little holier-than-thou, Tamika. You’re always doing that. Making me feel like I’m the bad one of the three of us.
Tamika: Everyone is responsible for their own feelings.
Amy: Whatevs. Where’s that cumdumpster waitress. I want my fucking beer. [turns to the two men waiting] She’s a real bitch. You’ll see.
Tamika: And what do you mean I try to make you feel like you’re the bad one?
Amy: You’re always bringing up Tacoma. That shit was not my fault. Sometimes dominoes fall and the chips fall where they may. People die. It happens. You’re all about the ‘cause and effect’. Well, sometimes shit happens without a cause. It just happens…[nervous silence] My, we’ve been having such a good conversation I forgot to even look at the menu. I usually get some sort of chicken. Maybe Kung Pao. [leans in like it’s a secret] Eating chicken makes me feel like I can fly.
Tamika: That’s weird cuz chickens aren’t really great flyers. Of the bird world, I mean. Comparatively.
Amy: Is that so? You know a lot about birds huh? Discovery Channel?
Tamika: Pigeon might be more your style.
Amy: [Smiles] You little smart ass. [tension is broke] That’s probably what they feed us here anyway. You fry anything enough and it’ll taste like chicken. I once fried a foot of yarn-it was pretty good.
Tamika: So why do you think Boss asked us here today? She’s not the type to call us together just for lunch.
Amy: She said she’s got some sort of proposition for us, whatever that means.
Tamika: Yep.
Amy: You think she’s got a job in mind?
Tamika: Could be. But I’m out of that game. I’ve changed. That’s all behind me now.
Amy: You’re shitting me. You’re the best in the business-you can’t quit!
Tamika: I’m just out. That’s it.
Amy: So why you clean these days? You found Jesus or somethin’? God, where’s my beer? [Loudly] Excuse me? Hello? [Back to Tamika] She’s been gone like an hour getting my beer.
Tamika: You didn’t order a beer.
Amy: Yes I did.
Tamika: No, you didn’t. I did. You said that she deserved a raise and I asked for a beer.
Amy: Bull fucking shitfrog!
[the two men at the sign waiting look startled]
Amy: [to the men] Whattya doing, anyway? Eavesdropping?
Man1: Excuse me-Is the restaurant open?
Amy: You’re in it, aren’t you?
Tamika: She’s in the back. She’ll be right out. [men look somewhat placated.]
Amy: When Boss got us together all those years ago, we made a blood oath.
Tamika: Boss and I made a blood oath. You said that you scar easily so you couldn’t
Amy: I get—
Amy and Tamika: Keloids.
Amy: That’s right. There’s just as much DNA in spit as blood, so I don’t see the problem.
Tamika: There’s not the same amount of DNA-and that’s not even the point.
Amy: What is the point?
Tamika: I don’t know-you’re the one who brought it up.
Amy: Brought what up?
Tamika: The blood oath!
Amy: And now you want out. There is no getting out.
Tamika: Oh Jesus.
Amy: You got cold feet. You’re chickening out.
Tamika: People died, Amy.
Amy: And you think you don’t have blood on your hands?
Tamika: That was an accident. And keep your voice down.
Amy: You afraid of those douchebags? [to the two men] Hey. Fuck you guys. [they don’t react-they’re in their own conversation] They aren’t listening. Whattya care anyway? You used to eat skinny asses like them for breakfast.
Tamika: I’m not like that anymore.
Amy: I’ve seen you punch a man’s nose square off his face.
Tamika: My dad doesn’t count.
Amy: You were the Terminator, Tamika. Now you’re….C-3PO……..[silence] What? What you wanna say? I can hear you thinking over there. Sounds like a wedding ring in a garbage disposal. You got something to say, say it.
Tamika: Sometimes I wish I would never have got mixed up in this whole thing. And when Boss shows up, I’ll tell her too. And that’s that.
Amy: [gets up and sits at another table]
Tamika: Come on. Don’t do that. Come back. Amy. [gets up and moves to sit next to Amy] Look. I’m sorry. But. I’ve got to do this. [Amy puts her head down on the table like she’s crying] Don’t take it personal.
Amy: It just feels like you’re running out on us. Absolute betrayal. I’d take a bullet for you. You know that? A bullet. [pulls out cell phone]
Tamika: Who are you calling? Boss?….
Michael: [over speaker phone] Hello?
Amy: Mike-Amy here. Were you sleeping?
Michael: Yes.
Amy: Its three in the afternoon.
Michael: Is it? Oh.
Amy: Look. We need team building over here.
Michael: Who’s we?
Amy: Me and Tamika. She’s trying to run out on me and Boss.
Michael: Am I on speakerphone?
Tamika: Hi Mike.
Michael: So what’s up?
Amy: Some team spirit. Something. You know, like… [makes up song on the spot] “One in mind One in Spirit All For One One For All” Something like that.
Michael: Sure. Sure. Uh……I got it. [Lean On Me by BB King] “Lean on me, when you’re not strong”
Amy: No.
Michael: Uh..[Eye of the Tiger by Survivor] “Risin’ up, back on the street Did my time, took my chances”
Amy: No.
Michael: [Don’t Worry About the Government by Talking Heads] “I smell the pine trees and the peaches in the woods”
Amy: God no. What the fuck Michael? Team spirit. Like a gang. A gang of three loving women who need each other.
Michael: [Tina Turner’s Simply the Best] “I call you when I need you, my heart’s on fire You come to me, come to me wild and wired Mmm, you come to me…..”
Amy: Keep going!
Michael: That’s all I know.
Tamika: That was great, Mike. Thanks.
Michael: I got some more-
Amy: That’s enough, Michael. It worked.
Michael: Glad I could hel—[Amy hangs up on him]
Amy: You’re back aren’t you?
Tamika: No.
[the men have walked up to the table]
Man1: Hi. Are you Tamika Willis and Amy Rauschweitz?
Tamika: Yes.
Amy: No.
Man1: Well, I’m Agent Carter and he is Agent Mathis.
Man2: Hi.
Man1: We’re with the FBI and we’re here to arrest you. We had wanted to get some General Tsao’s chicken before we did, but, the service here is terrible and we couldn’t wait any longer.
Amy: Arrest? I’m innocent. You’ve got no proof.
Tamika: What are the charges, if I can ask?
Man1: Let’s see. Running a Childcare without a license, conducting a circus without a license, making sculptures out of hair in meat packing plants, would you like me to go on?
Tamika: No.
Man2: Yes.
Man1: Growing anthrax on school playground slides, paying tribute to pagan gods inside a Presbyterian church, ……riding an ostrich.
Amy: you’ll never make that one stick.
Man2: And where’s the restaurant staff?
Man1: Good point, Agent Mathis. Where’s the restaurant staff?
Tamika: She’s in the back getting me a beer.
Man1: You better hope to God that’s the truth, Ms. Willis. [Goes into back room. Repeats the same actions as the Waitress. Absolute chaos-falls dead atop her corpse.]
[Man2, Tamika, and Amy look at each other for a number of beats blankly]
Amy: He’s taking a while in there.
Man2: He’ll be back.
[More nervous waiting.]
Tamika: You wanna sit down? [Man2 sits down and they sit in silence.]
Amy: [to Man2] You want a drink or something? Water, beer?
Man2: I’ll take a water.
Amy: [gets up like she’s going into the back room but before she opens the door, turns around] Hahaha! Sucker! I’m outta here. Sorry, Tamika. Give my regards to cell block twelve! You’ll never take Amy Rauschweitz alive! [she runs out cackling]
Man2: Not the most loyal of friends is she?
Tamika: Never trust someone who spits in a cup of your blood.
Man2: [nods]
Tamika: Say, Agent Mathis?
Man2: Yes, Tamika? [they look at each other with passion as though they both desire to kiss]
Tamika: Will you grab me a beer?
Man2: Any preference?
Tamika: Ahhhh…whatever’s on tap.
Man2: [goes into backroom but this time the lights don’t come up but you can hear crashing pots and pans and a scream of pain]
Tamika: [casually exits the restaurant]
END
By JJ and Ryan McGivern
December 9, 2008
Script for Two Actors: “Big Job Interview”
Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Improvised Writing, PlayLeave a Comment
Boss: How was the train in?
Tim: I biked actually.
Boss: Motorcycle!
Tim: Bike…Went great though. Traffic was good.
Boss: The bike traffic? Or normal car traffic?
Tim: Both I guess.
Boss: Well good. Thanks for coming in today, Tim. We got your CV and references in the email and we’ve had the chance to look them over pretty well and….Oh, have a seat. Have a seat. And…I’ve got to say, Tim. You look good on paper.
Tim: Well, I try to look good all the time. (strokes stylish new haircut)
Boss: (Taking note of the stylish new haircut) I see. Very good. (scribbles emphatic notes while humming) Yes, yes, good. So. Tim. It says here you studied at Harvard.
Tim: That’s right.
Boss: I’ve heard of that school.
Tim: You have? Good things I hope.
Boss: Well,………(both break out laughing)
Tim: I hope I’m not in the company of a Yale-Man.
Boss: God no. I’ve got my shoes on the right foot don’t I? (both laugh) No, I was at Harvard too. ’98 to 2002.
Tim: Me too!…
Boss: Small world! I was Alpha Kappa Eta.
Tim: AKE-y Breaky Heart! I was AKE too! I lived upstairs, above the kitchen.
Boss: Tim. Timothy. TIMOTHY Hurkstadt?
Tim: That’s right! And you’re……
Boss: Mikey!!! Mikey likes it!!!! “Mikey Likes It”….The rape case…..
Tim: …..you lived in the basement-with Lawrence. Oh my god! Hell yeah! Drop ‘em and give me twenty!
Boss: Not the time or place, Tim. No. (serious again) Let’s just move right along here. Says here on your cover letter that you’re suitable for the position of the company’s vice president. That true?
Tim: Yes. Absolutely.
Boss: And I only bring that up, because you misspelled ‘president.’
Tim: Probably just a typo.
Boss: Yes, that’s exactly it. Its a typo.
Tim: These Blackberry keyboards, nowadays….So small.
Boss: You typed it on a Blackberry? Well…That changes everything….(writes another happy note on his paper while humming) Listed under “experience” it says here that you “corroborated with Police, giving anonymous eye-witness testimony leading to the arrest and conviction of a Harvard rapist.” Tell me a bit about that.
Tim: I….there….I….you….
Boss: This interview may be winding up here, and I’m sure that you’re a busy man-
Tim: I,…please…
Boss: This is a Fortune 500 Company, Tim. We have stocks. Okay? Did you see the lobby downstairs? That’s the actual set from “Scarface” okay? Do you think we play games here? No. Next week I am sitting before a congressional panel asking Uncle Sam for 950 Billion dollars just to retrofit our helicopter landing pad and waterpark okay? We need people here that are honest. But not so honest as to rat out a frat brother. Okay? We need driven people who will work hard for millions of dollars and play golf with people they don’t like just to keep business deals. Okay? We need people who are willing to wipe their ass thoroughly and wash their hands with soap because I’m a neat freak with a Howard Hughes like demand for cleanliness. We need-
Tim: Uh! Can I go to the bathroom?
Boss: Now? In the middle of my screaming?
Tim: Yeah, I’ll be really quick.
Boss: I guess. Sure. Down the hall past the glass elevator, take a left at the champagne filled fountain.
Forty-five minutes later,
Tim: Okay, I’m back. Sorry about that.
Boss: No problem. Not a problem at all. Let’s continue this interview. You look really good on paper, Tim. Impressive. I must admit, you’re a great candidate for this position. You….Well, I’m just a little nervous, here. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m nervous because….God, its hard to be open. To be vulnerable. I’m nervous because I’m afraid you won’t take the job.
Tim: Why would you think that?…..Michael?
Boss: Because I screamed at you. I raised my voice and that was stupid of me. Look. Tim. I followed you into the bathroom.
Tim: (pretending to be surprised) Really?
Boss: Yes, and I must say. You must have used like an entire roll of toilet paper. Seriously, I heard the roll spinning and it was like the hum of a jet engine. And you washed your hands really really well. Good job.
Tim: Gosh, well, thanks.
Boss: So let’s just get you signed up, whattya say? Wait….wait….what’s this? I’m pulling up your Facebook right now. Hmmm. Interesting. It looks like there’s a picture of you groping a cardboard cutout of Hilary Clinton.
Tim: That’s not a cutout.
Boss: (Squints) Okay. Well, there is also a picture of you here in a bathroom and you’re standing by a sink holding up your hands that apparently have poop all over them and the caption you wrote was: “E Coli virus!! LOL”
Tim: ……Let’s not gloss over the fact that I groped Hilary Clinton. I mean, that’s pretty awesome.
Boss: Nevertheless, Tim. Nevertheless. I….Was that whole washing your hands thing in the bathroom just now like an act? Was it just a show to entice me to hire you?
Tim: If I say yes, you won’t hire me. If I say ‘no’ you will hire me.
Boss: Is that a question? Are you thinking out loud? Or are you trying to Jedi Mind Trick me?
Tim: Mind Trick.
Boss: Episode IV reference. Nice.
Tim: Actually, you made the reference.
Boss: Still. It was nice of you to play along. Episode I: Phantom Menace?
Tim: Sucked balls.
Boss: You’re hired. Get your company mug at the reception’s desk on the way out.
Ryan McGivern
July 18, 2008
Save Money With A STAY-CATION!!!!
Posted by Ryan McGivern under Activities, Adventure, Play, TravelLeave a Comment
We’ve been deluged with money saving tips here at MindFlowers.
Are we that obviously broke? Well, with arrugula and gas prices out of control, I thought
I’d post some of the great ideas that will go down easy on the pocketbook.
“My husband and I take a bath together and tell the kids to play outside for an hour.”
-Tess B.
“These gas prices are just horrendous! So, instead of taking a long driving trip, we load up our Yukon and hitch our Focus on the back, tow it up to the cabin and then take mini driving trips around the lake. We also like to save money by buying our top hats in bulk.”
-Lily W.
“Usually, to save money, my wife and I will get in a fight about finances, lack of sex, or whether to raise our kids Jewish or Catholic and I end up staying a few nights at my buddy Jared’s. Its pretty cool: he’s got XBox and doesn’t care if I pray the Hail Mary over his toddlers.”
-Sean MacMalhoney
“To me everyday is a Staycation.”
Grandpa Theo, Oak Haven Senior Care Housing
July 14, 2008
Let me give you an experience. You are me, so we are a she who look quite alike in two bodies. Now, get in the car.
Head from the city by the sea. You’ll bypass sirens and god-like fishermen and giant roll-on deodorant towers – keep going. Southerly with the winds, traveling of your own accord, in my own Accord, with one long continuous song playing on the radio. Some say it’s classical, others make it classic. You just heard one lyric you like about being a headlight on a train.
The day waning, eyes wide awake, you pass by the remnants of a religious age. Buildings like delicate foods with tops and towers constructed like the tush of a kush in Pakistan – things they name drugs after these days. These are the legislative buildings of our lives. These days, when bands derive their names from a drive way or a causeway or a path. Sleater-Kinney among the trees and I’m thinking of history and politics and destinations ahead.
“Hey, what’s the story with Sleater-Kinney Road?”
“I dunno. I hear they broke up,” my companion replies.
But you are the south. And you crawl through the skeletal bellies of spiders. Peeping between the flashing beams and ribs, you catch glimpses of the water. You’re on a natural barrier. Suddenly, things become more green than ever before.
You can stop at Deanna’s after Olympia and hear the latest gossip as to why Sheila won’t let Mystie run the register today. Something to do with some Carlo from miles down the road. There’s a camera above the toilet in the bathroom. Some don’t mind the idea of a voyeur, a blank black eye in the white of the plaster above them. For a good time, call Deborah 626-554-8900.
Call her. Call her that number. Call her that name. If it doesn’t work, there are more on down the line, tracking the wall like lines on the highway.
Hit the road.
Pass the Farm Boy Drive-In, a circle of big red barns and ready-made food in your car.
Consider the $6 oil change (Honda cars need only apply).
Ask people who walks their dog and what kind of kibble they prefer when you get to Portland. Then head on down to the Espresso shack to discover what a Star Shot is in the parking lot of the Value Village as you ponder who Fred Meyer may have been, and why he decided Portland was to be the heavenly abode of Fred Meyer superstores. Visit all three in the one-mile stretch along Foster as you head out of town toward 205.
Make a mistake. Go off the path while your friend sleeps on top of the directions. It’ll be great as the trees loom larger and the trucks drive slower along twisty clusterfucks for roads. The citizens of Eugene will be riding their bikes hauling wood and groceries and recyclables to the plant in buggies meant for babies and kids. The sun will sparkle through the leaves of trees, waving like crazy, warning you that it’s about to get hotter than a motherfucker. You heed the warning, but shrug. “What am I supposed to do? I’m heading for country roads.” Smoke, smoke, smoke
that cigarette
smoke. Great tunes, dusty roads, windows low, you hear conversations in other cars. Finally, in Veneta, off the lane where the friendly man with the gun guards his American flag (and you wave Hello!), everyone is flowing in the same direction. Take a right. Gravel path. Flowers in the air. You see men with long hair. You are there.
Parking, hay rides, women with shining breasts. Giants, stilt walkers, advice that doesn’t have your best interests in mind… You suddenly want an umbrella. You are lying on a big white couch in someone else’s tent staring up at the blinking leaves of trees. You realize that the light isn’t what causes the glisten, but the shadows of material objects which obstruct the path of the light in your eyes. Enlightenment, a teepee luminescent in lava projections, bubbles from a peace pipe, and go!
Glow sticks. Singing Sublime next to a faery and a pile of sticks and wings. She’s talking about the Dozes; she’s fryin’ in the pan of these labyrinthine trees and beings. Among the horns and strange masks, it’s night outside and when people cradle their arms over the roundness of their heads, it looks like an open eye. Third eye, the one that does the dancing insanely in the deep. The drumming hasn’t stopped for 8 hours. An Organic Time Machine blesses your evening on a home-made stage at a fork in the path. I am exhausted, in a broke-down palace, in a bar converted into a coffee shop with showers. But I keep on talking, you keep on walking these paths through the forest.
There’s a floating stimulation haze from all of the people dressed like field features, dark creatures and flowers. We’ve been wandering the sparkling woods next to small ponds and incestuous rivers. You’ve worked all day making Avocado Dreamboats (doo-doo doo dooooo!), splitting, slicing, scoring, eating out… selling “sexy popcorn” and covered in juice. Even after making 8 gallons of hummus in one bowl, you could go for more. You make up a term: vaginally salivating. You wonder why it is that food turns you on.
There’s a secret. It started in the pillowy love pit. You heard it and passed it on. Out loud, someone whispers it to the sitar player at the many-gods worship booth. They do not suppress the giggles. The noisy part-Native guy complains that we will run out of fire someday. You’re not listening to his talk of appliances and elders and womanly life-crafts. Instead, you grab the peach you nabbed like a gypsy from a basket and cut it so that you peel slices off of the full moon of flesh surrounding the hardened pit. “A dull knife is more dangerous than a sharp one,” someone imbued on you. You imbibe the fresh sliced fruit, zoning in on a man in an 19th century suit wooing a mistress dressed in white with two black eyes, like a mime.
Blankets, mouse ears, wizards, and bodies. Loin cloths galore. Dressing in drag, just slips from the drawer, a group of men direct you to the journal store. You find some hand-made paper and a batch of sage to rub under your arms or to burn around your apartment after it’s clean. Everything is made by hand. You carry it on your person. Backpacks and pregnant bellies collide in line as a fat man in an Egyptian mask sings an old 80s love tune, simple as a power ballad in a falsetto can be. You do a twirl. You dazzle among the fresh-ironed silk ribbons blowing in the wind. “How much?” “Three dollars for that one.” “I don’t think so.” “Alright, one.” Then you buy fifteen and tie them together. Sometimes a scarf, maybe it’s a tent flag. Maybe…A new head wrap. You take off your shoes. Tie one around your ankle and slip it up your legs in a zig-zag pattern. Now you have slippers made of feet. And you’re dancing, slinking into a time space of 13 drummers among the calf skin and hay bales, beating all at random, all in tandem, to a rhythm song sounding very much like – and very much better – the latest M.I.A. track you last heard in the car. Wild belly dancers are drawn in by the wind. They don’t dance for change in here. Among the sticks and the muddy grub, a dangerous man in hip-hop style and locks flails among the crowd, and they love him. He removes his business shirt.
You wonder the time and look at the millions of wrists connecting to arm bones, crafting hands, writing wrists, carpals of contrasting writs, and tan bodies. You realize you haven’t seen a watch or a clock since you got here. You could never gaze up at the sun and wonder like a character from Kafka. You have to ask, “What are the machines like?” and all you see are people akimbo doing different things that make the place one and the same. It’s more like physics.
So, we are agreed. We are observers. But there have been rumors that we have eyes that can listen through a tube to the stretching rubber band sound of nirvana coming from a stream a quarter of a mile away. You give it a try and looked up in time to see a man walking by, removing the nautical spiral of an expertly tie-dyed shirt from their back, tying it to their shoulders, then to the waist, then you watch as it falls to the ground in his wake. You wait for his return beneath a group of robin’s eggs hatch into babes, which everybody watches for days in amazement.
There’s a Druid in the forest next to the smoking area and closer still to the giggling, striped legged witches who won’t say anything, but don’t hinder you in understanding that this is one of the few times when everything happens all at once. Things don’t normally happen that way, and that’s the reason we celebrate and create those specific times apart from the normal order of events. Everything is just as we imagined it. Then David the Gnome walks by with an oversized carrot.
A shaman palms rocks for tots and talks of magic in a bottle. You watch his healing techniques and wonder at the moon-shaped crest of your back, realizing you will soon be old.
You listen to children chatter in tents. They engage their wisdom at the peak of absurdity. “How many poopies wil the rain drops fall to make it purple?” “I don’t know. But grapes are the best fruit ever.” “POOPIES!” “GRAPES!” Who needs chocolate mushrooms and purple rain perfume? You suddenly wish for a short umbrella and a tall, tall hat.
You overhear other conversations about our cellular bodies, the meaning of mojo, potty training, conserving energy. “I have expert mojo,” the striped one declared. “I think I have bad mojo,” a shadowy friend replied. “Nonsense! You have great mojo. Together, we all do!” And she made them march with their knees high onward to get high over by the forked tree at the end of the woods near where the fire dancers were.
And the dancers licked flames. They ate danger. They spit the heat of their obsession in your face. Stickly figures dancing for your health, they train in the movement of the body as head and green light rolled off their back. They ducked under the joy of the fire and rollicked with balls aflame. “Hey! Does anyone have a cigarette?” For some, this was a weekend to give up smoking and my friend offered her the rest of our quashed pack of American Spirits. On our way back to the tent, a man grilling steaks on a grill asked, “Hey? Have you seen the American dream? I know it’s around here somewhere? Where’s that spirit? Where’s that light? I thought it said it was supposed to be here?” Luckily, we had another lighter to light a candle to brighten the forest and trees.
We gave them eyes. We made them googly. We gave sight to the water, to bananas, to chips and horse shit. We got the chair to look at see. We enlightened the rabbits and pandas on our shirts and we put them over our own glasses.
I had a dream that I removed a giant film from the inner part of my eye. It was like a wet web and it made me ill to think that I had dug so deep. When we trekked backward through the vegetation and the skeletons and the rough, We saw a mountain explode. We thought it was spilling its guts – an urge I hadn’t had in quite some time – over lunch, but it turned out to be a forest fire that looked close, but was almost a day away. I realized I hadn’t seen a reflection of myself in days that felt like weeks. Before I’d left, a homeless woman had said to me, “If you want to look like me, fine, go right ahead. Because when I’m dead, I’ll still be here – and where will you be? So if you wanna look just like me, well, then, go right ahead. But I’m warning you: people will be out for you because you wanted to be me. You will be sabotaged for looking the way that you do.”
When I got home, I took off the spectacles. I removed my clothes and stared into the mirror. My skin still glowed. I was more decorated than I remembered being before. When I looked into my eyes, they were clear and white as snow.
April 10, 2008
True Stories: Blue Ovaries, Grrrrrrrwl
Posted by j.j. under Activities, Adventure, Justice, Magic, Play, Religion, Sperm, ViolenceLeave a Comment
Weeks ago, on a Sunday, a few friends and I wandered in the forest to spend a day basking in a sulfuric hot springs near Vancouver, CA. As you might imagine, the pleasant smell of the sulfur-laced water was reminiscent of that dream everyone has of wading through a plethoric concentration of rotten eggs, but somehow it was a pleasant experience for me. The natural warmth of mother nature contrasted sensually with her chilled air, and the putrid smells eventually became us because — as is well documented by Cambridge ass-tro-physicists — our own shit don’t stink.
Soon after we arrived a second group joined us consisting of five folks coming from a Renaissance Fair, folks who reminded me of the 80′s video game Golden Axe. They quickly and obnoxiously asserted an uncomfortable social domination over our group, spicing our conversation with shouts of non-politically-correct vulgarity. They got naked (as were most of us), drunk (a cold beer in a hot spring is delightful idea!) and overly-stoned, and then they began literally overly-stoning each other, throwing rocks at each others’ faces and ignoring us, the innocent bystanders. There was one female included in their coterie and it became apparent that an orgy would occur the moment we left. Our presence was a cockblock.
At dusk they brought out a box of 200 glow sticks which lit up the water like a radioactive lightning bug factory. The rock war turned into a glow stick war. “With the rockets green glare, the bongs bursting with THC fortified air, gave proof through the night that empty beer cans were bound to be left there.”
We made our exit as darkness made its entrance, to permit our companions privacy to relieve their blue balls (and the female equivalent) and because there seemed no time limit to their violent ballistic battles. The drunker they got and the darker it got were Oxy clear factors in rapidly declining aim. Oh yeah, and two of their guys were already making out French style.
Most of my group was dissatisfied with the day’s happenings but I was fascinated with this display of raw, timeless human nature. We are all animals, dude. Hear me roar.
By the way, what do you think of “Blue Ovaries” as the name for my autobiography?
All Spice and Periwinkle,
j.j.
March 28, 2008
Recently I’ve become hooked on photo-collage. I find it the most efficient pathway to the absurd. I am proud of my own work, which I’ll post in the near future, but Barry Kite is much better. His art improves upon the famous masterpieces and photographs of history. See more of his handsome stuff at his not-so-handsome website.
March 16, 2008
How To: Horse Whisper
Posted by Ryan McGivern under How to, Play, Psychology, QuestionsLeave a Comment
I have always wanted to enter the tutelage of a horse whisperer.
I think that those equine shrinks could really help me expand my necromancy
to include deep conversation with Secretariat.
My nickname growing up was “Barbi Benton” while I was a baby, “Wet Bed McAsshole” when I was a toddler, “Late Blooming Onion” when I worked at TGIFriday’s, and “Platypus Sack” when I worked at “Outback Steakhouse”.
I had always wanted to be called “Stallion”, but I would have settled for “Mare”.
Is it wrong to love horses? I don’t think so.
Is it wrong to hit a lying down cow with a tractor?…Well, yes. Probably. But that’s beside the point.
As I have now made at least 30 dollars during my six months of sperm donation (A lot of my samples have been tainted because I add tap water to my sample cup to impress the lab workers) and I’ve thought: “Maybe I should start a sperm bank of my own!” And then I started thinking: “Maybe I could combine my love for making money off sperm with horses!”
Eureka.
I went by the fortune teller shop that’s near my acting class and I stopped in real quick to get some pointers on how to spiritually connect with horses.
“What is your spirit guide?” She asked me.
“I dunno. Platypus?”
“And you want to tell the futures of horses? Like for betting purposes?”
“No. I didn’t even think of that! I’d just thought I could make some quick dough off of horse sperm donation.”
“Oh, like a stud farm for raising horses?”
“No. I didn’t even think of that! I’d just thought I could make some quick dough off of horse sperm donation.”
I didn’t get much more help from her since she asked me to leave then, but I think I got at least one good idea: Crystal balls look awesome.
How this will tie into my idea for a unicorn dating service, I’m not sure.
(My business model is an escort service that would employ outcast Amish and excommunicated Jehovah’s Witnesses and dress them in Unicorn suits. They would then give massages that would barely comply with state and federal laws.)
Suggestions on how to summon the spirit of a dead horse, psychoanalyze farm animals, get rid of scabies, or convince those who have been ostracized from religious communities to join you in an uncertified massage/dating service are appreciated.
Ryan McGivern
Best Damn Horse I Did Ever See:
http://www.secretariat.com/
Worst Damn Critter I Did Ever Have: http://www.metrokc.gov/Health/prevcont/scabies.htm
March 5, 2008
Questions for Bible Study Group
Posted by J.J. under Play, Pop Culture, Psychology, Questions, Quiz, Things[2] Comments
- [finance] Does it bother you that my two cents are worth more than yours?
- [cooking] Have you ever used tears to spice up a dish?
- [gossip] Heath Leger is still alive. I saw him at Hooters earlier this evening at happy hour. He was downing two buck Buttery Nipples.
- [hot] If you were nude, waxed in Crisco and stuck in a cage with Newt Gingrich, what would be your initial wrestling moves? (editor’s note: standing moonsault and then stink face)
- [hair style] Tell me something lamer than scalping a guy with male pattern baldness?
- [Helen Keller's root canal] Would the dentist experience be less painful if you were deaf and blind?
- [satiated] Considering Homer Simpson is hung like a horse, what are the genetic odds that Bart is as well?
- [automotive] Whatcha gon’ do with all dat junk inside yo trunk?
- [mental health] Don’t eat apples. The trees are screaming as you pick their living, exterior placentas and munch on naturally-delicious sweet-tasting veggie abortions.
- [how-to] If you’re curious about changing careers into the cosmetology sector, consider biting the top off a piece of broccoli and rolling the hairy feel of its head in your mouth. This is what it feels like to be a professional hair cutter – constantly covered in hair.
- [news flash] Do you think it’s creepy, if you sit across from a bathroom and are thinking really hard about a question to write for a blog, to look off into space in the direction of the bathroom door as people go in and out and see you staring?
March 3, 2008
Movie Review: Be Kind Rewind
Posted by Ryan McGivern under Art, Movie Review, Play, Pop CultureLeave a Comment
I.
I get settled (in the cloud)
in settles in place
your arm don’t meet your body
no joint (I looked)
and your hair, that magnet, don’t grow-
it glows (I see it)
II.
Heat from steaming pressed slacks
no aloneness wet streets
you are newness, makingness,
beyond mere essence creationing
prussian blue electrical talk I
watch You be You are You all
creole was not made and it’s spoken
Be Kind Rewind isn’t a great movie. Its just not. But it is kind. Filled with smiles and gentle softness, it celebrates the joy of mutual creation. Sentimentality is a secondary feeling and its best appreciated as a construct of our own creativity. We create (re-create) our pasts and can connect ourselves to our past in ever new and inventive ways.
And in our day to day lives, our search for connection is best lived in shared creative endeavor. We go from passive viewers, to retelling told stories (‘sweding’ films), to reinventing our shared past to connect us to it, to creating a new story in the present through our connections of intimacy.
This movie isn’t great. But it moved me. I was crying at a number of scenes that revelled in the joy of shared art (in this case a community made film) that transcends so many social ‘barriers’.
A confused, weak, and low reaching script still hit home for me with the kind energy of its spirit.
What I liked:
*People sweating in a dry cleaning shop
*A PG-13 movie that I would feel good bringing a teenager to. Its got a lot of redemptive themes in it for a younger person. Not too challenging for adult viewers, but I could see it turning on middle schoolers to the joy of films (and filming).
Last Word:
Bring the young teenagers in your life to this film and have a good ol’ time.
Ryan McGivern
