My Bloggy Valentine

It's 2012: Pop the Champagne, and Hop on the Train

2012-01-13T17:01:00.000-08:00

It's 2012. And 2011 is O.VER. (Can you tell I'm relieved?)

Don't get me wrong: a lot of great things happened last year - a lot of REALLY great things.

And also: some terrible things. Really terrible things.

What's funny is, I haven't written much about either the really good or the really really bad. I realize this blog is a venue to share my thoughts from time to time... but I still like to keep things private, as well.

Maybe too private, I'm starting to think.

But you're out there, and you send emails to say that you're reading what I write, and you're waiting for new posts - so, so, so...

So I'm thinking that maybe in 2012, I need to write about new things. And I want to write more frequently, and write more freely.

Because I've decided this is the year of: BREAKTHROUGH. I declared this to my 1-Year Plan Club (have I told you about the 1-Year Plan Club?) and they were in strong support.

That's why I'm making a lot of positive changes this year: from health and fitness, to scheduling, to efficiency... (oh boy, that all sounds... kinda boring. But it's going to be exciting, I promise!)

Most of all, I'm amping up the frequency of writing this blog (and indeed, the frequency of writing altogether). In pursuit of Breakthrough.

BREAKTHROUGH! Yeah, that sounds good. I like it.

Stay tuned: there will be a new look to my site and my blog VERY soon, and a lot of new things to report.

So I hope you'll keep riding along with me for the upcoming year - and I hope you'll write back, either privately or in the comments sections. Let's see what happens when we do this together.

So Happy 2012! We're half a month in already. So pop the champagne, and hop on the train. It's going to be an enlightening journey.

I'm glad you're along with me.

*
Q: What is YOUR theme for the year? I'd like to hear it, if you're willing to share.

Terrific Terry Gilliam article

2011-11-28T11:06:00.000-08:00

Check out this awesome article about Terry Gilliam in today's LATimes.

I confess that I haven't seen a Gilliam movie in years, and I remember that his work contained at least as many moments of revulsion as there were visions of transcendent grace.

But in the end, it's the grace that remains with me. (Uma Thurman on the Half-Shell in "Baron Munchausen," to name one - and above all, my favorite movie moment of all time: the extraordinary waltz in Grand Central in "Fisher King."

And this article gave me a greater appreciation for what this director's gone through to make his films. It made me want to revisit his body of work now that I'm older and wiser (?). Anyway, enjoy!

Shaving "The Moustache of Wisdom"

2011-11-27T11:06:00.000-08:00

As someone interested in language – and its use, misuse, and abuse – I’ve long been a fan of Matt Taibbi’s epic takedowns of NYTimes columnist / pompous ass, Thomas Friedman.

If you’ve never read Taibbi’s columns on the man he derides as “The Moustache of Wisdom,” please do yourself a favor and read them now. (Links below.) They are scathing, hilarious, profane, on-the-money - and they effectively point out that this Emperor of the Op-Ed page is wearing no clothes at all. Or said another way, Taibbi's writing acts as a lens that makes it nearly impossible to see Friedman’s columns any other way.

If I'm being careful with metaphor here, it's because of Taibbi’s main takeaway: in every single column, Friedman’s language breaks down until it lacks sense completely… and that this breakdown of language leads Friedman to decidedly wrong conclusions about the world, how it works, and how the US should behave in affairs both foreign and domestic.

For example, see Taibbi's first whack at TF. Money quote: “This would be a small thing were it not for the overall pattern. Thomas Friedman does not get these things right even by accident. It's not that he occasionally screws up and fails to make his metaphors and images agree. It's that he always screws it up. He has an anti-ear, and it's absolutely infallible; he is a Joyce or a Flaubert in reverse, incapable of rendering even the smallest details without genius. The difference between Friedman and an ordinary bad writer is that an ordinary bad writer will, say, call some businessman a shark and have him say some tired, uninspired piece of dialogue: Friedman will have him spout it. And that's guaranteed, every single time. He never misses.” (Matt Taibbi, NYPress)

I won’t even try to compete with Taibbi, but I will say that with every new Friedman column I make a parlor game of trying to spot the moment where the columnist’s language breaks down into gibberish. (What can I say? Some people do crosswords or Sudoku, I pick apart Tom Friedman columns.)

I’m sorry to say this is not a very difficult parlor game. Take, for example, Friedman's entry in today’s NYTimes. It features a cornucopia of banal analysis (er… “banalysis?”), such as the not-at-all-surprising revelation that the bubbling revolution in Syria is made up of freedom-seeking youth vs. tradition-bound oldsters, or the not-at-all-shocking conclusion that the past holds great sway on the present.

But besides that, we get this little gem: "This is the grand drama now being played out in the Arab world — the deeply sincere youth-led quest for liberty and the deeply rooted quests for sectarian, factional, class and tribal advantage. [Snip.] The same drama played out in Iraq, but there the process was managed, at a huge cost, by an American midwife — managed enough so that the communities were able to write a new, rudimentary social contract on how to live together and, thereby, give the future a chance to bury the past. But we still do not know how it will end in Iraq." (Friedman, NYTimes)

I ask you: what kind of drama is managed by a midwife who helps write a social contract that buries the past? Is that person who intervenes in the drama a director? A writer? A doula? An undertaker? All of the above? None? Some?

Does this matter? Well, Friedman is an influential columnist and author, who is paid richly to opine on the pages of the most famous newspaper in the world twice a week. So, yes: I believe his breakdown of language and thought is worth examining, as are the wrongheaded conclusions that he draws.

I’ll let Taibbi sum it up, as he does in this NY Press article. The takeaway, said better than I can:

"Friedman’s language choices over the years have been highly revealing: When a man who thinks you need to break a vase to get the water out of it starts arguing that you need to invade a country in order to change the minds of its people, you might want to start paying attention to how his approach to the vase problem worked out. Thomas Friedman is not a president, a pope, a general on the field of battle or any other kind of man of action. He doesn’t actually do anything apart from talk about sh*t in a newspaper. So in my mind it’s highly relevant if his manner of speaking is f*cked.” (Taibbi, NYPress Bowdlerization mine: Ed.)

Here’s one more link to one more glorious Matt Taibbi smackdown of Tom Friedman.

Good grief, how much do they pay Friedman to write this column? As a writer or a thinker, the man is not worth his weight in mustache wax.

I know, I know...

2011-11-08T10:43:00.000-08:00

I really should blog more! People have been asking for an update. Well, consider this a start.

It's not like I haven't been doing ANYTHING - in fact, things have been madly, wildly busy. And I've been thinking about switching blog platforms anyway, so I was wondering if I should put anything here at the moment, and that in part kep me away from the keyboard.

But consider this blogged! I'm back. More later, with specifics. Hope you're all well out there in the cyberworld.

NYC Reading of my play, "27 PIGS"

2011-10-17T08:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends - I am SO excited to report that there's a reading today of my play, "27 Pigs". It's at NYC's Shetler Studios at 3 PM and 7 PM. Details below, including reservation email.

The amazing Melanie S. Armer's directing, and we have a tremendous cast and two wonderful producers. Hope you can make it!

27 Pigs

Written By Ed Valentine

Directed By Melanie S. Armer

Cast:

Erik Jensen*

Maureen Flannigan*

Jennifer Laine Williams*

Tyler Bunch*

Jeremy Gender*

*Denotes members of Actors Equity Association

Oren Oklahoma keeps his secret life under control – until his house is invaded by Iris, his 16-year-old runaway cousin with secrets of her own. And what of that very determined Pig who threatens to expose all their lies?

Presentation

October 17th, 3pm and 7pm

Shetler Studios

Penthouse 1

244 West 54th Street

Between Broadway and 8th Avenue

RSVP: 27pigsreading@gmail.com

2011-07-12T06:53:00.001-07:00

Tonight please catch "Food Fight", one of my final 4 NEW Fairly Oddparents shows on Nick! (6 EDT). This one's an homage to Iron Chef.

Reminder: "Carnival of Curiosities", my night of plays, performing TONIGHT AND TOMORROW in NoHo

2011-06-10T14:12:00.000-07:00

Reminder, LA friends: you have only 5 more chances to see CARNIVAL OF CURIOSITIES, an evening of short plays written by…. me! I'm so proud of this show - please don't miss it! (Bonus: cotton candy for sale in the lobby.)

Rapturous opening weekend, let's keep momentum going!

Fridays, June 10, & 17 @8pm / Saturdays, June 11, 18 @ 8PM / Sunday, June 19th @ 7PM
5215 Lankershim Blvd., NoHo Arts District

Reservations: (818) 377-4379 * http://w.mawebcenters.com/3ofakindtheatre

QUESTION: Should the Giant Squid become the ocean's mascot?

2011-06-10T14:08:00.000-07:00

ANSWER: Duh!!!

WIRED and GAWKER weigh in.

CARNIVAL OF CURIOSITIES: my plays in North Hollywood this June!

2011-05-30T11:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends:

Please join me for a special event premiering this Friday: 3-of-a-Kind Theater’s CARNIVAL OF CURIOSITIES, an evening of plays by…. someone named Ed Valentine!

Yes, it’s true: CARNIVAL features an entire program of my work: 6 short plays, including 5 world premieres. The show runs in North Hollywood over the next three weekends and I’m proud to have my writing up and running, and presented so lovingly.

The whole company is doing marvelous work. All that’s missing now is YOU in the audience.

So please join us! I would love to have you there as I send these sometimes wild (and, I hope, wonderfully enjoyable) plays out into the world.

Details / dates / ticket info below, or feel free to write back with questions. I hope to see you at the CARNIVAL OF CURIOSITIES.

Many thanks!

(PS: added incentive: cotton candy and popcorn for sale in the lobby!)

CARNIVAL OF CURIOSITIES

Presented by 3-of-a-Kind Theater

SHOW DATES:

Fridays, June 3, 10, & 17 @8pm

Saturdays, June 4, 11, 18 @ 8PM

Sunday, June 19th @ 7PM

THE NOHO ACTORS STUDIO

5215 Lankershim Blvd.

NoHo Arts District

Tickets $8

Opening night: Friday June 3: “Pay what you can” night

*Reservations are strongly encouraged - (818) 377-4379

http://w.mawebcenters.com/3ofakindtheatre/

THE PLAYS:

“State of the Union” (directed by Fulya Diner)

A tense young wife. A startling State of the Union address. A marriage unmoored.

“The Best Man” (directed by Itai Grunfeld and Kerri Grant)

The Best Man weeps while a new Bride daydreams of her honeymoon – and backwards chronology reveals the underlying passions behind the wedding veil.

“Six For Supper” (directed by Mauro Flores)

It’s Suppertime! But is this a bright, shiny 1950’s family sitcom, or a Greek tragedy? Only Uncle Milton knows for sure.

“Dangerous Baby” (directed by Itai Grunfeld and Kerri Grant)

A crib. Two clown noses. And an otherworldly infant.

“Mississippi Miracle Play” (directed by Mauro Flores)

Come one, come all! See hymn-singing Siamese Twins, a Bible-spouting bearded lady, and a grifter’s faith shaken and stirred by a true-blue miracle.

“St. Christopher” (directed by Fulya Diner)

An astronaut in diapers. A gun. And a dog-faced saint.

Howdy, Folks! Been awhile!

2011-05-24T14:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been - oh, awhile. All good, but sort of... whirlwindy.

I'm soon porting this blog over to wordpress - details to follow when I do - but in the meantime.... check out my review of "Cave of Forgotten Dreams" on Extra Criticum.

The picture at right is not actually Werner Herzog's cave itself. It's photo I took of Ernesto Neto's gigantic installation at the Park Avenue Armory back in 2009. I only wish you could scratch and sniff this photo - one room in Neto's installation featured dangling bulbs with herbs and aromatics. Mmm!

...But please don't scratch and sniff this blog post - you'll ruin your screen and I'm not replacing it.

Monkey Cake!

2010-10-08T09:14:00.000-07:00

Please check out my dear friend Louise Owen's post regarding the now legendary monkey cake she made for Jorge.

I can attest to the fact that said monkey cake was 100% delicious. And 110% adorable. Don't believe me? Check it out:

Everybody, now: AWWWWWWW!

Can You Tell Me How To Get, How To Get to...

2010-09-28T21:07:00.001-07:00

SESAME STREET???

Dear Friends: my first "Sesame Street" script airs this week, a dream come true!

It's an "Abby's Flying Fairy School" segment called "Sheepytime," part of Sesame Street episode 4215: "Chicken When It Comes to Thunderstorms," which airs Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday depending on your local PBS station. (Please check local PBS listings, online HERE.

So please join me for this episode and my segment - or better yet, tune in every day! This season's gonna be fantastic.

Check out Jenn's Puppet Post!

2010-09-19T18:34:00.001-07:00

My fantastic friend, JENN SCHMERMUND, has posted about our puppet collaboration on her website. Please check it out!

Manifesto for the End of August!

2010-08-17T09:43:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd share my current inspirational song - and one of the best, craziest videos I've even seen.

Truly, the "dog days of August" may be just starting in actuality... but for me personally: THE DOG DAYS ARE OVER! (Thank you, Florence and the Machine.)

40 Days of Screenplays

2010-07-27T17:29:00.001-07:00

For those of you with a screenwriting bent... I've just stumbled on something fantastic: "40 DAYS OF SCREENPLAYS", on Scott Myers' site "Go Into the Story." Boy, I could get into THIS!

The idea: read and analyze one screenplay a day for 40 Days. I joined the group already in progress on Day 8 (yesterday: "Dead Poet's Society") and just posted a comment on Day 9 ("The Matrix.")

Oh, and they offer links to pdfs of the screenplays themselves, so it's a snap to download 'em and delve into 'em.

I don't know which screenplays are yet to come (that's part of the fun) - but already they've covered "Thelma and Louise", "Die Hard", "Shawshank Redemption"... uh... "Some Like it Hot". And a few others I'll have to catch up on after the 40 days are over.

My comment on "The Matrix" follows. I hope some of you may join me in reading/commenting on the blog. Really, it's a terrific screenwriting education right over your magic internet thingie.

****

Ed's Comment on "The Matrix" screenplay - 1999 by Larry and Andy Wachowski

The Matrix? Wow. That's how it's done, son.

Tell you the truth, I didn't love the movie when I saw it. I remember being confused - and I think I was probably distracted, too, by the whiz-bang special effects, by the violence (and by Keanu's odd affect).

But reading the screenplay? It gave me a whole new appreciation for the form in general, and for "The Matrix" in particular. It's actually crystalline in its clarity and elegant in shape. And also: smart. Soooo smart.

A thought occurred to me, too: it's really "Alice in Wonderland," isn't it? (I'm sure I'm not the first person to light on that.) First the white rabbit reference - and then the main character being obliged to navigate an alternate/sideways reality - and in the end, having to assert his own primacy to survive. I think of Alice's "You're all a pack of cards" and the accompanying Tenniel illustration of the playing cards washing over little Alice in a wave... just as the bullets fly at Neo, yet because of his decision to BE Neo bullets have even less power over him than cardstock on Alice.

Also: expert use of iconic characters... the unlikely hero, the woman without whom the hero could not survive, the mentor, the oracle (literally), the betrayer, the all-powerful baddie(s) - but while I was reading I was never aware of their classical ancestry, but only their individual humanity. How 'stock' those characters could have seemed, in lesser hands!

In the end, I found it a surprisingly human movie - in love with the carbon-based life forms who fight against the machines and their Matrix. Missed that entirely the first time around, since it's told with such slick machine-generated wizardry.

Altogether, it's a beautifully done screenplay. Makes me want to see the movie again (and makes me want to delve into the sequels.) Glad to have had the opportunity to read it with you.

May 22 Play: FIELD

2010-05-23T11:41:00.000-07:00

A Field.

HE is baling hay.

A car door slams, off. A WOMAN enters, stands nearby. Middle aged, flowered dress. She has a camera.

HE keeps working. In time, SHE snaps a photo.

HE
You get my good side?

SHE
Wasn't looking at you.
I came for the field.

HE
Just a field.

SHE
-

HE
Too many folks, that's their problem.
They can't see the people for the field.

SHE
That so?

HE
Sure. Here, you goa young buck. Handsome guy. Some say.

SHE
Do they.

HE
Browned by the sun.
Made strong by work,
hard work. Heavy work.
Look good in the pages of a magazine,
or in a Hollywood movie.
You City Folk, you come here,
think we're hicks.

(HE keeps baling.)

I'm no hick, Miss.

(HE keeps baling.)

I got stories.

-

SHE
You know.
-
I'm no City Girl.
Born a mile from here.
Lived on this land till I was.
Thirteen.
-
Something happened here.
I mean.
Here. In the field.

(HE stops baling.)

HE
When.

SHE
I was twelve.
-
Sometimes I think I'll always be twelve.
I got stories too.

-

HE
Alright then, Miss.
I'll let you be.

SHE
Thanks.

(She turns to go. Hesitates. Turns back.)

Hey.

HE
?

SHE
Here.

She raises her camera.
He poses. Loud SNAP adn flash.
The photo is bright and the light burns,
haloing him and the scene in gold for a moment.
In the lights,
he's beautiful.

The camera flash fades. Back to normal lights.
In this light, the field is drab.

HE
Thanks.

SHE
Thank you.

They stand.
Lights fade.

End of play.

Olympic Mascot Fail

2010-05-21T10:01:00.000-07:00

I love the Olympics. I mean, I LOVE the Olympics. I cheer. I get choked up. I harangue everyone who'll listen about triple axles and curling and athletes who I would otherwise never hear of.

And though I'm admittedly more of a Winter 'lympics fan, I do love me some Summer Games. And that's why I'm pretty alarmed... at THIS:

I'm even more alarmed than I was at THIS. (I won't bring up Lisa Simpson vis a vis this logo. Google it if you need to.)

Wenlock and Mandeville, you are an Olympic Fail.

Testing, testing....

2010-05-18T15:35:00.000-07:00

Just checking something out.... Posting from a new source. More to come later....

May 12 Play: MAMOOT

2010-05-12T17:12:00.000-07:00

PLAY #?: MAMOOT - by Ed Valentine
© May 12, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: It’s SeaWorld – or a SeaWorld type of place. A trainer (F) stands at the edge of a pool. She has a bucket. The water in the pool is dark and black. A maintenance man stands at the back.

TRAINER:
Here, Mamoot.
Here you go!
Feeding time.
Come and get it.
Mamoot?
Mamoot?
Momoot.

She leans over the water.

MAINTENANCE MAN
He dead?

TRAINER
You SCARED me!

MAINTENANCE MAN
Sorry lady.

TRAINER
I didn’t know you were there!

MAINTENANCE MAN
Sorry.

TRAINER
I thought I was all alone.
-
Except for him, I mean.

MAINTENANCE MAN
Him?

TRAINER
Mamoot.

MAINTENANCE MAN
Maybe you are all alone.

TRAINER
I don’t know.
Sometimes, some mornings I come out here
and there’s nothing there in the water.
You’d swear there was nothing there.

MAINTENANCE MAN
He sleeping?

TRAINER
Waiting.

MAINTENANCE MAN
Creepy.

TRAINER
Waiting for me.

MAINTENANCE MAN
Someday he
Will
be dead.

TRAINER
Or I will.

MAINTENANCE MAN
How long do they live?

TRAINER
No one knows.

MAINTENANCE MAN
A long time?

TRAINER
A Long long.
Long.
Time.
Longer than we know.

MAINTENANCE MAN
He has time then.

TRAINER
Time?

MAINTENANCE MAN
Time to wait.

TRAINER
I guess he does.
Well -

Something swims back and forth in the pool.
It is not a whale.
They both start.

MAINTENANCE MAN
Jesus.

TRAINER
There.

MAINTENANCE MAN
That how it happens every morning?

TRAINER
Pretty much.
He likes to surprise me.

MAINTENANCE MAN
I wouldn’t get in the water with that.

TRAINER
Sometimes I have to.

MAINTENANCE MAN
How is that?

TRAINER
(shrugs.)

MAINTENANCE MAN
Good luck, then. I better get on with my day.

TRAINER
Me too.

(She holds out a fish over the water, reaching out a little too far. Sing-song and nervous:)

Here you go, Mamoot.
Mamoot.
Mamoot.

The thing swims. She holds the fish. The Man does not go.

Lights fade.

END OF PLAY.

Holy Wooly Mammoth, Batman!

2010-05-03T18:35:00.000-07:00

Shoot, people - has NO ONE seen "Jurassic Park"????

April 13 Play: CROQUET

2010-04-13T20:46:00.000-07:00

X: CROQUET - by Ed Valentine
© April 13, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Three people buried in earth up to their necks: ANNA, BELGIUM, and CYRIA.

ANNA: Seems to me that we're in fine fettle.

BELGIUM: Fine what?

ANNA: Fine fettle.

CYRIA: What is 'fettle?'

ANNA: Damned if I know.

CYRIA: What is 'damned?'

BELGIUM: Quiet, Cyria! Don't ask silly questions. Everyone knows that Anna's the smartest one around.

CYRIA: Of who?

BELGIUM: Of all of us.

CYRIA: That's not saying much.

ANNA: I can hear you. I'm right here.
(Noises off.)
Quiet! Here they come!

(They stay comically still. Even their expressions freeze. The DUKE and DUCHESS OF WINDSOR walk past them, playing croquet.)

DUCHESS OF WINDSOR: FORE!
(With the croquet mallet, she hits Cyria in the head. DUCHESS doesn't notice.)
Oh.

DUKE: Yes, peachy?

DUCHESS: I missed the gate. Missed the gate entirely.

(They stand as in the Avedon photo.)

DUKE: But peachy: there shall be another one!

DUCHESS: Do you think?

DUKE: Always and always. Forever and ever.

DUCHESS: I knew there was a reason. A reason why I loved you!

(The rub noses. Gross. Then exit humming.)

CYRIA: Ow.

ANNA: Quiet. We should accept our lot. Don't you think, Belgium?

BELGIUM: Oh yes. Yes I do. We should just be quiet and accept.

CYRIA: Huh.
-
Says you. 'Smartest one of us all.' Huh.

ANNA: I can hear you.

CYRIA: Good.

LIGHTS OUT. END OF PLAY.

April 12 Play: COW

2010-04-13T20:35:00.000-07:00

X: COW - by Ed Valentine
© April 12, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

Lights up: Two MEN near a cow. They have a pail. They look dubious.

BUB: You milk it.

BOYCE: You first.

BUB: I did it yesterday.

BOYCE: Still.

BUB: You got nothing better than that, do you?

BOYCE: (Thinks for a moment.)
Naw.

BUB: Then hop to it. Take the pail.

BOYCE: I still don't see why...

BUB: Just do it.

BOYCE: Ok, then.

BUB: Go on.

(BOYCE touches the cow. It cries, in a human voice.)

COW: Mama! Maaamaaa!

BOYCE: I hate when she does that. Boy, do I hate it.

BUB: We need to get a better cow.

BOYCE: Do we ever. Do we ever.

(The cow keeps crying. Lights out.)

END OF PLAY.

April 11 Play: 25 ¢ A LOOK

2010-04-11T21:15:00.001-07:00

X: 25 ¢ A LOOK - by Ed Valentine
© April 11, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Grey sky. A windswept prairie. In the middle of it, a small tent with a colored (but faded) banner in front of it: an old-timey painted banner depicting a pair of two female conjoined twins. A sign that says, “25 ¢ a Look.” Two women outside of the tent dressed in clothes of the 1920’s.)

SELMA: What do you think?

BLANCHE: It’s shameful. Shameful.

SELMA: I think so too.
-
Still.

BLANCHE: Don’t get any ideas.

SELMA: Ideas? Like what kind of ideas?

BLANCHE: Everyone would talk.

(They both look around ostentatiously.)

SELMA: I don’t see the harm.

BLANCHE: But you’d know. I’D know.

SELMA: I suppose you’re right.
-
(Digs in her purse.)

BLANCHE: What are you up to, Selma?

SELMA: Here. A quarter.

BLANCHE: Damn fool, wasting your money like that.

SELMA: It’s not a waste if it’s worth a look.
Look out, I’m a-comin’ in!

(She goes into the tent.)

BLANCHE: Selma! Selma! Selma!
(Silence. Whispered or hissed:)
Selma?

-

(SELMA re-enters from the tent, stricken.)

BLANCHE: Well? Was it worth every penny of your hard-earned money?

-

SELMA: How right you were, Blanche. How right you were.

(She shudders. A wind kicks up, blows some debris about. The two women go off, looking back over their shoulders at the tent.)

(A voice from inside the tent. Two hands come out, beckoning.)

TWO VOICES: Next?

BLACKOUT. END OF PLAY.

Plays April 1-10

2010-04-11T15:05:00.002-07:00

Same note as the last one: still have to type these in. Have 'em on paper - most of them - but boy this is time-consuming! Maybe April will be better. Bear with me.

Plays March 23-31

2010-04-11T15:05:00.000-07:00

Still have to type these in. Have 'em on paper - most of them - but boy this is time-consuming! Maybe April will be better. Bear with me.

March 23 Play: DEVILS AND THE ANGELS

2010-03-24T11:22:00.003-07:00

X: DEVILS AND THE ANGELS - by Ed Valentine
© March 23, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: MAN WITH A GUITAR by a fire. A BOY just outside the circle of firelight, watching.

BOY: Who you playing fer, Mister?
-
Is it the Devil?

MAN: Nope.

BOY: You sure?

MAN: Yup. Ain’t playin’ for no Devil.

BOY: You playin’ for the angels, then?

MAN: Nope. Ain’t playin’ for no angels neither.

BOY: Who then? Who?

MAN: I play for you, Boy. You got all the devils and the angels inside of you.

BOY: I do?

(MAN PLAYS.)

Yeah, I guess I do.
Play some more.

MAN WITH GUITAR plays as the lights fade.

END OF PLAY.

March 22 Play: ISLAND PLAY

2010-03-24T11:22:00.001-07:00

X: ISLAND PLAY - by Ed Valentine
© March 22, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: An island. A palm. 4 Castaways. 4 of them.

1: Who ate the last fish?

2: You did.

1: I didn’t. It was YOU.

3: Me? Not me.

1: Someone did.

(They all turn very slowly to 4. 4 makes desperate sounds. He is mute.)

1: That might as well be a confession.

2: That clinches it.

3: Well then.

(He – 3 – begins to tie a noose in some rope. 1 and 2 hold 4 down.)

3: That’s what comes of cheats and liars.

(3 and 2 put the noose around 4’s neck and take him to the tree. When no one else is looking, 1 discards the white bones of a fish.)

Lights fade.

END OF PLAY.

March 21 Play: FIFTEEN CLOWNS

2010-03-24T11:21:00.000-07:00

X: FIFTEEN CLOWNS - by Ed Valentine
© March 21, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A circus tent, or a suggestion thereof. 15 Clowns in a semicircle.

ALL: Whodunnit? Whodunnit?

1: One went by poison.

2: One went by hanging.

3: One went in a crash in a teeny tiny car.

4: One was found with a rubber chicken stuffed down his throat.

5: One’s makeup was tainted. It wasn’t an accident.

6: One was fired from a canon. BOOM! Right into a wall.

7: One got a pie in the face. Under the banana crème: chopped glass.

8: They turned a firehose at one. Out spewed acid.

9: The lion got loose.

10: A hatchet in the head.

11: They found him dangling from the trapeze. An aneurysm? I don’t think so.

12: Thumbtacks in his candy.

13: Exploding buttons.

14: A scorpion nest in the shoes. Lotta room in those shoes!

(One left. Lights change on all the dead Clowns. Clown 15 looks nervous.)

THE 14 DEAD CLOWNS: Well? Well well well well,
Well well
Well?

15: There’s no one left. No one left but me.

13: That means you must be the murderer.

15: Maybe I am. But maybe I’m not!

13: I guess time will tell.

15: (Sighs) It’s hard to be a clown these days. You have no idea.

(Doorbell rings.)

OFFSTAGE VOICE: Delivery!

(From the edge of the stage by the curtain, a deliveryman’s HAND emerges carrying flowers and a package. The package smokes: a bomb.)

15: This is it then. My dying day.

Ticking sound up. Suddenly stops. 15 holds his breath, waiting for the explosion.

Sudden blackout.

END OF PLAY.

March 20 Play: Not Much of a Play

2010-03-20T18:55:00.001-07:00

X: Not Much of a Play - by Ed Valentine
© March 20, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A stage with a red curtain.

1: Play?

2: Play.

The curtain opens. An elaborate set. Actors perform an opera of madness. People clap. Curtain closes.

1: That wasn’t much of a play.

2: Not my taste.

1: I want my money back.

2: They’re a fraud, I tell you, a fraud!

(Curtain opens. Set is gone. Empty stage. Ghost light.)

1: Gone?

-

2: We ain’t getting our dough back, Sal. Ain’t getting it back now for sure.

They sit.
Lights fade.

END OF PLAY.

March 19: Be Kind to Your Dogs

2010-03-20T18:48:00.001-07:00

X: BE KIND TO YOUR DOGS - by Ed Valentine
© March 19, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A knight, in ill-fitting armor. Quivering.

KNIGHT: I hear you. I hear you there.

VOICES: WE ARE HERE.

KNIGHT: Show yourselves!

A VOICE: Can you take it?

KNIGHT: I can take anything.

A VOICE: WELL THEN.

SLAM! A light switches on. An army of dog-headed soldiers are facing him, in shining armor, with spears.

HEAD DOG: Can you take this?

KNIGHT: Yes.

(He can’t.)

KNIGHT: Why?

HEAD DOG: You should’ve been kinder to us, Bucky. You should’ve been kind. All ready?

ALL DOGS: READY SIR.

KNIGHT: (Cowering:) Bad Dog. BAD DOG!

HEAD DOG: Not anymore. FORWARD, MARCH!

They shoulder their weapons and advance. When they encircle him, he screams as he disappears in their circle. As he screams, they savage him and he is gone.

END OF PLAY.

March 18 Play: THREE

2010-03-20T18:47:00.007-07:00

X: THREE - by Ed Valentine
© March 18, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: RED SQUARE. MOSCOW. 3 in overcoats.

1: You have it?

2: I have it.

3: I have it.

1 & 2: You have it?

3: You want it? Go get it!

He flings it into the river. (Is there a river in Moscow? I’d better find out.)

1 & 2 SCREAM and look over the railing.

2: It’s mine!
(He leaps over the railing.)
Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii….

1: (To 3:) You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have done that.

3: But that I did.

1 holds his nose, jumps over too.

3: Silly boys.

Leaves. Lights fade.

END OF PLAY.

March 17 Play: STREETLAMP NIGHT

2010-03-20T18:47:00.005-07:00

X: STREETLAMP NIGHT - by Ed Valentine
© March 17, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A Streetlamp. Foggy night. A Streetwalker and a John.

STREETWALKER: I can give you what you long for.

THE JOHN: Sex, you mean?

STREETWALKER: No. Well, yes, but –

THE JOHN: Pleasure.

STREETWALKER: No. More.

THE JOHN: Ecstasy? Fulfillment?

STREETWALKER: More, still.

THE JOHN: A whizz-bang evening?

STREETWALKER: Warm.

THE JOHN: A night I’ll never forget?

STREETWALKER: Warmer.

THE JOHN: What I’ve always wanted, always wanted in the end.

STREETWALKER: Maybe.

THE JOHN: The most intense physical expression I could ever hope to have?

STREETWALKER: Hot now.

THE JOHN: Then give it to me.

STREETWALKER: Give it to you?

THE JOHN: Give it to me. Now.

(She breaks his neck. Bends over his corpse. Drinks his blood.)

STREETWALKER: That’s what you want, Jack. Aren’t you the lucky boy!
(Her mouth is bloody.)
Who’s next?

(Grins out at us. Too many teeth.)

END OF PLAY.

March 16 Play: BULLFIGHT

2010-03-20T18:47:00.003-07:00

X: BULLFIGHT - by Ed Valentine
© March 16, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A BULL RING.

MATADOR:
I’m the Matador.
With my Spanish garters,
And my Spanish bows.
And look! My castanets.
And my sequins
And my derring-do.
When I enter the ring
I bring
My tarantella, my fandango, and my paso dobles.
I approach on tippy toe,
Then back away
I say
And forward march again.
I am the matador, always victorious.

VOICE OF THE BULL (from a tunnel):
Not. Always.

(The BULL emerges from a tunnel. Snorts.)

BULL:
Not always.
I am the bull
With burning eyes
And a hide whipped and pierced.
Christ would be ashamed.
My flanks steam
And my eyes roll.

MATADOR:
I am the Matador.

BULL:
I am the Bull.

MATADOR:
I am the Matador.

BULL:
I am the Bull.

MATADOR:
I am the Matador.

BULL:
And one of us will pierce the other.

MATADOR:
One of us will win.
(They strike poses.)
Ole!

(They lunge. Lights out before they connect.)

LIGHTS FADE. END OF PLAY.

March 15 Play: DON'T LOOK BACK

2010-03-20T18:47:00.001-07:00

X: DON’T LOOK BACK - by Ed Valentine
© March 15, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A FAMILY driving. Driving from the storm that’s chasing them, with all their belongings hastily strapped to the car.

MOM: It’s followed us. Do you hear me? It’s followed us.

1: From Maine to Mississippi.

2: From Florida to Georgia.

3: From California to Kentucky.

4: And back again. Isn’t that right, Daddy? I say, isn’t that right?

-

DAD: Don’t look back, kids.
Don’t look back.
We gotta outrace it sometime, kids.
Don’t we?
-
Don’t we.
-
We just drive on.
That’s all we can do.
We just drive on.

(The storm draws nearer.)

LIGHTS FADE. END OF PLAY.

March 14 Play: MEN ON THE MOON

2010-03-20T18:46:00.009-07:00

X: MEN ON THE MOON - by Ed Valentine
© March 14, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: 2 ASTRONAUTS on the Moon.

1: One small step for man. One giant leap for –

(A MOONMAN appears.)

MOONMAN: Go home! We don’t want you here!

1: Should we gas him?

2: How do you know it’s a him?

1: That hardly seems relevant right now.

MOONMAN: I said, GO HOME! We don’t want your kind. You are not welcome. Not welcome!

-

1: I say we gas ‘em.

2: Wait.

1: What?

2: Wait! She’s beautiful!

(2 and MOONMAN look at each other. 2 produces a blooming rose in a long glass tube.)

1: You brought roses?

2: I was going to plant them here.

1: Well, this is disgusting! I’m outta here.

(1 gets in his spaceship and blasts off.)

MOONMAN: I’m sorry about your friend. Not for my sake, for yours.

2: Aw, that’s ok. I’m not sorry. Not sorry at all.

MOONMAN: But you won’t be lonely. Wait till you meet my family!

2: Your family?

MOONMAN: They’re going to find you just delicious. Delicious.

(MANY OTHER ALIENS come out of nowhere, thousands of them, out of craters and caves and from under the moonsoil and everywhere. All sorts of places. They hold eating utensils.)

2: Wait. Wait. Wait.

(They advance.)

BLACKOUT. END OF PLAY.

March 13 Play: THE PRICE OF NEEDLES

2010-03-20T18:46:00.007-07:00

X: THE PRICE OF NEEDLES - by Ed Valentine
© March 13, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: 2 Pioneer Women. Sitting across from each other in rocking chairs. At some distance. They are sewing. They are in one enormous dress – like two dresses connected at the hem, so that the dress spans the expanse between them.

1: The price of needles has gone up.

2: What?

1: I said, the price of needles has gone up.

2: Oh. Yes, the weasels are nice. Yes, I put them in the coop.

1: You’re useless. And the price of needles is too dear.

2: That is clear, yes.

1: Between the cost of needles and thimbles and thread, I don’t know what we’ll do. Soon we’ll be eating the slop from the pigs. And then where will we be?

2: I’m hungry. Hungry!

1: Keep sewing, Sister. Sun’s almost down.

2: You loved a rodeo clown?

1: I said, KEEP SEWING.

2: You talk too loud.

Sun goes down. They sew. Lights out.

BLACKOUT.

March 12 Play: ANIMAL

2010-03-20T18:46:00.005-07:00

X: ANIMAL - by Ed Valentine
© March 12, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A giant animal carrier. Animal eyes inside it. Large. 2 kids.

1: Mom won’t let you keep him.

2: We’ll see about that.

1: How you gonna get her to let you?

(ANIMAL snorts.)

2: Somehow I don’t think she’ll have much choice.

1: I like it. I like how you think.

(The ANIMAL snarls and rattles in the cage. The children look on. They smile.)

END OF PLAY.

March 11

2010-03-20T18:46:00.003-07:00

March 10

2010-03-20T18:46:00.001-07:00

March 9

2010-03-20T18:45:00.011-07:00

March 8

2010-03-20T18:45:00.009-07:00

March 7

2010-03-20T18:45:00.007-07:00

March 6

2010-03-20T18:45:00.003-07:00

March 5

2010-03-20T18:45:00.001-07:00

March 4 Play: DANGEROUS FUGU

2010-03-04T18:40:00.001-08:00

63: DANGEROUS FUGU - by Ed Valentine
© March 4, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: The Japanese businessmen from the fugu play. The fish is even more dessicated. Now a 2nd businessman has keeled over, dead. (That makes two of them.)

A BUSINESSMAN: We’re still waiting. We’re still waiting for you. The fish is stinkier, and we didn’t think that was even possible. We’re reduced to eating it, though, and it’d dangerous. Dangerous fugu.

ANOTHER BUSINESSMAN: Won’t you please let us out? We beg of you!

A THIRD BUSINESSMAN: We are begging. BEGGING!

-

FIRST BUSINESSMAN: Ah, well. Back to the fugu.

They raises their forks to eat big forkfuls of fish. As the forks get to their lips…

BLACKOUT.

END OF PLAY.

March 3 Play: THE MIRROR AT THE ROOSEVELT HOTEL

2010-03-04T18:30:00.001-08:00

62: THE MIRROR AT THE ROOSEVELT HOTEL - by Ed Valentine
© March 3, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Something big, covered with a sheet. A WORKMAN and a MAN.

MAN: So that’s it?

WORKMAN: That’s what they say.

MAN: I was wondering where it was. This whole time, I’ve wandered around the hotel, wondering where it was. And here it is.

WORKMAN: ‘swhat I said.

MAN: And now you’re taking it away.

WORKMAN: Too many people only came here to see it. They hoped to get a look at her, figured they’d get a peek.

MAN: Right.

WORKMAN: Who can blame them, right? I mean, if I could get a peek at her I would. If I could get a poke at her, I would, you know what I mean?

MAN: I’m not here for that.

WORKMAN: Riiight. Anyway, I ain’t superstitious or anything. I think it’s a waste of time to get rid of it, but hey if it pays, it pays, right?

MAN: I just always wanted to see her. I always wished I could see her.

WORKMAN: Well give it a try, Mister!

(He whips the cloth off the object: it’s a big mirror with an ornate gilt frame.)

MAN: Oh.

WORKMAN: See? Just a mirror. A big mirror. But just a mirror. Disappointed, huh?
-
Well, they’re all disappointed.

MAN: I thought maybe she’d be there.

(WORKMAN covers the mirror with the sheet again.)

WORKMAN: I get it. I don’t believe in it, or nothing, but I get it. After hearing that she appears in the mirror, it’s hard to be happy when all you get is yourself. Hey, I gotta take a leak. Don’t touch anything.

MAN: I won’t.

WORKMAN leaves.
From far away: an echo of music from the 50’s, and a familiar voice singing a song.
Lights are strange.
MAN looks around.
Hesitates.
Descides: whips the sheet off.
MARILYN MONROE is in the mirror, ghostly, dancing in slow motion.
Perhaps she is in the dress from “The Seven Year Itch” and it’s billowing up around her.
Or perhaps another famous dress.

She beckons.

The MAN goes through the mirror.

MARILYN MONROE: I thought you’d never come, baby.

She kisses him. Music up: almost unbearable. Lights fade.

END OF PLAY.

March 2 Play: NECROMANCE

2010-03-04T18:17:00.001-08:00

61: NECROMANCE - by Ed Valentine
© March 2, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A WOMAN alone onstage.

WOMAN:
This is my body.

(She opens her body from the center. It opens like a church triptych. Inside, the woman is flayed open like an anatomical subject, like a dissected frog in biology class.

Her organs are visible. Perhaps in realistic texture and wet detail.

She regards her insides, almost scientifically. Almost. This cannot – and does not – hold.)

WOMAN (Continued):
This is my body, which will be given up for you.

This is my heart, which is still there, still beating,
A bird against a cage.

These are the ribs, which ache at the joints and heave, taking in, letting out, burning air. Taking in, letting out. Taking in, letting out. I took you in, I let you out. I took you in I let you out. Or perhaps, then, you took me.

-

This is my esophagus, working in tandem with my vocal cords to make such light sounds to woo you, and such guttural sounds to bed you – it might have been a barnyard! – and such broken sound to keep you. I should have saved my breath.

-

This is my spleen. If I could hold the bile in my hand, I would’ve flung the stinging mess at you.

-

This is my stomach, which seizes up like a fetus at the thought of you. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. Taking you in. Letting you out. Taking you in. Letting you out.

-

And this is my womb. Empty as the Hall of Mirrors now. You were there, or almost there once. And now you’re gone.

Taking you in. Letting you out.
Taking you in. Letting you out.
Taking you in. Letting you out.

This is my body, which was given up for you.

(She closes her body. Stands. Faces out, unblinking. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

Happy March!

2010-03-01T10:24:00.000-08:00

Well, I've been writing the plays... longhand as always. Just haven't been typing them in. (I blame the Olympics.) So I have a backlog, which I hope to (slowly) catch up on over the week.

In the meantime, I'm posting today's just to keep up to date. Please check back to see the last week's plays - I should have the rest of them posted in the next few days. Today marks the 60th short play I've written for 2010. And the beginning of the 3rd month of Daily Ed. Enjoy!

March 1 Play: SANDMAN

2010-03-01T09:54:00.005-08:00

60: SANDMAN - by Ed Valentine
© March 1, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A CHILD in a bed. Darkness around.

CHILD: Who's there?
-
Someone's there. I hear you breathing.
-
You can't fool me.

VOICE: No.

CHILD: So you are there.
-
That wasn't a question.

VOICE: No.

CHILD: And?

VOICE: I'm the Sandman.

CHILD: The Sandman.

VOICE: Come to take away your day.

CHILD: Oh.

VOICE: Don't be afraid.

CHILD: Now why would I be afraid.

VOICE: -

CHILD: Show yourself.

(SANDMAN steps into the light. Frightening.)

SANDMAN: -

CHILD: Still not frightened.

SANDMAN: You don't recognize me?
-
That wasn't a question.
Every night I sprinkle sand in your eyes and you forget.

CHILD: Forget what?

SANDMAN: Everything. Everything sad.
How you hurt your finger in the car.

CHILD: I did, I did!

SANDMAN: And how you got scared when you lost your mother in the market for a moment.

CHILD: You're right?

SANDMAN: And how you got scared when you thought for a moment that you might not always have your parents with you.

CHILD: How did you know?

SANDMAN: I know things.

CHILD: Okay.

SANDMAN: So - prepared to forget?

CHILD: Yes.
-
Wait! Just - wait.
-
What if I want to remember?
Just a bit of it?
What if I want to remember?

SANDMAN: Child, don't ask that.
If you ask that, then you are ready to stop forgetting.

CHILD: Oh.

(Sandman puts away the bag of sand, starts to leave.)

CHILD: Wait. Just. Can you just forget I asked?

SANDMAN: Forgetting's not my forte. I'm the one who can't forget.

CHILD: But I want to. Forget. For just a little longer.

SANDMAN: (looks around:)
Well. Yes, Child. Just this once.
Ready?

CHILD: Ready.

SANDMAN: Goodnight then.

CHILD: Goodnight.

(Sandman sprinkles glittering sand over the child, who reacts as if stung as the memories leave. Then falls back on the pillow, peaceful. Sandman shakes his head. Sand falls all over the stage. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

February 28 Play: LAST NIGHT OF THE OLYMPICS

2010-03-01T09:54:00.003-08:00

59: LAST NIGHT OF THE OLYMPICS - by Ed Valentine
© February 28, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: An empty stadium. 2 watching.

1: Was that –

2: No. He’ll be here soon.

1: Soon?

2: Yes, soon.

1: How do you know this?

2: You live long enough. You wait long enough, you’ll see him.

1: Are you sure?

2: Yes.

1: Are you sure you’re sure?

2: Shh.

1: What?

2: Shh?

(The sound of scraping. Skates on ice.)

-

1: Is that -

2: Just listen. Listen and watch.

(A ghostly SKATER comes by, in a ghostly light. Determined panting. Old-fashioned clothing. Skates off.)

2: He’s still searching for a medal.

1: Poor man. Poor man!

2: I don’t know. I don’t know he would’ve wanted to be anything else. Ever.

(They get up.)

1: Four years then?

2: Yes. See you in four years.

(They go separate ways. 1 lingers behind 2’s exit for just a moment. Looks at the empty ice. Exits. Lights snap out.)

END OF PLAY.

February 27 Play: TBD

2010-03-01T09:54:00.001-08:00

58: Coming soon!

February 26 Play: TBD

2010-03-01T09:53:00.005-08:00

57: Coming soon!

February 25 Play: TBD

2010-03-01T09:53:00.003-08:00

56: Coming soon!

February 24 Play: TBD

2010-03-01T09:53:00.001-08:00

55: Coming soon!

February 23 Play: TBD

2010-03-01T09:52:00.003-08:00

54: Coming soon!

February 22 Play: SAFE HOUSE

2010-03-01T09:52:00.001-08:00

53: SAFE HOUSE - by Ed Valentine
© February 22, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A MOTHER. A FATHER. Behind them, a house.

Perhaps the Father enters. Perhaps the Mother stands, smoking.

MOTHER: Don’t go in there.

FATHER: In there?

MOTHER: I said don’t.

FATHER: It’s my house. It’s my own goddamned house.

(Stands to block him.)

MOTHER: You’ll only regret it.

FATHER: Are the children safe?

MOTHER:
-
They are now.

(Through the window, flames become visible.
Smoke.
Father falls to his knees.
Sirens.
Lights out.)

END OF PLAY.

Beautifully Written Olympic Post

2010-02-26T10:34:00.001-08:00

Are these Games cursed? Read this from Gawker.

Everyone's New Favorite Olympian

2010-02-26T10:04:00.000-08:00

Meet Odd-Bjorn Hjelmeset.

February 21 Play: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 3, or: ST. CHISTOPHER

2010-02-22T02:01:00.001-08:00

NOTE: This one's a little long, but I like it. You remember the story of the female astronaut who drove across the country to kill her lover (or maybe to kill his new girlfriend)? This is loosely based on that sad tale. Stir in the St. Christopher statue my grandfather kept on his dashboard and what do you get? This play. Hope you enjoy it. There are two other "Afterlives" plays from... how weird! Exactly one month ago: JAN 21 and JAN 23.

52: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 3, or: ST. CHRISTOPHER - by Ed Valentine
© February 21, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: RAIN sound. A car. A LADY ASTRONAUT, grim, gripping the wheel. A country song plays on the car radio. Then: THUNDER. The woman swerves, the car skids. She keeps driving. Lights flicker. Go out. When they come back up: a SAINT WITH THE HEAD OF A DOG in the backseat. (The face: a hound of some sort. Jowly. Beagle? Basset? A hound.)

SAINT: I saved you.

WOMAN: No you didn’t.

SAINT: Just now! Yes. Yes I did. I’m Saint Christopher. Patron saint of travelers.

LADY ASTRONAUT: I remember St. Christopher. My Granpa used to have a St. Christopher statue on his dashboard of his old Dodge Dart.

SAINT: I’m – what can I say? Flattered.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Granpa died in a car crash.

SAINT: Oh.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Decapitated.

SAINT: So was I! Eventually.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Eventually?

SAINT: It took a few tries. Saints are hard to kill.

LADY ASTRONAUT: So are grandfathers. He was a tough old bird.

SAINT: I imagine. You could just pull over. We could talk about this.

LADY ASTRONAUT: I’m not pulling over.

SAINT: Just for a minute.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Not even for a minute. Not even for a second. I’m wearing diapers.

SAINT: So –

LADY ASTRONAUT: So I never have to stop.

SAINT: Oh.
(Sniffs.)
That explains a lot.

LADY ASTRONAUT: So why do you have a dog face? Granpa’s St. Christopher statue didn’t have a dog face.

SAINT: No, I imagine it didn’t. In Eastern art I’m sometimes but not always depicted as having a dog’s face. No one knows why.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Do you know why?

SAINT: Well, yes. It’s because I had the face of a dog.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Makes sense. What are you doing here?

SAINT: I told you: Patron Saint of Travelers. I came to protect you.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Nothing can protect me.

SAINT: Dissuade you, then?

LADY ASTRONAUT: Nothing can dissuade me.
(She pulls out a gun from below the dashboard. Cocks it.)
Nothing. He left me, but it was her fault. She was driving the truck that rear-ended my life. She was driving the tractor-trailor that jackknifed my heart.

SAINT: Still – a gun?

LADY ASTRONAUT: It’s all her fault, and she’s a gonna pay. And me? Now I carry a payload the weight of the whole world.

(Silence. She drives.)

SAINT: When I was a young man, I had to cross a river.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Which one?

SAINT: I forget. I was about to cross, when I saw a little baby on the shore. “Oh Saint Christopher,” he asked. “Please St. Christopher, help me get across the river!”

LADY ASTRONAUT: A talking baby?

SAINT: Yes.

LADY ASTRONAUT: And he called you Saint Christopher?

SAINT: Yes.

LADY ASTRONAUT: You weren’t a saint yet.

SAINT: What I was, was a giant! 12 cubits – 18 feet – tall. And so I picked up the baby in my arms and started across the river.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Where’s this going?

SAINT: Just listen. So I started across the river, and as I did the baby grew heavy in my arms, heavy, heavy, SO heavy that I could barely carry him. And the waves washed over us, and it was all I could do to keep him above the water.

(Pause. Sound of rain.)

LADY ASTRONAUT: Go on.

SAINT: Just remembering. But I did it. I got to the other side. I got HIM to the other side. And as I lay, wet and panting on the grass of the bank, I told him, I told the baby: "You have put me in the greatest danger. I do not think the whole world could have been as heavy on my shoulders as you were." And the baby looked up at me and said: "You had on your shoulders not only the whole world but Him who made it. I am Baby Jesus, whom you are serving by this work." And you know what happened then? POOF! The baby vanished.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Baby Jesus.

SAINT: Yes.

LADY ASTRONAUT: The baby was Baby Jesus.

SAINT: Yes.

LADY ASTRONAUT: You’d think Baby Jesus could make his own way across the river, don’t you? Being Jesus and all?

SAINT: Oh well. I was happy to help. Say, why don’t you just –

LADY ASTRONAUT: Don’t ask me.

SAINT: You could just –

LADY ASTRONAUT: Nope.

SAINT: Turn the car around?

LADY ASTRONAUT: No.

SAINT: You’ve seen the moon and the stars up close! Like me! The sky is beautiful – isn't that enough.

LADY ASTRONAUT: No.

SAINT: You don’t need to do this. Trust me.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Trust you?

SAINT: Yes.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Trust YOU? Sure. It’s all a lie anyway.

SAINT: What is?

LADY ASTRONAUT: ALL OF IT. The story. The baby. Your 12 or 18 cubits. Your saggy doggy face.

SAINT: I won’t sit still for –

LADY ASTRONAUT: You don’t exist, ok? The Church denied your existence in 1969. Said you were nothing but a myth.

SAINT: It’s not –

LADY ASTRONAUT: A MYTH, OK? YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A GODDAMNED STORY. YOU CAN’T PROTECT ME OR ANY TRAVELER.

SAINT: -

LADY ASTRONAUT: I’m sorry to tell you but it’s true. The church washed its holy hands of you in 1969. My Granpa was so disgusted he took away the statue of you from his dashboard. And he left the Church. And now I’m gonna drive to Tucson and blow my husband’s lover’s damn fool head off. And no dog-faced-saint can stop me. Goddamn. Goddamn.

SAINT: -
One question?

LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes.

SAINT: Your granpa threw the statue away.

LADY ASTRONAUT: That's what I said.

SAINT: So his statue wasn’t in the car when he crashed? When he was –

LADY ASTRONAUT: Decapitated?

SAINT: Right.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Well. No.

SAINT: Pity that. Maybe I could have helped him. If he’d only thought to ask.

LADY ASTRONAUT: We have to ask?

SAINT: We like to be asked. Like dogs, we come when called. Otherwise, we sit and beg or lie sleeping, our legs kicking in a holy dream of fetch and catch. What did you do with the statue?

LADY ASTRONAUT: Huh.

SAINT: What?

LADY ASTRONAUT: Funny.

SAINT: What?

LADY ASTRONAUT: I took it.

SAINT: After he threw it away?

LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes. Took it out of the trashcan in his bathroom. Kept it for myself.

SAINT: And where is it now?

LADY ASTRONAUT: Take the wheel for a sec, will you?

SAINT: My pleasure.
(He reaches over, takes it. She rummages around in the glove compartment. Produces a St. Christopher statue.)

LADY ASTRONAUT: Here.

SAINT: That’s.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Here.

SAINT: That’s.

LADY ASTRONAUT: You. Him. You.

SAINT: Me. They did a nice job with the face, don’t you think? Dashing. That dimple!

LADY ASTRONAUT: I’ll take over, thanks.

SAINT: Don’t mention it.

(She puts the statue on the dashboard. He relinquishes the wheel. She drives. She is somehow calmer.)

LADY ASTRONAUT: That why you came?

SAINT: The statue?

LADY ASTRONAUT: That why you came to me? You saw it here?

SAINT: Maybe. More like – I don’t know. Felt it. heard it.

LADY ASTRONAUT: Heard it?

SAINT: Like dogs, we saints can hear sounds beyond human range of frequency. You still going to Tucson?

LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes.

SAINT: Really.

LADY ASTRONAUT: -
Yes.

SAINT: Really?

LADY ASTRONAUT (Wavering)
I don’t know.
(Hard:)
Yes.
I started out to do it. I gotta finish what I start. Gotta drive forward on the road I planned. That’s the only way to do things. Right?
(Tears are streaming down her face.)

SAINT: Maybe. Or you can turn the car around.

LADY ASTRONAUT: -

SAINT: (Softly:) Or, there’s a Denny’s up ahead. We could stop at Denny’s. You like that? Breakfast?

LADY ASTRONAUT: (Nods.)

SAINT: Yeah. I’d like that too.
(Scratches behind his ear, like a dog.)
Look!

LADY ASTRONAUT: What?

SAINT: The rain stopped.
Sun’s come out.
It’s a brand new day.
Denny’s?

LADY ASTRONAUT: Just for a minute.

SAINT: Okay.

(Sun rises. Day lights up the ASTRONAUT'S face. She blinks, looking forward. Lights very slowly fade.)

END OF PLAY.

February 20 Play: NIGHT IN THE WEST

2010-02-20T17:38:00.000-08:00

51: NIGHT IN THE WEST - by Ed Valentine
© February 20, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: The West. Again. A campfire. Blue night. A couple of stars, not too many. 2 lanterns. 2 wizened cowboys: DOUBLE-D and POKEY.

DOUBLE-D: It comes in the darkness. When the darkness comes down.

POKEY: An’ what does it look like?

DOUBLE-D: No one knows. No ones’ never seen it and lived.

POKEY: P’shaw I say.

DOUBLE-D: Don’t say p’shaw.

POKEY: P’shaw I say and I’ll say it agin.
P’shaw. P’shaw! You’re just trying to scare me.

DOUBLE-D: Am I?

POKEY: Sure you are. You’re always just trying to scare me

DOUBLE-D: Maybe there’s enough to be scared of. It’s a big scary world.

POKEY: Well, I may be stupid, but I ain’t that stupid. I’m leaving.

(DOUBLE-D stomps out the fire.)

POKEY: What’d you go and do that fer?

DOUBLE-D: We’ll see now who’s just trying to scare who. We’ll see now.

(They’re only lit by a lantern each.)

POKEY: That ain’t fair! That ain’t fair!

(A pause. DOUBLE-D’s lantern goes out.)

POKEY: Double-D? Double-D? I’m scared. You hear me? I’m scared.

(A wolf howls. POKEY looks around, sweaty. Terrified. His light goes out.)

END OF PLAY.

NOTE: Pokey and Double-D were characters in "Cowboy Kabuki," which I performed as a puppet piece recently with puppet playlist. I enjoyed bringing them back, and playing with the idea of lght and darkness in the play -as well, of course, as the idea of the Unseen Other, just outside the circle of light. What are they waiting for? What's happening? It may be up to you to decide. I just wrote this thing - you don't expect me to have all the answers, now, do you?

February 19 Play: JAZZ IN FURS

2010-02-20T16:37:00.001-08:00

50: JAZZ IN FURS - by Ed Valentine
© February 19, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A JAZZ SINGER in a spotlight. Great outfit. Probably a fur. An old-fashioned microphone on a stand.

Sound of applause.
Then applause dies down.

She sings.

JAZZ SINGER:
I’m changing!
I feel myself changing.
And what’s so queer, dear,
Is that I’m hear, dear,
Watching myself changing too.

I’m changing.
My cells are rearranging.
And what I fear, dear,
Is that you’re near, dear,
And I’m afraid of what else I might do.

(She slowly becomes a wolf.)

Don’t say I haven’t told you
What happens when I hold you.
Don’t say there wasn’t warning
That you might not make the morning.
There’s never enough time enough time enough time enough time!
So…

Now I am changing
Such a goddamned strange thing
So don’t stay here, dear
Please do keep clear, dear!
I have no resistance
And it’s not just at a distance –
That I can take in you!
I’d like to take in you.

Like to take in all… of… you!

(Her transformation complete, she howls at the moon. Lights out.)

END OF PLAY.

NOTE: The new WOLFMAN movie's come out, with Benicio Del Toro in it. I haven't seen it yet, but the wolfman was on my mind. And Ella Fitzgerald was on the radio at the Casbah Cafe while I was trying to write this, so... there you go.

February 18 Play: BUYING SLEEPING BEAUTY

2010-02-20T16:27:00.000-08:00

49: BUYING SLEEPING BEAUTY - by Ed Valentine
© February 18, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: SLEEPING BEAUTY, asleep in a glass coffin. Her chest lightly moving.

A CARNY BARKER on a small podium by her.

BARKER:
Selling tickets!
Come one, come all!
See the Sleeping Beauty, See the Sleeping Beauty!
The likes of her you’ve never seen in your Natural Born Life!

(A well-dressed woman and her SON enter.)

SON: She’s beautiful.

MOTHER: But asleep.

SON: She’s the girl of my dreams.

MOTHER: She’s the girl of HER dreams, that’s for sure.

SON: When she dreams, I bet she dreams of castles. And carriages. And doves.

MOTHER: When she dreams, I bet she dreams of dreaming. She dreasm she’s asleep, dreaming of herself dreaming. The soul of narcissism, in my opinion.

SON: She’s the one for me.

MOTHER: If that’s how you like them.

SON: She’s the one for me.

MOTHER: It’ll never go anywhere.

SON: She’s the one for me.

MOTHER: What will people say?

SON: Mother.

-

MOTHER: You’ve worn me down. (CALLING TO BARKER:) Mister? I’ll buy her, glass coffin and all.
(Hands BARKER a wad of bills.)

BARKER: Why, thank you! Thank you, Ma’am! Now I can retire to Boca Raton! WHoo-hoo!

(He cheers and runs off. The pair are alone with the casket. SON touches the casket.)

SON: Thank you, Mother.
Thank you very much.

(Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

February 17 Play: BURNING QUESTIONS

2010-02-20T16:17:00.000-08:00

48: BURNING QUESTIONS - by Ed Valentine
© February 17, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: 2 in a room full of books. They kneel, holding one book together.

1: This. It’s the one.

2: The one?

1: Out of all of these. Out of all the many: one.

2: And it has all the answers? The answers to everything?

1: Yes.

2: What’s our purpose? Why do we die? Is Bigfoot real? Is there a God?

1: Yes.

2: Why are people evil?

1: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

2: Who put the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s chowder?

(Beat.)

1: I love that song!

(Together, they sing the song.

BOTH:
Oh, who threw the overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder
Nobody spoke, so he shouted all the louder
It's an Irish trick that's true
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder.

(louder:)
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder!

(louder! marching and banging books like drums.)
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder!

(They subside.)

2: Open it, open it!

1: It’s time, it’s time!
(He does.)
It’s empty.

2: Empty?

1: Stupid book.

(he lights a lighter. Burns the book. A thunderclap. Something has gone wrong.)

(Papers fall from the sky around them. They look up. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

February 16 Play: QUARTET

2010-02-17T21:15:00.001-08:00

47: QUARTET - by Ed Valentine
© February 16, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A stage in a concert hall. The QUARTET enters, as if to begin a concert. Applause. They sit. They look, and breathe. Raise their instruments.

Suddenly:

VIOLA: Wait.
-
Wait. I can’t go on.

FIRST VIOLIN: Don’t.

VIOLA: Don’t tell me don’t. I’m telling you, I said it, I can’t.

(Starts to gather her music.)

SECOND VIOLIN: They’re paying customers!

VIOLA: (glaring at CELLO) Tell HIM to pay them, then. From his lockbox of a heart.

(VIOLA walks off, through the center aisle.)

(A terrible pause.)

FIRST VIOLIN: We’re - sorry. We’re very.

SECOND VIOLIN: Sorry.

FIRST VIOLIN (TO CELLO): This is all your fault.

(Apologetically, embarrassed, FIRST VIOLIN and SECOND VIOLIN go to walk off into the wings.)

SECOND VIOLIN: (To CELLO) You coming?

(CELLO, without a word, begins to play. Alone in the light. FIRST VIOLIN and SECOND VIOLIN watch from the wings. Lights only on CELLO. CELLO only hearing the music. Spill of lights on the others in the wings. Music ends.

VIOLA enters in the center aisle. Waits. Watches. Listens. Hears.

Lights fade.

END OF PLAY.

February 15 Play: SUPER BOWL

2010-02-17T21:12:00.001-08:00

46: SUPER BOWL - by Ed Valentine
© February 15, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

IN THE DARKNESS: A glowing television. Sixteen men around it, watching. Nothing is on the TV: just a blank screen. WIFE comes home. Turns on hallway light.

MEN: Aah!

WOMAN: Jimmy?

JIMMY: Turn it off, turn it off!

(She does. Then steps into the light of the TV.)

WIFE: Jim, what’s going on?

JIMMY: We’re watching the game.

WIFE: There’s nothing on.

JIMMY: That’s ridiculous.

WIFE: There’s nothing on.

JIMMY: Don’t you see it?

WIFE: There’s nothing on.

JIMMY: That’s what you think.

(Pause. All the men react as if to something they saw on a sports game on the TV.)

MEN: SCORE!

(They hi-five.)

JIMMY: Are there wings in the fridge?

WIFE: -
I guess so.
-
You want me to get them?

JIMMY: That’d be great, honey.
Just great.

(The men drink beers. Wife turns out the hallway light. Exits past the TV. The men drink beers in unison.)

MEN: Beers.

(Lights snap out.)

END OF PLAY.

February 14 Play: HEART OF THE HOME

2010-02-17T21:11:00.000-08:00

45: HEART OF THE HOME - by Ed Valentine
© February 14, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A door. A beating sound. Increases through the play. FRED has an axe. JOAN behind him.

JOAN: We shouldn’t.

FRED: We should.

JOAN: It couldn’t be.

FRED: It could!

JOAN: But we were told not to!

FRED: Nonetheless. We can’t live here with that.

JOAN: No. We can’t.

FRED: We’ll never have a moment’s peace.

JOAN: Never never.

FRED: Well then! Be brave, be bold!

JOAN: I am.
-
Do you think I’m not?

FRED: No!

JOAN: No, you don’t think I am brave? Or no, you don’t think I’m not?

FRED: Hush!

JOAN: Okay. I’m scared.

FRED: Me too.

(They join hands. He shoulders the axe. They open the door. We see a giant heart, wet and red, jammed inside a small space. The 2 sink to their knees.)

JOAN: Poor thing. It was there all along.

FRED: I wonder.

JOAN: What?

FRED: I wonder what it wants?

(The heart thumps. They watch it. Lights fade. Red glow.)

END OF PLAY.

February 13 Play: REUNION

2010-02-17T21:08:00.001-08:00

44: REUNION - by Ed Valentine
© February 13, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A large long table. Many Victorian relatives already eating. Whispering, rustling, A MAN walks in: modern dress. They all stop, food to mouths. Stare at him.)

MAN: Hello?

WOMAN: You’ve come back. You’ve come back to us.

MAN: I don’t know you.

WOMAN: Oh yes. Yes you do.
You’re us.

MAN: I am not.

WOMAN: You’re hungry like us.
You’re perplexed like we are.
You’re us.
Sit down and eat.

(He does. Stares out. The RELATIVES all go back to whispering, staring, looking, pointing at him.)

END OF PLAY.

February 12 Play: ICE FLOE

2010-02-17T21:05:00.000-08:00

43: ICE FLOE - by Ed Valentine
© February 12, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: An ice floe. A woman with flowers. Another with knitting.

KNITTING: This was the place, then?

FLOWERS: This very hole.

KNITTING: Yes, but. But how can you be sure, you know? One hole is very like another. A hole is just a hole. A void. A zed.

FLOWERS: I know.

KNITTING: Still. This was the place, you think.

FLOWERS: I know.

KNITTING: Well, then.
-
He’s not coming back, you know.

FLOWERS: You didn’t need to say that.
(throws flowers in the hole)
Let’s go home.

(They don’t move. A long time watching the hole.)

Lights fade.

END OF PLAY.

February 11 Play: RIGMAROLE

2010-02-11T07:18:00.000-08:00

42: RIGMAROLE - by Ed Valentine
© February 11, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

IN DARKNESS: BANG! A gunshot. Then a terrible thud.

LIGHTS UP: HAROLD stands, with smoking gun. WALLACE kneels by a dead horse, a bullet hole black in her forehead.

WALLACE: She didn’t deserve that! Why? Why would you -

HAROLD: Didn’t do it for her.
Did it for you.
Ma asks, I’ll tell her your horse broke her leg so it was a mercy killing.
And it was.
-
What you’re doing is unnatural. You hear?
Un. Natural.

WALLACE: Shit. You don't care about that.

HAROLD: Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe best way to get at you, Wallace. Best way to get at you.
Come on now, let’s bury her.

WALLACE: My poor Rigmarole.
My poor Rolly.
My poor poor Roll.

WALLACE cradles the horse. Pieta. Harold’s gun still smokes. The smoke rises in the light.

Lights out.

END OF PLAY.

February 10 Play: GIRL IN RED

2010-02-10T19:16:00.001-08:00

41: GIRL IN RED - by Ed Valentine
© February 10, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Two men walking in the blinding snow. Through the snow, A GIRL IN RED appears. Then disappears.

1: Did you see that?

2: What?

1: That girl. That girl in red.

2: No.

1: You must have seen her! She was in bright red. Right there.

2: You’re crazy. How can you see anything in this snow?

(The GIRL appears somewhere else. Disappears.)

1: There! There again!

2: You’re mad, you know. Let’s just get home.
(Trudges on.)
Are you coming?

(1 stands transfixed. The GIRL in red appears somewhere, maybe in the audience. 2 does not see.)

1: No, you go on. I’m following something else.

2: Suit yourself. It’s cold!
(He goes on, and exits.)

1: I found you in the snow.

(GIRL beckons. 1 follows her. Lights fade. Snow falls.)

END OF PLAY.

February 9 Play: REMOTE, OR: AFTER IBSEN

2010-02-09T15:06:00.001-08:00

40: REMOTE, OR: AFTER IBSEN - by Ed Valentine
© February 9, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: a tiny square of an apartment. A MAN flipping channels. The room is mostly lit by the glow of the TV. He’s gotten enormous, and it’s as if he’s become part of the couch. As if couch and man are melding together. Meanwhile, SHE is picking up the mess all around the room, putting the garbage and dirty laundry into a laundry basket. Sound from TV. Lights from TV. She finally pauses.

SHE: Something has to be done.
Did you hear me?
I said, something has to be done.

HE: Then do something.

SHE: Yes?

HE: Then do something.

(SHE thinks, perplexed. Then the light dawns. With great relief:)

SHE: Yes. I will.

(She dumps out the box on the floor. Leaves the house through the front door.
Slam.
He sits for a while. Then stops flipping channels.
To the remote:)

HE: It’s better this way.

(Goes back to flipping channels. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

February 8 Play: TEA LEAF READER

2010-02-09T14:30:00.000-08:00

39: TEA LEAF READER - by Ed Valentine
© February 8, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Two at a dining table. Drinking from teacups. The mood is very light.

1: My grandmother taught me to read tea leaves.

2: What do mine say?

1: Oh, I haven’t done it for years.

2: Try, try!

1: Well –

2: Go on.

1: Well then: alright.
-
I’m embarrassed.

2: Go on!

1: Well then!
(Focuses. Reads leaves.)
Well then.
(Focuses. Puts the cup down. Looks at 2.)
Well.

2: What? What do they say?

1: -
Let’s just have our tea.

(They sit a long time, both very unsettled. For very different reasons.)

END OF PLAY.

February 7 Play: THE BEST BREAD

2010-02-09T14:24:00.000-08:00

38: THE BEST BREAD - by Ed Valentine
© February 7, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A BAKER in a flour-covered apron. A POOR CUSTOMER in burlap stands across the counter. Baker holds a rustic loaf of bread.

POOR CUSTOMER: What’s that?

BAKER: It’s bread.

POOR CUSTOMER: Is it good bread?

BAKER: The best bread. Baked most lovingly, tenderly. It was born just this morning, just a little lump of yeasty dough, until I popped him in the oven and let him grow. See? The light crust is his skin. See? The raisins are his eyes.

POOR CUSTOMER: I’ll take it!
(Bites into the loaf.)
OW!

BAKER: He bites back.
He bites back.

(POOR CUSTOMER sinks to ground. Spits out teeth. BAKER watches.)

END OF PLAY.

February 6 Play: THE SKY SHOW

2010-02-09T14:22:00.003-08:00

37: THE SKY SHOW - by Ed Valentine
© February 6, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: YOU SIT IN THE PLANETARIUM. THE LIGHTS GO DOWN.

VOICE:
Please take your seats as we take you on an amazing journey through the known universe.

(MUSIC.)

The sky is filled with stars.

(STARS COME OUT.)

And the stars are just gas. They don’t twinkle. You can’t wish on them. Their twinkling is an illusion.

(WE DRAW CLOSER TO THE STARS.)

In fact, they themselves may be an illusion.

(A COMET BLAZES BY. SOUND OF WIND.)

Some of them are dead. Some of them are dead, and we don’t know it. We do not know what we see.

(THE STARS TURN COLD AND BLUE. WE START TO PULL AWAY FROM THEM INTO THE BLACKNESS OF THE SKY.)

And cannot trust our eyes. This is why science is useless. Because no one knows anything. Yeah, I miss the days I could believe in twinkling, too – or the days when I could believe in them as wishing stars.

(THE STARS ARE VERY FAR AWAY.)

But not anymore. Not anymore.

(CONSTELLATIONS APPEAR. A SOUND OF WIND, THE CONSTELLATIONS BLOW AWAY ONE BY ONE.)

The world has no more room for dreamers, and wishers, and wishing stars.

(WE STOP MOVING OUT, AND MOVE TOWARDS THE STARSS.)

But – still. I wish on them. I do. I do.

(WE MOVE IN.)

Maybe you can wish on one, too.

(MOVE IN.)

Maybe this one.

(SOMEONE POINTS AT ONE PARTICULAR STAR WITH A RED LASER POINTER.)

Or pick one you like, really. Any one will do.

-

There. That one.

Thank you for coming to the sky show. And please exit to the left.

(LIGHTS RISE ON AUDIENCE.)

END OF PLAY.

February 5 Play: HOTEL HOLLYWOOD

2010-02-09T14:22:00.001-08:00

36: HOTEL HOLLYWOOD - by Ed Valentine
© February 5, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A BELLHOP with bags. 1940’s clothing. Dark corridor behind him.

BELLHOP:
Right this way.

(He begins to walk.)

She walks down the hallway,
Following right behind him.

He’s smart enough not to make small talk. He knows who she is, of course.
Everybody knows who she is.

If he’s surprised that she came back here, to the place where –
Well, he doesn’t show it.

He knows the story, of course. What happened in Room 1607.
Everyone knows the story. That’s why they come here, most of ‘em.
And many of ‘em ask for Room 1607. That’s why that room’s blocked off.

Partly why. There are other reasons.
1607.
And she’s asked for that room, and it’s not in use.
So she asked for the room next door.

She follows him down the hallway.

1601.
He can feel the air crackle.

1602.
He can hear her breathing.

1603.
He can hear her heels hitting the carpet.

1604?
Silence.

1605.
Silence.

1606.

Then 1607.
Room 1607.

He knows she’s fallen behind him.

In the reflection of the doorknob
(we do keep ‘em shiny at Hotel Hollywood)
He can see her give a light little touch to the doorknob of 1607.

He walks on.
He fumbles with the bags for a moment.
He is not a clumsy man.
This gives her a moment more,
Just a moment more.

And then: a choice: what to do know?
He decides.
With not a trace of sympathy nor knowledge,
He’s just…
A Bellhop, after all, a young buck in Hollywood, a know-nothing.
He says,

“Your room, Miss.”

Not “Ma’am,” but “Miss.”

And from behind her sunglass mask
She says
“Thank you.”

She passes him and enters the room
A smudge of dark glasses, fur, and perfume –
Then shuts the door.

She’s gone.

But before she does, she hands him a fifty.
A fifty!

(He shows the bill.)

The biggest tip he ever got.

-

And he’ll never spend it.

-

(Snaps out of it. Produces keys.)

Your room, Miss.

(He looks at you. Indicates room. Lights burn out slowly.)

END OF PLAY.

February 4 Play: THE NEGLECTED BUSINESSMEN

2010-02-04T07:08:00.001-08:00

35: THE NEGLECTED BUSINESSMEN - by Ed Valentine
© February 4, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Four Japanese businessmen around a restaurant table. Bones of a big ugly fish on a platter. A fifth businessman slumped over, dead.

BUSINESSMAN 4: Hey! We’re from that play you never typed in. We’ve been sitting here. Doing nothing.

BUSINESSMAN 3: Like so many failures, may I add.

BUSINESSMAN 2: Dishonor!

BUSINESSMAN 1: We can never go home. And this fish stinks.

BUSINESSMAN 4: There’s a saying in our town: “Never eat day-old sushi.” You’ve made us into day-old sushi.

ALL 4: Let us live!

BUSINESSMAN 4: Sincerely: The Corporation.

(They bow. Stare out. Lights out.)

END OF PLAY.

February 3 Play: TRICK OR TREAT

2010-02-04T07:03:00.001-08:00

34: TRICK OR TREAT - by Ed Valentine
© February 3, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A doorway. In front of it, three kids (?) dressed, respectively, as a WITCH, a GHOST, and a MUMMY. They face the doorway. We don’t see their faces.

The WITCH rings the doorbell. A suburban WOMAN opens the door.

WOMAN: Yes?
Look at you three! Isn’t that.
-
You’re a little early for Halloween, aren’t you?
-
It’s February 3rd.
-
It’s February 3rd.

(The three do not say anything. The WOMAN does not close the door. Long, uncomfortable silence. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

February 2 Play: LAST CALL AT FRANK'S

2010-02-04T06:54:00.000-08:00

33: LAST CALL AT FRANK'S - by Ed Valentine
© February 2, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Two MEN at a bar. Both tipsy. Empty glasses in front of them. MAN 2 putting on his coat.

BARTENDER (OS): Last call.

1: One more for the road?

2: Well.

1: Come on.

2: I shouldn’t.

1: Come on.

2: Okay, okay, twist my arm.

(2 takes off his coat. 1 signals “two more” to the OS bartender.)

1: I drive better with five in me anyway. Way better than with 4.

2: Me too!

1: And 3? Forget it. But after five, I can drive again. Really well.

(A bottle walks by. Or flies in. If it flies in, it has wings. In any case, 2 notices, 1 doesn’t. Bottle exits.)

With six I can drive pretty good, not as good as five. Seven, well, I’ve tried it. Been stopped a buncha times.

(A number of bottles walk by or fly in. 2 notices, 1 doesn’t. Bottles exit.)

They never take me in. Cops know me. I donate to the Police Athletic League.

(Stripper music, lurid lights. A big bottle saunters past and off. 2 notices, not 1.)

Still I stick to five. It’s safer. Five’s my limit.

(BARTENDER gives them drinks.)

Thanks, Frank.

2: Is that Five?

1: Round there.
(Raises glass.)
Here’s to ya!

(2 goes to raise his glass. Puts it down.)

2: I think I’m calling it. Safe home, Joe.

1: Safe home?
-
Jeez.

(Shakes his head. Drinks.)

(2 puts on coat. Stands, unsteadily. Walks upstage. Stands in a doorway light for a moment. Outside the ‘doorway,’ snow begins to fall. 2 shivers. Goes out into the night. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

February 1 Play: ENGLISH ROSE

2010-02-04T06:37:00.001-08:00

32: ENGLISH ROSE - by Ed Valentine
© February 1, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: On table, a rose-covered teacup, a London paper, and a rose in a flowerpot. Maybe the tablecloth and the wallpaper behind them are covered with roses as well. A MAN stands by the table with a watering can. He waters the rose. The ROSE opens. She has a beautiful face. They are middle-aged, middle-class Londoners.

ROSE: Aah!

MAN: Good morning.

ROSE: Good morning to you, luv!

MAN: You say the sweetest things.

ROSE: Ooh! I can feel the cold water trickle down my stem, past my roots –

MAN: More?

ROSE: Thanks, soaking my soil and filling up my xylem and phloem, running through my long green veins to every corner of my blushing beauty. Aah!

(She extends her leaves, opens a little wider.)

MAN: Good, then?

ROSE: Thanks.

MAN: Right.

(He sits with tea, reads paper. She tries to lean over to read the paper. Can’t.)

ROSE: Anything new, luv?

MAN: Manchester lost. Liverpool won. The market’s up. Then down. Then up.

ROSE: Oh.

MAN: And a war started.

ROSE: Where?

MAN: Everywhere.
-
Nothing new.

ROSE: Things have changed between us, Martin.

MAN: Mmm?
(He never looks up from his paper.)

ROSE: Things have changed between us. Don’t you feel things have changed?

MAN: I don’t know why you’d say that. Everything’s the same as it ever was. Nothing’s changed. Nothing will change. We go on and on and on, muddling through. Doing the best we can. Trying not to hurt. More water?

ROSE: No, thanks.
(She sags a little. Then brightens.)
Well, I think we can do better.

MAN: Mm?

ROSE: I said, I think we can do better. Let’s find a place in the country. A place with air and sun and grass –

MAN: Expensive.

ROSE: That’s all I want. A little place with land.

MAN: The only place with land we’ll have is a 6 by 4 by 6 plot someday.
(She is very sad. He notices.)
Unless the market picks up.
The market might well pick up yet.
(Closes paper.)
A place with land? Yes, perhaps.

ROSE: Good then! Yes, perhaps.

(He goes back to his paper.)

MAN: Right, then.

ROSE: Water me?
-
More water?

(They sit. She looks out. He looks at his paper.)

END OF PLAY.

January 31 Play: A SCISSORING

2010-01-31T21:22:00.001-08:00

31: A SCISSORING - by Ed Valentine
© January 31, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS LOW:
A room.
HE sneaks in the door.
Knocks over a plant.
Sets it back on the table quietly.
He’s gotten away with it.
-
Then SHE switches on the light. She’s standing silhouetted in the bedroom doorway.
We do not see her face.

HE:
-
Did I wake you?

SHE: I was awake.
-
The scissors.
You left the scissors out.
-

HE: Look, I –

SHE: I asked you not to do that.
You left them out and I could hear them
scissoring away.

HE: I –

SHE: Don’t.

HE: Honey, I –

SHE: Don’t.
-
I’m going to bed.
(Turns light out. In darkness:)
It’s up to you to find them.
They’re somewhere in the house.

(Silence.)

HE: Honey? Honey, are you –
?
(He can’t tell if she’s there or not. Decides ‘no.’ Shakes it off.)
Scissors: ridiculous.

(Then, a scissoring noise.
It rises all around him.
He is isolated in hot circle of light, nowhere to turn.
Noise: unbearable.
Lights snap out.)

END OF PLAY.

January 30 Play: GREEN HARVEST

2010-01-31T21:21:00.001-08:00

30: GREEN HARVEST - by Ed Valentine
© January 30, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS: Morning. Fading into night by the end of the brief play. Dirt. Set into it, one small shoot of green leaves, not too large.

2 WOMEN in flowered dresses. Floppy hats. WOMAN A is tending to the soil. WOMAN B is watching from behind.

A: How’s your harvest?

B: Poor this year.

A: Mine as well. All the frost.

B: Ayup.

A: The frost was early. Not good for nothing.

B: Or nobody.

A: Ayup.

B: But mine isn’t ever any good. Been years since I’ve grown anything. Years. Don’t know if you knew. Did you know?

A: -

B: Still, you have a fertile plot of land. If anyone can grow anything –

A: Let’s hope!

B: If anyone can grow anything, it’s you.

A: We’ll see.

B: I wish I had your prowess.

A: It isn’t easy. Growing, I mean. It isn’t easy to do this. It isn’t easy to bring forth from seed to reaping. Year after year, season after season, through the frost and the flood, the heat to the harvest. It isn’t easy what I do.

B: At first, it seemed to me like the easiest thing in the world. At first. But its mysteries elude me.

A: Well, what can I say. Some do, some don’t, is all.

B: I suppose.

A: Some do, some don’t.

(Small rustling in the dirt, under the green shoot of leaves.)

Here.

(She pulls on the leaf: a green man comes out of the earth, wet and panting. The leaf is his hair. Strange lights. He lies on the ground.

First of the season.

(The 2 WOMEN approach the green man. He flinches. They back off.)

B: Oh how I envy you.
I envy you, and how.

A: Some do, some don’t.

(She cradles and coos to the green man.)

There there. There there.

(Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

January 29 Play: LADYGRAY AND QUICKSILVER

2010-01-31T21:20:00.000-08:00

29: LADYGRAY AND QUICKSILVER - by Ed Valentine
© January 29, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS: Low. Not much visible outside the circle. LADYGRAY sits in a chair. Haggard, a rotting wedding gown.

LADYGRAY: Where are you?
-
Where?
-
Come and show yourself, I say.
-

VOICE: All in good time.
(Silvery laugh.)

LADYGRAY: You are here, then?

QUICKSILVER: Oh yes. We who are here not here both greet and curse.

LADYGRAY: Why curse?

QUICKSILVER: Because you have what we lack. And we hate thee.

LADYGRAY: Then why also greet?

QUICKSILVER: Because we love thee.
And revere thee.
And pity thee.

LADYGRAY: Why pity.

QUICKSILVER: Is it not clear?

LADYGRAY: No.

QUICKSILVER: It will be.
(Silvery laugh again.)

LADYGRAY: Show yourself.
Show yourself!

QUICKSILVER: No, not to you.
But to them.

LADYGRAY: Who?

QUICKSILVER: The watchers who see.

LADYGRAY: See?

QUICKSILVER: See thee.

(LADYGRAY strains to see us.)

LADYGRAY: This is news. There are others, others watching?

QUICKSILVER: Yes.

LADYGRAY: Watching? Watching me?

QUICKSILVER: Oh, yes.

LADYGRAY: Can I see them?

QUICKSILVER: No.

LADYGRAY: Let me see you. Can I see you?

QUICKSILVER: No.
(QUICKSILVER emerges from the darkness just behind LADYGRAY.)
But they can.

LADYGRAY: Let me –

QUICKSILVER: Do not turn around.
-
We who are about to live again salute you. Kiss me.
Kiss me.

(QUICKSILVER kisses LADYGRAY. LADYGRAY tenses, gives in, falls asleep. Or dies, perhaps.)

Goodnight. Angel flights. Rest.

(QUICKSILVER looks out at us. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

January 28 Play: FORGOTTEN

2010-01-31T21:17:00.000-08:00

28: FORGOTTEN - by Ed Valentine
© January 28, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A MAN alone in a blankness.

MAN
I am the forgotten character.
From the forgotten time.
From the forgotten play.
I had things to say,
Plans to make,
Things to do.
But I’ve forgotten them.
It won’t be long
Until you’ve forgotten me, too.
The only memorable thing I can do…
Is disappear.

(Before our eyes, he dematerializes. We hear his voice from afar.)

HIS VOICE:
And then I’m gone. Just like that.

(Lights fade on the blankness.)

END OF PLAY.

January 27 Play: HER FAT MAJESTY

2010-01-31T21:16:00.000-08:00

27: HER FAT MAJESTY - by Ed Valentine
© January 27, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: HER FAT MAJESTY lolls on a giant red plush Valentine’s heart. SUITOR, carrying something under a woven cloth. Both in medieval dress.

HER FAT MAJESTY: What have you brought me, suitor?

SUITOR: Something to your liking!

HER FAT MAJESTY: Is it chocolate?

SUITOR: No.

HER FAT MAJESTY: Diamonds?

SUITOR: No, no.

HER FAT MAJESTY: A fur! You brought me a fur!

SUITOR: No. This!

(From under the cloth he takes a guitar. Sings the most beautiful song ever. You know which one I mean: that one. He kneels, opens his arms.)

SUITOR: Well?

(She presses her hand to her heart.)

HER FAT MAJESTY: Guards.

(The Guards come in and seize the Suitor.)

SUITOR: But –

HER FAT MAJESTY: You should’ve brought chocolate.

(Guards drag him away. HER FAT MAJESTY takes out a mirror. Lipsticks herself.)

Ready. NEXT!

(Lights out.)

END OF PLAY.

January 26 Play: MAN AS A CAR

2010-01-31T21:14:00.001-08:00

26: MAN AS A CAR - by Ed Valentine
© January 26, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A coffee bar by the Pacific Ocean. A WOMAN and a MAN.

WOMAN: He was a shit, you know?

MAN: Yeah.

WOMAN: An absolute shit. I mean, that was very interesting what they said. Very interesting. That was for my benefit, don’t you think? It must have been. Who else was it for, you know? Like…

MAN: Yeah.

WOMAN: I mean, I should’ve. I don’t know. I spent more time getting the Honda than I did investigating him. I should’ve kicked the tires. Gotten a better rate. Driven him at night. Looked under the hood.

(MAN snorts.)

You know? Like – see how he handled. Gone more than once around the block. Looked into the mileage. Interviewed the previous owner. Put him up on blocks and looked down underneath, you get what I’m saying? Should’ve comparison-shopped. Or maybe. Or maybe. Should’ve test driven a lot of different cars, a LOT of different cars, before buying one. Checked out “Car and Driver” first to see his bluebook value, or –

MAN: I don’t know what you mena now.

-

WOMAN: I’m just saying that I should’ve maybe not been so eager to buy. In the showroom, he looked so go, you know? But I could’ve, I should’ve walked away from the dealer when I had the chance. If only I’d done that. If only.

-

MAN: We could go out.

WOMAN: Who?

MAN: You and me.

WOMAN: That’s silly.

MAN: I guess.

WOMAN: But you know. Thanks.

(They sip coffee.)

MAN: You’ll find someone else.

WOMAN: I don’t think so.
No I won’t.

(Lights fade over the ocean.)

END OF PLAY.

Still to come...

2010-01-30T16:54:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are following the "Daily Ed" project... I HAVE been writing, but haven't had time to type in a play in a few days due to travel. As I may have told you before, I write longhand on yellow legal paper and then type each play in later... though I may have to rethink that plan, as it's awfully time-consuming to write longhand and then type it in subsequently. We shall see!

But don't despair: more fresh-baked plays to come, as soon as I can grab a minute to type them in. Thank you for reading these plays! I am grateful for your support.

January 25 Play: LITTLE RED REDUX

2010-01-25T18:48:00.000-08:00

25: LITTLE RED REDUX - by Ed Valentine
© January 25, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Cottage. Woods above, and above a full gold moon. GRANDMOTHER stirring the coals of a fire, LITTLE RED by the door with a basket.

GRANNY: You have everything, Child?

RED: Yes.

GRANNY: The cupcakes? The cookies? The meat pies? The pasties? The scones and the pies and the ale and the loaf?

RED: Yes, but.

GRANNY: No time for buts, Child. Be on your way.

RED: But Granny!

GRANNY: What?

RED: It’s dark out.

GRANNY: Not entirely.

RED: It’s night!

GRANNY: There’s a moon. A full moon!

RED: That’s why I’m afraid!
-
I’ve heard that on nights of the full moon, the wolves come out. And if the wolves come out, I’ll be endangered! I’ll be meat, don’t you see?

GRANNY: My Child, My Child! Don’t you see? Those are old superstitions. Old wives tales. And don’t I know some old wives. Do you see?

RED: I guess.

GRANNY: You’re never safer than when the moon lolls over the earth, licking it clean like a wolf’s tongue on its privates.

RED: Uh, Granny...

GRANNY: The earth’s never as clean as when it’s licked clean by the moon’s tongue. How could anything terrible happen on a night like this?

RED: Still.

GRANNY: Now hurry, dear! Your poor other grandmother, poor spindly stick, lies waiting, sick in her bed. Hungry!

RED: We’re all hungry.

GRANNY: Isn’t that the truth! Don’t think about dipping into that basket!

RED: I wasn’t.

(She was.)

GRANNY: Off with you, then, luv! Off with you, off into the forest!
(Pushes RED out the door. Calls off:)
And don’t leave the path, my Sweet.
Goodbye! Goodbye!
My Sweet, My Sweet.

(GRANDMOTHER takes off her face, rips off her dress. She is, of course, a WOLF. SPEAKS TO US:)

WOLF: My Sweet.
Really, dears, what did you expect?
(He licks himself.)
I’ll give her a sporting start.
3.
2.
1!
(HOWLS. Paws the ground.)
Save some meat for me, baby.
I’m coming.

(He gallops off. Lights burn, then fade.)

END OF PLAY.

January 24 Play: REVENGE OF THE BEARD

2010-01-24T17:14:00.001-08:00

24: REVENGE OF THE BEARD - by Ed Valentine
© January 24, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: Barber chair, barber pole with an “OPEN” sign hung around it. On one side, the MAN WITH THE EXCEEDINGLY LONG BEARD from BEARD PLAY. On the other, the BARBER with a push broom.

MAN: It grew back.

BARBER: You again!

MAN: It grew again.
It’s new again.

BARBER: I’m sorry. We’re closed. There’s nothing I can do to help you.

MAN: But.

BARBER: Nothing.

MAN: But.

BARBER: Nothing.

MAN: Don’t you like a challenge, Mister?
Look at this! Look at this BEARD!
I thought you’d want to bag it, crush it, kill it –
You’re a BARBER, Man, isn’t this like
A Big Game Hunter Bagging the Biggest Game of All,
Huh?

BARBER: Some things don’t want to be bagged.
Some things don’t want to be killed.
Some things just want to be respected.
-
I’m sorry, Sir, we’re closed.
(Turns the sign on the barber pole from “Open” to “Closed.”)
See? Closed.

(He sweeps the man away, across the stage. Exits. Turns out the light. Circle of light only on the man.)

MAN: Well, Beard.
I guess it’s just you and me, now.

(The BEARD enfolds him. It strokes the top of his head, comfortingly. MAN looks out: not entirely comforted. A beat. Then lights snap out.)

END OF PLAY.

January 23 Play: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 2

2010-01-24T17:00:00.000-08:00

23: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 2 - by Ed Valentine
© January 23, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A spa. Two small round pools. Nervously, ST. HIERONYMOUS OF EAST SARJEVO stands at the edge of one pool. Dips a toe in.

HIERONYMOUS: Ow!
(His toe smokes.)

(ST. OPHELIA OF THE WATERS enters, hurriedly. With each step:)

OPHELIA: Ow ow ow ow ow!!!
(She gets in the other pool, robe and all.)
Ahhhhh.
(Looks at HIERONYMOUS.)
St. Hieronymous of East Sarajevo.

HIERONYMOUS: St. Ophelia of the Waters.

OPHELIA: Your feet are filthy.

HIERONYMOUS: Pardon?

OPHELIA: Your feet. They’re filthy.

HIERONYMOUS: That was somewhat rude.

OPHELIA: It isn’t rude, it’s factual.

HIERONYMOUS: I wear sandals.

OPHELIA: Don’t be hurt.

HIERONYMOUS: I can’t really help it.

OPHELIA: Oh, yes you can. I mean, I wear sandals. And my feet are clean.

HIERONYMOUS: Well, bully for you.

OPHELIA: Don’t be hurt.

HIERONYMOUS: Don’t be hurtful and I won’t be hurt.

OPHELIA: ?

HIERONYMOUS: !

OPHELIA: -
-
You could just get in the water, you know.

HIERONYMOUS: Pardon me?

OPHELIA: I’m saying, you could just wash them. In the water.

HIERONYMOUS: You’re awfully concerned about my feet.

OPHELIA: Because they’re filthy!

HIERONYMOUS: You’ve said that.

OPHELIA: I know I’ve said that.

HIERONYMOUS: A number of times.

OPHELIA: And they’re still filthy. Just dip them in the water.

HIERONYMOUS: No.

OPHELIA: That’s what the water’s there for.

HIERONYMOUS: Water hurts my skin.

OPHELIA: ?

HIERONYMOUS: It hurts my skin. Like fire. I was martyred in fire. Now water crackles and crusts and makes my skin smoke.

OPHELIA: Well, air hurts my skin.

HIERONYMOUS: ?

OPHELIA: Because I was martyred by being flung off a cliff. Fell so fast the air itself burned me on the way down. Hawks and ravens swooped down as I fell and picked my skin off.

HIERONYMOUS: Extraordinary.

OPHELIA: The only thing that heals me is water in this spa.

HIERONYMOUS: Amazing.

OPHELIA: I agree. You know, we could be a great pair.

HIERONYMOUS: You think?

OPHELIA: If only you would wash your feet.

HIERONYMOUS: Oh.

(She sighs. He sighs. She sinks into the water and is entirely submerged.)

HIERONYMOUS: I love you, Saint Ophelia. From my head to my filthy toes.

(He watches her, both miserable and ecstatically lovestruck. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

January 22 Play: TWO ON THE SAND

2010-01-24T16:43:00.001-08:00

22: TWO ON THE SAND - by Ed Valentine
© January 22, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A desert island. A palm tree, tall. Sea behind. 2 castaways, ragged. Long beards.

GUSTAVO: Is that –

ALFIERI: No.

GUSTAVO: No, no – I think it is, it IS! Over Here!

ALFIERI: You’re weak with hunger.

GUSTAVO: Here!

ALFIERI: You’re weak in the mind!
-
What now?

GUSTAVO: You’re right. It was a whitecap. A wave.

ALFIERI: Told you! You see, my friend, that’s your trouble!

GUSTAVO: What? What’s my trouble, huh?

ALFIERI: You are too fanciful, too easily susceptible, too – too –

GUSTAVO: Imaginative?

ALFIERI: Yes, and not sensible at all! You’re too willing to – to –

GUSTAVO: Imagine?

ALFIERI: Well, I’d say ‘lie.’

GUSTAVO: Would you? Really?

ALFIERI: Yes. I would say exactly that.

GUSTAVO: Is all imagination a lie?

ALFIERI: Well, of course! Fancies, phantasms, Cottingly Fairies – and lies. You are too willing by half to mistake a dolphin for a dinghy, a cumulous cloud for a helicopter, a whitecap for a waiting ocean liner, and a breaching whale for a battleship!

GUSTAVO: I don’t know that that’s true…

ALFIERI: I do! You should accept your lot. Better by far to eat the coconut flesh –

GUSTAVO: Stale –

ALFIERI: And drink its milk –

GUSTAVO: Sour -

ALFIERI: And be happy here.

GUSTAVO: Happy?

ALFIERI: Or, if not happy, well. I don’t know.

GUSTAVO: Content?

ALFIERI: I suppose. Or something like it.
-
We’ll never leave here. You know?

GUSTAVO: I don’t know.

ALFIERI: Yes, you do. Deep down you do.
(Settles into the sand.)
You might as well admit it.

GUSTAVO: No.

ALFIERI: Admit it.

GUSTAVO: No!

ALFIERI: Admit it!

GUSTAVO: -
(Pointing. Almost quietly:)
A sail. A sail?

(ALFIERI stands. It is.)

ALFIERI: Well, how about that!

(A beat. Disbelieving. Then:)

BOTH: OVER HERE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE!

O.S. a boat blows its horn. Lights up hot on the two castaways, then fade on them waving and shouting.

END OF PLAY.

Two unmissable events: PUPPET PLAYLIST (NYC) and CROCODILE BOY (BOSTON)

2010-01-24T10:32:00.000-08:00

Two upcoming Ed events. PLEASE do not miss 'em! (And tickets WILL sell out, especially for Puppet Playlist. So please get your tickets early!)

If you're around, please join me in person:

I'll be in Boston to see "The Crocodile Boy Project" on Saturday and Sunday, Jan 30-31...
Then I'll be performing in NYC's Puppet Playlist alongside some of the finest puppeteers I know: Feb 5 and Feb 7.

Details follow!

BOSTON AREA:
Boston Premiere of “The Crocodile Boy Project”
By Ed Valentine and Megan McDavid
Presented in a night of Carnival-Themed Plays by Fort Point Theater Channel
Cambridge YMCA Theatre, Cambridge, MA
Friday, Saturday Jan 29 & 30 @ 8 PM
Sunday Jan 31 @ 7 PM
Friday - Sunday Feb 4-6 @ 8 PM
Click HERE for more info and tickets.

NEW YORK CITY:
I'm Performing in PUPPET PLAYLIST No. 5: ‘COUNTRY MUSIC’
Premiere of my new puppet play, “COWBOY KABUKI, or: TEXAS”
Friday, February 5th: 7:30 p.m. and 9:30 p.m.
Sunday, February 7th: 7:30 p.m.
at The Tank
354 W. 45th Street (btw 8th & 9th Aves.)
Tickets: $7
Click HERE for more info and tickets.

A Bloggity-blogging Tie...

2010-01-24T00:25:00.000-08:00

...with the number of posts I made last year, in its entirety! This entry makes 26 posts for 2010, fulfilling a goal of mine towards blogging more often - and more organically. I want to blog as easily (if not as frequently) as I breathe - not because I think that everything I say is precious. (Quite the contrary: I still fear that I'm writing into the void - until great friends tell me they're reading, or leave comments. [Thank you, Kerri! Thank you, Jorge! Thank you, Megan and Louise!]) But rather because I want to WRITE more easily and more often. Have this be more a part of my daily life and a natural means of expression.

The last play I posted, AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS, kicked my butt. Honestly, it was a blast to write but it took for-freakin'-ever to type in. (I write longhand on yellow legal paper, then type the plays later, making very few changes.) AFTERLIVES necessitated some research about the saints themselves, and I went down the rabbit hole a bit as I was looking into them. I mean, good gravy! There are patron saints for beekeepers, snakebites, and clowns. (All the characters in the play are real saints, and really the patrons of shepherdesses, dietitians, the Venezuelan National Guard... and so on. If you want to learn more about them, check out THIS SITE HERE.)

As a Catholic schoolkid, I was completely fascinated by the saints. Their stories were so full of drama and pathos, magic, miracles, and murder. (Waaay more lurid children's stories than the original Grimm's Tales!) As a grownup, I grew to admire Gertrude Stein's libretto "Four Saints in Three Acts" and the fantastic music by Virgil Thomson, and I suppose I started the play hoping to use a similar poetic language.

My play took another turn linguistically, though, and became more literal. Stein imagined the saints as something like celebrities of heaven, who sit around and don't do much but... well, sit around, chatter, and be fabulous. My saints are post-fabulousness. I became interested in those saints no one's heard of. It's fine to be Saint Francis or Saint Theresa... but what of Saint Eligius? Or Saint Radegund? What happens when no on remembers them, or prays to them?

Hope you enjoy these saints! Please feel free to leave comments, and come back for more. Fresh plays daily, baked here. (I hope not half-baked.)

January 21 Play: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS

2010-01-23T22:02:00.000-08:00

20: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS - by Ed Valentine
© January 21, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

IN THE DARKNESS: BLESSED SAINT PANACEA alone in a spotlight. White robe and a shepherd’s crook.

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: They think it’s quite glamorous, you know. They always do. And in a way… they’re right.

(She spreads her wings. In the darkness behind her, colored lights blink on and off wildly. Coolly electronic beeping/chirping sounds. Lights up on a sleek, modern open space: with phone banks. There are many SAINTS with wings, answering phones, wearing earpieces. As if heaven were something between a spa and an Apple store.)

ST. MARIA GABRIELLA: (ON PHONE, AS ARE ALL THE SAINTS:) Hello, Maria Gabriella, Patron Saint of the Poor, how may I help you?

ST. RADEGUND: Hello? St. Radegund, patron saint of leprosy here, how may I help you?

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: Of course all the buzzing and beeping and the lights. At first it’s quite heady, really. And you get quite a rush.

ST. RADEGUND: No, Sir, I’m Leprosy. St. Swithbert’s Angina, I’ll transfer you.

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: They all think it’s glamorous. Being a saint, I mean. This is just after beatification, I mean, when you hear your praises sung. And your name’s chanted and called and set to music, and they make shrines and fight over who gets to keep your bones, and in which Cathedral!

ST. VALENTINE OF GENOA: St. Valentine here.

ST. AMBROSE OF MILAN: Yes, I look after Beekeepers.

ST. VALENTINE OF GENOA: (SIGHS:) No, I’m Saint Valentine of Genoa.

ST. CLOTILDE: Patron Saint of Disappointing Children.

OUR LADY OF CHINQUINQUIRA: Venezuelan National Guard? Si!

ST. VALENTINE OF GENOA: No, there’s more than one. There’s also St. Valentine of Viterbo and St. Valentin Faustino Berro Ocho. But I’m sure you want St. Valentine of Rome. He’s the famous one.

OUR LADY OF CHINQUINQUIRA: No, St. Marta’s dietitians. I’ll transfer. You too, ciao.

ST. VALENTINE OF GENOA: Viterbo. Italy. ITALY. I’ll transfer you. Mm-hmm, bye-bye.
(Pushing a button.)
Be specific, people! Jeez!

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: I was kind of a big deal. Maybe you heard of me? Blessed Saint Panacea de’Muzzi of Quarona? Patron Saint of Shepherdesses? They celebrate my festival with puff pastries? I was stabbed with a spindle on a spring evening in 1383? Remember this – Yes? No? No, I didn’t think so.

ST. CLOTILDE: No, Ma’am, protection against St. Vitus’s Dance is, um. Saint Vitus. Sorry, static. Please hold.
(Covers the microphone on her earpiece. Cracks up.)

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: But after awhile, the statues in the shrines grow dusty and dusky, and the candles burn down to a wick, and the flowers left at your altar start to wilt. I mean, it can take years, decades, centuries, even, but that hardly matters to you. After all, what does a Saint have… but TIME?

ST. JULIAN THE HOSPITALLER: I’m boatmen, carnival workers, childless people, circus acts, clowns. Yes, clowns. Ferrymen, fiddle makers, fiddle players, hospitality, hotel-keepers, innkeepers, jugglers, knights, murderers, pilgrims, the city of San Giljan in Malta, shepherds, lodgers needing traveling, travelers in general, and wandering minstrels.

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: And then, of course, unless you're one of the big ones – a Francis of Assisi, say, or Saint Anthony of Padua –

ST. CLOTILDE: He’s dreamy!

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: Or Bernadette of Lourdes. Lourdes! And don’t get me started on Saint Theresa the Little Flower. But unless you’re one of the big ones, you’re waiting around for the phone to ring. Two weeks vacation a year, but you’re still on call, of course, in case a prayer comes through.
(Holds up phone: a golden blackberry with wings.)
But the calls don’t come in for most of us, not that often. There’s not that much call for prayers for Shepherdesses. And so we sit. And wait. And transfer calls. And make small talk with each other.
(Turns to another Saint.)
Weather’s nice.

ST. HYPATIUS: I was beheaded in 273 in Byzantium.

ST. JULIAN THE HOSPITALLER: A talking stag predicted I’d kill my parents. And I did.

(A beat.)

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: But small talk is hard for saints. Oh, St. Rose of Lima lent me her portable DVD player for awhile, but St. Balbina the Virgin spilled coffee on it, so...
(Beat. Mind wanders.)
Balbina’s the patron of Scrofulous Diseases.
(Beat.)
Anyway, I guess I’m saying to the children in Catholic school, who wish to be saints someday: be careful what you wish for! Be careful when you pray to become a saint! It’s not as glamorous as it seems.

ST. HYPATIUS: Fine, I’ll give you my name. Hypatius. H. Y. P. A. T. I. U. S. No Sir, you cannot speak to a supervisor.

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: The smoke rises from the candles, the prayers waft up, smelling of wax and wick. But all too soon, the fragrant scent is gone.
And you’re left with secondhand smoke.
And the smell of sulfur.
(She puts on a headpiece. Phone near her chirps, lights up.)
Hello? Oh.
(Hands it to ST. RADEGUND)
It’s for you.

(Sits. Stares out. Waits. The Saints all shiver their wings. Lights fade, except for blinking lights of the phone bank. Lights out.)

END OF PLAY.

January 20 Play: MOSCOW

2010-01-22T02:18:00.000-08:00

20: MOSCOW - by Ed Valentine
© January 20, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: 2 alone, in overcoats. Long overcoats. Fur hat for ALEXI. Babushka for MASHA. Onion domes in the background. We’re in Moscow. Snow all around.

ALEXI ALEXOVITCH: I want it.

MASHA ROMANOFFSKI: What will you give me?

ALEXI: I need it.

MASHA: There is price, comrade.

ALEXI: But.

MASHA: There is always price.

-

ALEXI: But I have to have it!

MASHA: I heard you first time.
(Looks around. Takes out a package, wrapped.)
There.

ALEXI: Everything?

MASHA: Everything you need.

ALEXI: In here?

MASHA: Trust me.

ALEXI: -
Should I?

MASHA: What choice you have?

ALEXI: -
(Shrugs.)

MASHA: With this, you can start new life. New name? Check. New passport? Check. New documents? Check.

ALEXI: And the new face? My new face?

MASHA: Check. With new face you start completely anew. Your future will be fresh and virgins as this snow.

ALEXI: Sweet relief!

MASHA: What are you running from?

ALEXI: Who wants to know? Why do you ask? Who wants to know?

MASHA: No reason. Professional curiosity. I give new face, I wonder why you want new face.
-
So…

ALEXI: There was this girl –

MASHA: Say no more. All right, then: so what you give me?
-
The Price, Comrade, the Price.

ALEXI: Oh.
Well, here.
(Reaches in his coat. Rummages around. Takes out his heart. Maybe it’s a bleeding heart, or maybe it’s a Valentine’s heart. But it’s his heart. If it’s a real heart, maybe it bleeds on the snow. ALEXI hands MASHA the heart. MASHA takes it reluctantly.)
Take it. In my life, where I’m going, I will not need it.

MASHA: You never know. You sure?
(ALEXI shrugs. Leaves MASHA alone in the snow. MASHA sighs.)
You never know.

(Tucks heart in her coat as snow begins to fall. As MASHA begins to exit off the other side, lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

January 19 Play: BANGERS AND MASH

2010-01-21T19:09:00.001-08:00

19: BANGERS AND MASH - by Ed Valentine
© January 19, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: False proscenium with red curtain. A hot spotlight.)

VOICE (O.S.): Tonight, we present… Mr. Bangers and Mr. Mash!

The curtains open. Reveal: BANGERS, a man, with MASH, a ventriloquist dummy.

BANGERS: (SINGS:)
Good evening, and welcome! to the Bangers and Mash show.
We’re very pleased to meet you, and hope that you don’t…

MASH: (BLINKS:) -

BANGERS: Ahem?

MASH: (Looks at BANGERS:) -

BANGERS: (To MASH:) Here’s the part where you sing “Go.”

MASH: -

BANGERS: Sing it.

(MASH blinks.)

BANGERS: Sing it. It won’t hurt you.

(MASH shakes his head. Trying to make a joke of it:)

Ladies and Gentlemen! Ladies and Gentlemen! My comic partner is the most recalcitrant, double-dealing, low-down smug little money-grubbing, finger-wagging song of a stepchild, and moon-mad manatee, he! He is, without a doubt, the WORST I have ever seen. He’ll be fired, I tell you, fired!

(Still, MASH says nothing. It should appear as if something has gone terribly wrong onstage. To MASH:)

SAY something, can’t you? For Christ’s sake, SAY something.

(MASH just blinks.)

BANGERS: You little bastard. Get back in your case.

(The curtains close. BANGERS AND MASH disappear from view.)

VOICE: Ladies and Gentlemen… ladies and gentlemen.
Goodnight.

(Spotlight out.)

END OF PLAY.

January 18 Play: JACK & JILL ON BLUEBERRY HILL

2010-01-20T01:07:00.000-08:00

18: JACK & JILL ON BLUEBERRY HILL - by Ed Valentine
© January 18, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: 1950’s picnic scene. Green field. A hill with a tree. At the bottom of the hill: a picnic basket has rolled down. It’s upended, and its food is spilling out.

A line of ANTS go marching past the hill. The ants chant in a language, not English... in a song, as yet unheard... in voices inhuman, low, and intense.

Atop the hill, a picnicking couple: a MAN and a WOMAN on a red- and white-checkered blanket. They speak in hushed tones, afraid to move.

MAN: There’s so many of them.

WOMAN: Many many.

MAN: And they all are going in the same direction.

WOMAN: That’s what they do, isn’t it? Ants?

MAN: That’s what ants do?

WOMAN: Yes.

MAN: I would imagine. But most queer –

WOMAN: Is?

MAN: is that they seem to have no interest in our food.

WOMAN: Oh.

MAN: They’ve walked right past the food, in a long long line.

WOMAN: They’re circling us.

MAN: Do you think?

WOMAN: They’re coming up the hill. They’re circling us.

MAN: Seems to be.

WOMAN: Maybe we’re the food.

MAN: Maybe –

WOMAN: Maybe we’re the food, yes.

MAN: Huh.
It seems to be so.
-
Yes.
It seems to be so. Don’t move, maybe they’ll go away.

(They sit, staring at the ants, frozen in fear, watching the ants approach. It is as if they are hypnotized. Very scary moment. Very softly, the softest words yet.)

WOMAN: Help.

(Still chanting, the ants start crawling up the woman’s arm. MAN and the WOMAN do not move. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

January 17 Play: PLOW PLAY

2010-01-18T01:45:00.000-08:00

#17: PLOW PLAY - by Ed Valentine
© January 17, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A field. MAN 1 holds the yoke and a whip. Whips MAN 2, who pulls the plow across the field.

MAN 1: HEE ya! HEE ya! Git on git on git on.

MAN 2: Going as fast as I can.

MAN 1: More plow, less sass. HEE ya.

(WIFE enters carefully with a precariously balanced tray of drinks. A silent CHILD stands next to her.)

WIFE: Lemonade?

(MAN 2 stops.)

MAN 2: Yes please Ma’am.

MAN 1: Did I say stop?

MAN 2: I’m thirsty. It’s hot.

MAN 1: I’ve told you for the last time!

(MAN 1 beats MAN 2 with the whip. Vicious.)

WIFE: John!

(While MAN 1 beats MAN 2, the CHILD screams a high pitched scream. Eventually, MAN 1 stops beating MAN 2. The moment he does, the CHILD stops screaming. MAN 2 lies on the ground.)

MAN 1: Git up.

MAN 2: No no. No no no.

MAN 1: Git up I say.
(Kicks MAN 2 with boot.)

MAN 2: Can’t git up no more no more.
Can’t git up no more.

ALL: -

WIFE: You’re a damned fool, John. Who’s gonna draw the plow now?

MAN 1: -
(Gives MAN 2 a desultory kick.)
-
(Looks at WIFE.)
?
(Looks at WIFE.)
!

WIFE: Oh-ho! No, Sir! Not for all the wheat in the world. Child, come.

(She exits with CHILD. MAN 1 watches them go. Straps on yoke.)

MAN 1: HEE ya HEE ya.
(Can’t pull.)
Hee ya hee ya. Uh.
(Can’t pull.)

(Snow begins to fall. MAN 1 looks up. MAN 2 sits up, looks at MAN 1.)

MAN 2: Weather’s coming in.

MAN 1: I don’t need a weather report.
Need an Oxman.
-
We’ll starve without. All of us.

MAN 2:
-
Alright. Just till this field is done.
(He puts on the yoke. He knows this isn’t true.)

MAN 1: Alright. Just till then.
(He knows this isn't true, either. Takes his place behind the plow. Whips MAN 2.)
HEE ya, HEE ya.
Hee ya, hee ya.

(MAN 2 pulls the plow effortlessly, turning up dirt, as they head offstage. Lights fade)

END OF PLAY.

Playnote on #16, and Relief Appeal for Haiti

2010-01-17T18:24:00.000-08:00

Of course, the images of suffering in Haiti are on my mind, as well as the impossible idea of fissures in the earth. In no way is this play capable – nor am I, yet, as a writer – of encompassing what’s going on there right now. I can only hope someday to write with enough feeling to capture the true stories of sacrifice and heroism I’ve seen on the news this week.

In the meantime, I’m going to donate what I can to help the people of Haiti. I urge you to donate as well. One resource: THE RED CROSS.

January 16 Play: FIELD OF FLOWERS

2010-01-17T18:20:00.000-08:00

#16: FIELD OF FLOWERS - by Ed Valentine
© January 16, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A FIELD OF FLOWERS. A MAN and a WOMAN, apart.

MAN: My love!

WOMAN: My love?

MAN: My love?

WOMAN: My love!

MAN: Babykins?

WOMAN: Honey lamb!

MAN: Sweetie bear?

WOMAN: Schnookums!

MAN: Come here.

WOMAN: You come here.

MAN: No, YOU come here.

WOMAN: No, YOU come here.

-

MAN: Let’s BOTH go there.

WOMAN: Excellent idea!

MAN: I’m coming!

(They both run towards each other. A rumble. A crack opens in the ground, a fissure between them. They cannot cross it. They sit, sadly, on the ground.)

MAN: No no no.
No no no.

WOMAN: This’ll never work, Tom. I told you.

MAN: I know. Don’t you think I know?

(They sit sadly. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

January 15 Play: DINNER WITH THE DEVIL

2010-01-17T18:03:00.000-08:00

#15: DINNER WITH THE DEVIL - by Ed Valentine
© January 15, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP ON A MAN AT A TABLE WITH THE DEVIL. DEVIL’s face is very glossy red, his horns are sharp. Perhaps he’s in evening clothes – a smoking jacket. It’s literally smoking: curls of smoke curl out of the jacket. He has a glass filled with ice and bourbon. His dinner companion, the MAN, is very obese. He digs into a heaping plate of food. He has a glass of beer.

DEVIL: You’re very kind to come over. I really needed someone to talk to.

MAN: (ALWAYS EATING) This canapé is delicious, have you tried the duck?

DEVIL: It’s been hard for me lately.

MAN: You always serve the best food.

DEVIL: The old paradigms just aren’t WORKING for me, I can’t seem to get MOTIVATED. Sure, I do what I do. What I’ve always done. And I’m good at it. Really good at it.

MAN: Yes you are. Olives?

DEVIL: No, thanks. So then why, why is none of it satisfying? Why don’t I take pleasure in anything? I remember the old days, when -

MAN: Look. Look, how long have we known each other?

DEVIL: All your life.

MAN: So take it from me – and really, I mean this from my heart – nothing has changed.

DEVIL: But.

MAN: Nothing has changed.

DEVIL: But.

MAN: Are you listening? Nothing has changed. You’re just thinking about it more.

DEVIL: And.

MAN: Talk talk talk talk talk! What good is talk? Just DO something, for heaven’s sake, and don’t THINK about it. Action is all. ACTION.
(FINISHES ONE LAST MORSEL. WIPES HIS MOUTH.)
Now, what’s for dessert?

DEVIL: You’re right. And gluttony is a sin, bitch.
(DEVIL snaps his fingers. Flames. Many long red-silk-gloved HANDS spring up from beneath the table and drag the MAN, screaming, under.)
He’s right. I DO feel better.
(DEVIL holds his own glass and takes the glass his dinner companion left behind. Clinks ‘em together in a toast.)
To me? To me.

(He drinks from one glass. The HANDS come up and caress him. His jacket smokes. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.