Kevin Six wins Second place for blogging

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Other People's Children

By Kevin Six | Posted April 3, 2011, 12:59 p.m.

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OK people, say what you want about other people's children. Sometimes they're noisy, often they're misbehaved and sometimes it's even the parent's fault. But, unless the child is being abused, you have no right to speak harshly to them or their parents.
This happened to me on Friday. Twice. One was an adult who yelled at children in Borders and another was a woman yelling at a mother at Stu Segal's Studio Diner. Both adults were in the wrong, one of them got a serious dressing-down by me and the other deserved one but my girlfriend sat nearly on me in the restaurant to keep me in my seat.
First the a-hole in Borders:

More: 

How to solicit plays electronically

Instead of having playwrights bear the burden of printing and mailing scripts for a short play contest/festival, I suggest these easy steps to save time, money, gasoline and distribute the burden of printing...

1. Get a free G-Mail account, which includes Blogspot.

2. Set up a blog to be utterly and completely private (this takes literally five minutes).  Assure playwrights that only the directors/actors/judges for the festival will have access to the blog. Note: if the blog is not private, playwrights will see their plays on routine Google alerts that they make with their names and the names of their plays.

4. Invite judges/directors/actors, etc. to the blog via Blogspot.  The program by sends them a link to the blog and requires them to sign in with Google (a small catch but a LOT of people have Google accounts for purposes just like this).

3. Have playwrights submit their plays in Rich Text Format (rtf) attached to an e-mail. It is possible to have all e-mails become blog posts but it's probably better to load them manually.

4. Load the plays onto the blog.  Each play's title is the blog title.  This way people can read/choose/browse plays on the blogroll that it usually on a panel to the right. If you need to strip contact information, you may do this or ask the playwrights to but make sure you get that information on the body of the e-mails from playwrights.

5. Save all incoming e-mails as a group so you may respond to everyone.  You may also set up a reply that thanks e-mailers for their submission and gives them information about when final decisions will be made.

5. Choose the plays that made the final cut and delete the rest from the blog.  This way, you can invite directors/technicians/actors to become blog readers (readers may not post to the blog) so they can read, print and comment on plays.

6. The festival is half-produced.

 

The D Effect By Kevin Six

({this was one of the monologues I wrote/performed for the MENding Monologues last week})

I heard about this study in which an ape was put in a room with a bunch of bananas.  He had access to all of them, including one up high that was wired to give him a shock. When the ape touched this Electric Banana, he received a shock. 

Then the scientists introduced another ape into the room.  When the second ape tried to reach for the Electric Banana, the first ape, not wanting his new friend to receive a shock, hit him over the head.

The scientists then removed the first ape and turned off the Electric Banana.  They kept rotating apes into the room but none of them ever touched that banana because, if they tried, the ape that was already there would hit them over the head. 

Something scientific had just happened.  And I don’t know what it was because I’m neither an ape nor a scientist.  I call this it Electric Banana Effect: an ape will hit you over the head to keep you from getting a shock.

I think humans could use an Electric Banana experiment.  But I don’t think we’d go for it because, well, we aren’t apes.  We can speak, for one thing.  We can say, “Say old boy, don’t touch that banana or you’ll get quite a shock.”

We also have Social Conventions.  We would never think of hitting you over the head to keep you from getting a shock.  Especially in a laboratory with scientists looking on.  

But you’re going to get the shock, aren’t you? Even if I say the banana’s wired, you’re going to touch it.  The shock you receive is your punishment for not believing me; and my punishment for not being ape enough to hit you over the head. 

But are Social Conventions more civilized?  In a classroom, on a committee or at work, Social Conventions actually keep us from telling each other what would help the communication process.  We don’t want to shock anyone with A, B, C… so we hit them over the head with A, B, C…

I call it ABC Theory: A is a shocking thing that happened to someone; B is how A makes someone feel; and C is how someone comes to terms with A&B.  ABC Theory used to drive me crazy.  Why can’t people just say, “I have ABC, so please go easy on me”?

Then I took part in an experiment also known as a V-Day rehearsal.  As V-Day is a global movement to end violence, many of the people involved have experienced violence.  These people felt comfortable enough to share their As, Bs and Cs; and hearing them didn’t kill me.  In fact it made me want to help.

That’s when I came up with the D Effect. If A is a shocking thing that happened to you; and B is how you feel about that; and C is how you’re coping with it ; then let D be what I can do to help. 

I never wanted to shock anyone with my ABC so I hit them over the head with it. I resented people for not telling me about their ABCs and I would never ask for the D Effect because I didn’t think I deserved it. 

And then I realized that the people who need the D Effect most might not know how to ask for it.

And that hit me like an Electric Banana. 

If the D Effect is part of the solution, why am I withholding it?  I mean The D Effect works if people have an ABC or not; or tell me or not or if they have ABC and don’t know it.  So I’m going to use it on everyone and, if they’re working through something it will help a lot and, if they aren’t it will still work.

When you look at the statistics it’s pretty safe to assume that everyone you meet might be a little bit broken and might be putting some pieces back together and might not have thought to mention it, because, well, we’re not apes. 

So the D Effect works best when liberally applied.  I think it’s what separates us from the Apes.

Sullivan Players presents a reading of Bad Habits by Terrence McNally

7:00 p.m. Every Monday in February 2011.

The play is about.. well, follow this link: https://secure.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/wiki/Bad_Habits_%28play%29

Come see some of DJ Sullivans' favorite actors in one of her favorite plays. 7:00 p.m. every Monday in Feb.

Featuring:
Ian Rose, Michael Mannocchio, Elaine Miranda, Greg Rhode, Timothy Carr, Jo-Darlene Reardon, Jack G. White, Joe Nesnow, Byron Teagarden, Renee Varnadore, Sheila Rosen, Michael Bova, Tom Kilroy, Kevin Kornburger, Lou Cruciani, Tim Evans and Kevin Six

Swedenborg Hall

1531 Tyler Ave.

Kevin Six (Online) Play Festival

Welcome to the First Annual Kevin Six (Online) Short Play Festival! These plays were written by Kevin Six, who would very much like you to read them. You may read them to yourself, aloud, alone or with friends. You may also read the stsage directions. You may comment at the end of this page, or not.

I just hope you like the plays and hope to some day see them on a stage. Oh, and please turn off all cell phones and pagers. Thank you.

Working Theatre Erotic Shorts

Shel, Margaret and Carlyle

This play was first produced at the Working Theatre Collective for its Erotic Shorts festival. The picture at right is a production still of the reading in Seatle, WA.

At rise:
A man, CARLYLE, though you could barely tell his sex, is bound, gagged and almost hanging from his manacled wrists. He wears a leather outfit complete with a black leather hood and a red ball – that looks ominously like a dog toy – stuffed in his mouth. His wife, MARGARET, reads from “Where the Sidewalk Ends.”

MARGARET
“Who can kick a football
From here to Afghanistan?
I can!
Who fought tigers in the street
While all the policemen ran and hid?
I did!
Who will—“

CARLYLE
(Spits out the dog toy) No, Margaret, it’s no good.

MARGARET
(Whines) Carlyle, we’re only on page 63! If you keep stopping me, we’ll never find the pot of gold. And your parents are coming home at nine with the kids.

CARLYLE
Margaret. Use the voice. Please. We discussed this.

MARGARET
OK… (She now speaks very sternly) Stop your insufferable whining, wimp! You will be quiet and do as you’re told or I’ll use the rope.

MARGARET gets a pink jump rope and almost wields it menacingly and CARLYLE is almost scared but MARGARET almost giggles.

CARLYLE
Are you… Are you laughing at me, mistress?

MARGARET (back to her wifely self, giggling) It’s just so—

CARLYLE
What!? Strange? Odd? Stupid?

MARGARET
Silly, Carlyle. I mean your ball gag is the dog’s toy. The whip is Jennifer’s jump rope and Shel Silverstein? In a playroom?

CARLYLE
Dungeon! Margaret, you know how much this means to me. I thought we talked it all out with Dr. Henry. Safe words. Costumes. Suspension of disbelief…

MARGARET
I know darling but I don’t think I’m cut out for it. And you…

CARLYLE
I what? I’m not cut out for a life of slavehood?

MARGARET
You’re PTA president, Carlyle. You’re a pillar of the community. You—

CARLYLE
I’m dying, Margaret! Dying. Right here in the play room with the jump rope and the dog toy stuffed into my mouth. I can’t even get the fantasy right. All I want is—

MARGARET
Sex! I know. I’m sorry that it’s been so—

CARLYLE
Can’t we just—?

MARGARET
No! You can have the dungeon fantasy but not the other one. It was too—

CARLYLE
Fun. It was too fun! You loved being the princess ravaged by the pirate king and you almost—

MARGARET
Well who knew Mrs. Wimpole would call the police. It was—

CARLYLE
Embarrassing, I know but—

MARGARET
No, Carlyle. I won’t come this close to getting caught in a costume again.

CARLYLE
But the basement—

MARGARET
Is the kid’s play room! I mean how can you even think of sex with all these toy cars and Barbies?

CARLYLE
And jump ropes! Please, Margaret.

MARGARET
No, Carlyle. I don’t think it’s going to work.

MARGARET releases CARLYLE from his bonds.

CARLYLE
Oh, it’s so good of you to be so safe and so quaint and have no passion in your life. Why don’t you just admit it! You’re a boring—

MARGARET
No!

CARLYLE
Silly—

MARGARET
No!

CARLYLE
Frumpy!

MARGARET
No!

CARLYLE
HOUSE WIFE!

MARGARET finally breaks. She had found her stern voice again.

MARGARET
How dare you! After all I’ve done for you. You little shit! How can you even say that to me after I gave you two children and cooked and cleaned—

CARLYLE
Use it. Use it!

She takes him over her knee in a kid’s chair and uses the pink jump rope on his leather clad behind. Timidly at first and then stronger.

MARGARET
You deserve worse than this Mister! If it were up to me you’d live down here and never have sex again. You’d have to beg to just see my feet while I made you masturbate. If you were lucky, I’d let you lick up your little mess, you sissy!

CARLYLE
Now. Say it! Say it now, Margaret!

MARGARET, with perfect cadence and rhythm, a rope-slap on every beat of the poetry, and, as the lights fade, recites:

MARGARET
“This started out as a
jumping rope
You prob’ly think that
I’m a dope
But This started out as a
jumping rope
And now I fear there is
no hope
But This started out as a
jumping rope”

End

The Art of Love AFTERNOON (ASIAN GALLERY)

The lights come up on an art gallery (preferably an existing one at the San Diego Museum of Art). Two couples, fortiesh, enter; the two men (BOB and TED) in front and the women (ALICE and CAROL) behind. They browse at the Asian art and comment.

BOB
What does it all mean, Ted? I mean…

TED
It’s Asian Miniature art, Bob. The sultan would hold them in one hand…

BOB
No, not that. Life.

TED
Oh, you’re getting all philosophical again. Geez, why don’t you get a Corvette and a—

BOB
You did it.

TED
I did not.

BOB
You did it. You quit your job…

TED
Got laid off.

BOB
Took up surfing…

TED
I was invisible.

BOB
What do you mean?

TED
All those beautiful sun-baked goddesses and not a one ever said anything to me.

BOB
Getting hot chicks to look at you takes money, Ted. Besides what would we do with them?

TED
Bob, we’d do all kinds of interesting things… We’d…

BOB
Be asleep by nine thirty! Come on we’ve got great wives, they’re—

TED
Highly critical…

BOB
Undersexed…

TED
Spending machines…

BOB
That don’t cook.

CAROL
Ooh, this one’s nice. Alice, look at this one.

ALICE
An Imaginary Gathering of Sages. Carol, I don’t get it. It says Asian art and these guys are clearly Arab.

CAROL
Indian.

ALICE
Indian?

CAROL
Yes. It says these guys are dead Muslim saints.

ALICE
Well of course they’re dead; it’s four hundred years old.

CAROL
No, Alice. They were dead four hundred years before the painting was painted.

ALICE
Imaginary, I get it.

CAROL (quoting) “Made for a member of the royal family who shared their beliefs.”

ALICE
Another thing I don’t get is why are they so small?

CAROL
Oh, they were painted small so the Sultan could hold them in one hand.

ALICE
Not the painting. Them. Their minds.

CAROL
Oh. Yes. We baby them and they resent us for it.

ALICE
Yet they can’t find the butter in the butter compartment.

CAROL
They are juveniles until the kids come and then they’re—

ALICE
Babies.

CAROL
Yes. Then we think we’ve raised them along with the kids and as soon as the last one goes to college—

ALICE
Surf lessons.

CAROL
I know. Don’t you worry about the bronze beach goddesses?

ALICE
He’s invisible.

CAROL
He’s gone insane?

ALICE
No. He’s invisible to young women.

CAROL
I guess that’s good. Mine hasn’t decided.

ALICE
Corvette. Best thing you can do. He gets a few tickets, maybe a close call with the law and it’s out of his system.

CAROL
I thought they get hornier when it hits them.

ALICE
They do, but not for us.

CAROL
But the young ones are just getting ready to go out at nine thirty.

ALICE
So it’s good.

CAROL
I guess.

CAROL and ALICE
Yeah, good.

BOB
Why are we here, Ted?

TED
We are destined to have an impact on the generations who come after us, Bob.

BOB
No, here in the museum.

TED
The Cultural Attaché dug this one up.

BOB
Yours or mine?

TED
You never pay attention. Mine is the cultural attaché yours is the restaurant critic.

BOB
And we’re…

TED
Beasts of burden…

BOB
Bread winners…

TED
Do you ever get to make a decision?

BOB
No. You?

TED
She said that she’d handle all the small ones and I could take the big ones.

BOB
And?

TED
Twenty five years and there hasn’t been a big one yet, I guess.

BOB
Why do we do it?

TED
The Cultural Attaché says we need culture, and we go.

BOB
No, the marriage. Why do we stay in it?

TED
Inertia?

BOB
Fear?

TED
The great sex.

They look at each other for a beat and laugh out loud.

ALICE
Do you think we’ll get kicked out?

CAROL
No there isn’t alcohol involved.

ALICE
Why do we do it?

CAROL
You pick the cultural stuff, call me and—

ALICE
No, the marriage.

CAROL
The ignoring…

ALICE
I ignored him for three whole days and he didn’t even notice.

CAROL
Sort takes all the fun out of a snit.

ALICE
Do you withhold sex?

CAROL
I just until after nine thirty then I wait up for my boyfriend.

ALICE
Conan.

CAROL
You too? I thought you were a Leno man.

ALICE
Barbarian. On Blue Ray DVD.

CAROL
Oh, you are being naughty.

ALICE
I wish.

CAROL
Well, maybe next time we’ll do the sex museum.

ALICE
There is such a thing?

CAROL
You’re the Cultural Attaché, Alice.

ALICE
Sex museum. Maybe it’s just my lingerie drawer.

CAROL
You don’t either?

ALICE
No, I work all day, cook all evening and tell my husband where the beer is all night.

CAROL
We do eat out a lot.

ALICE
And other people bring the beer.

CAROL
We’re wives…

ALICE
I always wanted to be a MILF but it didn’t catch on until the kids were older and I was…

CAROL
Old…

ALICE
Used up…

CAROL
Angry.

BOB
Was there ever love?

TED
Where, here? I think that fat guy loves food…

BOB
That’s Buddah, Ted. He loves everyone.

TED
Like Santa Claus?

BOB
No. Love in your relationship.

TED
Bob, if I wanted to talk about my relationship I’d have stayed home. What’s with you?

BOB
I think I’m missing something.

TED
Sex?

BOB
Yes. But…

TED
Intimacy? The feeling that someone’s on your side?

BOB
We get that from each other.

TED
Intimacy?

BOB
Ted, I’ve told you more sensitive shit than I’d ever tell her.

TED
But it wasn’t always like that was it?

BOB
No, once I had a partner. A play toy, a lover…

TED
What happened?

BOB
I don’t know.

TED
Do you love her?

BOB
Yes. I guess.

ALICE
Yes, I think so. You?

CAROL
I do. I hope I do. Otherwise what else is there to live for?

ALICE and CAROL
Sale at Nine West.

TED
Me too, I guess.

BOB
Let’s tell them.

TED
No. What would they do?

BOB
It would be worth it to find out.

ALICE
Ready to move on?

CAROL
What were you two carrying on about? I know you hate cultural days.

BOB
No we love it and, uh, you.

TED
Yeah, me too.

ALICE
What does it mean?

CAROL
They’re beer deprived, quick to a sports bar.

BOB and TED
I love you.

CAROL ALICE
Really? What?

BOB
Come on, don’t make us say it again.

TED
Do you?

ALICE and CAROL
Uh, sure. Yeah.

CAROL
We just don’t go broadcasting it.

ALICE
Yeah, come on, we’re in public here.

BOB
We get it.

TED
Not enough.

ALICE
Enough of that.

CAROL ALICE
I love you. I love you.

BOB
Sounds odd.

TED
Do you mean it?

ALICE
Sure.

CAROL
Most of the time.

BOB
Yeah, me too.

TED
I guess that’s better than the alternative.

ALICE
What alternative?

CAROL
I don’t think we want to know.

BOB
Do we?

TED
Maybe we don’t.

There is an awkward pause.

ALICE
Well, let’s move on to the European Gallery.

BOB
I want to make more decisions.

TED
I want romantic nights.

ALICE
I want a maid.

CAROL
I want foot massages.

ALL
OK, I’ll think about it.

BOB (exiting) Alright, let’s move on.

TED (exiting)Keep moving. That’s right.

ALICE
How long does it last?

CAROL
Until our hormones give out and we get hot flashes.

ALICE
Oh. Payback.

BLACKOUT

End

Bad Shit

Characters:
ASSHOLE1 He (or she) is this asshole who wants free shit
ASSHOLE2 So’s she (or he)
PLAYWRIGHT He (or she) is an asshole who wants money

Change any “he” or “his” to “she” and “her” if you cast women in any role.

Setting:
An empty theatre or a coffee shop.

Synopsis:
A playwright is trying to get his (or her) play produced.

ASSHOLE1: We really like your shit

ASSHOLE2: Yea, your shit. We really like it.

PLAYWRIGHT: What I do is not shit. It’s—

ASSHOLE1: Shit, don’t come down on me, man. We’re just looking for a short play...

ASSHOLE2: Yea. A short play. We’re looking—

PLAYWRIGHT: I don’t suppose you have, ur… um… ah…

ASSHOLE2: Er? Um? What?

ASSHOLE1: Come on, give the playwright time to get his ass in gear (aside) asshole.

ASSHOLE2: You said ass. (aside) asshole.

PLAYWRIGHT: Money.

ASSOLE1: Money?

ASSHOLE2: Money? What do you think we are?

ASSHOLE 1 and ASSHOLE 2: Assholes!?

PLAYWRIGHT: Oh. So you have money to produ –

ASSHOLE1: Oh. For the play?

ASSHOLE2: The play? Oh, for—

PLAYWRIGHT: Well, what else would you use the money for?

ASSHOLE1: Beer.

ASSHOLE2: Beer. Beer and …uh…. er… um…

PLAYWRIGHT: Er? Um? What?

ASSHOLE2: Yeah what?

ASSHOLE1: Like you don’t know.

PLAYWRIGHT: I might.

ASSHOLE2: He might.

ASSHOLE1: Well… you don’t have to be such an –

ASSHOLE2: Asshole!

ASSHOLE1: about it.

PLAYWRIGHT: No, well. I, um, er, uh.

ASSHOLE: I! Er! Um! WHAT!

PLAYWRIGHT: Well, I wondered what else you (aside) assholes (aloud) spend money on.

ASSHOLE1: Oh, that.

ASSHOLE2: Oh that!

ASSHOLE1: Hahahahahah

ASSHOLE2: Hahahahaha

PLAYWRIGHT: Um…

ASSHOLE1: Well.

ASSHOLE2: Tell him.

ASSHOLE1: I will.

ASSHOLE2: Tell him.

ASSHOLE1: I will.

ASSHOLE2: Tell him.

ASSHOLE1: I WILL!

ASSHOLE2: Well, you don’t have to be such an –

PLAYWRIGHT: Asshole!

ASSHOLE2: …about it.

ASSHOLE1: Hey. Are you calling me an—

ASSHOLE2: Asshole! Are you calling him an asshole!?

PLAYWRIGHT: No. I’m finishing your sentence it’s a—

ASSHOLE2: theatrical convention? Hahahaha.

ASSHOLE1: Yeah. Whadda you think we are? Assholes?

PLAYWRIGHT: So there’s no development mo—

ASSHOLE1: Yes there’s development money!

ASSHOLE2: Yes. There is. Money.

PLAYWRIGHT: Oh.

ASSHOLE1: For marketing.

ASSHOLE2: Marketing. Marketing and –

ASSHOLE1: Lighting.

ASSHOLE2: Lighting. Lighting and –

ASSHOLE1: Stage managers.

ASSHOLE2: Assholes but you’ve got to have them.

ASSHOLE1: Yes, you’ve got to have an asshole.

ASSHOLE2: Managing the stage.

ASSHOLE1: That too.

PLAYWRIGHT: So you have money for—?

ASSHOLE1: Actors.

ASSHOLE2: Talk about assholes.

ASSHOLE1: Yeah. Assholes. Actors.

PLAYWRIGHT: So, what’s the percentage?

ASSHOLE1: Percentage?

ASSHOLE2: Percentage? Percentage of—

ASSHOLE1: What?

PLAYWRIGHT: The royalty. For the playwright?

ASSHOLE1 and ASSHOLE2:
Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah. Oh. Ahahahahahahahaha.

ASSHOLE1: That was good!

ASSHOLE2: Yeah. That was good.

PLAYWRIGHT: There’s no money for—?

ASSHOLE1: What? Playwrights?

ASSHOLE2: Playwrights? What?

PLAYWRIGHT: (aside) Assholes.

ASSHOLE1: (aside) Asshole.

ASSHOLE2: (aside) Assholes.

ASSHOLE1: So!

ASSHOLE2: So?

PLAYWRIGHT: So, what?

ASSHOLE1: Will you do it?

ASSHOLE2: Yeah, will you do it?

PLAYWRIGHT: Of course! I get my name in the program, don’t I?

ASSHOLE1 and ASSHOLE2: Don’t push it, asshole!

End

Command Performance

AT RISE

A theatre sits lonely and possibly a little dusty. There is covered furniture upstage (three or more chairs) and a table downstage and, perhaps, a ghost light. THE MAN enters, perhaps from a side door. He carries a briefcase and readies the stage for what can only be a staged reading. He is remarkable only in how normal he looks and acts. Dressed casually but tidily, his clothes and briefcase are tasteful but not ostentatious. He is cheery as he goes about his task and talks to himself.

THE MAN
So much to do. Even for a staged reading as small as this. Oh, but a very important audience to be sure. Very important people. Command performance.

THE MAN disappears off stage and the lights come up. Nothing special. Just a house plot. He readies some props and, almost accidentally, uncovers two of the chairs to reveal BAD ACTOR and BAD ACTRESS. They are not eager to be at the staged reading as evidenced by the rope and gags. They are bound to their chairs.

THE MAN
Oh you’re already here. So good of you to come. It was absolutely hell booking the theatre. Getting the exact date and time. The set-up. Everything had to be perfect don’t you know. Perfect.

Well the show’s about to begin, Ladies and Gentlemen. So take your seats… You do like your seats? Not too close to the action? No. I don’t think so. I think it’s perfect. You will no doubt have an excellent view of the proceedings.

He opens a briefcase rather dramatically and pulls out…programs and scripts, which he places before the BAD ACTORS on the music stands we thought were reserved for the staged reading. There is something else in the briefcase…

You like that? Nice script, eh? Wouldn’t you like to get your hands on it? To sink your teeth into the role? Oh but look closely. If you do, you’ll both see your unworthy handprints all over these scripts. Yes. Not easy to get after all this time but then again they were never yours to begin with, were they? No. See? No notes. Just handprints. The process, as you’ll soon see, is so very important for the good actor. Don’t you agree? Well, no, you wouldn’t, would you?

As if on cue, there is a knock at the door – the same one through which THE MAN entered at the beginning. THE MAN checks his watch.

THE MAN
Not just right on time. Early by ten minutes. That is what I call professional. Don’t you think? I do. Always professional of actors to be a little early in case there are any last minute details. Oh, don’t get up. I’ll get the door.

He opens the door and now there enter the GOOD ACTOR and GOOD ACTRESS. They are dressed as casually and tidily as THE MAN. They hold scripts that look like they’ve been gone over thoroughly; wrinkled, turned up, highlighted, notated. THE MAN pulls them aside.

GOOD ACTOR
Hi.

GOOD ACTRESS
Hi.

THE MAN
You’re here! Thank you so much for coming. Especially under the (he whispers, acknowledging the bound couple upstage) odd circumstances.

Everyone speaks in hushed, reverential tones in honor of the sexual deviants they are serving.

GOOD ACTRESS
No problem.

GOOD ACTOR
Yeah, we didn’t have much time…

THE MAN
No, it’s supposed to be informal.

GOOD ACTRESS
This is their thing?

THE MAN
Oh yes. They want to be right on stage with you. Keep your backs to them, as if they were sneaking in on your performance.

GOOD ACTOR
Wow…

THE MAN
Yes, they have an odd proclivity but pay well.

GOOD ACTOR
Yeah, thanks for the money in advance. Are you sure?

THE MAN
Oh, yes. That’s part of it. Paying dearly…

GOOD ACTRESS
Yeas. Thanks, it’s…

THE MAN
Don’t mention it. Ever. That’s also part of the deal, remember.

Everyone smiles and nods. The GOOD ACTORS take their places down stage of the bound couple and read from their scripts but perform excellently.

THE MAN
And now! Direct from New York, two actual actors. Good actors. Actors who can do what you only dream of in your pitiful fantasies (he winks at the GOOD ACTORS), as you are nothing but pitiful, puking pustules on the cankered ass of actors who are only one percent of the actors these people are! These people, whose names you are not even worthy of knowing, will now perform only one scene from the play you so malishiously maligned in your pitiful attempt to, as you call it, “enact” the roles! Behold, you worthless, sniveling, horrible little…. bad… actors. The scene as it should be done.

With a nod from the man, the GOOD ACTORS look at each other, engage emotionally, and begin the scene.

GOOD ACTOR
How can you—?

GOOD ACTRESS
You have to ask?

GOOD ACTOR
Of course I have to ask. You—

GOOD ACTRESS
Me? We’re talking about you and your—

GOOD ACTOR
My What? You have no proof—

GOOD ACTRESS
Proof? Who needs proof, when I can see it in your eyes! I can see it in your body language, Robert. How do you think I feel when you hold me in your arms and she’s in your thoughts? When you make love to her while it’s my body you hold?

GOOD ACTOR
You knew? All along?

GOOD ACTRESS
Of course, Robert!

GOOD ACTOR
But how, Melanie? I never—

GOOD ACTRESS
Never what? Wanted to betray me? Never wanted me to find out? What? Tell me!

GOOD ACTOR
I never wanted it to go this far. I just—

GOOD ACTRESS
Wanted a one time shot?

GOOD ACTOR
Please, Melanie, let me talk! I never wanted it to happen in the first place! It was after the…

GOOD ACTRESS
Oh. You knew?

GOOD ACTOR
How could I not? He was so nice, so polite. You were both so considerate to each other and to me. It was plainly obvious that you’d—

GOOD ACTRESS
Oh, Robert. How did you—

GOOD ACTOR
How did you know, Melanie? We’re connected. We’re—

GOOD ACTRESS
A mess.

GOOD ACTOR
Yeah.

BOTH
I did it to punish you!

GOOD ACTRESS
I thought—

GOOD ACTOR
So did I—

BOTH
Oh, God!

GOOD ACTOR
Now what?

GOOD ACTRESS
I don’t know. I… I… But I need you—

GOOD ACTOR
To bounce things off of. Me too.

GOOD ACTRESS
Who else can I—

GOOD ACTOR
Tell things to. And now we have no secrets. Can we—?

GOOD ACTRESS
I don’t know. I hope—

GOOD ACTOR
Me too.

They embrace. There is silence.

THE MAN
Oh. Excellent. I wish I could tell you how much your performance meant to me but there’s still so much to do.

GOOD ACTRESS
There’s more?

THE MAN
You have no idea.

GOOD ACTOR
All right. We’ll be off then. Good night.

GOOD ACTRESS
Yeah. Thanks again.

They exit. THE MAN turns to the BAD ACTORS and retrieves a handgun from the briefcase. He then un-gags the actors.

BAD ACTRESS
Is that how—?

BAD ACTOR
I had no idea...

THE MAN
Of course you had no idea! You are idiots. Whoever told you you could act should be—

BAD ACTOR
But it wasn’t all our fault!

BAD ACTRESS
The director—

THE MAN
Don’t say that! Don’t call him that! He doesn’t deserve to be called that!

He uncovers the person in the third chair as he speaks. The BAD ACTORS gasp.

BAD ACTOR & BAD ACTRESS
Mr. Lawn!

THE MAN
Oh yes. You don’t think I would break up that great team that RUINED my play two years ago in this very theatre? On this very night!? No. Mr. Lawn isn’t worthy to see acting like you just experienced but he will get to see what could be your final performance. Unless, by chance, you’re good.

BAD ACTRESS
What?

BAD ACTOR
I don’t get it.

THE MAN
No, I don’t think you do. You will both have one chance to redeem yourselves. You have seen how real actors do it. Now you will please act the scene. Do it well – even three percent as well as you have seen – and you live. Do what you did to this play in this hall on this night to years ago and you all die.

BAD ACTRESS
Mr. Lawn too?

BAD ACTOR
But what did he do?

THE MAN
He cast you! And if you don’t act as well as you can. Better than you ever have in your miserable lives. Then he will have the pleasure of seeing you die on stage. Again.

He unties the BAD ACTORS who begin the scene.
They leave nice pauses for each other. They saw the air. They say only the lines and then as if they “acted” them. It is a mercy killing when THE MAN has had enough.

BAD ACTOR
How can you—?

BAD ACTRESS
You have to ask?

BAD ACTOR
Of course I have to ask. You—

BAD ACTRESS
Me? We’re talking about you and your—

BAD ACTOR
My What? You have no proof—

BAD ACTRESS
Proof? Who needs proof, when I can see it in your eyes! I can see it in your body language, Robert. How do you think I feel when you hold me in your arms and she’s in your thoughts? When you make love to her while it’s my body you hold?

BAD ACTOR
You knew? All along?

BAD ACTRESS
Of course, Robert!

BAD ACTOR
But how, Melanie? I never—

BAD ACTRESS
Never what? Wanted to betray me? Never wanted me to find out? What? Tell me!

BAD ACTOR
I never wanted it to go this far. I just—

BAD ACTRESS
Wanted a one time shot?

BAD ACTOR
Please, Melanie, let me talk! I never wanted it to happen in the first place! It was after the…

BAD ACTRESS
Oh. You knew?

BAD ACTOR
How could I not? He was so nice, so polite. You were both so considerate to each other and to me. It was plainly obvious that you’d—

BAD ACTRESS
Oh, Robert. How did you—

BAD ACTOR
How did you know, Melanie? We’re connected. We’re—

BAD ACTRESS
A mess.

BAD ACTOR
Yeah.

BOTH
I did it to punish you!

BAD ACTRESS
I thought—

BAD ACTOR
So did I—

BOTH
Oh, God!

BAD ACTOR
Now what?

BAD ACTRESS
I don’t know. I… I… But I need you—

BAD ACTOR
To bounce things off of. Me too.

BAD ACTRESS
Who else can I—

BAD ACTOR
Tell things to. And now we have no secrets. Can we—?

BAD ACTRESS
I don’t know. I hope—

BAD ACTOR
Me too.

They embrace as the lights fade. A very loud, very real gunshot is heard. Enough to make the audience scream. Again.

NOTE: If done properly (properly badly), the second scene should take too long. It would be funny for the BAD ACTORS to die on “I did it to punish you” but, after a good run through, everyone should know on what line the lights should fade and the gunshot puts the audience out of their misery.

END

Thank you for attending the First Annual (Online) Play Festival. There are mugs and T-Shirts in the lobby.

To the person who keeps taking down my flyers

Dear Friend,

I call you friend because I believe that we are not all that different.  If an alien came down to earth (or even from another country) he/she would have a hard time distinguishing between you and me.  We both look a lot alike, we both sound and smell alike; the big difference is in how we think.

I think that people should love one another and have fun doing it.  I think that people are basically good and that, left to their own devices, would choose to do good.  I also think that it makes sense for everyone to get along and be happy regardless of what they believe; and that we are guaranteed certain rights simply by being members of the Human Race and the United States of America.

The country in which we have chosen to be neighbors allows us both to say what we think and feel.  I have spoken in words and you have spoken in actions.  Please consider using your words.  I am easy to find and I look forward to speaking with you.

Sincerely,

Kevin Six

Reader Blogs: I Live in Linda Vista

Blogs | La Vista

I Live in Linda Vista

By Kevin Six | Posted December 30, 2010, 9:05 p.m.

RSS | E-mail the Author

When I went into the Reader's website to blog about my neighborhood, I was marketed ingeniously by the computer. Once I typed in my neighborhood, Linda Vista, the Reader showed me an ad that asked me if I needed to get off drugs.
I get it! Linda Vista is not all that cool. When I first moved here from Clairemont (more on that later), I told my friends I lived in Kearney Mesa or near Mesa College. Linda is Spanish for pretty; vista is view and mesa is table. So I's rather live on the table than in pretty view.
Linda Vista has a view if you're in the right part of it. I'm in the Village Woods condo complex, otherwise known as Nazi Germany. Our association president, Adolph Hitler, has a lot of time on her hands and it tightly wound.
Last week there was a knock at the door. No one ever knocks on my door because all my friends think I live in the Spanish version of Pretty Table. Call your neighborhood Linda Mesa and everyone in San Diego will feign comprehension. This knock was definitely on my door and not the someone who wanted drugs from my neighbor next door (much more on that later).
It was the cable guy with an emergency order to fix the stolen cable coming from the electrical box to my condo through the sliding glass door. The cable guy was as incredulous as I was when I showed him the cable running from my TV and into the wall, where it was legally set up and costs me a monthly fortune to try to watch a hundred channels of crap (but more on that later).
So the cable guy makes his note and I get a little crazy on Hitler - er - the woman who runs the condo association. I did research on the internet. I actually found an article on the Reader's website about condo associations. The news was not good.
I decided to go crazy and take everyone on the condo association with me.
The Village Woods condos began life in the 1970s as a swinging singles apartment complex named, as far as I can gather, The Village Woods. There are no woods and there's not a village for that matter. There is a pond, a bit of a waterfall, a nice pool and a clubhouse. That no one gets to use.
Hitler is in charge of who comes and goes to the pool. The association board, which has more power over the Village of Woods than the Nazis ever had over Germany, the Fascist Italy and the Communists over China and Russia combined.
Suffice it to say that the Association got electronic access control over the pool about the time my dues were in arrears enough for the Third Reich - er- the Board to make a rule that you can't use the pool if your dues are passed sue.
Thank god my mother died or I's never have seen the pool or sat in the hot tub!
Then there's the matter of the clubhouse. Now, in the Swinging Seventies (and believe me because I lived through them, they were only trying to find the magic of the 60s and failing miserably), the clubhouse and pool were probably choc full of hipsters drinking Margaritas, skinny-dipping and smoking God-knows-what all day and all of the night.
But forty years on, those swingers have become the owners of the sourest pusses you can imagine. I wonder if the same crotchety old codgers and angry old ladies are the self-same people who partied the illage into the Village Woods complex back in the day. Suffice it to say they have a complex now and that's just about it.
One old guy threw his walking stick at me as I sat in the hot tub one day. Granted, the word from the Reichstag - er- the management company had come that I was not supposed to be in the hot tub but, brother please. Throw a stick at me? While I'm behind a metal fence? I saw him later in the week and, oddly, he didn't want to talk to me. He just pulled outta Dodge as fast as his little dog would go. I pity that dog P.I.T.Y. that old wiener dog who will outlive his master by a good ten years judging from the size of the veins on his neck and the redness on his face.
But I was talking about the clubhouse and not all the neighbors who have and will soon die (more on that later). It would be easier for a nice Jewish couple to get married at the Latter Day Saint's wedding-cake-of a temple than for me or anyone else to get permission to use the clubhouse. And the Politburo - er- the Association Board spent a lot of money on paint, furniture and a kitchen. A kitchen that no one uses!
It's enough to make you crazy. But, as I have said, I am going crazy and taking the whole Fascist, Nazi, Communist, Sour-Puss, Spinning-out-of-control-old-board-biddy bunch of them with me. I have created a new political party. Some thing that will cause them to stay up at night. Something that will cause each one of them to doubt his or her sanity. Something that will place a turd in their carefully concocted and oh-so-out-of-touch punch bowl. Something that will cause them to sell their condos and move to - where?
Nazi Germany!
The Village Woods Fun Party!
The party advocated use of the pool by all Association Members even if they haven's paid their association dues. I advocates for the door to be taken off of the clubhouse -- hell you need a key and an electric thing-a-ma-bob to get that far; do you really need to call and ask for permission and pay a deposit ti use a room that, though it has been redecorated, is set in the timeless Seventies? No!
And you don't need to pay for electricity either. The Village Woods Fun Party advocates for large solar cells on all the roofs, a gray water system to water the plants and what's left of the landscape (don't even get me started on that) and parties every night until eleven o'clock. The Village Woods Fun Party wants to put sliding glass doors on the apartments -- sorry -- condos that don't sound like FA18 taking off when you close them; and we want your privacy to be protected even unto placing recycled Levis jean material in the walls where the contractor should have put insulation. Oh, and we want to let people paint their doors what-ever-the-hells-color they want to paint them.
That ought to do it.

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