I Feel Like This Should Be Simple

What are the rules of theatre-going audiences?

1) arrive with plenty of time to park, get your tickets from will-call if necessary, find your seats, peruse the program and be ready for the show to begin BEFORE the posted curtain time.

2) dress appropriately (ie. don't wear a bikini to the opera).

3) turn off your cell phone. off, not just on vibrate. we can hear that.

4) don't talk during the performance.

5) applaud at the end of act 1, if applicable, and at the end of the performance.

6) don't walk onto the stage.

7) don't touch the props or set pieces.

8) unwrap any hard candy or cough drops prior to the start of the performance.

Did I miss anything? I don't think so.

Now, these rules are fairly universal. It's not as though at Theatre X you're allowed to talk on the phone while the performance is running while at Theatre Y you're not. You're just not allowed to do that at all. Ever. These rules span all theatres, in all cities, states, countries and genres, from opera to fringe, from garages to stadium arenas. If you are seeing a play, follow these rules.

So how is it that people still miss this memo? How is it that someone, so naive in the ways of being a courteous individual at the theatre, can brazenly walk into a theater that has most of the lights off already, in which there are three people who are obviously cleaning up after a performance, walk past the seats, ONTO the stage, UNCOVER two layers of coverings off a piano, OPEN the keyboard cover of the piano which is onstage and start PLAYING the piano?!

Oh. And P.S. If you're going to be this jackass, at least play something better than only the right hand portion of "Lean On Me."

Tool.

The Brawl

(names have been changed and locations altered to protect the guilty parties involved)

It's a Friday night and my high school buddy, Killer, wants to have a party. Parents are out of town and the house is his. He invites me, some of our other high school alum's and we all invite some others. We end up with a group comprised of me (The Doc), The Bear, The Saint, J-Money and Swat. There are some others who are in attendance early on, but several leave and mostly, only we named few remain. At around 1:00 or so, Killer's sister arrives with some people. Two Persians, a big guy and three girlfriends. The big guy is totally cool and the girls are all alright. But Sister's getting panicked because this fellow, we'll call him Grunt, who has stolen her iPod and a bunch of money is going to come over. We don't like this, so we team huddle.

After our huddle, Sister informs us that the Persians are weirding her out. The Saint takes it upon himself to go outside and smoke with them to feel out the situation. Meanwhile, Sister informs us that Grunt and his best friend, a 250-lb Navy Rescue Swimmer who we'll call Kong and Kong's girlfriend who we'll call Garfield, are all on their way. Team huddle again with The Doc, Bear, Killer, J-Money and Swat. We decide that we will ask him to leave if anything seems suspicious or out of control. Sister begs us to not let the two of them disappear together, and we promise to hold that bargain.

Well Grunt, Kong and Garfield arrive and seem to be nice enough. However, Kong is huge. The first thing I notice is how huge Kong is and I look to Killer and say, "dude. f#$k you."

After a little while of civil behavior, Kong goes to the garage to see J-Money, Swat and The Bear playing beer pong. The Bear extricates himself from the game in order to keep an eye on Kong while the rest of us notice that Sister and Grunt have disappeared behind her locked bedroom door. Swat and J-Money come inside while the other miscellaneous party guests play beer pong and Bear keeps Kong distracted. Killer and I go to Sister's door while Swat and J-Money line the hallway. Garfield approaches and looks none too happy but we tell her to be cool and that it's time for her friends and her to leave. Killer has to threaten to break down the door before Sister will open it and, immediately, Grunt is up in Killer's face. Garfield pulls Grunt aside and Killer and Sister have at it. Meanwhile, I grab Grunt by the collar and say, "It's time for you to go." He tries to stare me down from six inches below my nose so I look at Garfield and say, "You need to gather your boyfriend and your friend here and go home now." She says meekly, "okay."

Grunt and Garfield head downstairs followed by Swat and J-Money. I keep an ear for a minute on Killer and his Sis before the yelling is a little more than I should be hearing so I head down. Just then The Saint walks in the door. I say, "How are the Persians." He says, "Great! They're really nice guys but they heard all the yelling and decided to head out." I say, "cool, man. what're you drinking?" "straight doctor pepper." I look him hard in the eyes. "Switch to water and get ready." He reappears five seconds later with a glass of water and I fill him in.

By this point, Grunt and Garfield have joined Kong in the garage and Sister comes barreling down the stairs looking for Grunt. She blazes right past him, sneaks out under the garage door and opens her jeep's door. The Saint and I hear this and, realizing that a 19-year-old probably should drive after drinking a six pack of mike's hard lemonade, chase her. Meanwhile Killer enters the garage looking for his sister only to find that she's driving off and the Grunt is in his face again. Sister nearly runs both the Saint and I over taking off. He runs back inside before me. When I turn around the first thing I see is Killer's right fist nearly take the Grunt's head off.

My world goes slow-mo as I think, "ooooohh noooo…."

That's about all the time I have before Kong has jumped over his falling friend and blasted Killer square in the face. As I run in, Swat grabs Kong by the shoulders yelling "Stop!" but is stopped himself when the Grunt sucker-punches him from below and jumps on top of him. J-Money joins that fray while the Saint tries to block Kong. I see Kong's right hook wind back and have barely enough time to jump on his arm to stop him from snapping the Saint in half. I drop him to the ground, I'm not sure how, and hold him saying, "Sorry bro. You're out of this fight." Meanwhile, the Saint flies in and tackles J-Money, Swat and the Grunt. By now, the Bear has removed Killer and has returned for Swat. With both of them out, J-Money heads into the house and the Grunt tries to follow him. The Saint blocks the hallway.

"You really wanna get in my way?" yells the Grunt.

"You're not going in the house, man." the Saint states cooly.

Just then, Garfield, out of nowhere, attacks the Saint with claws of furry. Fortunately, the Bear took over blocking the hallway. I throw Kong across the garage and leap into the middle of the room. The Saint throw the Grunt toward Kong and he and I go back-to-back between the Bear and our two enemies, arms out to the sides yelling, "everyone fucking stop!"

Everyone fucking stops.

We line up British Militia style, the Grunt's nose barely a foot from mine, blood pouring down his face over his left eye where Killer and cracked his face open. I say, "Alright everyone be cool. No one is going inside. You three need to leave now, but I would really appreciate it if you'd let me fix up that cut on your face first."

Everyone fucking stops again.

The Grunt starts to mouth off to me but is stopped when Kong looks more at me, the 150-pounder who just took his ass down and kept it down saying, "Man, just let him clean you up." I get my med kit and clean him up. He and the Saint go and have a cigarette while I talk the Sister down, get her keys and send her inside. Kong, the Grunt and Garfield take off and we lock the house down. I send everyone who's bleeding or been bled on to a sink with soap to get cleaned up and we crack open some beers and toast the evening's festivities.

I spend about 15 minutes in the garage scrubbing blood of the floor feeling very much like Ian McShane in the HBO series Deadwood and then head in to finish off the remaining Keystone Lights.

All-in-all, a hell of a high school reunion.

Spin. A short play by Andrew J. Perez

MIKE: Hey man.

ANDREW: Yo, bro. What up?

MIKE: Nothin much (they hug) how are you?

ANDREW: Kinda tired. Think I'm gonna get something to eat.

(Andrew rummages in the pantry. Mike notices that he has two bandages on the knuckles of two of his left-hand fingers and tape on the knuckles of both index fingers.)

MIKE: Shit, man, what happened to your hands?

ANDREW: Oh - work.

MIKE: Work?!

ANDREW: Yeah, I got a job.

MIKE: Doing what? Punching angry cats?

ANDREW: Ha - no. Sign spinning.

MIKE: Are you serious?

ANDREW: Yeah. (he emerges from the pantry with a protein bar, opens it and starts eating)

MIKE: So you dance on a street corner...

ANDREW: yup.

MIKE: twirling a sign around...

ANDREW: more rocking it back and forth in a rhythmic fashion than twirling, but in essence, yes.

MIKE: And someone pays you for it.

ANDREW: hah - yup.

MIKE: And then you punched angry kittens who attacked you and that's why you have bandages all over your hands.

ANDREW: Oh - no. These are from where the sign skinned my knuckles and started rubbing in a blister-making sort of way.

MIKE: Oh... how much do you get paid for this?

ANDREW: minimum wage.

MIKE: huh... do you have to wear a costume?

ANDREW: oh yeah.

MIKE: what is it?

ANDREW: ... Lady Liberty.

MIKE: No shit you're one of those?!

ANDREW: oh yeah. I'm one of those.

MIKE: ha! that's funny.

ANDREW: yeah. but hey, it's paid.

MIKE: word.

(a pause in the conversation)

ANDREW: well, I'm going to go lie down for a bit.

MIKE: alright man. enjoy.

ANDREW: I will. Take it easy.

MIKE: yup.

(Andrew exits. Mike sits on a stool. He checks his phone, puts it away. He ponders briefly and then chuckles.)

Blackout.

Tell It Like It Is

I feel like I've been tricked. I feel like everything that's happened this week has been some kind of a trap to make me believe, for a short time, that I'm on the right track only to pull the rug out from under me.

Now, I fully understand that this is illogical thinking. Rationally speaking, there is no proverbial rug to pull out from under me. There is not even a proverbial "puller" to pull said rug, again, rationally speaking here. However, that's how it feels. And that's what blogs are for, right? To post the drivel and mental ejaculate that arbitrarily becomes a temporarily seeming-reality in the constant uphill struggle?

I digress. I am fully aware that I have chosen a career path that is 99.9% rejection. However, it still sucks. And I wasn't prepared for it. I should have been - I KNEW I should have been - but I had not prepared myself for it. Well, balls.

I think it's because I have led a very fleetingly charmed month. Things clicked so well in my life while I was in Seattle (okay, that's not entirely true. Many things did. Many things did not.) for a week, the show I was in (that I got into almost entirely by accident) was spectacular… the world seemed to finally say, "hey bro - sorry about last year, man. Let me make it up to you!" To which I replied, "it's about fucking time!"

Well as Admiral Ackbar once so eloquently put it, "IT'S A TRAP!"

Today was, to say it like it is, a bummer. I'm just very bummed that the guy I spent the entire afternoon, evening and night training to take care of my brother, turns out to not be the guy from this agency who's going to come in to take care of my brother. Man, that's ten hours out of my life that was, literally, a wasted effort. I trained air. I could have just hung out with my brother instead, had a lot more fun, not been stressed out, not given myself a sore throat from explaining step-by-step what I was doing for the whole darn day… Just tell it like it is, people.

Moral:

If you're not what you say you are, please step out of line and go away.

The Great White, Chapter 3

When first we met The Great White, I was attacked over and over again under water. I was trapped fully in his world with no escape, no possible hope of survival.

This chapter went on for months.

Recently, The Great White returned, but this time, we met on my terms. As he charged to and fro under the dock, my cousin and I lobbed and reeled a thick rope until it caught in his teeth and I pulled him in, holding him aloft with one massive arm.

Now, he has moved on to a more potent fare. No longer did he solely attack me, but my father. And he brought a friend.

We were in what appeared to be a shark tank in an aquarium when, out of no where, The Great White's partner slipped in behind my father, clenching his left leg in his powerful jaws and shaking him like a bottle of separated orange juice. I shot through the water and jammed a black bic pen into the assailant's eye. Blood oozed out, and yet the beast did not release my father. I withdrew the pen and jammed it into its gills. Finally, my father broke free, just in time to point over my shoulder, giving me barely enough time to roll out of the way of The Great White, coming in hot. His jaws were open wide, expectant, cocky even. I rolled toward my left shoulder and was bowled over, spinning to the right. We raced for the surface and escaped the watery hold. We told everyone around to get away from the edge and, better yet, get the hell out of the aquarium altogether.

One man jauntily walked up to me and said, "It doesn't look that bad."

I glared at him as though I could convince The Great White to hunt him instead with a mere look. "You have no idea."

Christmas Eve, or A Poem About a Oranges, Birthdays, Sweaters, Roasts, Interns, Italian Cakes, Mexicans and Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas -

A Friday night, too -

And my friend, Holly's, birthday

was quite the to-do.

When we searched for a bar that

Would stay open late

It appeared that our outing

Was planned out by fate.

For was only one bar that

Would pour Christmas Eve -

Our beloved Streets of London -

Not hard to believe.

It was already late-ish,

That is, if you're old,

So I sought out a partner

To keep out the cold.

I had one friend named Laura

Who wanted a ride

On my big motorcycle.

Like The Dude, I'd abide.

So I stole her from rapture

Of films well conceived,

And we went for a bike ride

On this Christmas Eve.

We both rode to Old Sacto

To see all the lights

And my timing was perfect

For them to flash bright.

I turned right back around and

We headed on home.

Then I dropped her right off and

Was back on my own.

Like old Santa I flew to

The bar and my crew

Prepped for much merry-making

You know that it's true.

My dear Holly was there with

Danielle and three more:

There was Cynthia, Carly,

And Annie, the whore.

They drank Blue Moon with oranges

By pitcher and pint

And they chatted with boys who

Just might treat them right.

There were Mexican soldiers

Whom Annie had found

And some Firemen with sweaters

Of purplish brown.

Yes the time rolled on by us

And two-o'clock struck

Then the bar made us head home

No matter how drunk.

I then turned to Danielle, with

her pretty blond bob,

I said, "How 'bout a ride on

My big orange hog?"

Oh her eyes sparkled grey at

The thought of a ride

So we walked to my Shadow

Parked barely outside.

Then I gave her a helmet,

All decked out with chains,

I acquired my own with

Orange stripes bright as flames.

I turned over the motor

And she roared to life.

And Danielle held on tighter,

Eyes grey as a knife.

So we drove all of nine blocks

And parked by her door,

Then she asked me to enter

And see what's in store,

When the door opened warmly

And sound blasted out,

Twas a party upon us

Of that we'd no doubt.

The Italian neighbor,

Andrea by name,

And his lovely partner,

His wife - quite a dame -

They had brought champagne over

And cake from a box

Thus the party was on now,

Twas just three-o'clock.

The next twenty-four hours

The T.V. would play

just the film "Christmas Story"

for all Christmas day.

While it played in the background

And Chris served the roast,

We all raised up our glasses

For a Christmas toast.

As the hours kept on rolling

The girls went to sleep.

Firstly Annie, then Carly

Upstairs they did creep.

There were Laura and Chris who

Now slept in a chair

While Danielle and I cuddled

Now barely aware

That Andrea was drinking

The wine from each cup

Though the clock in my pocket

Chimed five when it struck.

I decided to mosey

My sluggish way home

Since the sun would be rising

In air cold as stone.

I said, " 'night" to the party

And guests in the house

And I crept to my Shadow

As hushed as a mouse.

Twas now Christmas's morning

And I just got home.

A successful fiesta

Spent far from alone.

Blue Polo and Black Slacks

Linda would not have left Sam's side for anything. Nothing short of death could take her from him. So when she passed away last month, it was a blow unlike any other, not only for her family, but for ours.

Linda had worked with my brother, Sam, for years. I don't even know how many. I was too young when she started with him to even try to keep track now. Maybe ten? Ten years or so.

She followed him everywhere. Every school. Every summer program. Every year. Her car was there, trailing the bus and she was there to push him around in his chair all day every day at school.

I remember once, when Sam had been asking for her a lot one Summer, my family was driving to a vacation and my mom was trying to reference "Linda Vista," an area in California. But she didn't want to say Linda (pronounced LEEN-duh) because she thought it would set Sam off on a thought train that we'd never get him off of again. I wasn't getting it, though. She kept saying "the town that's name means pretty view." I kept saying, "Bella Vista? Isn't that a high school?" (yes it is.) My dad finally whispered to me, "Linda Vista." I said, "why aren't we saying it out loud? Why aren't we saying Linda Vista?" Sam said, "BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BA?!" and started pointing back the way we'd come for the next hour or so. "Ohhh," I said.

Tonight, her husband came to visit us and have dinner.

I've never thought so hard about which clothes to change into after biking home from work.