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board-born audition piece

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Joined: 19 May 2004
Posts: 297
board-born audition piece  Reply with quote  

(written and performed last week after waking up Friday night and remembering that I had an audition Saturday morning with nada prepared. I found an old missive I'd posted here forever ago and built around it so, since it was born here, I thought I'd share with the class.)



-----------------------
(
Very late at night. Jack, looking like a walking nervous breakdown, approaches Maggie's front door. Stands there, warring with the decision to knock, loses, then knocks...
)


Maggie?



Maggie? It's me.....I'm.....Look, I know it's la--(glances at watch) GAAHH!! Early, I know it's (fuck) early, but....



Mags?


I'm sorry, Maggie. I just...I couldn't figure out where to go.


Don't-don't-don't be mad, please? You don't have to open the door, okay? You don't have to open the door....and you don't have to respond or say anything or......or...listen, even.


'Course, you know this isn't entirely my fault. I mean...I never wanted this...this...status--stature-thing. This rise to whatever the hell--I NEVER WANTED ANYONE TO READ THE FUCKING BOOK!!!!

(something is thrown against the door from the inside. Hard.)


SORRY! I'm sorry! Oh God, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.



(silence)



So, hey, I know you're probbably busy and I need to get back to...you know....Mordor, so...uh

I just had a quick question. Something that's been bugging me since the computer and I stopped speaking and I...you know me better than I know myself...before we were married, while we were married....and now. So I thought I'd ask you.


Maggie? When did I UN-learn how to write in cursive script?


I just don't-- some of my earliest memories of grade school were of choking a No. 2 pencil to death, tongue stuck out, struggling to make those blocky letters into consistent swoops and whorls...And...and after I had it, that's the only way I wrote! For years! YEARS! that's how we ALL wrote!! Homework, essays, bookreports, love-notes, letters to Steve Austin...all ALL in cursive. Remember? We made those words link up in a sexy conga line of grammer and now....now....

NOW

I can't write that way to save my life! When the hell did this happen?! How? Too many crossword puzzles? Too few love-notes?

now my handwriting it just....seems to consist of some some sorta weird block-lettered, hieroglyphic, thumb-smudged, Morse-coded chicken scratch hybrid.

I only just learned about this motor skill loss...trying to write you-- trying to write a lov--


I'm...forgive me, Maggie.


Fuck.

I'm a 37 year old house painter. A house painter who wrote a book...which he only wrote because he lost a bet to his wife...his wife that somehow went from a pack a day to zilch without once--

okay, okay....


You won, I lost. So instead of telling it, I wrote it...and...


and...


............the fucking thing sold 17 million copies.



So, now I have a literary agent young enough to have never heard the sound of a busy signal but, apprently, is mature enough to have made the booking agent for Leno "her bitch'.

I have a fan base that now includes places in the world I've never heard of.

I have an official web-site, three un-official websites, a message board that I am not, under no circumstances, to post on, and something called a blog.

I've recieved ten thousand letters wanting a sequel, two hundred letters offering suggestions for a sequel, and a half-dozen death threats demanding a sequel. All six of which were from my publisher.

My name is now more recognizable than Vonnegut's. I mean...for fuck's sake, VONNEGUT.....which at least two of my readers believe to be a type of yoga.


Thats what I got.

Oh...and a bank account that won't stop growing,


an empty house,



and a computer. A state-of-the-art, matte black marvel.....

........where I've written exactly 362 words. 362 words that, when strung together, add up to absolutley no story at all.



....and will only ever be read by an animated paperclip that seems to have an obsessive concern about my grammer usage.



I've got all that....



...and all I want




is to paint houses,




find my cursive handwriting,





and write love-letters...







...to my wife.




(silence. Jack reaches out, touches to door, then turns and walks away.)

-scene-

_________________
Angels, Devils, and Men:
The first forgets,
The third regrets,
and the second has all of the fun.

--Analytics of Five

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