Week 39, Day 269 - "Something's Different"

“Something’s Different”

Written by Joe Janes

10/14/09

269 of 365

CAST

Al, 30s

Annette, 30s

(Lights up. Annette sits on the couch flipping through a New Yorker magazine. Al enters.)

AL

Hi, Honey.

ANNETTE

Hi, Baby.

(Al kisses her from standing behind the couch. She stops to kiss him, but doesn’t lose her place.)

AL

Missed you.

ANNETTE

Missed you, too.

(He exits to put away his coat and bag.)

AL (off)

How was you day off?

ANNETTE

Oh, nothing much to report. Completely wasted the day doing as little as possible.

AL

Good for you.

ANNETTE

How was your day?

AL (entering)

Same ol’, same ol’. (He takes in the room.) Something’s different.

ANNETTE

I don’t think so.

AL

Yes, Annette. I can feel it. Something is different.

ANNETTE

Don’t think so, Al.

AL

Your hair is different.

ANNETTE

I didn’t wash it.

AL

That’s not different. You lost weight.

ANNETTE

Not since this morning.

AL

That lamp is new.

ANNETTE

We bought that lamp at IKEA two years ago. And you hate it.

AL

I do hate it. The room feels different.

ANNETTE

Same as it ever was.

AL

Must be going crazy. (He sits.)

ANNETTE

I think that train already left the station.

AL (standing)

Aha!

ANNETTE

What!

AL

You don’t read The New Yorker.

ANNETTE

I read most of it.

AL

I have never seen you read The New Yorker before.

ANNETTE (holding the cover out to him)

I have a subscription. Have for a year, now. Got it with the NPR membership.

AL

Damn it all. Haven’t you ever had that feeling before? That feeling that something was different? Off? Like someone’s been here or something happened here?

ANNETTE

Sure.

AL

Ever have it not be anything at all?

ANNETTE

All the time.

(Pause)

AL

You’re having an affair.

ANNETTE

Nope.

AL

You’re pregnant.

ANNETTE

Hell, no.

AL

You’ve been researching your family tree and have discovered we’re brother and sister.

ANNETTE

No and gross.

AL

You’re adopted.

ANNETTE

No.

AL

I’m adopted.

ANNETTE

Probably, but no. Can you obsess quietly while I read?

Al

Sure.

(Pause as Al quietly obsesses.)

AL

You’re in love.

ANNETTE

I am.

AL

Me, too. We’re talking about the two of us right? (She nods.) Well, I’m going to go make dinner. Quinoa maki and miso soup?

ANNETTE

You read my mind.

(Al gets up and goes to the kitchen. Annette runs to the bedroom door and opens it and the opens the front door.)

ANNETTE

Hurry, hurry. Go, go, before he sees you.

(From the bedroom and rushing out the door are a mailman, a clown on a tricycle, the guy from KISS you’re least familiar with, a carnie dragging a bear on a chain, a robot cop, a dragon and TV’s Urkel. Al enters.)

AL

Annette?

(The parade of oddity and Annette freezes in their tracks.)

ANNETTE

Yes, Honey.

AL

We’re all out of quinoa. I’m going to use the black rice, instead.

ANNETTE

Okay.

(Al looks mystified.)

AL

I just can’t put my finger on it.

ANNETTE

I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

(Al shrugs and exits. Annette resumes rushing the oddball exodus with Urkel being followed by a penguin, a ballet dancer, a one-man band and Richard Simmons. Lights fade.)

Week 39, Day 268 - "The Weeping Llama"

“The Weeping Llama”

Written by Joe Janes

10/13/09

268 of 365

CAST

Rachel, 20s

Wayne, 50s

Blanche, 50s

Dean, 30s

The Weeping Llama, 30s

Whale, ???

(Lights up on a shadowy, bare space. Rachel, wearing khaki slacks and a dark polo shirt, walks followed by the edge of a large tour group. We assume the group extends beyond from the three or four folks that we can see.)

RACHEL

This is an alley.

WAYNE

It’s very clean.

RACHEL

Chicago alleys are very well kept. It is a source of pride for our city.

BLANCHE

Is it haunted, too?

RACHEL

As recently as last month, and you can Google this, a man was walking through here with his wife taking a shortcut to get to their car after leaving “The Jersey Boys” before the curtain call to avoid the crowds. As he reached this very spot, a good twenty feet from the sidewalk, he and his wife reported hearing a wailing sound.

WAYNE

Blanche, they heard a whale. I’ll bet it was that dead whale we saw at the aquarium.

BLANCHE

We saw a dead whale today. And you didn’t want to go.

WAYNE

It’s fish. I’d rather pay to eat them than pay to see them. But seeing a dead one, especially a whale, that was cool. (He flips through the pics on his digital camera) I have a picture with me next to it.

RACHEL

That’s okay. The man and his wife didn’t hear a Beluga whale. They heard the sound of someone crying. They looked around and didn’t see anyone.

DEAN

What happened to them?

RACHEL

They left the alley, found their car, and drove to Naperville.

DEAN

That sounds terrible.

WAYNE

What made the crying sound? Did they ever find out?

RACHEL

Legend has it they heard the cries of The Weeping Llama.

(The crowd gasps.)

WAYNE

No whale ghosts, but you’ve got llama ghosts.

RACHEL

Llama is just a nickname. It was a weeping woman with a long hairy neck.

(A woman in a plain old dress, possibly from the 30s, enters the alley from the other side. She has a very hairy neck and carries a baby wrapped in a blanket.)

BLANCHE

There she is.

RACHEL

It’s said that every night at this time, she reenacts the horrible events that happened here.

DEAN

What happened here?

RACHEL

She married the man she loved.

BLANCHE

Oh, no.

RACHEL

It’s said that once they had a child, he stopped loving her. On the other side of this alley, she was walking down the street with her baby, looking for her husband. She found him strolling along with a party girl. He patted the baby on the head, but ignored her. He kept walking. Distraught, she walked into this alley and right in that spot, she killed her baby.

(We see the woman take the baby and begin to strangle it.)

DEAN

Don’t shake the baby! Don’t shake the baby!

(The woman drops the bundle to the ground. Begins to wail and walks off.)

BLANCHE

No wonder she’s a ghost.

RACHEL

But that’s not all. She left her husband and she became a party girl. She went to all the soirees, galas and jubilees. And soon, she was pregnant with a child.

WAYNE

The same child.

RACHEL

No, another child.

WAYNE

It would be so awesome if she was pregnant with the ghost of the child she killed.

BLANCHE

Or a whale.

DEAN

Or a real llama.

RACHEL

I’m sure you are all correct. However, in this case, it was just a baby.

(The llama woman reenters carrying another baby bundled much like the previous one.)

RACHEL

But the baby was cramping her new party girl lifestyle. She was no longer able to stay out as late and gentlemen callers stopped calling. So, she stabbed the baby.

(The woman pulls out a switchblade and stabs the baby.)

DEAN

Fight, baby! Fight!

(The woman drops the baby on top of the other one and wanders off, wailing.)

BLANCHE

This story is so horrible. Did she ever pay for her crimes?

RACHEL

Well, yes. But not how you think. She returned to her party girling and a very rich city councilman paid her to be a kept woman. And during that time, she became pregnant. Well, the councilman wanted to be mayor some day and wanted her to get rid of it, but she refused. She loved the man and wanted to have his child. The mayoral wannabe threw her out of her gilded cage.

WAYNE

She lived where?

RACHEL

Her apartment. Pregnant, she wandered the streets. Lost. Aimless. One night, she found her self here.

(The woman with the hairy neck wanders into the alley. She is pregnant. And she is wailing.)

DEAN

She’s wailing, again. Is it because she’s sad?

RACHEL

It’s because her water broke.

(The woman wails louder, falls to the ground and quickly gives birth. She stops wailing. She takes the baby and wraps it in a handy blanket. She cradles the baby in a very motherly fashion.)

BLANCHE

Look. It has a happy ending.

DEAN

I don’t think so.

RACHEL

She realized that she loved her baby. More than she had ever loved any of her babies.

(The woman stands.)

RACHEL (continuing)

She loved her baby so much that she knew she would never be able to stand her baby growing up and some day dying. So, she decided to kill the baby now to spare her the pain.

(The woman pulls out a gun and points it at the baby. Before she can pull the trigger, the baby pulls out a gun and shoots her. She drops the baby and falls to the ground. She wails in pain.)

DEAN

Did she die? Did the baby die?

RACHEL

Nobody knows. We only know that at this time every night, she lives through her nightmare again and she’s doomed to repeat it…for eternity. (She lets that land on her stunned tour group.) Okay, back to the bus. Let’s hustle. I get paid by the tour, not the hour.

(She leads them off. We hear a whale wailing. A whale walks out into the alley and sees all the bodies. The llama woman takes her gun and shoots the whale. He falls. Blackout.)

Week 39, Day 267 - "To Wake, Perchance to..."

“To Wake, Perchance to…”

Written by Joe Janes

10/12/09

267 of 365

CAST

Harry, 50s

(Lights up on Harry walking out of his bathroom in pajamas and with a toothbrush in his mouth. He brushes his teeth a bit while considering the audience. He steps off, spits, rinses and returns. As he speaks, he gets dressed in clothes that are inexplicably strewn throughout the room without rhyme or reason or rhyming reason. In one corner of the stage are a pillow and a rumpled blanket)

HARRY

I used to sleep twelve hours a day. Twelve hours. Half of the day. Uninterrupted. People told me that was too much. Mainly my parents, but friends, too. “Harry, you sleep too much.” “Dude, you sleep too much.” My friends called me Harry. My parents called me Dude. To show they were hip. My friends and I could never plan anything in the morning unless I spent the night. And I was always late to school. As I got older, somewhere between graduating high school to graduating college, I went down to eight hours of sleep each night. A job job nailed it in place. Because, you know, eight hours. You’re supposed to do that. And I did. For a very long time. It’s respectable. Needed my eight hours. If I didn’t get it, fuck you and everyone around you. Eight hours of work, eight hours of sleep. Only fair. Tat for tit. That lasted till somewhere during the first wife. She needed ten hours of sleep, absolute darkness in the room and wore earplugs and a sleep mask. We didn’t have curtains, we had a blanket duct taped around the window. It was like sleeping in a sarcophagus. I was sleeping with the dead and not in any fun way. You open your eyes and it’s so dark and there’s nothing for your eyes to adjust to… it’s like you’ve gone blind. (He picks up a pair of dress slacks, sniffs the crotch to check for extreme funk, decides it’s okay and puts them on.) I couldn’t sleep like that. I went down to six hours in a split shift. Four hours, pee, then back for two hours. Sometimes I stayed up post-pee, surfed the net, did the dishes, drank coffee, but mostly I’d put in those two other hours. Do the time of six hours. One time, while surfing the net, I read that we spend one third of our lives asleep. I think it’s more, if you add in catnaps and just plain zoning out. Which makes me wonder, how do we know? (He finds a tie to put on, it is already knotted.) If that much of our lives is spent on sleep, how do we really know what’s awake? I’m not trying to be all woo-woo. It’s a serious inquiry (He says non-seriously.) I want to know why I love being asleep so much. Even though I don’t sleep as long as I used to, I’m good at it. It’s one of the few things I do really well. When my head hits the pillow, I get right to work. Roll up my sleeves and start sawing those logs. And I have great dreams. Wonderful dreams. Flying, rock star, sex. And none of that metaphor-turning-on-a-faucet-symbolic sex. I have sex. Steamy, rockin’, hip thrusting good stuff. Sans the nocturnal emissions. No fuss, no muss. (He finds a sports coat to put on.) And if that’s being awake, what the hell is this recurring nightmare I have of moving like a snail over asphalt crowded by other snails to a cubical cage in a barn full of cubicle cages where men and women in Italian lab coats carry clipboards and Blackberrys and give me tasks to complete in front of a screen and give me food and treats that come out of a machine when I press the right button? And then they make me crawl back home in a metal container that does not keep me fresh. Only to eat in a bigger, more comfortable cage, sit in front of another screen, and back to the business being horizontal and totally surrendering to the law of gravity. (He puts on his shoes. Stands, straightens out his clothes. Looks at his watch.) Right on time. (He crawls under the blanket, puts his head on the pillow and starts snoring. Lights fade.)

Week 38, Day 266 - “What If They Held A Peace Rally And Nobody Came?"

“What If They Held A Peace Rally And Nobody Came?"

Written by Joe Janes

10/11/09

266 of 365

CAST

Dad, late 40s

Tad, late teens

Tad’s Mom, late 40s

A mime

Some homeless bag lady

Tom Cruise in A wheelchair like in “Born on the Fourth of July”

(Lights up on Tad sitting on the curb. A poster board sign is next to him that says “No More War.” On the other side of him is an unopened case. He looks sad. He takes his sign and tears it up. His dad, carrying a case similar to the one next to Tad, walks up.)

DAD

I hope you weren’t disappointed in the turnout for your peace rally, Tad.

TAD

Oh, no, Dad. It’s quantity, not quality, right?

DAD (sitting)

That it is, Son. That it is.

TAD

This was just a tiny ripple in the start of a tidal wave towards world peace.

DAD

That’s the spirit. I’m proud of you for trying.

TAD

Mom didn’t even come.

DAD

Your mom’s not really in a “peace” frame of mind, these days. She had her kick boxing class.

TAD

I had such a big day planned.

DAD

It started off okay. The mimes were good. Until the “Q & A” session.

TAD

They shouldn’t have told me they’d do a question and answer session if they didn’t intend to speak.

DAD

Almost had a crowd till then. You probably shouldn’t have shouted at them, being a peace rally and all.

TAD

My peace rally was a failure.

DAD

I’m not going to lie to you, Son. It was. It really, really was. (Tad, somehow, looks even more crushed) But what’s important is that you believed in something and you did something about it. Most people believe in stuff and never do anything about it, you know, like religion. Hey (He opens his case) How about a song?

TAD

Okay, Dad.

(Tad opens his case. They both pull out small tubas and begin to play “Kumbaya.” As they play, a mime, Tad’s mother wearing boxing gloves, some homeless bag lady, Tom Cruise in a wheel chair as in “Born on the Fourth of July” appear and circle behind them, holding hands, moved to tears. Dad and Tad finish and the small crowd behind them erupts into applause and cheers.)

MIME (crying)

That was so beautiful.

TAD

Now you talk? Now you talk? (Tad chases after the mime with his tuba) I hate you, mime! I hate you! (Off stage, we hear the mime being beaten by the tuba. Lights fade as the rest of the cast winces.)

Week 38, Day 265 - "Happy Alzheimer's"

“Happy Alzheimer’s”

Written by Joe Janes

10/10/09

265 of 365

CAST

Helen, 70s

Don, 50s

Bob, 40s

Joe, 40s

(Lights up on Don and Bob standing near a seated Helen. Helen has a comforter over her lap and is only slightly aware of their presence. Don kneels down to talk to her.)

DON

Hey, Mom. Happy birthday. Bob and I are here to wish you a happy birthday.

BOB

Happy birthday, Mom.

HELEN

That’s nice. You’re good boys.

(Joe enters.)

JOE

Hey.

DON

Didn’t think you were coming.

JOE

I’m here, right? (He kneels down to talk to his mother.) Hi, mom. It’s Joe. Happy birthday. Did you like your card? You gave her a card, right?

BOB

We gave her a card.

JOE

With my name on it?

BOB

You weren’t here.

(Joe sees the cards on a nearby dresser. He grabs one and scribbles his name on it.)

JOE

Here you go, Mom. I got you a card.

HELEN (She looks at it)

Oh, my, that’s nice. Look at that. Those flowers are pretty. “Like two flowers in a vase, we brighten each other’s day, as only sisters can. Love, your sister Elsie… and Joe.” That’s nice. You’re a good boy.

JOE

Are we taking her out to dinner?

DON

The nursing home said it wasn’t a good idea. She’s been getting worse.

JOE

Looks okay to me. I mean, okay for mom.

BOB

We were just going to spend a little more time and then go hit a bar.

JOE

I like that plan, but I’m torn. It’s her birthday. She won’t be around much longer. I want her to have a great birthday.

DON

Even if we did take her out, she won’t remember it tomorrow.

JOE

Good point. Let’s give her the best birthday she’s ever had. (Don and Bob look at each other quizzically.) Hey, Mom. How was your birthday? Wasn’t it the best ever?

HELEN

It’s my birthday. Oh, look, someone gave me a card. (She reads it.) That’s nice.

JOE

Did you enjoy your birthday dinner?

HELEN

I love The Olive Garden.

JOE

Really? That’s where we took you?

DON

Five years ago.

HELEN

They have the best breadsticks and fettuccine alfredo. And all the waiters and waitresses sang “Happy Birthday to me.” And your father was being so funny, “Never ending pasta bowl, more like never ending toilet bowl.” (She laughs.) Such a card.

BOB

Mom, Dad-

(Don stops him with a hand on Bob’s arm.)

DON

Did you like your present?

HELEN

I did. (She looks a round the room.) I must have put it away already. It was the prettiest dress from The Fashion Bug. I’m going to wear it Sunday to church.

JOE

You really enjoyed your birthday.

HELEN

You boys are so good to me. It was the best birthday I can remember ever having.

BOB

Did you get everything you wanted?

HELEN

Well…

JOE

The sky’s the limit, Mom.

HELEN

I’ve always wanted a pony. (The guy’s all look at each other.)

DON

A pony?

BOB

We got you one.

JOE

Yeah. Don’t you remember, Mom?

HELEN

Oh, yes (she doesn’t.)

JOE

You named him Chestnut.

DON

He’s out back.

HELEN

Can I see him, again?

BOB

He’s sleeping.

JOE

He’s sleeping. You can see him in the morning. You must be exhausted from your busy day.

HELEN

I am.

JOE

Okay, Mom. Love you. I’ll see you the next time I’m in town. (He kisses her on the cheek.)

BOB

Bye, Mom. I love you. (He hugs her.)

DON

Love you, Mom. (He hugs her and kisses her on the forehead.) Happy birthday.

(The guys head to the door.)

HELEN

I would never name a horse Chestnut.

(The guys all turn and guiltily look at her.)

HELEN (continuing)

Tomorrow, I’ll rename him Applejack.

JOE

Much better name, Mom.

DON

Love it.

BOB

He’s definitely an Applejack.

JOE (through his teeth)

Let’s go hit that bar.

(They exit. Helen dozes off and then opens her eyes and looks around. She looks confused. She notices the card in her hand.)

HELEN

Oh, look. Someone gave me a card. I don’t have a sister Joe.

(She dozes off again as lights fade.)

elen has

Week 38, Day 264 - "Popsicle Stick"

“Popsicle Stick”

Written by Joe Janes

10/9/09

264 of 365

CAST

John, late 20s

Lawrence, late 20s

Roxie, late 20s

Alan, six months

(Lights up on John and Lawrence sitting in the living room.)

JOHN

That was a really great dinner.

LAWRENCE

Thanks, neighbor. Next time, you guys come over to my place.

(A very pregnant Roxanne enters with three popsicles in their wrappers.)

ROXIE

Lawrence makes the dinner and I make the desert. Popsicle, John? I opened the box myself.

JOHN

Uh, no, thank you, Roxie.

LAWRENCE

You sure. They’re grape.

JOHN

No, really. I just have this thing about popsicles.

ROXIE

Really?

LAWRENCE

I’ll take his.

(She hands him the extra popsicle.)

ROXIE

I don’t think I have anything else.

JOHN

That’s okay.

ROXIE

We have some bananas.

JOHN

No. Sorry. I feel the same way about bananas as I do popsicles. Something about having them so close to my face. It’s also why I have never put a gun in my mouth.

LAWRENCE

You’re really missing out.

ROXIE

John, those things all have something in common.

JOHN

What’s that?

ROXIE

Well-?

LAWRENCE (with mouth full)

They’re all penises.

JOHN

What?

ROXIE

They’re all phallic symbols. Popsicles, bananas, guns.

LAWRENCE

You’re a homophobe.

JOHN

No, I’m not. I know gay people. I don’t have any problem with gay people.

LAWRENCE

Have you ever gone down on one?

JOHN

No!

LAWRENCE

Homophobe.

JOHN

Have you?

LAWRENCE

Oh, sure. (Roxie and John look at him) Look, there are billions of people on this planet. You can’t walk around without someone’s dick ending up in your mouth at least once. Even if you don’t want to. The odds are against it.

ROXIE

He’s right.

LAWRENCE

Pencils! Pens! You ever chew on those?

JOHN

No. I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.

ROXIE

A headache?

JOHN

Yeah. Right behind my eye.

LAWRENCE

Ever use a straw?

JOHN

No. Really, can we change the subject? I’m starting to get a migraine.

ROXIE

Anyone else in your family have this affliction? What about your parents?

JOHN

Just me. My whole life. I can’t even remember how it started. My mother said I would refuse my bottle. (He gets up and heads to the door, his hand over his eye.) I’m sorry to cut out so early, but I think I better go home and lie down.

LAWRENCE (walking him out)

Sure, buddy, sure. I’m sorry we brought up such a painful thing.

JOHN

It’s okay. It’s weird. I know.

ROXIE (following)

Do you want to put a popsicle on your head?

JOHN

Not a good idea. Thanks.

(He exits. Lawrence and Roxie stand there. He puts his arms around his pregnant wife.)

LAWRENCE

Well, I guess that gives us more time to get romantic.

ROXIE

Oh, little Alan just kicked.

LAWRENCE

Guess he likes the idea.

(They walk off. Cut to far stage right. Little Alan, six months old, is upside down in Roxie’s womb. He winces rhythmically, trying to protect his eye.)

ALAN

Ow…Ow…Ow…Ow…Ow…

(Lights fade)

Week 38, Day 263 - "Meat Substitute"

“Meat Substitute”

Written by Joe Janes

10/8/09

263 of 365

CAST:

Sharod, teens

Helen, 40s

Carl, 40s

(Lights up in the Helen and Carl’s kitchen. Helen is cooking at the stove, making burgers. Carl is getting a beer out of the fridge. Sharod walks through with his backpack on.)

SHAROD

Hi, Mom, Hi, Dad. I’m going to Cindy’s for vegan tacos.

HELEN

Wait a minute, Sharod. Try this. It’s a veggie burger.

SHAROD

You made a veggie burger.

HELEN

I found the recipe on the PETA website. Try it.

SHAROD

Really? You were on the PETA website?

HELEN

Mom’s a lot hipper than you think. Give it a try.

(Sharod takes the burger. Sniffs it and takes a small bite out of it.)

SHAROD

Mom. That’s amazing. That’s a really good veggie burger. Thanks. I’ll go call Cindy and see if she can come over here.

(He exits.)

HELEN

I’ll make more.

(Carl takes a burger and tries it.)

CARL

Tastes just like a burger. What’s makes it taste so much like meat?

HELEN

Meat. It’s 100% pure beef.

CARL

Helen, that doesn’t seem right.

HELEN

Oh, he’ll never know. Meat’s good for you and a boy needs protein. How will he ever know?

(Offstage we hear violent vomiting.)

CARL (grabbing another burger)

I think he just found out.

(Blackout)