Le Bronjames: A One-Act Play about Something That is Not a French Restaurant
Setting: Afternoon. Thunder is eating lunch as Tempest enters the room shaking her head.
Tempest: Okay, so…LeBron James?
Thunder: Yeah?
Te: He’s some kind of big deal?
Th: *blink* *blink* (slowly) Some people think so…
Te: Man, this guy’s all over the radio, the TV, the Intertubes…he’s…some kind of athlete, right? Basketball?
Th: …yeah…basketball…
Te: So…what? Is he a college player being drafted? High school player?
Th: *sigh* Seriously? You don’t know who this guy is?
Te: Yeah, yeah! He’s some kind of basketball player. He’s making…some kind of decision that apparently everyone cares about. Um…He’s…I guess, very good at what he does? What’s he…like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar?
Th: You can’t think of a more recent, famous basketball player than Kareem? What, you couldn’t come up with Bill Walton or Wilt Chamberlain?
Te: Alright, settle down! I’m sure I would have come up with…Jordan!…if you had given me a few minutes. The last time I paid any attention to basketball was, I don’t know, a long time ago. I can only remember guys who started when I was…maybe…in high school?
Th: You didn’t go to high school in the 1960s, but okay…
Te: Let me tell you what I DO know about this LeBron guy, and you can fill in the rest. By the way, is it “Leh” or “Lay?” It feels like I want to say “Lay” but I don’t think he’s French, right?
Th: You’re killin’ me, you know that?
Te: Okay, here’s what I know: There’s some kind of hubbub in Cleveland about him. Apparently, he’s a good player, and there’s this basketball team there, right? The Cleveland…Burning Cuyahogas…
Th: …Cavaliers!…
Te: …Cavaliers…and they either want him or don’t want him or need him or something. But then he wants something else or somewhere else….am I close?
Th: Only in the sense that you’re close to knowing nothing at all, sure.
Te: (ignoring him) Okay, so what else is there?
Th: Okay. James played for Cleveland for 5 or 6 years. Broke records, named Rookie of the Year, MVP, All-Star, basically - everything. Teams have been waiting for him to become a free agent from the moment he signed with Cleveland. He’s probably not going to resign with them. Even though the Cavs have been to the playoffs and the finals, they haven’t won the NBA Championship, and that’s what he wants to do. Frankly, I have a problem with these guys who are only in it for themselves and switch teams to try and get a title instead of remembering that it’s a team effort, but that’s how it is now. Anyway, several teams are said to be in the running, like the New York… (waiting)
Te: …Knicks! I KNOW that one.
Th: Also the Chicago…
Te: C’mon! (and then realizing that she might not be completely sure) Bulls?
Th: …and the Miami…
Te: (stumped) umm… (muttering) Dolphins and Marlins are taken…. (bravely) Swordfish!
Th: *blink* *blink* Tell me again, why are we having this conversation?
Te: (thinking) You know…trying to show an interest…keep the conversation going…aren’t married people supposed to find new topics so that things don’t get stale?
Th: Yeah, well I’m pretty sure that we have 800 channels on the TV so that we can manage our own interests and NOT have conversations exactly like this one.
Te: OH! (turning on her heel and leaving the room) Thanks for reminding me! Dr. G. is on – I gotta go watch an autopsy.
Th: My point, exactly. (yelling after her) Thanks for stopping by!
and…Scene
Does This Look Infected To You?: A One-Act Play about Employment Options
Setting: Early evening. Tempest and Thunder are driving to a restaurant in the next town to enjoy a leisurely dinner. Thunder is driving, and Tempest is looking out the window. As they drive down the local highway, they pass a business with a full parking lot.
Tempest: (reading the business sign out loud) Route 46… Adult… Romance Boutique. Hmmm…they make it sound like such a warm and friendly place, you know?
Thunder: What makes you think it isn’t a friendly place? Maybe all those cars are just the locals catching up with each other. You know, like an old-time General Store kind of thing?
Te: Hmmm…so it would be okay with you if I got a part-time job there? See what’s it all about? HEY! Maybe it would be interesting to see how many of OUR clients show up to shop there!
Th: (pause) Yeah…you realize…that sword has two edges…right?
Te: (thinking) Huh! Yeahhhh… Okay, maybe I wouldn’t want them to see me there, either.
Th: You find our clients annoying now. You hate cleaning up after them and hate it when they make odd requests. And we own our business. Now…translate that behavior to this job…AND you’re a mere employee…
Te: Ugh…and yet! Might be some interesting but disturbing conversations, no?
Th: (pausing…thinking) “Sorry, sir, but I don’t think batteries are included.”
Te: (pause) “I’m sorry that it chafes, sir, but we can’t accept returns on this item.”
Th: (getting into it now) “No, sir, I don’t think she made a sequel to ‘Twilight Saga: New Boobs’.”
Te: “I’ll check in the back, but I don’t think they make this with a curve to the left, sir.”
Th: “I’m not a doctor, but, no, I don’t think it’s supposed to turn that color, sir.”
Te: “I believe that’s the reason the manufacturer suggests extra lube with this product, sir.”
Th: “I can’t really answer that question since I don’t know just how much friction you require, sir.”
Te: “You can name her if you’d like, sir, but hey, why not wait until you get home, okay?”
Th: “You’ll find a Wet Wipes dispenser just inside the door, sir.”
Te: Ewwww…okay, done?
Th: (thinking) “Are you sure these are the correct measurements for your dog, sir?”
Te: DONE!
and…Scene
Olympic Fever - I Haz It
I have had a terrible earworm for the past two weeks - The Canadian National Anthem.
I would bet that many, many Americans know the first two lines:
O Canada! Our Home and Native Land!
But I’m not sure that many, many Americans know the next two lines, or even all of the the anthem.
I do, and this is where I think I got myself into trouble.
I was at a register at Bed, Bath and Beyond doing what I, unfortunately, do a lot at registers. I was singing softly to myself. I want to make it clear that I was not disturbing other customers. But apparently the young man behind the register heard me as I sang myself through the song - well past the first two lines. And that’s what I think triggered his question.
As he was bagging my purchase, he asked me, “Oh, are you Canadian?”
Well, what was I supposed to say?
If I say yes, I look a little weird. I mean, Who sings a national anthem while they wait on line?
But if I say no, I look A LOT weird. I mean, Who sings SOMEBODY ELSE’S national anthem while they wait on line?
So you can understand that naturally I said, ” Yes, Yes I am.” And then to make it seem authentic, I followed it with, “We’re doing pretty well at the Games, eh?”
I had to add the “eh,” right?
I have come to recognize Thunder’s perplexed look when I relate these things to him as, “Till Death Do Us Part?”
IPod Mood #3
For my listening enjoyment whilst slogging through paperwork for the business:
1. At This Moment by Billy Vera and the Beaters
2. Tell Me About It by Tanya Tucker and Delbert McClinton
3. Come On Down To My Boat by Every Mother’s Son
4. Four Seasons “Spring” (Vivaldi) by London Philharmonic
5. It’s Raining Men by The Weather Girls
I’m pretty sure that if I go to ITunes, they’ll sell me some music from the current century, no?
I Haz a Boo-Boo…
Car Accident.
Don’t have one. OK?
Just, JUST, getting back to some sense of normal after nearly 2 months. Only in the past few days have I been able to get through the entire day with sleeping or icing or general agony-related lifestyle. Chiropractic and PT help.
I’ll think of funny things soon…hopefully…
But…You Know…For a Fat Lady…
So here’s what I knew at this point: I’m sitting in a salon chair. I’ve already had my roots “refreshed” and my hair “glazed” and “cushioned” with special conditioner. As you might guess, every time my hairdresser - excuse me, hair stylist - uses one of these words, the price goes up. By the time Ruby has plunked me into the final chair for the “diffused blowout” and “negative ion” straightening, I’m going to need a bridge loan just to make it to my car.
Here’s what I didn’t know at this point: The big finish would not be how great my hair looked (although it did). The big finish would be the “high-value entertainment” that was about to begin.
As Ruby goes off to gather supplies to finish my hair, I spy in my mirror a grandmotherly woman and a young boy in the chairs behind me. The young boy is chattering, chattering away and Grandma is trying to keep up and occasionally shaking her head. I learn in the next few minutes from Ruby that Grandma is Maria, the mother of the salon’s owner. The young boy is Zachy, Maria’s grandson and the owner’s nephew. Zachy. Not Zach. Zachy. He is 8 years old and Zachy… Never. Stops. Talking.
Zachy wanders over and stands right next to me, looking at me in my mirror. At this point, my naturally curly hair has begun to “sproing” long loose, carefree curls all around my face. Zachy smiles at me, and says, ” I like your curls.” But it comes out, “I! Like! Your! Curls!” He’s not shouting; he’s merely emphatic. Everything he says oozes confidence and expertise. And it’s this approach that makes the rest of our time together so highly entertaining. No matter what information he offers, he is completely self-assured of his facts. It’s as though he’s gone to Oxford and Cambridge and Harvard and Yale, and is the supreme authority on his subjects. But there’s no swagger or conceit, just exuberance about every pronouncement he makes.
Strap in…it’s worth the ride…
Ruby returns to the station while Zachy and I are talking and removes my wet hairdressing cape in order to replace it with a clean one. Under the cape I am wearing my usual ragged and low-cut hair-salon shirt - don’t want to wear anything good during this entire process. As the cape comes off and Zachy looks at the cleavage and the soft curls…
Zachy: Whoa!! (steps back, planting both feet and pointing both index fingers at me) You are SEXY!
Tempest: (momentarily stunned and trying not to laugh) Huh? Wha?
Z: …not like Beyonce…but…you know…for a fat lady…
T: (barely able to contain my amusement) Excuse me, but can’t fat ladies be sexy too?
Z: (looking at me like he can’t believe his ears) Yuh! Look in the mirror!
At this point Ruby is nearly beside herself and has to walk away. Grandma Maria is still visible in the mirror behind me and she’s shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Ruby returns and continues the process of blowing out and straightening my hair during the entire next series of conversations. During this entire exchange I have to keep reminding Ruby to keep the hot straightening tool moving through my hair to avoid burning it completely off. She would freeze in disbelief during some of Zachy’s more interesting pronouncements. Everything Zachy says, though, is thoughtfully offered. He considers each sentence he’s saying, as though he wants to be sure I understand the importance of his information. He uses very mature voice inflection for a kid. Most of the time he maintains eye contact which is kind of unusual for most kids, but I really think Zachy wants me to truly understand the importance of it all. If an adult acted this way, it might come off creepy. But a kid…it’s absolutely hysterical. Here are some of his most interesting monologues/exchanges:
Z: How come you’re straightening her hair?
Ruby: She wants her hair straight today.
Z: *sigh* Okayyyy… I guess you have to give the ladies what they want…
then to me:
Z: Hey! I know how Scotland got its name. Well, there was this land (drawing a flat circle in the air, palm down). And this guy, Scott…he found it! And everyone agreed that Scott found all this land. Soooo, they decided to name it Scotland…he’s probably dead by now…I think Scotland is pretty old…it’s probably older than you…(then, gesturing with right hand, thumb out, backwards toward Maria still sitting in the chair behind me)…but SHE’S gotta be older than Scotland!
later…
Z: Did you know that pretty soon all birds will only have one leg like flamingos? It’s called he-volution. They don’t really need two legs, you know. They fly all the time! They only need a leg once in a while. They’re either flying or sitting. That’s what happens when things change; they get modern. Like my dining room chairs…they have four legs, but they’re old. My new kitchen chairs…one leg. It’s like a pole and the part on the floor is like a circle. Looks a little like a bird foot. See…new stuff…better. You should keep watching birds…pretty soon they’ll allllllll have one leg just like flamingos.
later…
Z: I know where pears come from. Pears are fruit, but they start out as vegetables, did you know that?
T: (I can’t help myself at this point) Really? How does that work?
Z: (so proud of himself…he’s going to take me through the process step-by-step) Well! All pears start out as peas…did you know that? They do! Some farmers just grow peas, BUT some farmers let the peas keep growing and growing. They get bigger and bigger. When you let something grow a long time, it tastes different, did you know that? When they get really big, they become pears…they stick an “R” in the word, and supermarkets sell them as fruit.
T: But Zachy, not all pears are green. Some are yellow and some are brown. Have you ever seen those in the store?
Z: (not to be dissuaded) Awwww…they’re just trying to fool you with those. They’re no good. You shouldn’t eat those. You can’t believe everything you read, you know.
T: Zachy, how do you know so much about so many things?
Z: (thinking about that for a minute and excitedly offering) You know what? I think it’s been in my head the whole time. I think I was born with it. And I just DISCOVERED it one day! Isn’t that great!
At this point I’ve spent about 20 minutes of listening to Zachy’s non-stop view of the world, trying so, so hard not to laugh in this earnest little boy’s face. As Ruby finishes my hair and puts some final touches in it, Zachy looks at me in the mirror.
Z: Yeahhhh…she’s good to go…
Maria (from behind me) Zachy! Get over here! (I guess at this point her eyes were about to pop out from all the eye-rolling).
Zachy wandered away without a goodbye. I was longer a captive audience; I’d outlived my usefulness. Ruby leaned in and said, “He comes in once in a while, and he is always, always funny. I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff.”
My guess: someone’s been feeding him all kinds of misinformation and getting a kick out of it. Zachy is going to grow up and discover everything he knows is wrong and he’s going to be pissed. That…or he’s going to grow up and become a game-show host.
So after all the “refreshing” and “glazing” and “cushioning” I paid for, it was the “floor show” that made the price of admission worthwhile. Clearly I’m going to have coordinate my schedule with Zachy’s in the future to get my money’s worth.
Recipe: Osso Bucco
A few people have asked me for this recipe so I figured this was the easiest way to post it. Try to buy the veal shanks when they’re on sale otherwise they’re realllllllly expensive. If you have some farfalle noodles (or rice) and a green salad, this recipe can feed 4-6 people.
Ingredients:
Regular Pantry items: salt, pepper, olive oil, a few tbls flour, thyme (1 1/2 tsp chopped fresh OR 1/4 tsp crumbled dried), and rosemary (1 1/2 tsp chopped fresh OR 1/4 tsp crumbled dried)
Meat: 3 lb veal shanks (4-6 shanks depending on size)
Aromatics: 2 medium carrots, 1 large onion, 1 medium stalk celery, 2-4 large clove garlic, 2 large shallots - all diced in small pieces
Binders:
2 medium tomatoes, seeded and diced OR one 15 oz. can diced tomatoes, drained (I use one of the flavored canned by Hunts - depending on my mood)
1 small can tomato paste
1 cup apple cider
1 cup low-sodium beef broth
Optional Garnish items: chopped cherry tomatoes and chopped parsley
1. Turn 5-quart (or larger) crockpot to low and allow to heat up for a few minutes.
2. Sprinkle veal shanks with salt and pepper and dredge in flour, shaking off excess. Heat oil in a large skillet and brown the veal shanks 5 minutes per side on medium-high heat (don’t crowd pan - you may need to do this in batches).
3. Transfer browned veal to warmed crockpot.
4. To browning skillet add all of the chopped Aromatic veggies. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally until veggies are soft (about 5 minutes). Add Tomatoes, Tomato Paste, Rosemary, Thyme, Cider and Broth and bring to a boil, stirring frequently. Pour mixture over shanks in crockpot but Do Not Stir!
5. Cover crockpot and cook 8-10 hours on Low heat until shanks are tender. Remove shanks from crockpot and keep warm. Turn crockpot to High and cook, uncovered, until sauce is thick (about 10-15 minutes).
6. Serve veal over rice or noodles. Spoon veggie mixture over top. Garnish with parsley and fresh tomatoes.
This is really foolproof. Just don’t remove the lid during the 8 hours! It sets the cooking time back 15-30 minute when you do. Warm apple cider and some apple pie for dessert really make this a meal good enough for company.
Enjoy!
“Rubber Ducky, I’m awfully fond of you…”
I had to take Brinkley and Bogie on a BIG walk today because they were going to be alone for longer than usual. I figured if they were completely tired they wouldn’t mind being in their crates. Of course, I didn’t really take into consideration that I would also be completely tired.
Somewhere around the 1 1/2 mile marker (mostly uphill) I decided to actually look at the dogs. I usually walk with my head up and and my gaze level because I’m trying to maintain correct posture. I’ve also learned that if I spend too much time looking down at the dogs they think a treat is about to hit them and they sloooooooow down or stop. So I generally treat the walk as though I’m actually in charge. Not the truth, but…
So around the 1 1/2 mile marker I looked down at the dogs and noticed that Brinkley had picked up a 2-foot long stick and was walking very nicely with it. No big deal; he’s done that since he’s a puppy. After all he is a retriever. I look at Bogie…he’s also walking nicely with something in his mouth.
Not a stick.
It’s a child’s rubber ducky!
Now I’m laughing out loud, and that sets Brinkley off. He drops his stick and begins to gallop around me trying to figure out why I’m suddenly animated, and I’m busy trying to get the ducky away from Bogie who thinks I’m playing with him. I’m laughing and trying not to be pulled to the ground by two excited doggies. I have no idea how long Bogie had the ducky, but I left it along the curb in case someone came looking for it.
Why doesn’t this ever happen to Thunder when he walks the boys?
I Believe…
in acceptance of all people – race, creed, color, ethnicity, lifestyle
that children should be cuddled more than chided
in baking brownies and calling on the new neighbors
that the universe created figs just for me
in the promise of spring on that first warm day in April
that learning is lifelong
that stories about the human condition and the ironic, bombastic, insightful language used to describe it should be taught in schools based on two writers: William Shakespeare and Aaron Sorkin
that each of us should be immortalized in our own special folk song
in the stress-reduction properties of twinkling white lights on the little trees lining the West Village streets during the holidays
in patronizing the small business owner whenever possible
the only thing I have to fear is fear itself…and penguins – I really hate penguins
that I’m a stronger, better human being than I was when I was 20…at least I hope so
in the legend of Pinus and I can’t wait until I’m 60 to participate
in Chef’s Salty Chocolate Balls
in reincarnation, and that the theme song from Love American Style will still be running through my brain at the oddest moments in my next life
that even one act of kindness makes a difference
in hot chocolate with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in it
that I’ve reached my tipping point in my ability to handle new technology…on the other hand if “IPod” were a cult, I would shave my head and beg people for money in the airport to support it
in cleaning out the basement every year whether I want to or not
that some occupations are more noble than others
that red toenails are sexy but red fingernails are slutty
that any television show titled “My Three Sons” should only have three sons
in a Christmas tree even though I really don’t celebrate Christmas
in the Sweet Potato Queens’ view of life and love
that my dreams are way more vivid and imaginatively odd than the norm, based on the stunned stares and general laughter that ensues when I describe my dreams
that I should be able to have an intelligent conversation after 8:30pm, but it hardly ever happens
that even though children love the Harry Potter books, they’re really for adults
the most famous classic blunder is “Never get involved in a land war in Asia,” but only slightly less well-known is “Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line”
that you really have to like the person you’re in love with so that you have something to talk about as you fall out of love, then back in love, then out of love, then back in love
that two dogs are not twice the work, but two cats would have been half the trouble
that somewhere in the world my childhood best friend, Michelle, thinks about me sometimes too
there are very good people in every part of the world, but we often only hear about the bad eggs
that I should have worked harder in science when I was in high school and college because most of the careers I wish I had now require it
that I have zany charm – my Myers-Briggs assessment says so
that sometimes you just have to put your head down and keep going…what else ya gonna do?
that I’m not the only middle-aged woman who still has Bobby Sherman memorabilia hanging around
that I’m not the only middle-aged woman who still has a Vietnam MIA/POW bracelet hanging around
that everything is a choice…and ‘not choosing’ is still a making a choice
that getting through the day is made easier by what I Believe.
“Courage” - It Doesn’t Have An Expiration Date
I wrote the following Op-Ed piece in the aftermath of a terrible Tuesday morning eight years ago. I am grateful that so many newspapers across the country published this piece in the two-week window after that devastating day.
“COURAGE”
“Do you go into the city often?”
I snapped my head up from my newspaper and looked into the wrinkled face of the elderly woman seated next to me. Her chubby cheeks and protruding chin made her look like a turtle. Her hair was a stark shade of white, so white that I could not figure out what color it had originally been. She was wearing a green warm-up suit made of some crinkled material. I thought, “This is what the Ninja Turtles will look like at 70.” I am at my most sarcastic and unkind when I am tired. And today had been a particularly tiring day.
The train was nearly full when I got on. I took the first available seat to avoid standing for the 25-minute ride home. I was exhausted and cranky. I had been volunteering at a restaurant on Canal Street in Manhattan, serving food to the firefighters, police officers and emergency workers involved in the recovery efforts at the World Trade Center site. I was feeling noble and full of myself for my volunteer efforts, wearing my grease-stained clothing as a badge of honor. All I wanted to do was change my pace, catch up on the news and get into a bath.
The train had just started to move when the turtle sitting next to me tried a different approach.
“Do you spend a lot of time in downtown Manhattan?”
She was handing me a piece of paper containing a picture of a young man, a list of vital statistics and a phone number to be called if anyone had any news to report. The page was limp from repeated foldings and unfoldings.
“Have you ever met my son?”
I wanted to kick myself.
Here I was, feeling so smug about my compassionate efforts and this woman’s life had been completely and irrevocably destroyed by this tragedy. And all she wanted was someone to listen to her.
In that instant the whole world became a pinprick of time and space. Nothing existed except the two of us on that brown naugahyde train seat. I reached for her hand and met her blazing, red-rimmed blue eyes. I wondered if she had earned this wrinkled, wearied face over a lifetime or in just the past week.
“He’s a broker in the World Trade Center,” she said, using the present tense. When she mentioned the name of a particularly devastated company, I realized that she had not accepted the inevitable. She told me how he was supposed to be on a business trip to London and Paris that day, but the trip was canceled at the last minute. “If he had been on that trip,” she continued, “he’d probably still be over there since so many people have been inconvenienced by this terrible thing,” completely missing the irony in her own statement.
Tears streamed down my face as she proudly listed his accomplishments. Track star in high school. Four years in the US Navy. College. Dean’s List. Graduate School. Marriage in February to a wonderful daughter-in-law. I listened and smiled through my tears. But she didn’t cry. Not even a sniffle. I figured that she had cried enough as she told this tale many times in the past week, wandering from police station to hospital to news vehicles to the Armory where the missing and dead were cataloged. She needed to keep repeating the story hoping that someone would tell her what she wanted to hear.
I would have traveled to the end of the train line with her if necessary, but we both got off at the Maplewood station. I held her hand for a moment and then I hugged her. As she slowly made her way to the waiting commuter minibus, the driver got out to help her up the stairs. This frail little woman turned to the man and asked, “Do you go into the city often?”
“Please listen to her,” I silently begged the stranger, “Dear God, please listen.”