a galloping snippet

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Reindeer Games

This is a short play I wrote at the beginning of the year- it was performed at a UBC players event in March '08 (I think). Megan Gilron played Charlotte and Brendan Albano played Ben. They were awesome and this would be really outlandishly terrible if it weren't for them. Thanks guys!

CHARLOTTE: What time should Brennan and I be over?

BEN: Oh, I’m not sure… seven or eight? Call Allison, she’ll know.

CHARLOTTE gives him a look.

…B: What? I do the cooking and she does the planning. Oh! I should get that duck all dressed before three.

C: What’s on the menu for tonight?

B: Mussels in a white wine sauce, pureed heirloom carrots with this rich sage giblet gravy and duck a l’Orange.

C: There is nothing green on that menu. Have you ever heard of light cooking?

B: No. I don’t like light. I like heavy, dead things that need to be eaten with teeth, raw meat. Mmmm.

C: Ugh. Stop pretending you’re a cave man.

B: Stop pretending you’re a hippie.

C: Wait a minute. I always thought I was the “control freak”. Don’t those two stereotypes conflict?

B: Well if we are going to be particular, I believe the term was “skin-peeling, child-hating, clock-sucking control freak”.

C: That reminds me, Mother wants to know what day you can do the dinner party for her and her friends?

B: Oh God. That’s right. I said I’d do that.

C: They really loved it last time.

B: No they didn’t.

C: But Mother said her friend… oh I can’t remember her name, the one with those ridiculous glasses. Mother said she was raving about it.

B: She was just being old and nice. They didn’t like anything. They didn’t even touch my duck confit.

C: That’s because it was pure fat.

B: It was pure delicious!

C: That’s what I’m talking about Ben. Everything you cook is so heavy. Not everyone should eat that way, especially all the time, especially you.

Ben’s mouth is full so he can’t respond right away.

…C: My point exactly.

B: Well, at least I enjoy my food.

C: I enjoy my food immensely. Look what deliciousness I found for an appetizer. This is great stuff and it won’t weigh you down.

B: I want no part in it!

C: Sunflower pate.

B: Is this what you’re bringing tonight?

C: Yes.

B: You’re going to serve me flower paste? Why wouldn’t I just go chew up the garden? It’d probably be cheaper than… thirty six dollars! That’s ridiculous! How could you spend thirty-six dollars on flower paste?

C: It’s organic and local.

B: That just means the guy in the back scrapes off the bottom of the break room lunch tables and puts it in a little jar to sell at some ridiculous mark-up.

C: No it doesn’t. Wait till you taste it tonight, you’ll love it! It tastes almost like cheese.

B: Then why wouldn’t I just eat cheese?

C: Because I’m not bringing cheese, I’m bringing sunflower pate. You can go buy yourself some cheese and eat that instead if you are so incline.

B: Cheese pales in comparison to what I have to serve.

C: What is it? Is it a jar of lard? Because that wouldn’t surprise me.

B: That was… that was quite mean.

C: I know. I apologize- I thought it would come out wittier. What is it?

B: Reindeer Paté.

C: No!

B: An indulgent winter treat.

C: No!

B: Artic Delicacy.

C: There is no possible way.

B: Farm raised relative of Rudolph!

C: It does not say that.

B: Yes it does. Right on the label. Great huh?

C: Give that to me!

B: See, right there.

C: You are not using this?

B: Oh yes. Look, I even bought a little reindeer cookie cutter so I could plate it all festive!

C: That’s sick.

B: It’s funny.

C: I can’t believe you purchased this!

B: What? I heard about it on that cooking show and the guy said it was delicious. It’s from Sweden.

C: First off, to get this, they force fed a reindeer. Just think about that for a moment. Secondly, this little can has a gigantic ecological footprint. You are practically consuming a barrel of fossil fuels when you eat this. Thirdly, do you know how fatty this is? You may not care about the environment but at least care about your own health. You’re going to develop diabetes because there is…

B: No, I am not.

C: …Type II, adult onset diabetes that could degrade into all types of things. Gangrene…

B: Charlotte, it’s ten to three, I have to go and dress the duck.

C: …blindness. You’re going to go blind!

B: I’m not going to go blind if I eat reindeer pate. I’m going to home now Charlotte.

C: Alright, I’ll see you tonight.

B: Charlotte- the pate.

C: I’ll call Allison to get the time.

B: Give me the goddamn pate Charlotte.

C: Ben, this is diabetes, heart attack, stroke… death! This is death in a tin Ben. And as your sister, I can’t let you consume it.

B: Charlotte, I’m not going to eat the whole fucking thing by myself. It’s going to be an appetizer, to share with everyone.

C: No… well… it’s just…

B: (mumbles) I would like nothing better right now than to eat your liver, one shank at a time.

C: Excuse me?

B: Nothing. Just give me the box.

C: Wait, no. You just said you wanted to eat my liver?

B: No. I said I want the box.

C: Eat my liver one shank at a time? That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting! You know that?

B: Give me the box.

C: Where did that even come from? That’s disgusting!

B: Give me the box.

C: No. You just said you wanted to eat my liver! You are most certainly not getting this death tin back. And I was just about to give it to you but then you said you wanted to eat my liver. So, NO!

B: Charlotte- For Christ’s Sake, Give me the goddamn box!

C: At least think of your health Ben.

B: Fuck my health! Give me the box!

C: Fine then! Take the box! (throws it at BEN) We’ll just have to buy the extra, extra large coffin for when you die of obesity!

B: You think I’m such a fat-ass? You think I’m such a despicable human being! Fine then! (BEN opens the tin and begins to eat) I am! Does this fit your picture of a fat man? Does this make you feel good about yourself? Mmmm… Delicious! You’re really missing out here Charlotte, because this is the best damn reindeer pate I have ever tasted! {pause} Uhh…uhhh… Oh God! I don’t feel too well.

C: Ben?

Thoughts on Home: Desideratoque Acquiescimus Lecto

Catullus wrote that the best part of traveling was the act of coming home. Of rounding the corner and seeing your home with the front door wreathed and the curtains drawn. The chance to get back into your own bed- to peel your sheets back and squeeze yourself into the comfort and smell of your own room.
My feet hang off the edge of my bed, which I remembered as being a lot taller. Catullus didn’t take that in account, that when you’re away from home for a long time your world enlarges. It gets harder to duck your head below door frames and force yourself into rooms. You want to open windows and doors, hang mirrors so it seems bigger, but more than anything you want to just leave again.

The Cremation of Sam McGee

THE CREMATION OF SAM McGEE

There are strange things done in the midnight sun,
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
(The poem's opening and closing stanzas)

-Robert Service

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Uninteresting I

I keep seeing dead mice in the yard where there are only leaves and I’ve been hanging out with people I don’t know very well. I’m amazed how sad people can make me feel, how happy. It occurred to me while I was listening to their lives speak, leaving watermarks on tables, that I probably seem like a most uninteresting person and it’s more likely that I not only seem uninteresting, I am uninteresting. This scares me more than public speaking. So does dressing in the morning, but that’s probably uninteresting.


I don’t know why I stopped writing poetry. I felt that in my work I had to show people something, because I wanted them to think I was interesting.
What do you do?
I knit pearl pink sweaters for my illegitimate daughter.
I make my own lingerie.
I photograph Ugandan orphans and with the proceeds from my photos I build designer iron clad bunk beds for them.
I started my own organic realty business.
Fuck me. I write? I try to write. I push keys and string together small symbols. I don’t do anything.
Oh, OK, well, OK.
Fuck me.


This is my fifth beer and I don’t even like beer. That’s not even true. This is my first, but I thought I’d try to make myself out to be an alcoholic. I’ve toyed with the idea of getting pregnant. Pass off the dilemma of personal worth to my someone else while gaining a purpose in life. I wonder if this is why we enjoy sex so much. And that makes me think, could I even find someone to impregnate me with a purpose?


That was rude, I apologize. I’ll try to keep myself to myself. It’s just that the cats keep killing mice and leaving them in the yard and I bury them and my friends, who are funny and good-looking, watch me and call the mice Barry. And when my friends leave I keep seeing the dead mice in the yard where there are only leaves.

a galloping snippet