The picture here is my front yard
Continue reading Yard Sale
I wrote this little play for the Lee Street 10 minute play festival. The guidelines requested a comedy with the theme Yard Sale. Alas, the period of suspense has ended and this script was not picked. Which gives me the opportunity to share it here 🙂
The picture here is my front yard
Continue reading Yard Sale
Want to be in a play?
You don’t have to audition, get the part, or rehearse.
Just go to “The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity,” playing through March 23 at CAST in Charlotte. It’s very theatrical, and you’ll be in it.
As a member of the audience, you get to play the part
I wrote this short play or the Lee St. Theatre upcoming evening of 10 minute plays on the theme “6 feet under.” Comedies about death. Alas, it wasn’t selected by Lee Street, so I thought I’d share it here!
Poor Jud is Daid
Last modified on 2012-05-07 05:32:20 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Poor Jud is Daid.
Note: If you’d like to produce this play, on stage or in a class — please email me and ask permission. It will be granted, but I’d really like to know about it.
TEENAGE DAUGHTER, sits on the couch, texting with a friend. Enter DAD. He looks at her, stands around, steps into her space, and begins to sing ‘Poor Jud is Daid’ from Oklahoma. It’s a big voice.
DAUGHTER: Stop that.
DAD: Stop what?
DAUGHTER: What? You know what.
DAUGHTER: That singing!
DAD: I like singing.
DAD: It’s from Oklahoma.
DAUGHTER: Dad, please — it’s awful.
DAD: It’s funny.
DAUGHTER: It’s not funny.
DAD: If you knew the show, you’d know how funny it is. It’s from Oklahoma! Very funny.
DAUGHTER: Poor Jud is Daid? You call being dead funny?
DAD: That’s why it’s funny. Nobody’s dead. It’s about a guy telling another guy how great it would be IF HE were dead. He wants him dead, so he’s trying to convince him that killing himself would be a good idea. He’d get sympathy. People would like him more. You know…
DAUGHTER: That’s not funny.
DAD: I was in the play. I sang that on stage. Everybody laughed. Believe me, it’s funny.
DAD: Did I ever tell you about that show?
DAD: Our high school had the best drama department in the state.
DAUGHTER: You told me.
DAD: (he sings)
DAUGHTER: Dad! Stop it!
DAD: You know — this is my house. A man should be able to sing in in his own house if he wants to.
DAUGHTER: I live here too. And I was sitting in here minding my own business. You’re at home more than I am. Can’t you sing when I’m not here?
DAD: Okay, okay.
DAD: That was such a great show.
DAUGHTER: Dad! Shut the fuck up!
DAD: Don’t talk to me that way.
DAUGHTER: Don’t sing to me that way.
DAD: Singing is the joy of life.
DAUGHTER: Did I do something to you?
DAD: Do what?
DAUGHTER: I mean — did I do something to you? Something that makes you want to torture me? Are you trying to get me back for something?
DAD: You didn’t do anything.
DAUGHTER: I must have done something.
DAD: You didn’t.
DAUGHTER: You mean you are just this annoying? Just generally. For no reason?
DAD: I guess so.
DAUGHTER: What’s that like, Dad? Annoying the shit out of people all the time?
DAD: I don’t do that.
DAUGHTER: Why else would you walk in here and sing that song?
DAD: It’s a good song. It’s Rogers and Hammerstein. It represents a time in my life when I was young … and … you know, a pretty decent singer.
DAUGHTER: You were my age then, right?
DAD: Almost exactly.
So what about this time in my life?
DAD: You have a great life.
DAUGHTER: What about this moment, right now? I’m trying to have a peaceful time here and you bust in on me with that song! It’s irritating.
DAUGHTER: So stop. Please.
DAD: All right.
DAUGHTER: I mean it.
DAD: I stopped.
DAUGHTER: It’s a stupid fucking song.
DAD: Don’t talk like that.
DAD: That language.
DAUGHTER: What’s the matter with it? It’s a stupid fucking song and your singing is bullshit. That’s the language I’ve got for that.
DAD: You can’t talk that way here.
DAUGHTER: Why — does that intrude on something?
DAUGHTER: See! See? That’s what your song does. It intrudes. I was in a good mood and now I’m sitting here thinking about a dead fucker named Jud.
DAD: Stop that!
You need to see Oklahoma!
DAUGHTER: I don’t give two fucks about Oklahoma! It makes me wonder about you, always singing that death jingle. You’re obsessed with death.
DAD: I’m not obsessed with anything.
DAUGHTER: Then why do you want to sing that?
DAD: I was in that show.
DAUGHTER: It’s got other songs. Why do you have to sing Poor Jud is Daid?
DAD: It’s catchy.
DAUGHTER: It’s not catchy. Dad — you’ve got to come to grips with it. You’re stuck on death and that’s how it comes out.
DAD: I’m not stuck on death.
DAUGHTER: You are. Why are you so proud about giving money to that no-kill shelter.
DAD: It’s a no kill shelter!
DAUGHTER: So what?
DAD: That’s a great cause.
DAUGHTER: You gave them more than you did to our band uniforms.
DAD: I don’t think the school should spend that much on band uniforms.
DAUGHTER: It has nothing to do with uniforms. Do you know how embarrassed I was that you only gave ten dollars to my band? If somebody in the band were dying you’d probably give money. It’s death, Dad. You’re having issues with your mortality.
DAD: That’s crazy.
DAUGHTER: It’s true.
DAD: So what if it is?
DAUGHTER: It’s not good for you.
DAD: Everybody thinks about death. It’s natural.
DAUGHTER: No they don’t, Dad. I don’t.
DAD: People my age do.
DAUGHTER: No they don’t.
DAD: They do. Your just a girl.
DAUGHTER: Yeah, I am a girl. And girls die too. It doesn’t have anything to do with age. You’re just scared, so you deal with death like it’s a joke. Or like you can make it go away. But it doesn’t make it go away.
DAD: It never goes away.
DAUGHTER: Death doesn’t. But you don’t have to be afraid of it.
DAD: You don’t know. You’re too young.
DAUGHTER: That has nothing to do with it. If you’re afraid of dying, then you’re afraid. Just get it, Dad. You’re gonna die.
(She stands up and sings.)
DAD: Spare me the psychology.
DAUGHTER: No — I’m tired of this. It’s like this broken record that’s become who you are, Dad. Do you get that? You can’t resist that song because it’s like it expresses your existence in the world. And, I mean. You’re my Dad. Deep down, I care about you and all. It’s upsetting.
DAD: That’s crazy.
DAUGHTER: Yeah, it is. When did you get hooked on death, Dad?
DAD: I’m not hooked on death.
DAUGHTER: You totally are! Who’s the first person that died on you?
DAD: Died on me?
DAUGHTER: Yeah — somebody died on you.
DAD: Nobody died on me.
DAUGHTER: Somebody did. When you were a little kid.
DAD: A lot of dogs died.
DAUGHTER: I mean a person! Somebody died and it was a big problem. Otherwise you wouldn’t have that song in your head all the time. If you had had a surrey with a fringe on top you’d be singing that.
DAD: I guess my grandmother died when I was eight.
DAUGHTER: That’s it! And you’ve had this gigantic fear ever since. Where were you when you found out she died?
DAD: My parents didn’t even tell me. They went on this trip for a for a week.
DAUGHTER: You missed the whole thing.
DAD: Well, I remember when they left on that trip, the way they were packing, not saying anything about where they were going.
DAUGHTER: Nobody said anything.
DAD: Not really.
DAUGHTER: They could have at least told you where they were going.
DAD: They could have.
DAUGHTER: So get over it, Dad. They didn’t tell you.
DAD: No they didn’t.
DAUGHTER: They could have sung a song
DAD: No you haven’t.
DAUGHTER: I’ve seen the movie a couple of times. Curly has plenty of other numbers.
DAD: I guess he does.
DAUGHTER AND DAD: (singing together)
End of play
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Thursday morning, in the wee hours, I checked the Salisbury Post website on my phone and read the newly posted review of my play, Poochie.
It was a great review, so the normal action to take, next, would have been to celebrate the good publicity by posting a link on Facebook.
Continue reading thursday, october 20
This new play has been different from any production of any play I’ve ever had.
I’ve had plays in other cities or states where I just showed up and saw the show. And I’ve had some around here
Continue reading a few notes about Poochie, my play, that opens Wednesday
‘Poochie,’ opens next week. Spoken Space Theatre. In the black box at Looking Glass Artist Collective.
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If you read this blog, thank you. And I apologize. It’s been so long since I last blogged.
I’ve been durn busy. And the time I’ve had for writing has gone into the writing of a new play.
It’s called Poochie, and it’s about Alzheimer‘s disease, how it progresses, and how it affects
Continue reading long time, no blog…
A video of a short play I wrote for the Lee Street Theatre ten minute play festival in Salisbury, NC. The theme of the festival was travel. Jason Williams shot the video. The actors are Amber Adams and Robert Jones. Missy Barnes directed.
The Rock Knows from jason williams on Vimeo.
Continue reading Video: ‘The Rock Knows’ – 10 minute play at Lee Street
Lee Street Theatre‘s 10 minute play festival opened last night. The theme was travel, and I wrote a little play called The Rock Knows. Robert Jones and Amber Adams played the roles and Missy Barnes directed. Here are some pics, taken by Holly Czuba.
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Continue reading The Rock Knows
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