Blanket Top Ten List of 2008

Top 10 Albums of 2008
1) "Jukebox" -- Cat Power
2) "The Cool" -- Lupe Fiasco (okay, it was a 2007 album, but, like 12/31/2007)
3) "Flight of the Conchords" -- Flight of the Conchords
4) "Renaissance" -- Q-Tip
5) "Vampire Weekend" -- Vampire Weekend
6) "Humanimals" -- Grand Ol' Party
7) "Paper Trail" -- T.I.
8) "Pressure" -- Blaze
9) "The Stand-Ins" -- Okkervil River
10)"Volume One" -- She and Him

Top 10 Movies of 2008
1) Wall-E
2) Sychedoche, NY
3) Slumdog Millionaire
4) Frozen River
5) Burn After Reading
6) The Dark Knight
7) The Visitor
8) The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
9) Wire Walker
10)Milk

Top 10 Television Shows of 2008
1) The Wire
2) Friday Night Lights
3) It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
4) The Shield
5) The Office
6) 30 Rock
7) Mad Men
8) The Riches
9) Dexter
10) South Park (fall season)

Top 5 Books of 2008 (or at least the ones I read)
1) Lush Life -- by Richard Price
2) American Pastoral -- by Philip Roth
3) Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Boy on Earth -- by Chris Ware
4) The Emperor's Children -- by Claire Messud
5) On The Road -- by Jack Kerouac as read by Matt Dillon

Top 5 Stage Plays of 2008
1) The American Dream and The Sandbox -- Edward Albee
2) Tobacco Road -- Novel by Erskine Caldwell, Adapted by Jack Kirkland
3) Remains -- Chiara Atik
4) Sundays in the Park with George -- Music and Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, Book by James Lapine
5) U.S. Drag -- Gina Gionfriddo (at the Ion Theatre Co.)

Post-Holiday Stress Syndrome

In one week we can finally say good-bye to 2008, a year which had some sour (i.e. The MEMPHIS opening-night party) and some sweet (i.e. graduation, job…for the moment) memories. Still, I’ll lean it to the side of sweet only for the fact that I feel like I did what I said I’d do after school: plant seeds for future growing. Now that the seeds are planted, I’ve done an entry level job for close to a year, and we have a President who isn’t a dingus, I look forward to the year of 2009, where I watch a garden bloom.

What always strikes me as being so weird is how stressful the time after the holidays are. I got most people LJP S.W.A.G. this year (because I just looked it up and I am officially living below the poverty level) and got it early, so not really stressed about that. I didn’t travel and working on Christmas wasn’t too bad. By too bad, I mean it was a lot of fun to serve the XANADU cast Christmas dinner and sit around playing Martin’s werewolf game while we all got drunk. But now comes the stressful points: XANADU closes, XANADU leaves, we have a new cast arriving within 3 days of the old one’s departure, Sara’s moving down, Sara’s moving in, SARA’S COMING TO SAN DIEGO (Hooray!), then there is New Year’s Eve, and the BRONX play reading, and then finding a steady support of income.

Charlie Brown, quit hogging all the goddamn paper bags for once and send it my way.

Pre-holidays are nothing; post-holidays are everything. Perhaps I put new much equity into the start of a new year. After all, it’s nothing but a new puppy calendar on my wall, a simple changing of numbers and days. But I do get hopeful…thinking about the possibilities…I always say my life is never truly boring and each year, looking back at the time spent during the last 365 days, that adage always proves true. And like I said, 2009…it’s gonna be fine. Mainly, because when the Chinese New Year starts it’s the year of the Ox. Guess who’s an Ox, bitches?

Right now, the only sad thing I can think of is this picture. After years of hearsay and slander, of papers chanting that “this is Coney Island’s last summer”, and of numerous deus ex machina like saves, Coney Island has closed.



So really, we can’t get worse than that.

(P.S. My Blanket Top 10 List is coming, but I still have to see Benjamin Button and all its glory)

U.S. Drag

The more you know:

U.S. Drag – a term coined by author William S. Burroughs to describe America’s sense of depression and longing

It’s also the name of Gina Gionfriddo’s fantastic 2001 play that was one of the best evenings I’ve seen in theatre all year and perhaps my life. Glenn Paris, the producing artistic director of the Ion Theatre Company in San Diego, works at the Playhouse with me for his day job. He’d put a poster up in the break room for Ion’s production of U.S. Drag and it was the first time I’d realized it was his company he was promoting. Wanting to see if I could get something going with Ion I asked if he’d be willing to read Our Mother and Bronx Got Bombed—then just to throw in some good will I said I come to the show.

What could it hurt to support local arts, especially if you have hopes to work with them some day? I dragged Justin out of his house and together with his pseudo-girlfriend, Mai, we ventured down to Mission Valley. Underneath the trolley station and behind the Christian Fellowship building is a row of storage units, the last row housing the Ion Theatre Company in a small connection of three garage spaces to hold a small dance studio and black box theater. Justin, shaking his head, said to me “what have you gotten us into? We’re going to be killed back here!” I, on the other hand, was getting excited: “This is going to be great!” And I meant it. After all, who am I to judge if not the co-founder of the improv troupe who performed in the tool shed at the LGBT Center on Salt Lake’s west side—I started all my shit in places like these. I know they are dedicated and hard working artists and I was so pumped to see what they had.

Both of our expectations were exceeded. Not only were the production elements to the piece fantastic for being low-budget, but the space was clean and professional, not thinking for a moment that it wasn’t a legitimate performance space. Then the play itself: it was a biting script that I think Justin and I, New Yorkers at heart, were the only ones who could fully appreciate. It was so fucking funny, but even more fucking true. Put a group of talented actors on top of that, with a special consideration for Karson St. John’s magnificently humorous and human portrayal of Allison, and we were rolling on a great night of theater. About 2/3rds of the way into the play the lights started to get wonky…changing in the middle of scenes then going black all together (Justin thought it was an artistic choice about fading morality). The actors persevered until the stage manager apologized and called for an intermission (which was not scheduled for the 95 minute show). That didn’t stop the show: the cast came out, clapped for the audience and kept the spirits of the crowd up. When the stage manager, resigned to the fate of a malfunctioning light board, she asked if we wanted the play to continue using only two fluorescent bulbs as a source of light, Justin and I were not the only ones clapping for the show to go on. And it went just splendidly. The actors picked up right where they left off, not missing a beat, and even joking with the technical difficulties recently presented to them. While the last monologue by an author character and the stage-y curtain call were a little off putting at the end, U.S. Drag became one of the best nights of theater I’ve seen in my life because it proved that love for the theater can carry a show further than any critical or monetary success. Not only did the cast and crew maintain a “show-must-go-on” mentality, but the audience seemed to genuinely find themselves invested in the characters and wanting to know the outcome of the story. I was almost dumbfounded as to why Glenn’s partner and director of the show as offering refunds at the end of the show because I don’t think one person took him up on his offer.

And why the hell should they? Hands down one of my favorite plays of the year.

Dick Lit.

There is good news and there is bad news and then there’s just OK news. My good news is that I was hired on as the literary associate at the La Jolla Playhouse, assisting the literary manager with all the incoming material we receive, reviewing it, and writing up a critique of the matter. The bad news is that for the time being they cannot pay me. They thought they could, but times are tough and getting tougher. I thought I could work part time in company management and in literary until this information came up. Then I thought I could take over Johanna’s position in education, but I got the same answer: they’d love to hire me for it…but…uh, they’ve eliminated the position because they have no money to pay for it. So the OK news comes down to this: Steve, the director of education, has told me he wants to have lunch next week to see if there’s any part time work in education I can do now with my hours being reduced in company management…and…I guess I’m first in line in the literary department for when a paying position comes back around.

Really, this is a winning situation with a losing feel. I still don’t know how I’m going to pay my bills. It’s worrying me and that makes me depressed which makes me feel helpless—to quote my SLC Punk brethren: “what do you do when your foundation falls apart? They don’t teach you that kind of thing in school…”—because I had a plan that didn’t come to fruition. Now I don’t even have that. Again, I’m being a mope about getting what I want: I should wait to until lunch with Steve is over, solidify a certain amount of hours with company management, and get crackin’ on the stuff from Gabe the literary director (honestly, it’s going to be a breeze because they want no more than one page of coverage…not the repetitive, 3 page crap I’ve been doing, thank god!).

Weather could also be blamed for the abysmal mood going on around Southern California lately. Three days of rain and I can’t even poo-poo Julia Roberts this time. But today was sunny and temperate as I swam extra laps in the pool to make up for days lost. And today was pay day. And I was able to buy groceries and pay a student loan bill so for the moment my head is above water. Oh, and we got another person on board for the BRONX play reading in a few weeks with our running total somewhere around 4.5 after that one Craigslist guy drop because it “just wasn’t for [him]” and replaced him with someone I’m told is a great, if not flighty, actor. Therefore, one and a half more roles to fill and we’ll be golden.

Prose before ho’s is normally my motto, however, Sara moves down a week from Monday so I guess my pen will just have to wait to make sweet, sweet love to it’s paper dearest.

Writings On The Wall

So you’re sayin’ there’s a chance. – Dumb and Dumber

It became pretty apparent to me early this week that by the end of the fiscal year at work they will no longer need me. Sad fact, but surprisingly enough, I didn’t flinch. Okay, maybe a little. I called up Sara and proposed the idea of staying in Sacramento as opposed to her moving down to San Diego with me. Let’s just say that the idea was less than thrilling to her, sparking an outrage of emotion with a time span that only a woman can dwell on. But she was right in the end. And though doubting the truthfulness to this statement, the night she got mad at me I figured it all out. Maybe it’s not foolproof; maybe it’s not even feasible; but it’s definitely a shot. Basically it came down to them sort of “announcing” the next season. It’s got smaller casts to cut down on paying more people when unnecessary. Smaller casts means reduced people needed for transportation and less of a need for apartments (along with people to maintain those apartments). I saw it and knew I had to make a plan. Shirley still has my writing samples from about six weeks ago, to which she told me at the Christmas party on Monday that I’d have an answer before the holidays. I also came into a bit of information both sweet and sour: my friend Johanna in the education department is leaving for New York to be with her boyfriend and attend the New School. I drop a tear to see her leave yet leap for the opportunity to do her job of education manager. Her boss loves me. There’s more of an artistic component to it. And, despite no one getting raises next year, would be a promotion for me. We talk tomorrow.

Take a lot more than that to get rid of me/See I do what they can’t do/I just do me. – Eve, “Let Me Blow Ya Mind”

Everything I’ve ever wanted to do in my life I have done. That’s not to say I’ve done everything in the world I’ve ever wanted to do (being a gaucho in Argentina’s Las Pampas, you’ve been tapped). Check list, please: performing improv comedy professionally. Check. Living in New York for an extended amount of time (and throw NYU in there for good measure). Check. Working for the Cherry Lane Theater and the La Jolla Playhouse. Check and check. I don’t get everything I want, but once I set my mind to something it’s almost a surefire shot that I’ll get it, with questions ranging only from the when and now, never the if or why. We celebrated Martin’s birthday last week with a bonfire on the sea at night. It was one of my best nights in California thus far. Some of the actor’s came down and one of them, Vince, asked me if I was looking to be a company manager some day. I laughed out loud and replied, “Hell no!” then went on to describe my ambitions for playwriting, how hopefully next season I’d be in literary. I then spent the next 30 minutes helping him out with an idea he’d been tinkering with for a while. “All right…I’d hire you,” said Vince. If only he were in a position to do so. Even more than that I met a guy named Dewey who’d worked at the Playhouse off and on for more than ten years. “I just told them what I wanted to do and they let me do it, “ Dewey explained to me, “at first it was front of house, then box office, then props and shops, back to box office, and then to backstage. I was an actor for a while, but I like backstage the most…so…that’s where I ended up.” And he seemed so confident that whatever came his way he’d be able to do his work. “Plus, when they like someone they don’t lose them without a fight.” That’s how last week started and that’s how this one will have to as well. Comin’ out the doors swingin’…

I wasn’t meant to play the role of the son. – The Wire, “Transitions”

Back in the South Bronx, things have changed and they are looking to go for better days. I have rewritten almost the entire play. It’s still about gang bangers and the emotional ties between them, but now it’s a gay love story between a graffiti artist and a barrio boy who’s on the straight and narrow. I’m going to repost it where I posted the original first act in some of my older posts so look for it soon (sorry to everyone who read the original first act; this one is different, but better, trust me). Jen and I started casting and while last night’s no show effort proved worthless, we Craigslist-ed that bitch to get her fired up for tomorrow. Hopefully someone will bite. I can’t wait to hear it read aloud. I can’t wait to see if the humor and irony and drama all collide like I imagine when I’m writing it in my head. Callan told me to write the play I believed in so I did. Sara made me an awesome t-shirt saying And The Bronx Got Bombed on it so I needed to write an equally awesome play to match it. And Douglas Carter Beane said don’t stop writing so I won’t. Maybe even Chris Ashley will come see it, find it perfect for the last play needed for the season, and I’ll be in business for the rest of my life. Or…perhaps baby steps…baby steps…inch by inch…

Japanadu

As the week comes to a close I realize that a hell of a lot has happened just in terms of personal growth. It is, after all, nearly the end of the year and I’m reflecting back on just everything that happened in 2008. From watching Sara go to Peru to working on My Friend Dahmer and Our Mother, Staten Island, getting in hot water with the Lafayette higher-ups right before graduation, moving out to San Diego and working on 5 shows in 7 months with all the craziness that surrounded them.

This past week was merely an interesting study about how one community’s pink-striped roller-disco musical is poorly received (sorry, La Jolla, it’s just not your type of show) while in another community it is strictly Japanese.

That’s right, XANADU, in case I haven’t already mentioned is going to Tokyo and I for one think its brilliant. The tour manager for XANADU hired me this week for a nice sum to drive around the Japanese production team and management and I learned a lot. I learned that you should aim for an audience and know where that audience lies otherwise you have a lot of explaining to do when returns are not met. Japan will soak up this show, as I saw from the two women and Mister Shima at the student matinee on Tuesday. That might have been the best audience that XANADU will ever have—the cheers and screams of young theater-geeks getting treated to all the glits and glamour of Broadway. And that probably was a big factor in the Japanese sealing the deal.

I also learned that when in Rome, be like the Romans. When with the Japanese, be attuned to their customs. And when in California, take them to an exotic, fancy restaurant of high cuisine known as P.F. Chang’s. Yes, that’s right. On orders, I took the Japanese for Chinese at P.F. Chang’s. Not only did they insist that I join them (“that way I’ll know where you are!” cooed the one woman who seemed to lead the group) but I force fed myself the leftovers that they had ordered, claiming that I was the growing young man. I felt so flattered and simultaneously awkward because they’d answer my questions in quick, short responses followed by a little laughter and then having two questions for my one thrown back at me. Not intrusive, not invasive, but I wanted to know about them. Not so much an open book.

Anyways, I felt big time, even as I dropped them off and escorted them into the theater for the show that night. I, the lowly little company management assistant had dined on inauthentic Chinese food with some bigwigs at the Tokyo Broadcasting Company. Look out world, here I come…some day…to Japan.

Words of a Mad Man

I usually don’t have full scale mental-crisis about what I’m doing with my life, but several factors in the past week have led to me questioning “just what the hell am I doing with myself?” There was:

1. The rejection letter. “So many wonderful plays pass through our office that it is almost impossible to choose.”

2. The actress with a statement. “XANADU just isn’t artistically fulfilling.”

3. Justin’s keen observation. “Aren’t you laid off at the end of the year?”

4. Justin being in New York and working with agents and…hustling his shit.

5. A plain and simple over-all self doubt that comes with being in your early 20’s.


But might I suggest to you, if you find yourself in this position, with writing or whatever it is you do, have an excellent girlfriend who can talk some sense in you. Have a group of friends you trust give you honest feedback on your work. And read about how Matthew Weiner, the 43-year-old exec producer of Mad Men got smart in five easy steps:

1. He realized he wasn't smart — yet. ''I started looking at people whose careers I wanted — David Chase, Woody Allen — and saw that I was not on that path.''

2. He said no. ''I turned down a contract at [Ted Danson's sitcom]] Becker even though I had no other job. It proved that I was uncompromising. Or crazy.''

3. He made stuff. ''I wrote the Mad Men script to show what I could do.''

4. He never gave up. ''It takes hundreds of no's to get a yes. How many networks are there? That's how many no's I got.''

5. He played nice with everyone. ''My Mad Men script was given to AMC by my manager's former assistant. Taking your aggression out on anyone will always come back to bite you. Sometimes in the parking lot after the meeting.''

Gertrudestein-ing It

I wasn’t planning for such an interesting Sunday and last night completed the yet-another-strange outting for my record books. It was nice to have the day off, y’know, like many other Americans during this weekend. I read for about three hours, created one of the best soup/grilled cheese combos I’ve ever made, and had an easy-going Domingo for the most part. But at night, it was time for the craziness. Jen had asked me a few days before if I wanted to join her at her brother’s concert with his band. I said “sure”, not expecting much, but would have been let down had I been given too much. So last night we pre-gamed at my apartment, drinking the most vaginal looking bottle of vodka ever (oh “Veev”!) before hitting the 8 East into San Diego’s ugly step-sister: East County. Now, this wouldn’t have been bad on a regular basis; unfortunately, last night it was incredibly foggy. Like, there wasn’t this much fog in the movie “The Fog” type of fog. It engulfed us in that yellow-tint glow from the street lights and it was like living in a smoke stack. Crazy, but cool, and would have been cooler had Jen and I not needed to pee like racehorses after chucking a gallon of water between us to counter-act the alcohol in our system so we could drive. Luckily, we found the place after only three bad turns and came upon the night’s domain: The Second Wind.

The Second Wind is a bar in one of the Meth Capitols of America (again, East County…however, I still think Ogden, UT holds the record for Crystal Meth users in the country) and sure enough, there were some tweekers outside. Now, to set the scene: we walk in through the exit to the bathrooms, into the extra classy strip-mall-outlet-turned-bar with a low stucco ceiling wearing a classy, blue tinsel hanging off of it, and an amoeba shaped bar leading to the panel wood dance floor in front of the half-foot high stage. It’s dark, except for the three televisions and the backlight glow against the liquor bottles making them up like Philip 20 Watts. Yep, this was definitely was a great joint. I actually really liked the band. Maybe it was because Jen’s brother, Matt, hugged me before dawning a Joker mask and taking the stage with his bass guitar. Maybe it was the crazy film playing against the band, going by the moniker of Gertrudestein (one word), and the only source of light on stage. Maybe it was because I never listen to Goth Metal, where you can’t hear a thing but noise and that’s a good thing. Maybe it just reminded me that fifteen wasn’t so long ago…and, while I’d not like to revert back to that age, realized how great it was.

This morning I awoke and felt young. I’m not kidding—the night had been a fountain of youth. Ponce de Leon must be spinning in his grave! I went to work, feeling great—after all, it was just another day at the office for me; for everyone else, it was “back from vacation”—and set out to greet the Japanese producers looking to take XANADU to Tokyo in May. They were great! Happy, if not exhausted, to be here and looking forward to seeing the shows tomorrow. It had been awhile since I’d seen someone so genuinely excited to see a theatrical piece—not phoning it in or being nice, but truly grateful to have the opportunity. I got them set up with food and in their lavish hotel (“No play, only business”, said one of the producers) and was tipped a handsome Lincoln.

Domo Arigato indeed!

Leftovers

Thanksgiving 2008 Best and Worst


The Best Things:
1. Bocce ball with a foul-mouth, elderly Scottish woman
2. Stuffed belly video chatting with my girlfriend
3. Tales involving “poop” at Tone and Melissa’s house
4. Season one finale of Battlestar Galatica (shit, another TV show I’m hooked on)
5. Free parking…EVERYWHERE
6. Libba’s homemade California style stuffing
7. Camp fire nightcap
8. The middle of Chip Kidd’s “The Learners”
9. Not freezing my balls off outside a Target store at five in the morning in North Tonawanda, NY (everything else about last Thanksgiving I miss)
10. Eating until I am satisfied, not until I’m bloated


The Worst Things:
1. Blues band downtown that started play music at 7:00 a.m. (!)
2. Meal starting a little bit after 1:00 p.m.
3. Being on-call for work
4. Going into work the very next day
5. Only one helping of leftover food from the day before
6. Missing family, friends, and other loved ones across the country
7. Regretting not taking advantage of Black Friday and getting a new digital camera—after all, it’s not that cold here (read: it’s warm)
8. Down to my last loaf of Great Harvest pumpkin chocolate chip bread
9. The Rosie O’Donnell variety show
10. It’s a whole ‘nother year until Thanksgiving comes back around
Most Egregious Number: The Wal-Mart employee who was trampled to death by the crowd when he opened the doors on Black Friday. Jesus Christ!

Bitch, I Dunno Yo' Life

Come to think of it, or rather, when I come around to be able to think about it, I don’t remember much of my life either. Nope, strike that. I don’t remember much of last night and this morning. Through the thick haze of a brown Whiskey headache I see it…it’s all coming back to me…the glitter…the pinkness…the disco balls.



Martin and I are in back, the cast’s quarters for the XANADU opening night party, the place that I’m sure will be unused—it’s always an unnecessary hassle because most of the time the cast wants to be getting drunk with their admires—eating the remains of Yoshi’s salmon lettuce wraps. They are delicious, along with the orange chicken. I don’t know why, but for some reason tonight’s “Venice Beach” menu of hamburgers and corn dogs just don’t really sell my stomach. Eat up because we must venture to the liquor cabinet and pull a copious amount of alcohol, theatre’s only true form of payment.



All the rounds are made: my operation peeps, my box office peeps, and actual marshmallow peeps on the dessert table. Tonight, I’m not driving. I’ve done it at all the other parties so this is the one where I get to hand my keys off to someone else then hit the bar. Again…and again…and uhgen…’n ugg-in…from there, why the dance floor of course! I’m a crazy drunk club girl at this point, but it’s okay, namely because I haven’t been one for quite some time. Dancing with Jen, dancing with Ned, dancing with Martin and Desiree, and then dancing with Jonny C. who, as it appears, has traded in his suite pants for a pair of silver-glitter biker shorts (emphasis on the “short”) he stole off the merchandise manikin. When did this happen!?! He had a full dress suite on a few minutes ago! I turn my head and Jonny C’s getting’ his freak on every which way…



…Keep dancing, keep drinking…hey, there’s one of the girls from XANADU. Snap a picture, she snaps off her bra. Wait, what!?! So now I’m dancing around with a cute lesbian’s bra on head for about five minutes until the gay boys swipe it from me and it is lost to the throng of performers. I’m really sorry if that was a good bra but I highly doubt you’ll get it back (and even if you do, clean it thoroughly or better yet, just throw it out)…

…Okay, it’s all getting way too bizarre in here. I’m looking at the FLASHING…Flashing…flashing….LIGHTS…Lights…lights…and through them I see two people making out who, for the absolute life of me, should not be making out. Even I know that and I’m hammered as a nail. A string of reasons run through my head: because you are in the show together…because he’s very, very gay…and because his boyfriend is right there giving you two the look of death. Oh, you’ve noticed him too. The boys go off together, I imagine to work things out, laugh the whole thing off (probably not) and she goes off to dance with the three ten-year-old boys who are her biggest fans tonight…

…The November fog has settled over the hill and makes the street lamps look like motionless fireflies caught in plastic bags, glowing warm, unearthly yellow on the parking lot. I’m in my car, it’s 2:30 in the morning, and I’m just letting the cold air fill my lungs. That was another great perk of New York; just walk it off on your way back home. Now I got to sober up and I will, but oh god, it’s going to hurt in the morning…when, in six hours, I must return to clean the whole thing up.

AND THE BRONX GOT BOMBED, Act 1, Scenes 3-7

Hugh Jackman was named 2008’s Sexiest Man Alive. Sara has a subconscious crush on him and if she’s into the Sexiest Man Alive that at least make’s me second sexiest…right…? Maybe…? Anyway, it’s official for all those keeping count of all the sexy people in the world.

I have to give a heartfelt congratulation to Chiara who, as I just heard through the grape vine, was nominated for the 2008 Goldberg Playwriting Award at our alum department of Dramatic Writing in TSOA at NYU (if I heard wrong and you actually won, Chiara, then even more kudos). She probably does not believe this, but I thought her thesis play was one of the best I had seen during my four years of college and now she’s getting recognition for her work—awesome!

I, on the other hand, am trying to keep my work in line and get it to the best that it can be. I received a letter today regarding Our Mother, Staten Island and it was quite a devastating blow. The person who reviewed it said that, in his opinion, “the dramatic arch of the play could not sustain an entire first act” and that if I “put it down and came back to clean up some of the dead spots [I] could have a pretty tight one act play.” This was the softest of the criticism. Like I’ve said before I’m good with rejection letters and even though this letter was not from a theater, it was the hardest blow I’ve received for this play and it hurt because I could tell that this man really did not like my work. But, if you believe the good reviews then you have to believe the bad ones too and since you should never fully invest yourself or ignore constructive feedback, I’m going to take his advice. Until 2009, I’m putting down Staten Island and focusing on Bronx.

By popular demand of Theresa and Kevin, here’s the rest of Act 1:


SCENE 3 - BRONX CORNER, MORNING

Gabe stands against a lamp, on guard from night watch. He yawns, stretches for a moment, and starts running in place to wake himself up. Gabe pulls out a lighter. He watches the flame and then closes the top. He does it again and several more times, each time entranced by the flames.

Tonio enters, dressed in nice clothes, carrying a plastic bag. He watches from a far, unbeknownst to Gabe.

GABE
(rapping to himself)
I punch in and I never punch out! I punch in and I never punch out! Y’all be hearin’ me, bitches? This man is killin’ all y’all jive turkeys with his one, two, three, four -- to the stomach, to the head, and he’s on the floor.
(beat, smirks)
Attention! Attention ladies and gentlemen: it’s five twenty-eight in the A.M. Do y’all know where ya children be at?
(“do you know where your children are?”)
Donde esta tus ninos? Well, if they in the barrio, they’s watchin’ the flash master of South Bronx pound pavement and if they’s his mama, then she’s so proud. So...so proud of her son: the champion! Fuck ya, Mama...she’s so proud. I am champion! Yes, me! Gabrielle Esteban Diaz -- I am the champion, cabron. Bronx stand up. This is ya man right here! Know what I’m sayin’? Champion, ladies and gentlemen...he don’t fall down...
(sniffs, wipes his nose)
...heh...yo, it’s Gabe...I keep runnin’...runnin’...never stop runnin’. Never stop fightin’. Pow, bam, boom! Whoo -- !
(stops, takes a breath)
Goddamnit, where the fuck is everybody? I need some the neighborhood to wake up. Where the fuck are my people -- ya scare ‘em off, street light? Huh? Ya tell ‘em all my shit ain’t cuttin’ muster no more? That be it? Ya spreadin’ lies, puta? I’m gonna have to fuck ya ugly ass face up for that.
(he throws a few shadow punches at the lamp post)
The hell are ya doin’ here anyway, stupid piece of shit? Street light, I always see ya dumb ass out on this here corner and ain’t doin’ jackshit. Why, huh? Leave! Go see a movie or eat somethin’, but do somethin’! A’ight? Tired of starin’ at ya dumb ass...

Tonio hesitates, not sure if he should disturb Gabe. He risks it.

TONIO
(“yo, what’s up with ?”)
Hey...que pasa contigo?

GABE
(embarrassed, “nothing”)
Nada.

The two guys bob their heads for a moment not knowing what to say.

TONIO
I brought my lucky piece of gear. ‘Cause...y’know...supposed to be bombin’ today. And Rico...he said dress nice...but still...brought the one piece I always use.

GABE
Rico likes ya shit.

TONIO
He does?

GABE
Yeah.

TONIO
‘Fore all this, I didn’t really think he’d heard of me at all.

GABE
He hadn’t.

TONIO
So who told him?

GABE
I did.

TONIO
You?

GABE
(My sister -- Gloria Diaz -- she’s in your art class at school. She liked your pictures, with all the different colors. So pretty, yeah?”)
Mi hermana -- Gloria Diaz -- esta en tu clase a la escuela. Le gusta tus pictura, con todos los colores diferente. Que linda, si?

TONIO
(“yeah. Thanks.”)
Si. Gracias.

GABE
Hey, didn’t say I liked them. Said Gloria thought they was great, but Gloria sells her pussy like it goin’ outta style what the fuck she know?

TONIO
Oh...

GABE
(beat)
Anyways, she told me ‘bout ya. I told it to Rico when he was lookin’ for someone to mark our turf.

TONIO
That’s tight, bro. Really ‘ppreciate that.

Tonio goes in to slap hands with Gabe, but Gabe just stares him down.

GABE
My sister...she like her mom’s...

TONIO
A’ight...at least tell ya sister thanks from me.

GABE
Fuckin’ tell her yourself if ya ever head back to that shit hole of a school. I ain’t spoken to that bitch since I smacked her up side the face and ripped out her nose ring...
(beat, laughs)
...nah, I’m just messin’ with ya, homes.

TONIO
Yeah...yeah...

GABE
Don’t worry. She’s fifteen now. She can take it.
(pause)
Ya got hermanos?

TONIO
Me? Nah, man...barely had my parents around. Both of them were Dominicano, but my mom’s...her daddy was Dominicano and her mother was Scottish...so...guess I gotta big extended family out there.

GABE
Good luck findin’ them.

Gabe spits on the ground.

TONIO
I did meet one of my aunts...or great aunt from over there. She gave my mom’s a bunch of ol’ shit she had since, like, World War Two. That’s where I got this.

Tonio pulls out a Mickey Mouse gas mask from the plastic bag.

GABE
Get the fuck out.

TONIO
(“It’s the truth.”)
Es la verdad.

GABE
Oh...SHIT!

TONIO
Guess they handed this out to the poor folks and they kids in case Hitler was bombin’ their ass with chemicals and shit. So I show it to my mom’s and y’know what she do? Puts the mask on. Now I’m lookin’ at my mom’s with a big ol’ Mickey Mouse grin plastered on her face and she says... “Look at me, Tonio. I’m ya evil step sister. I’ll kill ya in ya sleep.”

GABE
(cracks up with laughter)
I hate my mom’s...

TONIO
...she was so high when she said it that --

GABE
-- even if she is proud of me.

TONIO
Yeah...
(notices something on the ground)
...damn, yo. These things following me everywhere.

GABE
What?

Tonio bends down over the curb and picks up a large bobby pin.

TONIO
Bobby pins. My girlfriend had a bunch in her kitchen but she say she ain’t wear them.

GABE
Maybe she fuckin’ on the side.

TONIO
(“what you say, bastard?”)
Que hables, cabron?

GABE
(“With another chick!”)
Con una otra chica.

TONIO
Oh...that’d be sweet.

GABE
Shit. Here he comes. Look alive.

Rico enters with one of his right hand men carrying a large duffle bag.

RICO
Buenas dias.

GABE
Que pasa?

RICO
Nada mucho.
(“Today si the day we see if Tonio has the balls to work these streets.”)
Hoy es la dia cuando vemos si Tonio tiene cojones trabajar esas calles.

TONIO
What’s in the bag?

RICO
Y’know the Cuerpo territory?

TONIO
Yeah. Think so.

GABE
Down three blocks that way. Five blocks that way. Four blocks that way. And ‘nother five blocks down the way over there.

The Cuerpo drops the bag on the ground and opens it. Tonio leans over, pulling out numerous cans of spray paint and a small step ladder.

TONIO
Jesus, man...

RICO
‘bout two-hundred dollars worth of spray right here.

TONIO
I ain’t never worked with this much before.

RICO
That gonna be a problem?

TONIO
Nah, man. We just bombin’, right?

RICO
Actually, Tonio, I’m makin’ an investment. Buildin’ those walls that I told ya ‘bout. How two-hundred in ya pocket work for ya?

TONIO
(pause)
Wait...ya sayin’ ya want me to bomb the ‘hood? Our hood?

GABE
What would be the point of that?

TONIO
I dunno. Ya tell me to buy some new threads, drop some spray at my feet -- I dunno what the hell to think.

RICO
I don’t care what ya think. I wanna see if ya willin’ to get dirty. Everyone has to know when they cross into our turf. When they try to fuck us...that we gonna fuck them back...feel me? I want hombres who step across the street to shit themselves ‘cause there’s a Cuerpo sign on each corner.

TONIO
Of what?

RICO
Don’t matter, Tonio. Just as long as it makes outsiders think twice about puttin’ their noses where they don’t belong.

GABE
What ‘bout me?

RICO
What about ya, cabron?

GABE
Do a paintin’ of me. Then he can do a couple other of the crew. Save the last one for ya, Rico.

RICO
I like it.
(“You able to do that, Tonio?”)
Haces lo poder, Tonio?

TONIO
Most definitely.

RICO
A’ight then.
(beat)
What, ya ain’t happy ‘about the job I’ve given ya?

TONIO
Nah, it ain’t that. It’s just...this is only four corners. A week or two worth of work. After that, what happens?

RICO
Well, if ya do this shit we’ll talk ‘bout a promotion.

GABE
Everybody’s gotta earn they stripes.

RICO
Are ya not appreciative of what I’ve given ya? Gabe said ya was the next Picasso and shit.

GABE
Picasso...

RICO
So...are ya truth?

TONIO
Yeah...yeah, I be truth.

RICO
(“Good to hear.”)
Bien oir. So get to work. Word comin’ back to us all the time that a couple other crews are lookin’ to expand their franchises. We gotta make sure they don’t think our real estate is for sale.

TONIO
A’ight.

RICO
We outta here. Let the artist get to work.

Rico and the other Cuerpo exit. Gabe tries out a series of poses, trying to decide on one.

GABE
Ya better make me look gangsta.

TONIO
I will.

GABE
A’ight...how ‘bout this then?

Gabe leans against the light pole again and puts up one of his middle fingers.

TONIO
That’s good...but -- hey take out that lighter.

GABE
Ah yeah!

Gabe clicks on the lighter and reposes with it.

TONIO
That’s the shit right there.

GABE
Ya think?

TONIO
Most definitely. Chill for a sec, though.

Tonio reaches into duffle bag and pulls out a pair of gloves. As he’s putting them on, Tonio reaches in, only to retract his hand.

GABE
What’s the hold up!?

Slowly, Tonio extracts a bobby pin from the glove.

GABE (CONT’D)
Yeah...? So...?

Tonio shakes his head and throws the bobby pin over his shoulder. He opens the plastic bag to remove a Mickey Mouse gas mask.

GABE (CONT’D)
Oh SHIT! Here come the real deal...

TONIO
Yeah...the real deal...

Tonio pulls the mask over his face. He shakes up one of the cans of paint. Gabe strikes his pose and Tonio sprays the wall with color.

Lights fade.

SCENE 4 - DINER, LATE AT NIGHT

Lights up. A few weeks later. Tonio and Rico sit at a booth. Rico picks at his ham and eggs while Tonio shuffles a burger in his hands, trying to simultaneous show his drawings to Rico, pointing at them with a pencil in his hand.

TONIO
See, I’m gonna how it looks a little layered in back with the fire and shit all back there? This shit is gonna be all technique. Ya face is gonna look like el diablo --

RICO
(“I hate the food here. Why do we still come here?”)
-- odio la comida aqui. Por que venemos aqui entonces?

Tonio goes silent, looking at the picture in front of him. Rico stabs the piece of ham on his plate with a fork and holds it in front of Tonio’s face.

RICO
Look at this.

TONIO
Okay...

RICO
What’s wrong with it?

TONIO
Dunno...

RICO
It’s too fuckin’ pink. That’s what.

TONIO
It’s ham, dog. Ya gotta know ham is gonna be pink if ya order it.

RICO
Well it’s too fuckin’ pink for me.

Rico throws the ham on the floor. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. Cautiously, Tonio slides the picture to the tables edge and cross his hands in front of him.

RICO (CONT’D)
(“What are ya doin’?)
Que haces?

TONIO
("Talk to me.")
Digame.

RICO
Get the fuck outta here with that shit, man, ya ain’t no shrink and ya sure as hell ain’t my shrink.

TONIO
I just wanna talk. Help my fellow Cuerpo out. To show my support and loyalty...through whatever...

RICO
Ya don’t got no answers for the problems I got.

TONIO
Try me.

Rico ashes his cigarette into his eggs. He then puts the whole butt out on the eggs and pushes the plate across the table to Tonio.

RICO
Eat that and I’ll tell ya.

TONIO
Fuck that.

RICO
Then fuck you.
(beat)
Wanna show loyalty? Huh? Support? Comerlo.

Tonio shakes his head, begrudgingly picks up his fork, and scoops up a section of rubbery egg peppered with cigarette ash.

RICO (CONT’D)
Comelo ahora!

Tonio looks at the fork, then to Rico, and finally sticks it in his mouth. He chews as fast as he can.

RICO (CONT’D)
(“More eggs. Clean your plate.”)
Mas huevos. Lava tu plato.

Tonio furiously plows into his eggs, trying to swallow them as fast as he can. Rico watches, eyes ablaze. Tonio scrapes the fork and plucks the last morsel in his mouth.

TONIO
There...
(dry heaves, catches himself)
...there...

Rico smiles, lights another cigarette, and watches Tonio chug his soda.

RICO
Ya know the building that got burned down last night? The one over on one and forty-four?

TONIO
Yeah...what ‘bout it?

RICO
Manuel Perez lived there...his family...well, they ain’t got themselves a home no more. His two little sisters got stuck in their apartment and woosh...
(beat)
..ain’t like he lived there no more, but he put down for those girls. And his mom’s.

TONIO
That sucks, man. Los Manos stackin’ some to help him out?

RICO
Nah...they’s startin’ to pack some. On Manny’s orders.

TONIO
Why?

RICO
Cops told ‘em it looked like arson, but they weren’t sure. Later they found out it was made from a bottle rocket that went loco. Landed on the roof...whole thing went up in flames.

TONIO
Shit...

RICO
Know where they think it came from?
(Tonio shakes his head)
My block. The one where I live on...some neighborhood watch bitch said that someone was launchin’ ‘em from the roof a while ago...she didn’t say who, but I know who it was...

TONIO
Ya think it’s Gabe, don’t ya.

RICO
Yeah. I do.

TONIO
How do ya know though?

RICO
Same reason ya do, homes. He’s my boy, but the dude lost his mind while back.

TONIO
Don’t mean it was him.

RICO
Right...’cause Los Manos are takin’ that into consideration while they weighin’ all the possibilities. Nah, man. Manny and his crew gonna be all instinct on this. They gonna make it civil war, just watch. Watch it happen.

TONIO
They wouldn’t do that. They ain’t muscle --

RICO
-- don’t matter in situations like this --

TONIO
-- they dope slingers. We the ones who protect them --

RICO
-- which just means they shoot wrecklessly and hate chancin’ on any target. Ya ain’t blind. Ya seen this type of thing go down. Don’t sugar coat it.

Rico reaches into his pocket and pulls out a huge wad of bills. Tonio’s jaw drops.

RICO (CONT’D)
Don’t stare, cabron. It belongs to ya ass now. Take it and put it in ya pocket.
Tonio does as he’s told.

RICO (CONT’D)
I want ya to finish the murals tomorrow. So there ain’t gonna be confusion over real estate when shit drops.

TONIO
A’ight.

RICO
(re: the money)
Give it to ya girl. Make her proud.
(pause)
How she doin’ with teh baby anyways...?

TONIO
Dunno. I ain’t seen her in ‘bout two weeks.

RICO
And so it begins.
(beat)
Get it done by tomorrow night.

TONIO
Por supuesto.

Rico nods, taking another drag. Tonio reaches down for his burger, takes a bite, and chews until he suddenly stops. Digging through the sloppy food in his mouth, he removes a bobby pin.

TONIO (CONT’D)
No fuckin’ way.

RICO
Have ‘em take it back. That’s shitty service.
(hollers)
Waitress! Venga aqui!

TONIO
Don’t -- no, no, no...this is just fuckin’ trippy, that’s all. For weeks I been findin’ them shits all around. Like I’m cursed or somethin’. All these signs, man. These things, Gabe fuckin’ our shit up, who knows now --

RICO
-- the hell did ya say, Tonio -- ?

TONIO
-- first the bobby pins, then Gabe --

RICO
-- I heard what ya said and I --

TONIO
-- so now ya down my throat like some goddamn cop or --

RICO
-- don’t every say one goddamn word against Gabe again! Less ya want ya tongue cut out so I can have some assurance on that order.

Tonio puts his head in his hands and shakes his skull. He throws up his hands in defeat.

TONIO
Sorry...sorry, Rico...meant no disrespect.

RICO
It was disrespectful, a’ight? It was, but...
(long beat)
...shit, man. He’s my son. I gotta look out for him.

TONIO
(stunned)
WHAT?!?

RICO
Es la verdad.

TONIO
Get outta here.

RICO
Ain’t, like, sayin’ I concieved the motherfucker or nothin’...but...

TONIO
But what?

RICO
Shacked up with his mom’s.

TONIO
No way...no fuckin’ way...

RICO
Makin’ me dig up some ancient history, homes. Best not let it be slippin’ on the street...
(takes a drag)
...Gabe and I been homboys since sixth grade...and, well...shit. Our dicks were diamond hard twenty-four-seven. We’d fuck anythin’ with a hole.

TONIO
And what...? Ya couldn’t just whack it like the rest of us?

RICO
Big words for a man who impregnated a girl when he popped his cherry. Ya know it ain’t the same if ya gotta woman willin’ to give it to ya...Gabe’s mom...she took care of business, know what I’m sayin’?

TONIO
What did Gabe think ‘bout this? Y’all hookin’ up?

RICO
He didn’t know shit. Made sure ‘bout that. Nah, he didn’t know ‘til the day he got his ass kicked outta school. I’d gotten outta there week ‘fore that and Gabe was doin’ right by me. Poor bastard walked in on us fuckin’. I was sixteen then. Moved into their house ‘cause I didn’t have any other place to go. We was homeboys up ‘til that moment when he walked in. From then on...I was his pops -- the man of the house.

TONIO
Did he do anythin’ when he saw ya...y’know...

RICO
Fuckin’ his mom’s? Hell yeah! He turned the house upside down. Stormed out on to hundred forty-first street and started pounded his head ‘gainst the wall.

TONIO
Whoa...

RICO
The first hit was the worst. We all heard this crack, even from the other side of the block. Then he just kept slammin’ it into the wall over and over...I finally went out and pulled him off. Gabe got one good last face of brick ‘fore fallin’ back on the sidewalk. That stupid motherfucker laid up in the hospital for a week ‘til his mom’s couldn’t afford it no more.

TONIO
That...explains a lot.

RICO
All ‘cept why he’s in love with fire now. Sometimes I catch him just starin’ at a goddamn lighter for the longest time, y’know? I didn’t pay no mind to it ‘cept when Jose Garcia show him how to set off fireworks -- Jose’s the one Manny should be gunnin’ for. Weren’t for him we wouldn’t be here with our dicks up our asses.

TONIO
Least Gabe got you and his mom’s lookin’ out for him.

RICO
Nah, that bitch is on her own. I don’t hit her up ‘less I want some thunder thigh action, know what I’m sayin’?
(beat)
What? I gotta whole buffet of snatch -- I ain’t pussy whipped enough to settle for one. No offense to those who do stay with one.

TONIO
No...yeah...

RICO
Such is life, right?

Rico cannot keep it in any more. He starts laughing uncontrollably to himself.

TONIO
Yeah...guess so...

Rico gradually calms himself down, the laughter and joy weening from his voice.

RICO
Plus, I mean, once his mom’s had Luiz, I knew I had to bounce. I wasn’t takin’ care of no woman and her two boys, even if Luiz was mine.

TONIO
Ya see him a lot.

RICO
Depends on what ya call a lot.
(beat)
Such is life.

Rico finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on the table.

RICO
Pay the bill.

TONIO
Hey...Rico...

RICO
...yeah?

TONIO
Ya sure it was Gabe? I mean, how will ya know for sure?

RICO
I’ll ask him one time and if he lies to me...

He aims his fingers like a gun and makes a shooting noise.

TONIO
Get the fuck outta here with that. We good ‘cause I say we good.

Rico stares Tonio down and ends up with his hand on his shoulder. He pretends to shoot Tonio in the face.

RICO
Boom...

TONIO
A’ight.

RICO
Yeah. Pay for the shit.

Rico slides out of the booth. Tonio tosses some of the money on the table. Rico exits. Tonio grabs his sketch, looks it over, and makes a quick adjustment. He smiles, inspired.

Lights fade.

SCENE 5 - SANDRA’S APARTMENT, LATER THAT NIGHT

Lights up with a pounding on the door. Elika opens her door, rubbing her eyes and mumbles something Russian. Sandra quickly catches her. They argue in their native tongue before Sandra screams at her mother. Elika shows her daughter the back of her hand and exits back into her room.

The knocking continues. Sandra smooths out her hair, tightens her bathrobe, and opens the door for Tonio.

SANDRA
I should known it was you.

TONIO
Guess what...?

Tonio enters, pushing past Sandra, and into the living room.

SANDRA
Last time you here it was guessing game too. Now, you want replay...?

Tonio pulls out the roll of money and throws it on the coffee table.

TONIO
That’s what.

SANDRA
For decent job or bang-ganging...?

TONIO
...it’s gang-bangin’ --

SANDRA
-- yes, yes -- I know, I screw up second it come out my mouth. Not point.

TONIO
Ya lookin’ at the dopest graffiti artist in the Bronx, baby...I’ve already done four murals and Rico told me tonight that more green’ll start followin’ if I finish a fifth one by the tomorrow. And I just finished the sketch...

Tonio brings out the sketch and holds it up in Sandra’s face.

SANDRA
Tonio, I see nothing.

TONIO
Let me get the light then.

SANDRA
No, my eyes --

Tonio clicks on the lights. He can now see that his girlfriend is very pregnant, about to burst at the belly.

TONIO
Oh my god...

SANDRA
(looks down at herself)
What? I got fat since you last here?

TONIO
Yeah...sort’a...

SANDRA
Thank you, Tonio.

TONIO
Not fat. That ain’t what I meant. Y’know...

SANDRA
...my mother is trying to sleep! I try to sleep...

TONIO
...I just ain’t seen ya in a while. Forgot how good ya look. Now ya got an ass.
Tonio smiles and laughs at his own joke. He goes to hug Sandra only to have her push him away.

TONIO (CONT’D)
What? No love? No hug...or no besas? From Russia with love...?

SANDRA
Where have you been for three weeks?

TONIO
Out. Makin’ money. Lookin’ after ya best interests.

SANDRA
This is not my best interests.

TONIO
What...?

SANDRA
Your blood money! You knocking late on door wanting to give me more! You not being here for nearly one month!

TONIO
Hey, hey, hey...who’s idea was that now? Ya told me not to be comin’ round ‘less I had somethin’ to show for myself.

SANDRA
And I thought you understand that mean get job!

TONIO
I gotta job.

SANDRA
No! IT NO JOB! IT NO JOB! This...this Rico...he want a few murals...after that? Huh? What will there be? Take this gun, shoot this person, rob their pocket!

TONIO
Ya don’t know ‘bout nothin’...that ain’t...we ain’t roll like that...I ain’t roll like that...

SANDRA
You really think that I wanted you gone for that long? With baby due any day -- any second -- and you not here with me?

TONIO
I ain’t out yet.

SANDRA
It almost was. We had false alarm last week. You not here. We didn’t know where you were.
(beat)
I want you here when baby is born. But until that happen, do not come back here with your money.

Tonio goes over to the coffee table, picks up the roll of cash, and holds it out for Sandra to see.

TONIO
This right here...it ain’t just money...a’ight? This is a way out. I can get in with these people and we can be set for life.

SANDRA
Tonio, you don’t even listen to yourself. “I get in so I can have way out...” What kind of...I mean, you do not understand what --

TONIO
-- nah, I understand perfectly. Wish people would stop askin’ me if I understand. I get it, okay? I do. Month ago I would’ve lied, but now...I made it. And seein’ pay from it...nada es mas buena. I made it in and I’m not quittin’ just ‘cause ya think it’s somethin’ it ain’t.

SANDRA
I want you out of my house.

TONIO
Rico’s number two guy...this fucked up dude named Gabe...he was the one who burned down that building on one forty-four. He’s on his way out. Either he gonna have to run for the hills and stay with some cousins or the cops is gotta put him away. Rico gonna have to have another sidearm by him. That’s me.

SANDRA
Is this boy one who start fire tonight?

TONIO
What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?

SANDRA
Look outside! My mother and I watch all night as it get bigger and bigger...

Tonio goes over to the window. In the distance, a low-rise building is inflamed with thick smoke pillars drifting out of it.

TONIO
Shit...if it was him, then he definitely not rollin’ with Rico for much longer. Too much of a liability.

SANDRA
If you are friends with people who burn down buildings --

TONIO
-- don’t start with another lecture --

SANDRA
-- then you need to leave or I call police --

TONIO
-- Listen! Rico’s openin’ up to me! Okay? Listen to my point here, girl. He’s tellin’ me shit that I don’t think no one knows. Rico trusts me...I’m keeper of his secrets and all. I know who the dude really is...
(opens up his sketch even though Sandra does not look)
...I got his back. And he’s got mine -- our’s. Feel me? I’m by his side, ya by mine, and we gotta beautiful thing goin’ on.

SANDRA
(softly, sincerely)
I want you to read my lips with your ears: I call police if you are not out of my house in one minute...I don’t care what I said before...you are dangerous to have around me...

TONIO
Sandra...ya ain’t listenin’ to me...

SANDRA
...one minute, Tonio...it has already started...

TONIO
Fuck, man...

Tonio folds up the sketch and puts it back in his pocket. He gets up and walks towards the door. Tonio stops, turns around, tosses the roll of money to Sandra. Surprised, she catches it.

SANDRA
Thirty seconds...

TONIO
That ain’t for ya. That’s for my baby. Set up a savings account or somethin’ for college...I dunno. Maybe get a phone plugged in or a TV up in this joint with what’s left over. Ya gonna need shit like that now. But whatever ya do, ya make sure he gets most of it and ya make sure he knows that it was from his papi makin’ the neighborhood beautiful for him to grow up in.

SANDRA
(not flinching)
Ten seconds...

They stand in silence, looking at each other. Five...four...three...two...one.

SANDRA (CONT’D)
Time is out.

TONIO
(blows her a kiss)
Hasta then.

Tonio opens the door and exits. Sandra follows him and locks to door as he departs. She then takes the roll of cash, gazes at it in her palm, and finally takes it with her back to her room.

Lights fade.

SCENE 6 - BRONX CORNER, NEXT AFTERNOON

Lights up on Tonio, wearing his paint gear, putting the finishing touches on a beautiful mural of Rico. It’s black and white for the most part, with only hints of gray for shadowing. In the background, something like shots echo. Each time one of them rings out, Tonio checks his surroundings. Once the coast is clear he goes back to spraying the wall.

Gabe enters, looking strung out and tired, carrying a small box of firework snappers. He throws some on the ground and they rattle out into the street. Tonio jumps back and hits the ground. He freezes when he sees it’s Gabe.

TONIO
Fuckin’-A, Gabe!

Gabe grins and throws a few more on the ground. They all pop at once. He laughs. Tonio gets up and removes his mask.

TONIO (CONT’D)
Goddamn it, man, that scared the shit outta me.

GABE
I’m on watch, homes. Gotta keep Los Manos on they toes, y’know.

TONIO
Yeah...

GABE
Now he gots his face all around the barrio. Maybe he won’t need me to be on lookout all the time. His paintin’ can do it for him.

TONIO
Yo...Gabe, I don’t mean no offense of nothin’...but are ya straight, dog?

GABE
Yeah, I’m straight!

TONIO
Okay...

GABE
...what, ya think I like to suck dick or somethin’?

TONIO
What? Nah! Get outta here -- that ain’t what I meant --

GABE
-- ‘cause ain’t no dick sucker, Tonio --

TONIO
-- c’mon now, that ain’t what I meant and ya know it --

GABE
-- but I’ll suck ya’s if ya want me to.

Pause.

TONIO
Fuck off, man. Ya need to get some sleep and --

GABE
-- ‘cause it ain’t like I never sucked one ‘fore. Y’know? I like me some pussy, but Rico said in this life, ya more than likely to end up puttin’ time in at Rikers so ya best learn to blow a dude so ya don’t have to take it up the ass...

Another pause.

TONIO
Go home, Gabe.

Gabe removes a handful of poppers from the box and gently drops them on the concert so they don’t explode.

GABE
He’s real mad, Tonio. He’s like -- fuckin’ pissed outta his mind.

TONIO
Who? Rico?

GABE
Who’s Rico?

TONIO
Answer my question.

GABE
I ain’t recall the question, professora...

TONIO
...who’s fuckin’ pissed at you?

Gabe starts wildly jumping up and down on the poppers. They start ringing out.

GABE
(screaming, “God in the sky!”)
LOS DIOS EN LA CIELO! LOS DIOS EN LA CIELO! Shit -- shit, shit, shit, shit -- God, man...God’s so fuckin’ pissed at me. He’s fuckin’ pissed at me! Los Dios en la cielo! LOS! DIOS! EN! LA! CIELO!

TONIO
Gabe -- yo dog -- DOG! Why -- por que? Por que?

GABE
-- Los DIOS en la CIELO! Fuckin’ shit...he’s so mad at me --

TONIO
-- Escuchame: why is Rico so angry with ya?

GABE
(in tears now)
...’cause I started makin’ friends with the devil.

TONIO
Cut that shit, man.

GABE
Tonio...Tonio...I’m serious, man...he ain’t like it ‘cause I do things that the devil like to do. Yeah...

TONIO
Like what?

GABE
He do things the devil do too. He says he’s God, but means the devil. And he started to make me do the bad shit that I didn’t wanna do. But God said do it so I did. Now I don’t know if that was the devil or...or...fuck, man! He’s so pissed off. And it ain’t good. It ain’t good at all.

TONIO
Did ya start another fire, Gabe?

GABE
I’m no good at all, man, no good at all --

TONIO
-- does Rico think you burned down that building last night?

Gabe moans and throws a few poppers at the mural.

TONIO
Gabe, shut the fuck up for one second --

GABE
(to the mural of Rico)
-- Maybe it’s time ya sucked ya own dick, Papi!

Gabe starts digging around in Tonio’s bag and pulls out a bright red can of spray paint.

TONIO
Hey -- HEY! Gabe! Ya fuck with my shit and I’ll --
(Gabe starts spraying)
-- YO! SHIT! Put that shit down right now --

Tonio pulls Gabe away from the wall. Gabe punch him right in the face. Tonio falls to the ground with his nose bleeding. Rico enters. Gabe goes back to the mural and draws a crude, bright red penis going into Rico’s mouth.

GABE
(turns to Tonio, cackling)
Yeah -- oh, yeah, baby-boy --
(“Who is my good girl?”)
-- quien es mi chica buena? Huh? Ya like suckin’ my dick, Rico?! Yeah, suck it, homes.
(“Yeah, ya like it a lot.”)
Te gusta mucho, Papi. Yeah! How’s that? Huh? A face full’a my big ol’ cock in ya mouth -- let the whole neighborhood see that. Let them see what ya like to do -- ‘cause God ain’t here and devil ain’t here...no, nothin’ ‘cept Rico with a cock in his mouth!
(“Ah, yeah! Who is God now?”)
Ay, si! Quien es El Dio ahora? Quien es --

RICO
Hey, Tonio...

Gabe stops, turns to look at Rico, who ignores him in return.

TONIO
Rico...?

RICO
Los Manos declarin’ full out war...seems that somebody on they crew lost their cousin in a fire last night and...yeah...guns are drawn.

TONIO
Shit...

RICO
...gotta happen sooner or later. Business expenses. We get all the bad blood out and then go back to work. Unfortunately, means I’ve gotta jet outta here for a little bit --

TONIO
-- wait...what -- ?

RICO
-- to lay low while the shit blows over. Y’know...call teh shots from afar.

TONIO
I guess...so...

RICO
...ya don’t guess, ya do what I say.
(beat)
I’m gonna make ya lieutenant, but first I need that cash I gave ya at the diner.

TONIO
But...I thought that was mine.

RICO
No, it’s mine and I need it back. Travelin’ ain’t cheap, y’know...

TONIO
Rico...I gave it to my girl...there’s no way I could ask for it back.

RICO
Well then ya best replace it...

TONIO
Hold up a sec, man, I’m so lost here. Ya gettin’ outta town. War’s breakin’ out. And ya leavin’ me in charge of the whole operation? I mean -- thanks and all -- but what about Gabe here? Where the fuck does that leave him in all this?

RICO
(finally acknowledging Gabe)
Hey Gabe...

GABE
(turns around to face Rico)
Yeah...?

Rico holds up a gun he’s been hiding behind his leg. He shoots Gabe in the head. Gabe’s body falls to the ground.

TONIO
HOLY SHIT, RICO! The fuck did ya go and do that for!?!

RICO
I didn’t. Los Manos hit us first. Now we got grounds to strike back. Oh, and ya ass just became second in command.

TONIO
Fuck, man! Fuck!!!

Rico throws the gun at Tonio. It lands on the ground, next to Tonio.

RICO
I want that money in my hands tonight. Don’t matter how or where from...just get it. And fix that fuckin’ paintin’ ‘fore I get back into town.

Tonio, shaken, nods. Rico exits.

Tonio grabs the gun and shoves it in his pocket. He gets up and takes one last look at Gabes body.

TONIO
Shit...!

He exits. Lights fade.

SCENE 7 - SANDRA’S APARTMENT, NIGHT

Behind the door to Elika’s bedroom are the screams of two women arguing in Russian. The door flies open with Sandra charging the way and her mother hot on her heels. Elika brandishes the roll of Tonio’s money at Sandra.

ELIKA
“You think I am stupid? You think your mother is an imbecile just because I am old or...or leave the house...or something! You think that --”

SANDRA
“ -- No, of course not, and if you were listening to what I was saying before --”

ELIKA
“ -- listen to those lies! Oh, wait fabrications escape your mouth --”

SANDRA
“ -- I told you that that is money which is being saved --”

ELIKA
“ -- one right after another...and another...to...to your own mother --”

SANDRA
“ -- it is for your grandchild!”

ELIKA
(beat)
“I will provide for my grandchild if need be.”

SANDRA
“You?”

ELIKA
“Yes.”
(Sandra snickers at this)
“What? You think because I do screw job on you that I will mess up my grandchild? Now it as if you believe the very lies that spout from your lips.”

SANDRA
“Or maybe it’s you who’s the one lying to herself.”

ELIKA
“My grandson or granddaughter will be seen to. By ways of goodness...ways of honor and respect...not by some two-bit hoodlum running the streets with guns and drugs.”

SANDRA
“So...?”

ELIKA
“So? So what?”

SANDRA
“How do you plan to provide for my child...”

ELIKA
“...don’t start with me on that...”

SANDRA
“...it’s a valid question. I ask it sincerely, mother!”

ELIKA
“...to try and make me angry. I know you do that on purpose!”

SANDRA
Or maybe it’s you who bitch and I just had good teacher.

ELIKA
“What did you say to me?”

SANDRA
“I think you understood pretty well.”

ELIKA
“Say that one more time to me and make me understand. Sandra! Make me understand! Tell me what you said or I swear --”

SANDRA
“-- to hit me? To kick me out? How will you ever see the child then? Those are all idle threats, mother, all empty promises...I don’t know how you got to be so hollow...”

Elika raises the back of her hand to her daughters face, but resists the urge to strike her.

ELIKA
(beat)
“Were it not for that belly of your’s, I’d strike you through the wall.”

SANDRA
“But I do have that belly. And I do have that money. And Tonio is going to make a good --”

ELIKA
“You...you have this money?”

SANDRA
“Yes.”

ELIKA
“This money...right here...in my hands? Because I think at the moment, you do not have this money that you claim to.”

SANDRA
“Give it to me.”

ELIKA
“I think I should keep it safe.”

SANDRA
“No! Mother! I need that money!”

ELIKA
“Safe and sound and as far away from the child as possible.”

Elika goes over to the kitchen sink, turns on the garbage disposal, and puts one of the twenty-dollar bills down. Green shards of money fly out. Sandra’s mouth drops.
Elika drops another bill down the hole.

ELIKA (CONT’D)
For deposit! “That’s the right saying?” Deposit?

SANDRA
“Don’t you dare put another bill down the drain...!”

Sandra charges at her mother, but finally stops. She sways slightly and falls to her knees. Elika is about to put another bill down the drain, but realizes something is wrong with her daughter.

ELIKA
“What is wrong with you all of a sudden?”

SANDRA
“The baby...”

ELIKA
“...what? Oh my god! Is it now coming?!”

SANDRA
“No...something is wrong...yes, something hurts...”

ELIKA
“Did your water break?”

SANDRA
“I told you no! Something is --”

Sandra cannot finish her sentence before she breaks into a scream. Elika turns the disposal off and tries to pick her daughter up.

ELIKA
“Stand up...”

SANDRA
“No! No...it -- my god -- it hurts to stand up.”

ELIKA
“Then what should I do?”

SANDRA
“Go...”

ELIKA
“Go where?”

SANDRA
“Go. Get help. Please, hurray. Mother...something is...”

ELIKA
“Where will I get -- I don’t know where to --”

SANDRA
(points to the refrigerator)
“ -- call for a taxi. Hold up the money you have --”

ELIKA
“ -- okay...okay...yes --”

SANDRA
“ -- take the picture Tonio drew of me. Hold it out and say: ‘BABY’ Can you do that?”

ELIKA
Baby...

SANDRA
Baby...and...
(cries out in pain)
“Shit! Oh my god...it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts...uhhhhhhh -- and -- say ‘BABY’ and ‘HOSPITAL’, all right? Try saying it.”

ELIKA
BABY. HOSPITAL.

SANDRA
“Okay. Now go. Go, go, go. You have to hurray!”

Elika runs to the fridge, snaps the picture from the magnet, and throws it in her purse.

ELIKA
“Are you sure you want me to leave you?”

SANDRA
“For Christsake, Mother, get out of here or I will die.”

ELIKA
BA...BABY. HOSPITAL. BABY. HOSPITAL.

SANDRA
“Please go right now! Go! Go! Go! Go! Please, right now!”

Elika grabs the rest of her things, opens the door, and looks back at Sandra writhing on the floor. She exits. Sandra lies stretches out on the floor, biting down hard to stop the pain.

Lights fade.

SCENE 8 - BRONX CORNER, NIGHT

In the darkness Elika screams out “BABY” and “HOSPITAL”. She enters and looks around for someone to assist her, but their is no one.

ELIKA
HOSPITAL...HOSPITAL...BABY! BABY! BABY!

From the other side, Tonio enters wearing the Mickey Mouse gas mask and holding the gun out.

TONIO
(through the gas mask)
Give all the fuckin’ cash ya got on ya and I won’t hurt ya.
(Elika screams)
Don’t -- don’t fuckin’ scream, just empty your pockets!

ELIKA
BABY! BABY!

TONIO
Yeah, I heard ya ‘bout the baby. Now give me the money.

ELIKA
BABY...! BABY...! BABY...!

TONIO
Goddamnit, lady, just give me your money!

Tonio pushes Elika up against the wall.

ELIKA
(top of her lungs)
BABY -- ! HOSPITAL -- ! BABY -- ! BABY -- !

Tonio clicks the trigger and points it right at Elika’s forehead.

TONIO
And I told ya ass to shut the fuck up about the baby!

ELIKA
BABY -- ! BABY -- !

TONIO
Fuckin’ shit...man...ain’t gonna tell ya again to shut up!

Tonio whips the butt of the gun across Elika’s face. She cries out and falls to the ground. Tonio kicks her over and tries to snatch the purse from around her arm. Elika fights back as best she can, scratching Tonio’s arms.

TONIO
Ow! That fuckin’ hurt.

He takes the gun and again, whips her with it. Elika’s nose and mouth begin to bleed -- she’s slowly fading.

ELIKA
(sobbing)
“Oh my god, why is this happening?” BABY -- ! “Why is this happening...”

TONIO
No more talk ‘bout the babies.

Tonio sifts through her purse and finds the a wad of cash. He pockets it and rifles through the rest of her purse until he discovers a folded piece of paper.

ELIKA
(trying to scream, but losing consciousness)
...BABY...HOSPITAL...BA...BABY SANDRA...BABY...

Tonio unfolds the piece of paper to see his sketch of Sandra. Instantly, he freezes.

TONIO
Oh shit...

ELIKA (CONT’D)
...SANDRA...BABY...BABY...SANDRA...HOSPITAL...BABY...

TONIO
Nah...nah...this can’t -- aw, SHIT! Fuck me...fuck me...fuck me...! NO -- ! NO -- !

In the distance, sirens blare. Red and blue lights flash against the wall. Tonio shoves the gun down a sewer well.

ELIKA (CONT’D)
...BABY...SANDRA...BABY...

Police cars pull up just as Tonio’s about to exit. A voice of the loud speaker orders Tonio to drop his weapon and get on the ground.

TONIO
...can’t believe...this...no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening!
Tonio obeys the orders, putting his hands behind his head. Elika’s eyes close as car doors open and shadows of NYPD officers approach Tonio.

Lights out.

End of Act 1.

The Dog and The Days and The Afternoons

Dog Day 1, Wednesday—coming back from vacation is never an easy thing to do. Those lazy days can get you caught in a stupor of relaxation and before you know it, you’ve told the world to chill out. Bills will take care of themselves. Rent—what do you mean “rent”? It’s nice to come back and still have a day off to prepare for jumping back into the tank. Wednesday was my day to take it easy. I watched some television, read a lot, and went out on my bike for lunch and a trip to the park. I decided to go to up to the small park next to Interstate 5 exit and wedged in the top corner of San Diego’s Little Italy. I was listening to my reading of Philip Roth’s American Pastoral as recorded by the amazing actor Ron Silver when a woman caught my attention through the barred fence

Woman: Excuse me…? Excuse me!?
Me: Yes?
Woman: Did you lose a dog?
Me: No.
Woman: Have you seen a dog—specifically, an orange chow?
Me: Not in the last five minutes.
Woman: I think this woman lost it and now it’s out by the highway…
Me: The highway!
Woman: Yeah…she was running the opposite direction. I shouted, but…
Me: Jesus…I’m sorry…
Woman: Yeah…if you see her…tell her the dog is by the highway.

I snapped into Batman mode. No, I wasn’t going to let a dog be run over if I could help it. I sped over on my bike and saw the dog through the chain link, timid and testing the waters of black asphalt containing highly dangerous motorized fish. I whistled to it and it ran. Locking up my bike, I went past the “No Pedestrians Beyond This Point” warning, along the exit’s shoulder, and into some thorny scrub brush. The dog was nowhere. I ventured further passed what looked like a homeless person’s dwelling of rags and dirty blankets until I saw the orange puff with a long, neon-green leash hanging from its neck. I was able to get it to retreat back towards the exit, but not before darting in front of a car and quickly back stepping. Jesus, this dog was going to get itself killed. I barely could reach it, seeing the leash in sight, when it took off for the city. Hoped on my bike and picked my direction. From Date Street, I rode down to Beecher turned right, and spotted the dog immediately. I knew I could either try walking up to it or staying on my bike, both options being limited. If I got off the bike, I risked it getting away from me; if I stayed on, I’d be an intimidating figure chasing it. I chose the latter and the chase began—down Ketter, over to Front, heading South, the dog always in quick pursuit, but me hot on it’s heels. After shouting at various pedestrians “hey, could you step on that dog’s leash before—never mind…” and all of them looking dumbfounded even if I got their attention half a block up. Damn, this dog could run. Passed Broadway, down to G and back over to First Ave, it went all the way down to the light rail track, once again giving me a heart attack, but turning on the jogger path instead. I’ll follow him ‘til I’ve run him ragged I thought. Each time I got within inches, centimeters even, I couldn’t quite get him. Then we came to J Street and the chow, who’s plotting of course I was beginning to anticipate, took the wrong side of the street and trapped itself on the pavilion of a restaurant, surrounded by another barred fence. Two of the guys working there were caught by surprise yet didn’t hesitate to help me one bit. I got him. I can get him back to his owner. I did something good today. Not quite. Right before I got right up to the dog he turned, squeezing himself through the bars as if his torso was made of putty, and took off running up Sixth Avenue. “Damnit,” I yelled in my sweaty and worn down Jack Bauer voice. “I’ll watch your bike while you chase him,” said one of the dudes. “No, I can’t keep up with him on foot.” I picked up my bike and headed off in the direction I’d say him going, towards Petco Park. My pursuit was about to come to an end, however, as I’d lost the dog once again. Instincts didn’t hold up this time and while I spoke with a security guard who’d seen the dog run through the park and up towards the direction of my apartment, that was the last I’d see of the dog again.

I went home to rest, to regroup, to get some water, and take it all in. I’d been chasing the dog for two hours—TWO HOURS! How did that happen? Darting into oncoming traffic, burning my legs to the point where they could have been renewable energy, and wanting so badly to be a Boy Scout for the day…god, I completely lost track of the time. At 4:30, I went back out only to find the sun calling it quits. I ran into a lady walking a dog that had been burned in a fire and a Wisconsin girl for Green Peace, both interesting, both fun, and both unable to help me in my search. By 6:00 I shook my head as I pedaled home in defeat. I have no idea, but saving that dog meant everything to me. Crushed, I drowned my sorrows in beer and sushi. Sigh…

Dog Day 2, Thursday—my job, at times, can be frustrating, but I’ll never ever say that it’s boring or doesn’t leave the day unfilled with surprises. I had to go over to our apartments to oversee the exchanging of furniture. Long story short, the theater rents most of their furniture, they want to buy the furniture—new furniture, and replace the old stuff. Bit by bit, piece by piece. Yesterday was trading out dressers for a smaller set of drawers. The higher-ups insisted we be there to supervise in order to ensure our talents’ items are not messed with. All fine and dandy, now the curveball: the movers say they have nightstands and headboards the match the new drawers, should they put them in? One call to general management and we are green lit. All I have to do is remove the contents of the nightstand and holyshitwhatthefuckisallthispotdoinghere? Alongwiththosedimebagsofliquid? Andwhatthehellisthatbottlefullof—“LoveSpray”? Oh god, now the movers are looking at me. One of them asked if this was my apartment—no! No, it’s not. Normally, I have no problem with drugs. You wanna do them, be my guest. Want me to be your guest? Thank you, but god, not while I’m at work. And two strangers are watching me struggle to hide eight big ounces of sticky green under the sink. I call my boss. She calls her boss. We’re waiting. The movers have stopped and we are just waiting to proceed.

Finally, I get the call:
GM: We didn’t order nightstands so we have no business with them.
Me: Okay.
GM: We needed a heads-up on stuff like this and we didn’t get it.
Me: Right.
GM: We clear?
Me: Yes. Except…what about the contents of the nightstand?
GM: Put it back.
Me: Okay.
GM: I realize this puts you in a compromising position, but put it back before he gets home.
Me: I’ll try.
GM: Good. And we won’t bring it up again.

I told the movers about replacing the nightstand. They barely flinched as they started to undo the majority of the work they had just completed. Problem was that they took the original nightstands down to their truck so now they needed to bring them back up. Fine, let’s just do it so—“Hi! We got out of rehearsal early!” Oh shit. This guy is out early. He has a car. He’ll be here any minute! Nope, wait…he’s here right now. The man, let’s call him Res, walks in and I can barely make eye contact with him. Everyone back at the office said this was to be kept on the down low, very hush-hush. Is it a big deal? I don’t know! But now he knows as we walks into the bedroom! “I didn’t know they’d be changing…everything…” Res said. I reassured him that all of his items were under the sink, safe and sound. He smiled and gave a little embarrassed laugh. “Thanks…” he rolled his eyes, both of us afraid to acknowledge the other. Wait…so maybe it’s not a big deal…or is it…? I don’t know. But after dealing with this for two hours I’m surprised I didn’t smoke up the whole bag just to calm my nerves down.

Dog Day 3, Friday (today)—after all the excitement of Dog Day 2 I drove up to Los Angeles to meet my father for dinner and stay the night with him while he was on a business trip. When I moved to San Diego I drove through L.A. on the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend, the day where no one was coming or going and ran into no traffic whatsoever. Now, I was going into one of my seven rings of hell (the other being long afternoons of department shopping). I met up with my dad after his game and we proceeded to have a lovely dinner at the Cheesecake Factory in Marina Del Rey. As always, I love seeing my dad, but encounters with him are accompanied by a fifty/fifty split of conversation: lots of laughing followed by very sobering and sometimes saddening discussions. Last night we talked about jobs, opportunities, stupid people, television and movies, and finally about what it’s like getting old. It’s disturbing as he told me that a family friend had been diagnosed with ALS and not given much of a chance. He wrote an article in Newsweek, the same one with our amazing President-elect on the cover, documenting his mental battle with the disease by going to a fantasy baseball camp. (read the article here: http://www.newsweek.com/id/166832)

It was hard as my father reminded me that the whole reason he knew Michael was because of me and because of the Jewish families in Utah. When my parents first moved to Salt Lake, my godparents, Ed and Gene Eisen, got four families together from the synagogue and they quickly became close friends: my family, the Waxes, the Goldsmiths, and the Lassers. The friendship, however beautiful and warming, however deep and unique, was short-lived. The Waxes moved to San Diego. The Goldsmiths divorced. Then the Lassers divorced. Michael started having brain aneurysms. Jeff Lasser killed himself. And just this year Mr. Wax fractured his skull and my father had a stint placed in his heart. Of all of the men from the four families, of four friends united by their families into one another, my father was actually doing the best. Now, Michael Goldsmith…diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease…just isn’t right. We went to bed that night recalling our past trips, the four corners road-adventure of 1999 and other camping adventures. It made me so sad to recall them and at the same time so happy to have lived them and still have my father around to recall them with me.

But it’s hard to know that I’ll never get to have the same relationship with my dad as I did when I was a kid—carefree. Now we both have worries and we both commiserate. It’s still father and son talking, but now it’s man-to-man, not adult-to-child. And it will simply continue onward: like an affliction with no ailment; like a situation without solution, like a dog that cannot be caught.

AND THE BRONX GOT BOMBED, Act 1, Scenes 1-2

I just spent a fantastic weekend in Sacramento’s little neighborhood of Granite Bay, with the lovely and awesome Sara. It was a great, if not short, weekend getaway that will suffice for my holiday time off since company management must work Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years, which isn’t something new for me (cough: past three years) but nonetheless, would like to celebrate not in a work environment sometime in the near future. That’s not my point, though. My point is that hanging out with your girlfriend, going on muddy hikes to a receding lake, catching a double feature of sex-romp comedies at a creepy drive-in, eating at California’s finest establishments (love you Tower Restaurant) even if it means you get eye-fucked by the waiter more than she does, and going wine tasting in the beautiful autumn landscape is the probably one of the best ways to spend four days off. Oh, and it so was.

One of the things I really truly love about Sara is that she has no problem telling me her opinion when it comes to my work. She’s unabashedly honest and candor in calling-out things that don’t make sense or parts that just didn’t grab her. That’s something I need with my work, especially from someone who does not consider herself a writer because most of my audience isn’t going to be a writer. After telling her my idea about a new, musically inspired play (yes, The Operator, Sara) I told her I was debating giving the writing group next week my Staten Island play or my newly finished Bronx play. These are the two I’ve written as part of my Borough Series: Five Plays, Five Neighborhoods anthology. I’ve sort of outlined a third one, but that needs a lot of work. As does the Bronx play. But I’ve been so tempted to go back and just make Staten Island the best it can. I even got a call, by mistake, I admit, from a director in New York who got the script by accident and told me she really liked it. Ultimately though, she didn’t have any means of getting it produced. Nice to have the feedback anyways. So that brings me back to the original question and I must agree with my better-half on this one: it’s going to be AND THE BRONX GOT BOMBED for writers’ group next week. But, for your viewing pleasure and honest critique, I give you the first two scenes from my new play:



ACT 1

SCENE 1 - BRONX CORNER, NIGHT - SUMMER, 1989

Lights up. Summer in the South Bronx. Los Cuerpos gang-bangers stand guard over their territory. Blunts and smack talk are exchanged.
They wear scars like tattoos and their tattoos like scars. This is their neighborhood.

Off to one side, RICO leans against a wall as GABE paces around TONIO seated on the curb.

GABE
Stand up, homes.

Tonio tries to get to his feet but Gabe pushes him back down to the sidewalk.

GABE (CONT’D)
(“Bastard! Listen to me and get up!”)
Cabron! Escuchame: levantate!

Again, Tonio attempts to stand only to have Gabe knock him back on his ass.

GABE (CONT’D)
(“You don’t want it”)
No se lo quiere.

TONIO
I do...

GABE
...say again, homes...

TONIO
Said “I do”.

GABE
Ya do? This ain’t no weddin’. I ain’t lookin’ to make ya an honest woman.
(“You are my bitch”)
Eres mi puta!

TONIO
(“Fuck it”)
Chingalo.

GABE
(“Are ya seein’ this?”)
A te ves eso? He comes on up like he’s gonna ask us out on a date or somethin’ and the little piece’a shit don’t want us no more, Rico.

TONIO
I do want ya -- mean, y’know -- I wanna be in y’all. I wanna be a Cuerpo.

GABE
The hell ya do.
(“Go home, bastard”)
Vaya a la casa, Cabron!

TONIO
I ain’t goin’ home, yo. I came to talk to Rico --

GABE
-- too bad, homes, ya got me --

TONIO
(to Rico)
HEY RICO! C’mon, man --
(“I need to talk to ya”)
-- necesito hablar contigo --

GABE
-- then stand up, bitch.

Tonio flies to his feet, this time anticipating the push from Gabe. When it comes, Tonio braces himself and shoves Gabe back. Gabe takes a moment, smiles, and turns to Rico.

GABE
(to Rico)
Ya wanna hear the man...?

RICO
Sure. Why not?

TONIO
What the fuck, man! All that -- what the hell was that all ‘bout?

RICO
(“Ya wanna be a Cuerpo, yeah?”)
Quieres ser El Cuerpo, no?

TONIO
Si.

RICO
(“Then I need to understand the world we live in”)
Entonces necesario para tu entiendes el mundo vivamos.

TONIO
Yo, no disrespect...or nothin’...but I ain’t got a fuckin’ clue ‘bout what y’all runnin’ ya mouth about.
(beat)
No disrespect or nothin’.

RICO
None taken.
(beat)
Y’know what I see when I look at Gabe? A boy -- Cuerpo, sure, but still a boy. Now look at me. I’m the world.

Rico nods; Gabe charges. As he approaches, Rico punches him in the face. Gabe falls back, shakes his head, and finally raises it proudly even as blood trickles down his nose.

TONIO
Jesus -- !

RICO
(“I am the world. Ya understand now?”)
Yo soy el mundo, Tonio. Entiendes ahora? I will fuck ya up and not even blink an eye. Us Cuerpos...we don’t think ‘bout nothin’ when it comes to takin’ on the world.

TONIO
(stunned)
So...ain’t he...he’s just gonna take it?

GABE
I’m just gonna take it.

TONIO
Why?

GABE
‘Cause he’s the world, homes. God is the world. Ya don’t go fist-a-cuffs with God.

RICO
Gabe, c’mere.

Gabe approaches Rico, who pulls him in close, whispers something in his ear, and puts money in his hand. Tonio watches all of it.

GABE
(softly)
Si, Papi...

RICO
Ya get somethin’ to eat, somethin’ to drink. That’s it. I don’t wanna have to put out no fires tonight...ya hear?

GABE
A’ight...

RICO
(“Gabe -- I’m serious”)
Gabrielle -- estoy serioso.

GABE
(“I know...I know...It’s all good. Don’t ya worry ‘bout it.”)
Yo se. Esta bien. No te preocupas.

RICO
No fires --

GABE
-- Said I got it, Rico!

Gabe exits.

RICO
(“Ya family? Where’re they from?”)
Tu familia? De donde van?

TONIO
Los Bronx.

RICO
(“No, originally”)
No, originale?

TONIO
(“Dominican Republic”)
Dominica Republica.

RICO
Ya sure ya gots the blood in ya?

TONIO
I gots in it me, man.

RICO
(pause)
Let me ask ya a question: why ya choosin’ to be a corner boy? Eh?

TONIO
This a job interview or some shit like that?

RICO
It’s important...now, answer the question.

TONIO
(pause)
My mom’s is gone.

RICO
Since when?

TONIO
Last week. Took up with some chupadura-maricon outta Bay Ridge. She started seein’ him last month. Subway ride so long she stopped huffin’ it back up here. Asshole...

RICO
Ya thinin’ she ain’t comin’ home?

TONIO
Ain’t no home to come back to.

RICO
Shit, man.
(“And your daddy?”)
Y tu papi?

TONIO
(“I don’t got one. My grandma lives in a city north of Boston, but...”)
No lo tengo...Mi abuelita viva en un ciudad norte Boston, pero...

RICO
(“Ain’t nothin’ up there for you.”)
Nada esta alla para tu. I hear ya, man. I got sent up to a boradin’ school ‘round there few years back.

TONIO
For reals...?

RICO
Ain’t frontin’. Shit’s borin’. Winters -- mad nothin’ to do. Solo chicos. Felt like my dick was gonna freeze and fall off, y’know what I’m sayin’...?

TONIO
(laughs)
Aw, man. That sucks.

RICO
Made us sleep in an old barn for a dormitory -- shit’s was crumblin’. Freeze ya ass off ‘cause the walls were only insulated with old newspapers.

TONIO
Ya makin’ shit up now.

RICO
Dog, do I look like I’m jerkin’ ya off here? Ya could reach into the wall and pull out the sports section from, like, I dunno -- 1977! But if ya did -- shit, man -- ya ass was in for one cold night.

TONIO
So ya dick definitely would freeze up and --

RICO
(cool, even keeled)
-- shut the fuck up, Tonio, I’m tryin’ to tell ya a story.

TONIO
Uh...sorry...sorry...

RICO
(beat)
We make walls here, Tonio...’cause I ain’t never goin’ cold again. Ya could make walls with us...roofs...shit, a whole house if ya feels like it. But we protect ourselves even when we without. Even when there ain’t no home, we push the world back. Hell, we fuck it up the ass is what we do.

TONIO
(finally)
Let me fuck shit up with ya...?

RICO
Ya askin’ me or tellin’ me?

TONIO
I’m tellin’ ya, Rico.

RICO
(pause, “Give me a hug.”)
Dame una brazo.

Tonio tries to hug Rico, but is stopped when Rico knocks him square in the jaw. Tonio stumbles back in shock. He starts to get angry, breathing through his teeth. Rico remains cool.

RICO (CONT’D)
Dame una brazo.

Hesitantly, Tonio tries again, but the same things happens. Rico stays collected. Tonio spits out blood.

TONIO
Ow, man! That knocked a goddamn tooth loose.

RICO
This...this never stops. Gabe did it. I’m doin’ it. The rest of the crew gonna be doin’ it for the rest of they lives. Normally, we’d have to jump ya ass to see if ya hard core, but I gots other plans for ya, hombre. Get some nice threads and show up here tomorrow ‘round six.

TONIO
In the morning?

RICO
Yeah. Problem with that?

TONIO
What if I ain’t got no nice threads?

RICO
Ain’t ya Mamasita hook ya up with some cash for new school shit and...
(beat)
...right. Never mind.

Rico pulls out a roll of bills and tosses a few twenties to Tonio on the ground. Tonio collects them slowly.

TONIO
Hey, uh, Rico...

RICO
Hm...?

TONIO
...well...uh...don’t know how to ask this, but...can I get a few more of those?

RICO
I ain’t the bank. That there be pocket money.

TONIO
I know, I know...but my girl...don’t know if ya know but...she pregnant and all...

RICO
That bitch ya popped ya cherry on? I heard. Don’t tell me ya stickin’ with her.
(no response)
What’s her name again?

TONIO
Don’t think ya know her. But she’s like, two weeks away or somethin’ from the baby comin’ out, and...to be honest with ya, I need to show her I can bring home some money, y’know, show her that I can take care of her. First I get with Los Cuerpos and next --

RICO
-- nobody sayin’ ya with Los Cuerpos --

TONIO
-- no, I know -- I know and all, but I mean, if --

RICO
-- and this ain’t earnin’ --

TONIO
-- right, but if I get to be a Cuerpo...y’know...
(“That’s money in my hand everyday.”)
...hay es dinero en mi mano cada dia.

Rico stares Tonio down. After a moment, he holds up two more twenties. Tonio takes them, nodding in thanks.

RICO
One time.

TONIO
Absolutely, man. One time.

RICO
Six. Tomorrow.

TONIO
I’ll be here.

RICO
A’ight.

Rico exits.

TONIO
Hey...Rico...thanks, man. Good lookin’ out!

Tonio recounts the money in his hand and exits in the opposite direction.

Lights fade.

SCENE 2 - SANDRA’S APARTMENT, LATER THAT NIGHT

Lights up. Tonio bounces off the walls with excitement. SANDRA, his girlfriend, sits at the kitchen table with a cup of tea.

TONIO
(getting louder and louder)
...and then he pushed me again so I was like, “homes, ya best stop gettin’ up in my face...” and that’s when Rico -- ya ‘member, Rico -- ?

SANDRA
-- calm down...my mother, Tonio...she hear you --

TONIO
-- Dude’s huge and don’t gotta get bent outta shape or nothin’ to get no respect --

SANDRA
-- she just go to bed now. How I explain if she find you here at this time of night -- ?

TONIO
-- and he said, “come see me tomorrow mornin’. Ya got cojones, hombre. I want ya to work for me.” Rico said that, baby.

SANDRA
I don’t remember no Rico. All your friends look same.

TONIO
Y’know what? I’m gonna let that slide tonight ‘cause girl...I gots somethin’ in the works and everythin’ gonna be a’ight.

SANDRA
“A’ight?” “A’ight?” What this “a’ight...a’ight” all the time?

TONIO
Are ya even listenin’ to me, Sandra?

Sandra gets up and puts a hand over Tonio’s mouth.

SANDRA
(softly)
Yes! I listen. Yes. You have job interview with local goons. Fantastic, Tonio. You live up to your potential.

TONIO
C’mon -- ain’t ya the least bit excited for me? Think they want me to paint somethin’ for them.

SANDRA
This is you put cart before horse.

TONIO
(under his breath)
Don’t see yo ass workin’ no job.

SANDRA
What you say?

He snatches a piece of paper from a pad on the table. Tonio then grabs a pencil, pulling over a cup filled with pens and pencils. They spill out with a bunch of bobby pins.

TONIO
Shit.

SANDRA
Tonio! Look what you do!

TONIO
Since when ya start wearin’ bobby pins...?

Sandra scoops the mess back into the cup.

SANDRA
I don’t! No, but -- you -- go back to what you say before. About me with no job?

TONIO
I ain’t said nothin’.

Tonio begins sketching on the piece of paper.

SANDRA
For your information, my ass huge from carryin’ baby of your’s. How I supposed to work?

TONIO
From Russia with love, D.R. with Hate. Or vice-versa...

SANDRA
Are you even listening to me now?

TONIO
Yeah...I am listenin’. And I can’t believe ya ain’t even a little bit excited ‘bout me steppin’ up and takin’ care of ya.

SANDRA
I will be once job -- real job -- come through. You forget, Tonio, I have five years on you. I work jobs before. This, you have not done yet. Jobs, uh...uh, they bleed out.

TONIO
Bleed out?

SANDRA
Yes, you know, they -- they have way of losing blood. Dying. Or changing. Job today, no tomorrow. Why? They never say. Sometimes. Right now...you have no job...just possibility. But here you promise Christmas ham and two story house.

TONIO
I swear to god, sometimes I don’t understand what ya sayin’.

SANDRA
Funny, because sometimes I feel same way with you. “A’ight”?

Tonio stop drawing. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the money Rico gave him. He drops it on the table. Sandra takes a seat and shifts through the bills.

TONIO
Better than a’ight, huh?

SANDRA
What this?

TONIO
Money, mi bonita.

SANDRA
I not your “bonita”...
(throws the money on the table)
This money...no, I don’t want this.

TONIO
The hell ya don’t.

SANDRA
Exactly. To hell with it.

TONIO
Sandra...what the fuck ya tryin’ to pull here?

SANDRA
This Rico...you say he going to give you job...I remember him now. He the one that got out of jail last year. Out on the corner all night long. Sellin’ drugs...

TONIO
...they don’t sell drugs...

SANDRA
...shooting each other...

TONIO
...sometimes. Mean, they the muscle of the other corner boys. One hand washes the other...shit like that...

SANDRA
And this Rico...gave you this money, didn’t he? He wash our hands now?

TONIO
Maybe it’s an advance. For bein’ an artist...ever think ‘bout that?

SANDRA
Then what you call the blood spots on your shirt? This also an advance?

TONIO
And what if it is?

SANDRA
This no good, Tonio.

TONIO
It is so long as it keeps ya ass and my son’s ass comfortable.

SANDRA
First of all, who said it was a boy? And second, I think of many, many, many answers to that stupid question. You sell drugs, you beat up peoples, you get shot --

TONIO
-- no! I tag! I write! I get respect, start earnin’ some money --

SANDRA
-- you shoot someone else, you go to jail, you get killed --

TONIO
-- I ain’t goin’ to jail and I ain’t goin’ to be killed --

SANDRA
(yells)
-- and then there no chance of having family with you because you are dead!

A light from the back room clicks on. Sandra notices it and drops her head back in frustration. Tonio goes back to his drawing as Sandra tends to her mother.
Sandra opens the door, peaks her head inside, and argues with her mother, ELIKA, in Russian. When she’s done she slams the door on her mother.

TONIO
She up?

SANDRA
What you think, Tonio?

TONIO
I dunno.
(pause)
Can I finally meet her?

SANDRA
That joke?

TONIO
No.

SANDRA
Sounds like joke.

TONIO
Nah, yo. For reals. I wanna meet her.

SANDRA
She don’t want to meet . She think you are devil.

TONIO
Shit...

SANDRA
Yes, shit. Just imagine what she think of her own daughter.

TONIO
I just feel like I should say somethin’ seein’ as how I’m part of the reason she’s gonna have a grandson.

SANDRA
STOP SAYING THING YOU CAN’T -- what is word! She don’t come out of room for years. Protest against my father for bringing us out of Russia to here. Of the five she’s been locked in her room, my father has been gone three of.

TONIO
Where?

SANDRA
I don’t know. Maybe he also mobster and you two can have lunch on Wednesdays with one another.

TONIO
Sandra...girl, c’mon. I’m really tryin’ hard to make somethin’ of myself here and I need my girl with me on this.

SANDRA
Why?

TONIO
‘Cause I think I really like ya.

SANDRA
Uh-huh.

TONIO
‘Cause I love ya.

SANDRA
(beat)
Would be nice to believe that true. But this is no way to prove it.

TONIO
Look at this and tell me it ain’t proof.

Tonio holds up his sketch: a picture of Sandra. For how quickly he’s done it, it’s not bad.

SANDRA
This lovely. But no proof of love.

TONIO
Then how?

SANDRA
Get real job. Go back to school.

TONIO
Can’t do both at same time.

SANDRA
Fine. Go to school in day, work at night. That what I do when I your age.

TONIO
Thanks, Grandma, but I can’t make enough to get a place and food and keep --

SANDRA
-- stay here. I take care of other things. I get job too.

TONIO
No. No, that ain’t right. I’m supposed to take care of ya ass.

SANDRA
Tonio...how I supposed to believe that? How? You know...I have baby to care after...I can’t take care of two children at once...

TONIO
I am doin’ for reals now.

SANDRA
You are going to play in street. Like little boy.

TONIO
That ain’t -- I ain’t no little boy.

SANDRA
Come back with job -- real work -- tomorrow. Then we talk about if you no little boy.

TONIO
I’m tellin’ ya, I ain’t --

SANDRA
-- TOMORROW...Tonio...

Tonio glares at her. Sandra crosses her arms and locks eyes with him. Tonio grabs most of money off the table and pockets it.

TONIO
(re: the money)
This...this is for clothes...for my job...tomorrow...when I start. And when I come back here tomorrow night...they’ll be more.

Tonio exits in a huff. Sandra then looks at the drawing on the table. She smiles, but quickly wipes it off and hangs the picture on the fridge with a magnet. About to exit, Sandra pulls a bobby pin from her hair, looks at it with confusion, and tosses it in the cup with the rest of the pencils.

Lights fade.

Okay, my poor Spanish skills aside, what are your thoughts? Does it intrigue you to want to keep watching? Is it stereo-typical, in terms of character and plot, or does it feel like a new take on an old tale? Has the since of family come through at all, even thus far? Putting race aside, does it remind you more of The Wire or more of West Side Story or none of those? And most of all, what’s confusing?