Magnificent Zilch

rebecca hall

2009-02-28T16:36:00.000-08:00

vicky cristina barcelona

should've just been called
vicky vicky vicky

some websites i want to remember

2009-02-27T01:18:00.000-08:00

http://www.chickipedia.com/sayaka-ichii/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuWht3OvbQg (this video made me really happy / nostalgic today, even though i've never seen it or heard the song before; it's more of a genre thing)

http://www.chickipedia.com/kaori-iida/

Ode to Brooklyn (inspired by RZA's ''Domestic Violence'')

2008-11-11T00:09:00.000-08:00

Listen, Brooklyn. Now that I'm gone, and I've had a chance to talk with my man Roc Belushi on the subject (love to the Black Scott Summers), I have a few points to make with you:

Now that I do have that out my system, Brooklyn, let me just say this: I'll miss your bars, and I'll miss your teaching fellows that I've liked, loved, dated, and hatefully avoided since moving out there. Much love to the NYCTF.

As for Manhattan, and all my men and women sporting Harlem hubris--especially in light of the election results--just know that I will be back in your loving embrace as soon as I handle my business on the west coast. I hope to be back bearing good news.

Peace, love, and Obama.

Sarah Palin is a problem

2008-08-29T22:05:00.000-07:00

And nobody's talking about it!

This fucking beauty queen could ruin everything. I'll tell you why, and it's something no one on CNN is going to be bringing up any time soon:

She gives moderate, liberal-minded white people (mostly men) a BIG FUCKING OUT.

Over the course of this campaign, they have had to adapt themselves to the responsibility of doing something fairly radical, something that their baser instincts may be opposed to. Many of them would have gone to McCain regardless, but many of them probably would have bit the bullet and voted for Obama. To make history, and assuage all that guilt that comes from privilege.

But now, thanks to this hot librarian of a governor with her hair up and designer glasses, moderate and liberal white men have no choice but to make history one way or another: either with Obama, or with Palin. They can no longer miss, and because of that, they can no longer be made to feel guilty for voting for McCain. This morning, a vote for McCain stopped being just a vote against the first black presidency, it became a vote for cracking a glass ceiling.

See, I study white people. Especially the moderate and liberal ones that are all around me on a day-to-day basis. And the one thing that matters to them most in the 21st century, is being able to fall asleep at night comfortably. They need that keel as even as possible. And I think a sexy museum curator would preserve that comfort a lot more than a brilliant mulatto who happens to have lips as black as pitch.

day 1 at dubois

2008-08-28T17:13:00.000-07:00

[cut]

so today was day 1 at my job. not even job. my career. it was good. i realized today, how much i'm needed. that sounds vainglorious, but i don't mean it arrogantly. schools need more teachers. more importantly, the social stigma around teaching that allows teachers to get dicked around is a problem. oh well, maybe a change will come.

while i was enjoying my summer, and the fact that i've dated more women in the past 3 months than usual, i missed the season 2 premiere of mad men. i acquired the episodes i missed, and just watched ep 1. it's gonna be another good season, i think. don draper is a man who is in touch with what he is. nowadays, so many people--mostly women, but men are guilty of it too--spend so much time concerning themselves with who they are, that they forget what they are. we're animals. not to begrudge us our creativity and our capacity for generosity, love, friendship, and the like: animals, nonetheless. it's good to be reminded.

so i've been trying on a few different relationships this summer. five to be exact. and while i wish the first one, the caustic spanish teaching fellow who was a bitch everywhere except in my bed, would have worked out, i'm enjoying getting to know number five. four is still in contention, but she has this weird conviction that there's something special about her. she's cute, but there isn't. it's like patrice says, regarding that thing that women bring to a relationship: it's important, but it ain't special. it's a fork at the dinner table. i need it to have my meal, but i don't fellate the waiter for remembering to bring it to me. maybe women get confused when they get their PhD. either way, the girl needs training.

my coworkers seem like great people. even the one that people told me to watch out for. i already have the scope of the first month or so planned out, but i need to write some lessons this weekend--preferably ten of them. :) we'll see how it goes.

anyway, i think i'm gonna kill another episode of mad men before obama makes his speech at the convention. i heard that some neo nazi types were arrested in denver with rifles in their car. i worry about obama. there isn't one america, there are at least six americas i can think of, and they don't all love obama. but one thing is certain: they are all crazy about him. so good luck, barack obama; however it comes out in the end, i'm still

your friend,
BA

Eastern European gymnasts rule my world

2008-08-14T23:02:00.000-07:00

Especially Steliana Nistor

... and Misty May-Treanor ain't bad either

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner --- a speech and a half, by Sidney Poitier

2008-07-13T01:00:00.000-07:00

Mr Prentice's speech to his father:

"Listen to me. You say you don't want to tell me how to live my life? What do you think you've been doing?

You tell me what rights I've got or haven't got... and what I owe to you for what you've done for me.

Let me tell you something.

I owe you nothing.

If you carried that bag a million miles, you did what you were supposed to do, because you brought me into this world, and from that day you owed me everything you could ever do for me. Like I will owe my son, if I ever have another.

But you don't own me.

You can't tell me when or where I'm out of line, or try to get me to live my life according to your rules.

You don't even know what I am, Dad. You don't know who I am, how I feel, what I think. And If I tried to explain it the rest of your life, you would never understand.

You are thirty years older than I am. You and your whole lousy generation believes the way it was for you is the way it's got to be! And not until your whole generation has lain down and died... will the deadweight of you off our backs!

You understand? You've got to get off my back.

Dad.

You're my father. I'm your son, I love you. I always have and I always will.

But you think of yourself as a colored man.

I think of myself... as a man."

Dear Dad, please retire (with my thanks)

2008-07-05T21:22:00.000-07:00

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze.  No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

nyctf 1

2008-07-04T17:21:00.000-07:00

so i've been training to be an english teacher since june 17. i think that means i've just finished my third week. so far, so good. more or less. weekends are a big refuge. i'm back on a high school sleep pattern. 6 hours a night if i'm lucky. and i'm never lucky. that doesn't mean i'm not happy. even though the bad kids sometimes have the power to ruin my morning, the good kids play their part, too...and my time at brooklyn college is getting more and more instructive every day. also, i'm making a few good friends, met a very cool woman, and i now have a cat.

so, i'm winning.

i just need to find a job.

Some "found poetry" by Donald Rumsfeld

2008-07-04T17:19:00.000-07:00

The Unknown
As we know,
There are known knowns.
There are things we know we know.
We also know
There are known unknowns.
That is to say
We know there are some things
We do not know.
But there are also unknown unknowns,
The ones we don't know
We don't know.

—Feb. 12, 2002, Department of Defense news briefing

Glass Box
You know, it's the old glass box at the—
At the gas station,
Where you're using those little things
Trying to pick up the prize,
And you can't find it.
It's—

And it's all these arms are going down in there,
And so you keep dropping it
And picking it up again and moving it,
But—

Some of you are probably too young to remember those—
Those glass boxes,
But—

But they used to have them
At all the gas stations
When I was a kid.

—Dec. 6, 2001, Department of Defense news briefing

A Confession
Once in a while,
I'm standing here, doing something.
And I think,
"What in the world am I doing here?"
It's a big surprise.

—May 16, 2001, interview with the New York Times

Happenings
You're going to be told lots of things.
You get told things every day that don't happen.

It doesn't seem to bother people, they don't—
It's printed in the press.
The world thinks all these things happen.
They never happened.

Everyone's so eager to get the story
Before in fact the story's there
That the world is constantly being fed
Things that haven't happened.

All I can tell you is,
It hasn't happened.
It's going to happen.

—Feb. 28, 2003, Department of Defense briefing

The Digital Revolution
Oh my goodness gracious,
What you can buy off the Internet
In terms of overhead photography!

A trained ape can know an awful lot
Of what is going on in this world,
Just by punching on his mouse
For a relatively modest cost!

—June 9, 2001, following European trip

The Situation
Things will not be necessarily continuous.
The fact that they are something other than perfectly continuous
Ought not to be characterized as a pause.
There will be some things that people will see.
There will be some things that people won't see.
And life goes on.

—Oct. 12, 2001, Department of Defense news briefing

Clarity
I think what you'll find,
I think what you'll find is,
Whatever it is we do substantively,
There will be near-perfect clarity
As to what it is.

And it will be known,
And it will be known to the Congress,
And it will be known to you,
Probably before we decide it,
But it will be known.

—Feb. 28, 2003, Department of Defense briefing

2008-06-27T20:00:00.001-07:00

When I see that new anti-smoking ad

2008-06-10T14:21:00.000-07:00

All I think of is this:

Enjoy

2008-06-05T07:35:00.000-07:00

this really haunts me. it's a problem.

Patrice for President

2008-05-13T11:38:00.001-07:00

Why the cost of oil has risen so high

2008-05-12T23:11:00.001-07:00

It's trapped in a single face

so pitted

2008-05-12T19:29:00.001-07:00

band names

2008-05-12T18:08:00.000-07:00

dante just called and asked for my input re: names for his new band. i should be writing an english final right now, but i got to looking around at the books in my room, and a lot of them have titles that would be good names for a band.

the black and white
the homecoming
the examination
kontakte
after the fall
the four faces of nuclear terrorism
(or just the four faces, if u prefer)
the waste land
moonlight
ashes to ashes
asses to asses (that came out of the former)
blacks on blondes
heartbreak house
master builder (kind of industrial, but not bad)
between the acts
(or, if u prefer) between the axe
burmese days
incognegro
tess
oxford new german dictionary
(or, more simply) new german
the tempest

and my FAVORITE,
more pricks than kicks

thank you, samuel beckett

2008-05-09T15:01:00.000-07:00

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=594682604182

i put half a grand down on an apartment last night

2008-05-02T13:41:00.000-07:00

so, there's that. hopefully i get it. not because the apartment is the best in the world. i just want the apartment search to be over with. i have better things to worry about.

go see iron man. it was very good.

derek, i'll post more later.
patrick, you unclipped burden, talk to u soon.

Just woke up from a weird, dehydration-induced dream

2008-04-04T19:49:00.000-07:00

Tuesday's speech

2008-03-19T02:46:00.000-07:00

I didn't get to watch Obama make his speech addressing his pastor's comments yesterday. I'm sure that if I did, I'd be some kind of weeping wash woman, it affected me so. I've already heard several people say they were grateful to Obama for treating the American people as adults; it's a welcome change from politics as usual in this country. It's the single best speech I've read in my life--the best of my generation thus far. I need my country to realize the truth of what he's saying. I need them to realize the truth of our past and our present. I need you to read the speech, too.

Your friend,
BA

"We the people, in order to form a more perfect union."

Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America's improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.

The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.

Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution - a Constitution that had at is very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.

And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part - through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.

This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for of children and our grandchildren.

This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.

I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton's Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I've gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world's poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.

It's a story that hasn't made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one.

Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.

This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either "too black" or "not black enough." We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.

And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.

On one end of the spectrum, we've heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it's based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we've heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.

I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely - just as I'm sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.

But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren't simply controversial. They weren't simply a religious leader's effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country - a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.

As such, Reverend Wright's comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.

Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way

But the truth is, that isn't all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God's work here on Earth - by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.

In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:

"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope! - I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories - of survival, and freedom, and hope - became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn't need to feel shame about...memories that all people might study and cherish - and with which we could start to rebuild."

That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety - the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity's services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.

And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions - the good and the bad - of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.

I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.

These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.

Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.

But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America - to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.

The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.

Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, "The past isn't dead and buried. In fact, it isn't even past." We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.

Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven't fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today's black and white students.

Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments - meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today's urban and rural communities.

A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one's family, contributed to the erosion of black families - a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods - parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement - all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.

This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What's remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.

But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn't make it - those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations - those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright's generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings.

And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright's sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.

In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don't feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience - as far as they're concerned, no one's handed them anything, they've built it from scratch. They've worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they're told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.

Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren't always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.

Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze - a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns - this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.

This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.

But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.

For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.

Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright's sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.

The profound mistake of Reverend Wright's sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It's that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country - a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen - is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope - the audacity to hope - for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds - by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.

In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.

For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.

We can do that.

But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we'll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.

That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can't learn; that those kids who don't look like us are somebody else's problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.

This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don't have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.

This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn't look like you might take your job; it's that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.

This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should've been authorized and never should've been waged, and we want to talk about how we'll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.

I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.

There is one story in particularly that I'd like to leave you with today - a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King's birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.

There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.

And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.

She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.

She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.

Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother's problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn't. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.

Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, "I am here because of Ashley."

"I'm here because of Ashley." By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.

But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.

Spring Break(ups)

2008-03-18T18:01:00.001-07:00

Four years, for years

2008-03-11T21:51:00.000-07:00

Four years is an awfully long time to be in college, sometimes.

My Playwriting professor is really challenging me. It's refreshing to feel like my writing is shit. I bought "Diary of a Bad Year" on his counsel. It is good, so far. Very honest. I'd have to pick out a pseudonym before I could ever be that honest.

I should start a whole new blog completely untraceable to me, and write very honestly.

If it could be plotted on a graph, the positivity of my time in college would have a negative slope. It's generally degenerating. That's not meant to be weepy, because, in any case, I'll be finished here in two months. Two months of anything is tolerable.

I think Mike Skinner was wrong when he wrote that having no money forces one to make the right choices in life each day. Speaking from the experience of relative poverty (extremely relative, I know I have the privilege of education and being able to afford to get sick, blah blah blah), I'm mostly relegated to choosing among the shittier things in life.

Do you ever think about the numbers that would solve your life's problems? Like, if I had x amount of dollars, then my life would be easy and good. Or if I had y number of sexual encounters each month. Or if I lost z pounds. Why do I think of those kinds of things? Why does anybody? It's as though if we proposed a good number, some acceptable compromise, God would appear in a cloud of smoke (accompanied by the sound of drums) and give us x dollars, y sexual partners, and leave with z pounds in a double-sealed plastic bag. I don't believe this will happen, but I still play that numbers game. And in case God does read the blog, x = $600,000; y = 4; and z = 90.

For the record, I have women figured out. The knowledge doesn't make life easier, though. Women wake up every morning scared to death that men are going to figure out that beauty isn't rare. You have to wonder what skill it is they actually have. What woman has ever had to charm her way into some dick? Ever.

Men want to fuck a lot of women once. Women want to fuck one guy a lot. How does anything get accomplished?

Dirtbags. That's how.

Greek philosophers said there isn't a love purer than the friendship between two men. Toni Morrison said there's nothing a black man loves more than another black man. Some people say women generally hate each other. Many of the same people say men and women can't really be friends. Chris Rock says that any woman that a man is friends with is completely by accident, that she's a woman he was trying to get with, fucked up along the way, and ended up her goddamn friend. I think they're all about right. There's a short list of people for whom I would, if they showed up at my door at four in the morning covered in someone else's blood and holding a recently used gun, hide them and ditch the weapon until I could borrow a car and drive them to the west coast of Mexico. I look forward to adding one or two names to the list in the coming years.

Don't worry, Patrick, you're on the list. And thanks for reading. I hope you have fun on the trip to Santa Barbara.

Scene I wrote for this week

2008-03-03T01:02:00.000-08:00

SEVERANCE

INT. An office building, about an hour into the work day. Center stage is a setup of two cubicles, back to back. EM, a woman on the right side of 30, is seated at the left cubicle, working. TONY, wrong side of 40, enters from right and sits at the right cubicle. He sighs, fiddles with the mouse, adjusts and arranges things on his desk. When TONY and EM talk, they alternate turns standing and peering over the division of their cubicles. RICHARD, perpetually on the right side of 40, enters office from left and addresses the audience as though it were another employee at the office.

RICHARD

Conference room in ten. I’ll say again, conference room in ten. Remember the word for the day is maximization. If you’re not maximizing outputs and efficiencies vis-à-vis outflows and input induction ratios in way that synergizes the quantitative and qualitative results for beneficial…benefits…there are at least a dozen people who are willing to do it for less. Bottom dollar. Cheep chop chip.

(RICHARD aggressively pops a handful of mints into his mouth and stalks across the stage, exits right)

TONY

Getting on OK, Em?

Yeah, fine, Tony. Good weekend?

TONY

Absolute riot, all weekend long. Out for a drink with Irv on Friday. He’s a great man. Will go out of his way for you. Has a new girlfriend. Pakistani. I’m not here to judge. Slept in Saturday and then went to the movies.

EM, excited

I had the urge to go out for a movie this weekend. Saturday, too, in fact. Didn’t make it out, though. Thought it might be a bit boring to go by myself. What’d you see?

TONY

Oh. Well. I didn’t actually make it out. Raining, wasn’t it? I stayed in and watched a movie on television. Caught the end of “Red Dragon.” Apparently Hannibal Lecter can’t be trusted under any circumstances.

Oh…. It’d be good to go out for a movie all the same. Maybe some of the work lot will be up for it next week.

TONY

Could be. Could be. Do you have some of the new stationery with the proper letterheads on? Mine all say “Bergen, Wolf, Howe, Jones & Kent Incorporated”

I didn’t know we had new ones in. What’s the change?

TONY

Evidently, Howe got divorced from his wife and changed his name.

He took her name?

TONY

Evidently.

What was it before?

TONY

Brandywine-Gelb. Evidently his mother was ahead of her time, too.

So the new letterheads are “Bergen, Wolf, Brandywine-Gelb, Jones & Kent?”

TONY

Incorporated.

(pause)

EM, cont’d

Reckon if I slipped my surname into the heading eventually they’d give me my own corner office, expense account and all that?

TONY

Ha ha, that’s clever. You’re clever.

(pause)

TONY, cont’d

Not Hannibal Lecter clever. He could off you from a prison cell. That’s gold star clever.

(RICHARD enters from the right, carrying several folders atop a sealed box. He stops center stage and faces the audience.)

RICHARD

Conference room in five, team. Good work, all. Remember our acronym this month. Pride. P-R-I-D-E. Professionalism, respect, integrity, determination, entrepreneurial. Get your pride up and it’s bonuses all round…I’m exaggerating, but the bonus is being proud of the work you do. Take pride. Take heart. Five minutes. No food and drink in the conference room. You there. I’m sorry, I know you’re new here. Uninitiated in the ways and means. How we integrate services and standards here. Can I bend your ear for a minute? Good? Good. Hang on.

(RICHARD disappears off left, with box and folders.)

Mind if I borrow one of your sharpie markers? I’m just making a note for one of the ladies downstairs.

TONY

Sure. What for?

Her husband’s taken ill.

TONY

What bad fortune. Serious, is it?

Could be. Still, he does have her to see him through. That’s something.

TONY

Absolutely. … That’s considerate of you.

(pause)

TONY, cont’d

You have a good head on your shoulders. Feminine. And rational.

(RICHARD re-enters from the left, holding a single folder open. He takes center stage and addresses the audience.)

RICHARD

By now you should certainly all be making your way to the conference room. Once again, no food and drink in the conference. This is a Monday and Mondays are crumb-free so that every day can be mouse-free, isn’t that right, everyone? Yes, good. Remember we will be having the potluck luncheon this Friday from 2:30 until 2:45 in the afternoon, so please, bring a light snack that you can enjoy at your desk. No coffee cakes or doughnuts with powdered sugar, please. And nothing with gravy. I’ll be bringing some light classical music I have on cassette tape, so we can really unwind… Right, so you again. Sorry about that, just setting up for the meeting. I was looking through your file, and we have to make some difficult decisions. Success isn’t guaranteed in this business, but one’s outlook certainly helps. People do like to think success is the promise, but really it’s just the opportunity. We’ve certainly given out opportunities. Land of opportunities, not guarantees. I wish we could keep everyone on, everyone…so I could learn the names and what kinds of light classical… they enjoy. All good things. But there are some…overlaps, on the floor. I don’t like to say redundancies. Makes me sound like a machine. …I can see you’re upset, but I assure you we’ve given this careful consideration…it’s what’s best all round. I know you had had some dependents, but from…what I see here, you are recently divorced, correct? And your…let’s see…your live-in mother has just passed? Hm? Right. Very sorry on all accounts.

(RICHARD closes the folder, takes out a small fistful of mints and pops them into his mouth.)

RICHARD, cont’d

I wish I could discuss this further. Very difficult on all accounts, I assure you. Bergen, Wolf, Brandywine-Gelb, Jones & Kent Incorporated appreciates your time here, and we’ll be happy to forward your CV and serve as a reference…Are, is everything OK? It’s just I have this meeting. I wish…I do have this meeting.

(RICHARD exits left and, before leaving the stage, looks across to the other side and taps his watch.)

Right. Thanks for the sharpie, Tony.

TONY

No problem. I’d better shoot off.

You going to the meeting, then?

TONY

Well, yeah. I’d best. Aren’t you?

I was just going to pop downstairs and give this to the woman.

TONY

With the husband.

Yes. You…

(pause. Both stand.)

EM, cont’d

You should come with. We’ll skip the meeting. Play hooky for a few. What do you say?

TONY

Don’t you think you’d better…I think I’d better. Go. It’s just…

What?

TONY

You already missed out on the Howe-Brandywine-Gelb letterhead changeover. You’re going to fall completely out of the loop if you keep out of meetings like this.

(EM packs up her note, pushes in her chair and begins walking off, stage right. The lights dim slowly to out as TONY continues.)

TONY, cont’d

So you’re off then? I’ll save you a seat. Right near the front. Can’t afford to miss the information. It’s important that we’re able to keep it all together. And presentable. Presentation, order, and purpose-oriented. It’s P.O.P. Remember from this time last year? You have to be able to…

Drtag

2008-03-02T01:21:00.000-08:00

Either you have self-esteem or you don't.

TAN

2008-03-02T01:19:00.000-08:00

Read a blog called The Assimilated Negro. I met the guy who posts it and he's a funny man.

http://theassimilatednegro.blogspot.com/

Good weekend so far

2008-03-02T01:02:00.000-08:00

Brace yourself,
'cause this goes deep.
I'll show you the secrets,
the sky, and the birds:
Actions speak louder
than words.
Stand by me,
my apprentice.
Be brave:
clenched fists.

I did my first show in a few months last night. Roc Belushi, a comic I had met probably back in October at the Underground, asked me to do a set on his show as part of the Black Comedy Experiment/Festival. From what I can tell, it's a big mix of some forward-thinking black comics, generally pushing against the grain (read: ComicView) as far as stand-up and sketch are concerned. The production was rough around the edges, but that's how it goes in Year One when it's something grassroots. I liked the venue, though: The Tank at 279 Church Street b/w Franklin and White. Even has its own ring to it.

Anyway, my set was good, and for all the stress it gave me before the fact, it was a relief to perform again. Making complete strangers laugh is a unique experience. Usually it happens outside a person's control--taking a fall on some ice on your way to class, making any number of faux pas in an elevator, etc. Doing it purposefully, and with a larger aim in mind, it's a lot of fun. Also, it was good to see Roc again, and Brian Babylon (another black comic I met at the Underground). Babylon had a couple tremendous bits:

* the racism-nullifying effects of a Starbucks cup, especially when it comes to hailing a cab
* his white girl mating call, which was basically putting his hand up against the window at Abercrombie and Fitch, and singing a few bars from Seal's "Kiss From a Rose."

I lost it after that one. Bah-doo-dah, dah-dap dah-dah-dah, dap-dah, bah-da-daaaaaah...

I also hadn't seen so much comic talent coming from female comics ever before in my life. When it comes to good comediennes, there's pretty much just Ellen, Paula, Joan, and Whoopi working it hard from the mainstream. But the women performing at the show last night were brutal and honest, and came at their work with a kind of Patrice Oneal edge to it that I really liked. One of them had a joke about knowing her boyfriend was fucking around on her because he'd sit at home all day and then suddenly get the urge to go play basketball at 2:11 AM. The other comic started talking about being molested as a kid and resenting the fact that she couldn't pull the right kind of molesters 'cause she wasn't that hot. (I realize these jokes' humor is mostly a function of their delivery, but just trust.)

Anyway, I got more to say but it's 4:18 in the AM, so I'll call it a night and you'll call me

your friend,
BA

Missed him at Stand-Up NY and this was my consolation prize

2008-02-18T17:56:00.000-08:00

you can see more at www.patriceoneal.com

if i had hepatits and a squirt gun

2008-02-16T01:46:00.001-08:00

school violence rant

2008-02-14T23:53:00.001-08:00

forgive me, father, for i have sinned. it's been 11 days since my last blog. there were a couple of times in the past week when i had a good idea worth blogging about, something to rail against and vent that post-teenage angst, but as angst tends to do, it went away. so this is mostly just a hello message to people like my brothers and sister and nick, and seth--people whom i know are bound to come across this soon...and people i don't see often enough. that sounds mopey, which im not really feeling at all. so re read it with more positivity in ur inner voice. there. better, right? i thought so.

i saw the egg and peacock show on campus, guess it was last week. it was a bunch of short plays, all written and rehearsed over the course of a single day and then performed that night. very cool idea, mostly cool results. i'm glad to not have to lie about the work of some people i know who participated. it was all good.

i'd give my mustache for it to be spring already. i walked 20 blocks today for a midnight snack and was regretting the choice not to wear long underwear three steps outside my door. only four weeks away, right? everything goes into action in the spring for me, and no, i'm not making some weird school shooting threat.

i swear, this school shooting stuff is seriously out of hand. another "rampage" today, at northern illinois university. people around here don't seem to be too bothered, but it freaks me out every single time. because people don't understand the trends ive been able to learn from watching numb3rs on cbs: this is going to the pattern for adolescent and post-adolescent violent or depressive outbursts. it's all going outward, now, not inward. every time this happens makes it easier for someone else to convince themselves to copycat it, especially when u take into account the slant the media takes towards these things. the virginia tech coverage was enough to make u want to smash ur tv set. anyway, back to the trend thing i learned from an episode of numb3rs. media attention on specific forms of violence can sort of popularize it. in the episode, one former marine caught his wife cheating and so he shot her from a few hundred yards away with a sniper rifle. soon, more and more people were showing up dead from sniper rifle blasts to the head, but they werent all being killed by the same initial sniper. people were just choosing to act out their violent outburst in the way that was highly present in their conscious and unconscious mind : sniper rifles, distance, etc. SO i think the same shit is happening with school shootings. the frequency of them is picking up, it hasnt even been a year since v tech, u know? why cant these people seek out some therapy, or just go back to fucking cutting? son of a bitch, remember cutting in the mid 90s? people loooooved to cut. u couldnt move for all the cutting going on. anyway, im just saying, especially on account of my going into teaching in the coming months, i'm seriously going to take into consideration the safety plans at prospective schools when im out interviewing for jobs. if the doors dont have serious locks, for example, that's gonna be a problem. if the doors are half wood, and half glass because of a huge goddamn window: another problem. i like locking wood. locking metal's even better. fuck getting school shot, cuz i am not the one.

you are not going to school shoot me. no sir.

anyway, i'm going to make some mistakes and then go to sleep. hasta lobos. i don't think that's a real expression, but i thought of it when i was watching a movie today. see cuz hasta means until and lobos means wolves, so the implication is that unti...forget it. it made more sense at the time.

Writing exercise for a course

2008-02-04T00:11:00.000-08:00

So in Playwriting last week, the professor had as free-write on the feeling of being abandoned. Then, as a take-home exercise, he asked us to do a few pages using the idea of abandonment as a starting point. Now I just wrote this over the last two hours, so it's not fucking Dickens, but what are these websites for if not posting complete shite for others to gobble up? Enjoy.

MORLEY AND HICKMAN

by Brendon Barnes

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

INT./EXT. A fire escape in Hamilton Heights, Manhattan. MORLEY, early 40s, is dressed in conductor’s regalia except for his undone tie. He is leaning on the balcony. HICKMAN, late 20s, enters in jeans and a Henley, takes off his jacket and places it over a chair with exaggerated attentiveness: two too many.

MORLEY

What’d you think of the show?

HICKMAN

Honestly? It was probably your best one from this year.

MORLEY

I felt that too. Going in.

HICKMAN

You don’t think it was the best one?

MORLEY

There was no lingering after.

HICKMAN

What do you mean?

MORLEY

Time was, after a show you’d sit and talk about the music, re-hash everything with the crowd and whoever they sent from The Times, The Voice, whatever. You’d be there until one in the morning. If it was good.

HICKMAN

It was good. I talked to someone who came from The Times and they told me as much. Not that I needed to hear it from him--but you know what I mean.

MORLEY

Sure. I bet he just wanted to get a quote from the art scene’s latest rising star. Did he ask you about your next opening?

(pause)

HICKMAN

We didn’t talk about my work. I told him I was just there to support you and the sextet and the new composition.

(pause)

HICKMAN, cont’d

Maybe it was just the timing. It’s a little weird to debut a show like that in the afternoon.

MORLEY

Don’t get me started on that either. I talked to Peter and Janeane and this is what they could pull off. I’m not the hot ticket anymore. People see my new concert, take a damn siesta, and then go out to the real event, the real opening, whatever.

(HICKMAN turns and puts his jacket back on.)

HICKMAN

It was good, Morley.

MORLEY

You going somewhere?

HICKMAN

No, it’s just cold.

MORLEY

Feels good.

HICKMAN

Not where I’m from.

(pause)

MORLEY

You have a cigarette?

(HICKMAN takes two cigarettes, puts them in his mouth and lights them. After a long drag, he hands one to MORLEY and grabs the ledge for better balance. They smoke.)

HICKMAN

Consider the stars, Morley.

MORLEY

Like bells on a fucking clock.

HICKMAN

What?

MORLEY

The art school philosophe schtick. Soon as the cigarettes come out…

(HICKMAN strikes a pose.)

HICKMAN

Something about the way they look in my hand.

(Indistinct conversations, car horns, bass from a car radio: street music)

MORLEY

Still, though. Listen to that.

HICKMAN

That’s a borderline symphony down there.

MORLEY

Awful. What makes you say that?

HICKMAN

Why? What? It’s just something ya notice.

MORLEY

No, it’s not just something you notice. I don’t go around mooning over the, I dunno, the fucking sculptability of things I see and point it out to you.

HICKMAN

I wouldn’t care if you did.

MORLEY

No, I guess you wouldn’t.

HICKMAN

Don’t do this. Don’t get addict on me. Today was a good day.

(pause)

MORLEY

Maybe. We’ll see tomorrow. It’s just, you know what I was thinking? When you put your jacket back on, I thought… how good it feels to be cold, because my old connect used to keep his morphine on ice for me. And when I’d go see him, I’d always take that first hit at his place. When the stuff was still about freezing. And you could feel it working through, getting mixed up with you, and you knew it was about to hit because the cold was just all over. Swear, I could’ve given my old connect a fucking songwriting credit on everything I wrote before I stopped using, because as soon as I got it in me, there was the symphony, there was the movement, there was the sextet, and I could already see all the reporters and all the fans there sticking around for hours after the show. You don’t know what it’s like, thinking all the best work you’ll ever do is in a fridge in a basement apartment in Fort Greene and meanwhile telling yourself never to go back there. Even if it is. What kind of foolishness is that? Still though, I mean, what the hell do I know? Maybe there is a symphony down there. I just sure as shit don’t hear it.

(Indistinct conversations, car horns, bass from a car radio…after a time, the sounds mingle with viola, clarinet, trumpet. MORLEY and HICKMAN continue talking, and HICKMAN places his hand on MORLEY’s. Lights fade to out.)

Phe-nomenal

2008-01-30T01:05:00.000-08:00

That was a Caliendo reference. I saw this clip of one of the best scenes in There Will Be Blood, and knew I had to post it. It might not even be the best, because every scene competes with another to be the best. That's what great films do. But it is an important scene, and the tenor of it changes from tense, to heartrending, to hilarious, to ominous. So turn up your volume and watch.

That "Johanna" song from Sweeney Todd

2008-01-27T22:59:00.000-08:00

My parents are white: please relax

2008-01-27T21:39:00.000-08:00

The Quarter Life Crisis Is Real

2008-01-27T01:20:00.000-08:00

Just a real quick post before I go to bed, because even though this blog is on west coast time, it's fucking 4:21 in the AM and I need to call it quits.

I haven't posted much lately because school just started up again. Lot of stress in the first week: quit my job, testing out new courses, you know the drill. The stand-out class of the semester, besides the Pinter seminar which I knew would be good, might be my German class--of all things! The professor is good, though--and absurdly cute. And the class meets at 6:10 in the PM, so you know I won't be skipping. Still haven't been to my Playwriting class, but as long as the other students aren't zilches, it shouldn't be a miss.

It's good to have the roommates back, even if I am the odd man out most of the time. Whatever, just four months and I'm out.

I'm looking forward to the next big thing. The training for my teaching job is going to be full of long days, but it will be good to meet some new people and try that whole having "work friends" thing. Am I hoping for Boston Public? Sure. Will I settle for Boston Market? Yes.

If you haven't yet, watch that Donnell Rawlings clip I posted. He does some subtle things I haven't been able to integrate yet. Pay attention to the eyes. And of course, being able to punctuate with "Son!" at the end of a bit is something I wish I'd come up with.

Resolved: I'll be performing again in the spring. I need some more instant gratification in my life, and it doesn't get better than killing on stage. Goodnight, and I hope you're still reading about

your friend,
BA

Donnell Rawlings needs more work

2008-01-27T01:14:00.000-08:00

Dig this

2008-01-16T22:25:00.000-08:00

Big news. I got the teaching job. I'm still filling out enrollment forms and things like that, but if things go according to my plans and best efforts, I'll be teaching at a high school in Brooklyn or Harlem. About anywhere would work, but those places have some good apartments. Especially Inwood. Who the fuck knew about Inwood? It's the last neighborhood in Manhattan, right at the northern tip of the island. You can fall off if you're not careful.

Almost died playing basketball last night. Gotta get healthier. On the upside, my shot was brutalizing my opponents. Just vicious.

Speaking of, check out this video.

There Will Be Oscars

2008-01-13T22:20:00.000-08:00

I hope I'm the first person to say that. Doubt it, though.

If you haven't yet, see There Will Be Blood. Music: sweeps you up. Cinematography: actually drenches you in oil. The music again: seriously. Daniel Day Lewis: I don't know, some kind of revelation. It's one of those films that makes you want to remember every line in it, but not in the way you want to remember every line of Superbad. You just want to incorporate it into you. Even if you have to see it a dozen times (which would take only about a day and a half). I hope DDL takes the Oscar, even though TLJ was pathetic, broken-down, and hilarious in No Country For Old Men. It was the face, I think: very expressive.

Plainview: Are you an angry man, Henry?
Henry Brands: About what?
Plainview: Are you envious? Do you get envious?
Henry Brands: I don't think so. No.
Plainview: I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people.
Henry Brands: That part of me is gone... working and not succeeding- all my failures has left me... I just don't... care.
Plainview: Well, if it's in me, it's in you. There are times when I look at people and I see nothing worth liking. I want to earn enough money that I can get away from everyone.
Henry Brands: What will you do about your boy?
Plainview: I don't know. Maybe it will change. Does your sound come back to you? I don't know. Maybe no one knows that. A doctor might not know that.
Henry Brands: Where is his mother?
Plainview: I don't want to talk about those things. I see the worst in people. I don't need to look past seeing them to get all I need. I want to rule and never, ever explain myself. I've built my hatreds up over the years, little by little, Henry... to have you here gives me a second breath. I can't keep doing this on my own with these... people.
[laughs]

Eli Sunday: Daniel, I'm asking if you'd like to have business with the Church of the Third Revelation in developing this lease on young Bandy's thousand acre tract. I'm offering you to drill on one of the great undeveloped fields of Little Boston!
Plainview: I'd be happy to work with you.
Eli Sunday: You would? Yes, yes, of course. Wonderful.
Plainview: But there is one condition for this work.
Eli Sunday: Alright.
Plainview: I'd like you to tell me that you are a false prophet... I'd like you to tell me that you are, and have been, a false prophet... and that God is a superstition.
Eli Sunday: ...but that's a lie... it's a lie, I cannot say it.
[long pause]
Eli Sunday: When can we begin to drill?
Plainview: Right away.
Eli Sunday: How long will it take to bring in the well?
Plainview: Should be very quick.
Eli Sunday: I would like a one hundred thousand dollar signing bonus plus the five that is owed with interest.
Plainview: That's only fair.
Eli Sunday: I am a false prophet and God is a superstition. If that's what you believe, then I will say it.
Plainview: Say it like you mean it.
Eli Sunday: Daniel...
Plainview: Say it like it's your sermon.
Eli Sunday: This is foolish.
[long pause]
Eli Sunday: I am a false prophet! God is a superstition! I am a false prophet! God is a superstition! I am a false prophet! God is a superstition!
[pause]
Eli Sunday: Is that fine?
Plainview: Those areas have been drilled.
Eli Sunday: What?
Plainview: Those areas have been drilled.
Eli Sunday: ...no they haven't...
Plainview: It's called drainage. I own everything around it... so I get everything underneath it.
Eli Sunday: But there are no derricks there. This is the Bandy tract. Do you understand?
Plainview: Do you? I drink your water, Eli. I drink it up. Everyday. I drink the blood of lamb from Bandy's tract.

Plainview: [to Eli] That was one goddamn helluva show.

Plainview: I'm going to bury you underground, Eli.

Plainview: [to Eli] I am the Church of the Third Revelation!

Plainview: [to Eli] I told you I was going to eat you! I told you I was going to eat you up!

Plainview: Drainage! Drainage, Eli! Drained dry, you boy! If you have a milkshake and I have a milkshake and I have a straw and my straw reaches across the room and starts to drink your milkshake....I drink your milkshake! I drink it up!

Anyway, quotations don't do justice. Do what you have to do and see There Will Be Blood. Or else--and I'm only partly joking--I might have to stop being

your friend,
BA

I get no credit

2008-01-13T02:09:00.000-08:00

So I found out recently that I need 18 credits to graduate. Not 14. Eighteen. It turns out that my credit for Comprehensive Beginners Spanish (semesters 1 & 2 combined) is invalid because I took Elementary Spanish 1 a million years ago when I was a freshmen. Overall, I probably should have seen that coming. But who remembers anything they did when they were seventeen? OK, bad excuse. I'll suck it up and go for the 18. I wish I went to a cheaper school, though; then I could just take it easy and do another semester after this spring. Better yet, another year or ... three. What I'm really trying to say is that I should have majored in history or anthropology. Probably history. Hey, any of the three readers of this blog: do you know if it's possible to do graduate work in a field basically unrelated to your undergraduate degree? When it comes time for the Ph.D, maybe I will just go in for history instead of more English.

Or knock it all on the head and go to culinary school. Hilarious.

My father's writing a $26,000 check to my school this month. He told me this one is going to be a loan; this one I have to pay back to him. That's fair. Really fair, actually. I'm gonna go on a limb and say my parents will charge me less interest than a bank. Still, a windfall would be nice. Anyone want to contract me to write a play for them? I'm only charging 150 grand. Cheap for guaranteed Tony gold.

When I was a kid, I was up in the morning watching TV as my father was heading out the door. I asked one of those questions kids ask. It was probably right near the end of the school year. I asked, "Dad, do you work in the summertime?" He smiled and asked, "Do you eat in the summertime?" Being a good parent, that has to be damn near impossible. I wonder if it's easy to get up every day and put in the long hours when you're not just working for yourself, or if it's just not something you give a lot of thought to.

You know what I love about this blog? It's got that crispness, that crunch, that lightness, and that

BA

Teaching

2008-01-13T01:45:00.001-08:00

I should be finding out about the job this week. What an anxious zilch I am.

Swings and misses

2008-01-12T00:27:00.000-08:00

Disappointment of the day: There's already a band called Boy Division

Funny insult of the day: Terry Schiavo legs

I changed my flight...

2008-01-08T12:56:00.001-08:00

...and am peacing out of Orlando a little ahead of schedule. About ten days ahead of schedule. There just isn't so much going on here anymore--people not answering phones, etc. Also, found out a few days ago that my spring break doesn't coincide with too many people's...maybe I can afford a vacation. Otherwise, spring in New York, especially after the kind of January and February I'll be having this year, would be very nice. It's 61 degrees in Morningside right now: hope it magically holds there for seven weeks.

Jack McCoy just fucked up another defendant. Brutal.

Still waiting to hear about that dream job. Should be this week, though. Re: the job, I was just thinking about teaching younger kids for a while instead of high school. That would be great, but I can't help thinking it would be a lot harder on me. I figure I'm too sentimental for it. Hrm.

Who is this Kate Nash? Double hrm.

Anyway, New York = two days from now. I guess, all told, I'd rather be bored and busted up in a trenchcoat and gloves than shorts and an Oxford. What a life I lead. All the same, I'm still trying to be

your friend,
BA

Why aren't more people talking about...

2008-01-06T21:43:00.001-08:00

...how hot Dee Sebastian's voice is?

How good does it look...

2008-01-05T19:12:00.000-08:00

...to see Barack Obama and John Edwards next to each other, and visibly balancing one another on the stage at the debate tonight? More than visibly, they compliment each other with their approaches to problem-solving.

"Can we just have a reality break for a minute?" Hillary asked after gagging on all the idealism.

Hmm. I won't pretend to be one hundred percent positive about any of the candidates yet, but couldn't a spirit of idealism help our country. Shouldn't we give it a go for a few administrations?

(also, sorry that I haven't posted for a while, but I think it's a function of not having a proper desk back at home...all the same, I remain)

your friend,
BA

My name seriously has some traction on Google

2007-12-24T20:31:00.000-08:00

Just a couple things I wanted to commit to memory before I forget:

"Flashing Lights" by Kanye West is something you need to get on very quickly.

I was talking to Dante, Jim, and Allen about this last night after a few serious rounds of Continentale at Dante's place. This is going to be one of the shittiest Christmases because of the period we're in. We're old enough to finally know and realize how thankful we ought to be to our parents, but can't afford to be all that demonstrative about it. Also, we're caught between being kids and having kids--the two best times to enjoy Christmas.

Have you seen Dave Attell's newest special?

Something that sucks: friends choosing sides in a breakup. Weird how someone could choose an overall uninteresting cunt or a zit-encrusted perfectly spherical puffy fuck over a loveable fella like me, but I'm not here to judge. It's just kind of lame. I'd love to see ---- sometimes, or --------, or even her boyfriend ----. They're all good people, all people I've known for about ten years, but so it goes.

Speaking of "so it goes," Kurt Vonnegut is dead. That is also awful, and maybe even more universally awful than the other thing. And like Dante said, Christmas is always gonna remind us of James Brown's death now, so that's some more negativity to fight. Just trying to stay positive.

Cos this world swallows souls
And when the blues unfold
It gets cold silence burns holes
You're going mad
Perhaps you always were
But when things was good you just didn't care
This is called irony
When you most need to get up you got no energy
Time and time shit'll happen
The dark shit's unwrapping
But no-one's listening your mates are laughing
Your brethren's fucking and then you start hating
Your stomach starts churning and you mind starts turning.
So smoke another draw
It won't matter no more but the next day still feels sore
Rain taps on your window
Always did tho but you didn't hear it when things were so-so
You're on your own now
Your little zone you were born alone and believe me you'll die alone
Weed becomes a chore
You want the buzz back so you follow the others onto smack

Just try and stay positive
Just try and stay positive
Just try and stay positive
Just try and stay positive

Feels nice and still
Good thing about brown is it always will
It's easy, no-one blames you
It's that world out there that's fucked you
You're no less of a person and if God exists
He still loves you
Just remember that - the more you sink the further back from that brink
Maybe you've lifetime scars and you think tattoos might be more fitting
But who's picking?
Searching for yourself you find demons
Try and be a freeman and grasp that talisman
Cos your the same as I am
We all need our fellow man
We all need our samaritan.
Maybe I'm better looking than you tho
Maybe I've got more dough - but am I happier... no.
Get the love of a good girl and your world will be much richer than my world
And your happyness will uncurl

Just try and stay positive
Just try and stay positive
Just try and stay positive
Just try and stay positive

Stop dreaming
People who say that are blaspheming
They're doing nine to five and moaning
And they don't want you succeeding when theyve blown it
And you idols - who are they?
They too dreamt about their day
Positive steps will see your goals.
Whether it's dollars or control, feel the gold.
I aint helping you climb the ladder
I'm busy climbing mine.
That's how it's been since the dawn of time
If you reach a cul-de-sac
The world turns it's back
This is you zone, it's like blackjack
He might get the ace or the top one
So organise your two's and three's into a run then you'll have fucked him some
And for that you'll be the better one
One last thing before you go though
When you feel better tommorow you'll be a hero
But never forget today. you could be back here
Things can stray
What if you see me in that window?
You won't help me I know.
That's cool, just keep walking where you go.
Carry on through the estate, stare at the geezers so they know you aint lightweight
And go see your mates
And when they don't look happy
Play them this tape

Mike Skinner's got a way with words. One day you might say the same about

your highly visible friend on Google,
BA

OK, so I listen to a lot of Opie and Anthony on my XM radio

2007-12-24T19:57:00.001-08:00

And Mario Cantone's guest spot on the show has become legendary because of a brilliant, improvised showtune

Does anyone else think...

2007-12-18T20:54:00.000-08:00

...Mike Huckabee might be the anti-Christ? Talk about a wolf in sheep's clothing. He comes on the scene all smiles and Gomer Pyles but he's just fucking vicious.

Extremism and polarizing, partisan politics only produce more of the same.

I took this course last year in the short-short story genre

2007-12-18T20:45:00.000-08:00

Right when that summer ended mama told me I was going back to the grammar school on the other side of Wheat’s Hill ‘cause she had a new job in town stitching uniforms and the school was right on the way anyhow. I wanted to know who would stay with Deddy when mama and me was away, and she told me right before I asked that “your brother’s getting’ looked after better ‘an the rest of us” with Deacon Pope and his wife lookin’ in on him from time to time.

She looked real happy ‘bout the new job and all, and bought a tan and blue dress with big white roses stitched in. I thought she looked beautiful in it the morning she woke me up to go to grammar school and I even said so, but she just kept goin’ on ‘bout my new school clothes and that she would go to Henry Hank’s the day she got her check, and get me school trousers “not work ones” and brown shoes that look like leather and “you can slip them on without tying the laces.” I was going to say that the tan and blue dress was still pretty and nicer than my school clothes but I guess I thought better of it on account of I didn’t say anything else about clothes. I was still worrying about Deddy gettin’ himself into it all alone at the house with just the deacon and his wife checkin’ in on ‘em.

Last summer at the lake Deddy slapped Ivie Marshall clear on the rear end after she come out of the water all with a shine wet on her. I remember seeing her long red hair all dark dripping and Deddy’s hand was wet from where he popped her. She cried up a storm and Deddy had to apologize to Ivie in front of mama and Missus Marshall right on their front porch. But mama said that Deddy didn’t know any better and he wasn’t really bad just acted it sometimes but he’d learn his lesson. Missus Marshall said she sure hoped so, that good colored children should keep their hands to themselves “special-or-not.” Mama just kept nodding her head and squeezing Deddy’s hand and then we walked home. And I don’t understand it, but Ivie Marshall came to the lake again the next week and played kiss-hands with Deddy all afternoon long until she started playing kiss-hands with someone else. I don’t know who, but Paul C. the deacon’s son said it was either Chubby Daniel or No-Neck but he wasn’t sure on account of they look the same when you’re standing behind them.

I wasn’t happy or sad or nothin’ about going back to the grammar school. I liked the books they had on the oak tree shelf behind Miss Marbury’s desk. I liked the bible and the picture dictionary best. I was just worried about Deddy not having anybody to play his games with on account of the deacon and his wife being grownups and all, and maybe they have they’s own games but maybe not the deacon ‘cause he was God’s man. When me and Deddy played his games, he called me sad little names: his little blackboot and his sorrowing-robin or his little ragheaded puffin. I didn’t know all them words save for the sounds they made, but I liked when I was his sorrowing-robin. It sounded like being a soaring robin, maybe up in a cloud or just sittin’ in her tree spying people going to the store or talking on their porches. But I looked at a drawing of a robin in the picture dictionary and it looks too small for all that soaring. I told Deddy that and he cried real big and sad, like it was making him shake to cry so I asked him if he wanted a hug even though big boys don’t hug and I was cryin’, too.

2007-12-17T23:32:00.000-08:00

This picture is good on about four different levels. Like a trifle. What do you think? Tell

your friend,
Brendon

[Untitled] Act 1, Scenes 1-2

2007-12-17T23:13:00.000-08:00

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

INT. A prison cell in Ithaca, South Carolina, 1953. The room is bare save for a shallow bucket in the corner and a short mat against the wall. FISHER, 29, sits elbows on knees at the edge of the mat. Prisoner’s dress. A guard escorts BRIGHT, 33, to the cell. Reverend’s dress. The guard unlocks the door and exits SR. BRIGHT enters and leans in the doorway, fingering a manila folder. He pulls a notice from a shirt pocket and reads.

BRIGHT

Owing to a lack of veritable witness accounts, Fisher Sinclair, aged twenty-nine, born in Myrtle Beach, 1924, of the mulatto race, black hair

(He mumbles, skipping parts.)

and any substantial preponderance of physical evidence remaining at the scene of the crime in question, is effectively discharged after having served nine years and twenty days in the matter of the attempted murder of Colin Still, aged sixty-one, born in…hmm…born in Sutton…that’s in New York, of the white

(Mumbles.)

and is hereby rendered free this…oh, oh they have printed it twice over so the date is down, oh, I see…and is hereby rendered free this Sunday the nineteenth of April in the year 1953.

(He tucks the notice back into his shirt pocket. Pause. FISHER does not respond.)

That ain’t half bad, is it? All very official. Has its order to’t. Reckon like getting marriage papers—

FISHER, without stirring

Or filing a death notice.

BRIGHT

You’re cross, ain’t ya?

(Pause.)

I kin see how that’s warranted. I suppose. Nine years a long time in it’s way. ‘Course to th’Almighty—

(Pause.)

‘Nuther hand, if you were somebody else, no one would have even thought to have written that notice at all for you, ain’t that so, Fish?

(Pause.)

You’re cross. Look, I don’t got much to say about it on mine account seein’s how I ain’t your father.

FISHER

No.

BRIGHT, desperate

Marjorie’s gonna have a baby. Just after Christmastime, doctor says. Your—

(FISHER stirs, looks up.)

You gonna say something?

FISHER

No.

BRIGHT

Oh.

(Pause.)

Your parents—

FISHER

Let me ask you something. Since we been brothers in the shining eyes of the law now a long time, and you have the wisdom of years on your side—

BRIGHT

Fish, don’t—

FISHER

No, no. This is important. I’m not being forward with ya. Here, make yourself comfortable so’s we can talk a minute. Hmm, no chairs. Maybe try out the wall. I like the floor. The floor’s something—

BRIGHT

What’s the question? Or better still, why don’t we just up an leave? Time served, bails and fees and shit. Daggonit, excuse my tongue, Lord. You’re all paid up here, Fish—the door is open. We can go as we please.

FISHER, hot and cold

Yeah

(Looks toward the open cell door, walks his fingers toward the exit.)

Not a daggon second too soon neither. But no, I need to ask my question first, and it really ain’t appropriate for outside these walls. Now, you’re a man of the cloth. I—and I have been suffering some—here. It was worse at the start, when I could sit up and wonder how the family could be living not a goddamn midget’s piss away from me and not take up a visit and, and, that is when the question first occurred to me. Now I don’t want to consider it after I walk out that door, but honestly I worry I will unless you can answer it for me: so Bright brother Reverend, does my having been locked up here serve as an affirmation or a denial of your faith in God?

BRIGHT

Christ, Fish—

(Slumps against the doorway)

FISHER

Ha, that’s an affirmation, ain’t it?

BRIGHT

No. I reckon it’s just frustration.

FISHER

Yours or mine?

BRIGHT

Both. Yours on account of I can’t answer that question. And mine just for having heard it: how long is that morbid thought going to be in my mind now?

FISHER

Morbid?

BRIGHT

Yes, a morbid question. A uh, a twisted up idea to even have in your head. You know what I think.

(BRIGHT turns around in the doorway and faces offstage. He begins thumbing through the folder again.)

(FISHER stands and goes to BRIGHT. He claps a hand on his shoulder and spins him around to embrace him. BRIGHT is clumsy with his affection and keeps his arms open.)

FISHER

What’s those papers you got there?

BRIGHT

Oh!

(BRIGHT’S mood brightens and he opens the folder, turning through the pages.)

It’s the new house. Mine and Marjorie’s. Deed’s here, and some other papers. We’re moving out of Marjorie’s…your father’s place to a little spot in Billings, four rooms—

BRIGHT, nodding

Four rooms. Dada’s cup run over.

(He opens his hands, taking in the expanse of his cell.)

You gon’ have some work to do, filling those rooms up. I want a whole army of nephews. Navy too.

(BRIGHT begins sorting papers back into the folder. Pause.)

Listen, as I am thinking on the holy act, and twisted up in this state, Bright, I’m’own need your help.

BRIGHT

What is it?

FISHER

Don’t get cross an’ now. Last thing I want to see is another big white scowl, all due respect.

BRIGHT

What is it?

FISHER

I need a ride to the burn ward on the way to dada’s.

BRIGHT

A damn whorehouse! God’s sake—

FISHER

A ha! The man does affirm Him twice, by God! (laughing) A third and you know that rooster’ll get to crowing. I know it is the lord’s day and I ought not want, but He maketh me to lie in warm pastures…

BRIGHT

Don’t you be perverting the word, Fish.

FISHER

God as my witness I’m sorry, Bright. Just take me as far as the burn ward and I’ll find my way home from there. Don’t be worryin’ about me. I’ll do my Hail Mary’s from bed. Hail Mary, Hail Catherine, Hail Elizabeth, Hail Catherine again; I have candles and prayers for all the lord’s children!

(Brings hands before his face in a praying pose: makes a crude gesture into his folded hands.)

BRIGHT, resigned

I’m going to the car. Like I said, the papers are all in order. Why don’t you fix your mouth and come on out.

(Exits, muttering.)

(FISHER stands in the doorway for a moment, tapping his palm on the doorjamb. The tapping begins loud, softens, and FISHER suddenly crosses back into his cell.)

FISHER

To hell with that and this!

(FISHER kicks the bucket into the wall, splattering its contents.)

(Lights cut to black.)

ACT ONE

SCENE TWO

EXT. The Sinclair estate. A relatively grand upper-middle class plantation house, of which only the wide front porch is visible on stage. There is a front door, a stoop, and a porch stretching either direction from the door, furnished with several benches and chairs. It is early morning, but the Ithaca heat is already thick and damp on the faces of SHELBY and FRANKLIN, both 20 and visibly in love with one another. He is seated on the lower step, resting his head in the hammock made from her dress between her knees, and she is seated on a higher step, alternately fanning him and herself with a little paper fan. He looks up at her, she down at him.

SHELBY

I’m glad you decided to come.

FRANKLIN

Me too.

SHELBY

Uh huh. I know you like your sleepin’ in on Saturdays.

FRANKLIN

Sure. Sure I do.

SHELBY

Which I don’t much understand. You been missing out on all the best breakfasts.

FRANKLIN

And seeing your pretty face first thing in the morning.

SHELBY

Oh, you think you’re cute. Well you are, but you ain’t even looking at my pretty face with your eyes shuttering closed like that.

FRANKLIN

(Laughs) I’m trying. I’m tired, but that smile is making me try. Why don’t you just come closer and my eyes won’t have to be so open to see you?

(Reaches up and gently cranes SHELBY down toward him. They kiss.)

FRANKLIN, cont’d

See, now I’m waking up a little bit.

(Kiss.)

SHELBY

Oh you are, huh?

(Kiss.)

FRANKLIN

Yes ma’am.

(She leans in to kiss him again, but he puts a hand gently over her mouth.)

FRANKLIN, cont’d

Today’s the big day, you know? You nervous?

(She takes his hand like a surprise gift, and in a show of intimacy not likely to repeated on the stage, bites his palm, then his finger.)

SHELBY

No. (Pause.) You shouldn’t be either. Things are falling into place now, baby. Me and you going together real good…and my brother coming home--I told you, you’re going to love my brother. He can be so funny, and so sweet. And you know my dad’s work in the unions has been goin’ real well, so I reckon now has to be the right time to tell everybody we’re gettin’ married.

FRANKLIN, sitting up

You don’t think it matters to him?

SHELBY, sliding over

That what matters to him?

FRANKLIN

Shel, you know. Bright is like a golden boy to your daddy. Can’t do no wrong. S’got your daddy’s approval and God’s approval, and he probably sleeps better with your daddy’s. (Pause.) I’m—-

(Pause.)

SHELBY

You’re what?

FRANKLIN

I’m not like Bright. You know?

SHELBY

You’re-- (Sighs.) Let me tell you something. You aren’t ever gonna have to worry about what you got in common with Bright. Especially to my daddy. The only thing you got in common with him, and the only thing that matters to my daddy, is that you love his daughter. That’s the end of the story right there. (Pause.) And you’re luckier than Bright ‘cause out of the two daughters, you--got--me.

(Larger than life, DADDY appears in the doorway, a few feet behind the young lovers. He is stooped with pain, but not enough to diminish the impressive breadth of his shoulders or his height; he almost seems to make an adequate substitute for the door. Dressed in black pants, a white dress shirt and suspenders, his look is one of possession, both of self and what he sees around him. A moment of quiet. He looks at his daughter, and then out towards the audience.)

DADDY

Your brother’s here.

SHELBY, jumping to her feet

Fish! Where?

DADDY

No. Bright’s car. Saw it coming down the drive from upstairs. He rang me after meeting with Fisher. Maybe don’t be expecting him for breakfast. Might-could-be dinner.

SHELBY

What do you mean?

DADDY

Bright said he had some business to ‘tend to. (Pause.) Sorry Fisher disappointed you, baby girl--you know his way.

(He puts a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, kisses her on the head. Turning back toward the doorway, he claps FRANKLIN on the shoulder.)

DADDY, cont’d

How’re you doin’, young man?

(FRANKLIN nods.)

DADDY, cont’d

Good? That’s good. (Pause. He sighs.) See ya’ll inside.

(He exits, the front door closes. BRIGHT enters from DSL, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers. Earnestness personified.)

FRANKLIN

Shoot! Should I have brought flowers too?

SHELBY

You’re doing fine. (To BRIGHT.) Hey, Bright! How are you?

BRIGHT

Good. Real fine day today. You joining us all for breakfast today, Frankie?

FRANKLIN

Yes. Shelby here had me convinced it’d be a good idea.

(SHELBY stares at FRANKLIN a moment, and then looks at BRIGHT.)

SHELBY

Oh, he’s not going by Frankie anymore. Goes by “Franklin” now.

FRANKLIN

Or “Frank.” Either one’s fine.

BRIGHT

Oh. Didn’t know that. (Pause.) That’s good, though. Boy’s gotta get on with the growing up some point some way some how.

FRANKLIN

Yeah. Yes--

SHELBY

He does.

(Pause.)

BRIGHT

Marjorie inside?

SHELBY

Oh yeah, she’s been cookin’ up a storm. Why didn’t you stay at the house last night?

BRIGHT

Oh, just errands keeping me up. I was up in Billings at the new house for a little while, then taking care of some things at the church. Settin’ up the big May Day cookout. I’ma--I reckon I’ll go on inside with these flowers.

SHELBY

Oh, alright then. Why don’t you take Franklin inside with you? Ya’ll can set the table for Marjorie--that'd be a help.

FRANKLIN

Sure. I can help. I’ll be right there, Bright, sir.

(BRIGHT exits through the front door. FRANKLIN takes SHELBY’s hand.)

FRANKLIN, cont’d

So, I mean, if it looks like your brother might not be coming--

SHELBY

I don’t know, Franklin. (Pause.) I’ll be in after you in a minute. I’m just gonna wait here a little bit.

FRANKLIN

Sure. Yeah. OK. I’ll be inside.

(FRANKLIN exits through the front door. SHELBY sits, fanning herself. She sighs, ruffles the hem of her dress, fans herself. She gets up and paces SR.)

(Footsteps on gravel. FISHER enters SL, in a new white shirt, black pants, and a black tie. SHELBY is facing SR until he calls her name, a name all his.)

FISHER

Shel.

(Pause.)

SHELBY

God.

(They run to each other and embrace silently before the steps leading to the front door. An embrace to explain and forgive everything. He kisses her forehead, she looks at the palms of his hands. Words are said but are theirs alone. He takes something small out of his pocket, gives it to her. He takes her into his arms again.)

(Lights fade to out.)

ACT ONE

SCENE THREE

Frequency

2007-12-16T00:19:00.000-08:00

Here's your fun fact about me for the day: I once wrote a shitty song called "Frequency." Think (Chameleons + The Cure) / (talent + effort)

It was a real masterpiece.

So I got up much earlier than the usual today (about 10am) on account of a major job interview with New York City Teaching Fellows. It's this program for recent grads or people who are making a major career change and want to go into teaching at the high-need schools around the city. I was going to apply to Teach for America too, but eventually that job just seemed like more of a stepping stone for people who will ultimately end up on Wall Street, or whatever Street doctors and lawyers live on. Speaking of doctors and lawyers, remind me to write a cover version of "Little Boxes." I always improvise extra verses when I'm watching the theme of "Weeds" ... could be big. Anyway, I woke up and had Cocoa Krispies and some Red Bull, then got dressed to the new Top Chef special and was out by 5 past 11. Interview was over on the east side, in the 20's. I ran into Sarah Shahi walking by the school. She's on a terrific show called "Life" on NBC that you should watch if you aren't. She also killed it on "The L Word." Long story short, I think the interview went well. I taught a lesson on personification in this Robert Frost poem called "Out, Out--" and then we did a discussion session, had some personal interviews and I was the first one out, luckily. Met this beautiful senior at Lehman who's also applying for the program. I'll keep an eye on that...

I mentioned my stand-up as it came into conversation during the interview and I got to thinking: senior year must be kicking my ass, because I haven't had time to hardly think about going back on stage since around the time I went to the hospital two months ago. Two months without offending people with a mic in my hands? Nightmare. Maybe spring semester will go easier on me and I can get back into it. I guess all my writing's been going in other directions lately. I reckon I'll be done with this play I'm writing by the end of the school year, maybe sooner. I've got it all mapped out except some of the First Act.

On that subject of stage and screen shit, I'm looking to shoot some stuff during the month I'll be in Orlando. Derek, this means you. Jim, this means the gay mobster. "Look, quit being a fag and let me gargle your nuts." It's all talent.

But not really.

Stay tuned, or else I might have to stop being

your friend,
BA

Patterns being hard to break as they are

2007-12-12T00:03:00.000-08:00

I am taking a cue from Zach Weissmueller, whom I've looked up to for years, and starting up a blog. Here's to hoping I bring something compelling to the medium. So until the first proper post, here's a wish for a good night from

your friend,
BA

Magnificent Zilch

rebecca hall

some websites i want to remember

Ode to Brooklyn (inspired by RZA's ''Domestic Violence'')

Sarah Palin is a problem

day 1 at dubois

Eastern European gymnasts rule my world

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner --- a speech and a half, by Sidney Poitier

Dear Dad, please retire (with my thanks)

Those Winter Sundays

nyctf 1

Some "found poetry" by Donald Rumsfeld

When I see that new anti-smoking ad

Enjoy

Patrice for President

Why the cost of oil has risen so high

so pitted

band names

i put half a grand down on an apartment last night

Just woke up from a weird, dehydration-induced dream

Tuesday's speech

Spring Break(ups)

Four years, for years

Scene I wrote for this week

D*rt*ag

TAN

Good weekend so far

Missed him at Stand-Up NY and this was my consolation prize

if i had hepatits and a squirt gun

school violence rant

Writing exercise for a course

Phe-nomenal

That "Johanna" song from Sweeney Todd

My parents are white: please relax

The Quarter Life Crisis Is Real

Donnell Rawlings needs more work

Dig this

There Will Be Oscars

I get no credit

Teaching

Swings and misses

I changed my flight...

Why aren't more people talking about...

How good does it look...

My name seriously has some traction on Google

OK, so I listen to a lot of Opie and Anthony on my XM radio

Does anyone else think...

I took this course last year in the short-short story genre

[Untitled] Act 1, Scenes 1-2

Frequency

Patterns being hard to break as they are

Drtag