Callie has a meltdown.

As many of you are already aware, Callie and Damon have some communication problems. For an introduction to C & D, check out the links in the sidebar under "Someday on Stage". They're quite the pair. Oh, yes, and Jill has a habit of referring to her fictional characters as if they were real.

Jill

I miss my characters. And they are getting mad at me.

Other person

Okay, there's suspension of disbelief...and then there's borderline schizophrenia.

Strangely, Callie seems to have a bit of a personality split as well...

Callie

Do I ever seem like two different people to you?

Silence. Then laughter. Damon finds this endearing, and amusing, and probably unnecessary.

Callie

I'll take that as a yes. I'm sorry.

Damon

Why? It's just you, I guess.

Callie

But I don't want it to be "just me". Really, I want me to be... I don't know. A different me, a better me. A me that knows how to converse like a regular person. Like, I'm sorry for all the times I wanted to say something but I didn't. Or you wanted me to say something. But I didn't. Probably on purpose. Sometimes on purpose. Just, you know, because I didn't want to, you know, let you, you know... Ok, but not maliciously on purpose. Never maliciously.

And all those times when you were expecting me to say something? You know, because that was the normal way the conversation would have been going? And then I said something totally out of left field. Not even left field. Like, waaay over the Green Monster. Or, on the other side of Monument Park. Or, you know those buildings outside of Wrigley? Where the people hang out on the roofs? Over their heads. Yeah. That far out. I know I do this. Trust me. I know. You're not the first person I've done this too.

(To herself) Great, I'm sure that's exactly what he wants to hear.

(Back to Damon) Could we scratch that? You know, forget I said it. I'll try again. You... You make me want to be more me. More me than maybe I've ever been before. Or maybe not more me. Maybe, better me. Braver me. More better braver me. So it's not that I don't trust you--all the random answers, and the "way out in left field"--it's not that I don't trust you. It's that I do. You understand? From the first time I spoke to you. I had an impression of the you that I was expecting you to be and I turned out to be right, but even though I was expecting you to be that you, I wasn't expecting me to be right. You know? I know, right!

Like I said. It's not that I don't trust you. It's that it was so easy to trust you.

Will you say something?

Damon

Green Monster? Monument Park? Wrigley?

Callie

You don't watch much baseball, do you?

They meet.

This is a monologue I'm playing with for the play-in-progress. Damon is a DJ. (Which is why the photo of Moby's jeans was particularly suitable as his avatar in my brain.) Callie is a compulsive overthinker who can only find peace when running or dancing. (This character is not the least bit autobiographical. But before anyone asks--no, there is no DJ.) Callie speaks to the audience. Damon is onstage, but not interacting with her.

Callie

It's happened to all of you. I know it has. There you are, just minding your own business, doing whatever it is that you are doing, whatever it is that you do, you look up and... You don't expect it, you don't even necessarily want it, but there it is. Someone staring at you. Someone smiling at you. And you just can't help but stare back. It's like this person has some sort of hold over you. And no matter how hard you try, you can't turn away. Like in Star Wars, when the Millennium Falcon arrives in the Alderan system, only to find the planet obliterated, and Imperial fighter flying around what appears to be a small moon. Only it's NOT a small moon. It's the Death Star. But before Obi Wan realizes it, the ship is caught in a tractor beam and pulled inexorably toward--right, well, you get the picture. There's no escape.

* * * * * *

Let me take you back. I avoided him the first night, and then most of the next time I saw him--the next week. I always make it a point of making friends with the DJ. Sometimes they're interesting. Sometimes they're assholes. But this time, I killed my normal routine. I fully planned on continuing to avoid him. But he caught me by surprise.

I thought I could get by him. Sneak by under the radar. No. He was just standing there, his hands on the table, leaning forward, looking out over the crowd, thinking I don't know what. I was thinking "Damn, those are some well-defined arms. Wonder what those feel like." Seriously. Will you look at those forearms? But...uh...whatever he was thinking, it wasn't cocky. There was a big crowd, they were all into it, but he wasn't standing there thinking "This is all about me." He's not like that.

Anyway, I figured I could get by him quickly. I pried my eyes away from... those arms... and he was looking. Caught-cha lookin'! Well, I guess he caught me, too. But he was gracious about it, not like those losers who fix you with the death stare--they try to be all hard and manly. They never smile. Damon, he smiled. He was in. Exactly what I was avoiding.

I See Fictional Characters

You met Damon. Now meet Callie. She hasn't been hiding from me, so much as she's been hiding from him. Hang on a sec...

What? Yes, I know Damon is being a pee-pee head. That's what guys do. You'll deal.

I have no idea how I'm going to get these two to coexist peacefully on the same page.

Huh? No. I'm not going to tell her that. Tell her yourself.

But maybe that's a good thing--there doesn't really need to be peace until the end, anyway.

To be fair, Callie gets a playlist as well. You may notice Callie shares a few of Jill's favorite songs. But so does Damon. Music plays an integral part in the theme and plot of the play. These two may just learn to love each other as much as they each love music. A shared passion for The Ramones and Violent Femmes has to count for something, right? If I can get one of them to pick up the damn phone and dial. And the other to actually answer.

Just to be clear: as opposed to Callie, Damon does not share Jill's clothes.

The "Callie, Come Out and Play" Playlist
Josie and the Pussycats (Original cartoon theme song)
Rush (New York City Club Version) Big Audio Dynamite
Jellyhead Crush
Closer to Free Bodeans
Dancing with Myself Billy Idol
Mickey Toni Basil
I Love Rock and Roll Joan Jett
Hurts So Good John Cougar Mellancamp
Can't Buy Me Love The Beatles
No Matter What Badfinger
ABC Jackson 5
American Music Violent Femmes
I Believe in Miracles The Ramones
The Break Soul Asylum
Mystify INXS
When Doves Cry Prince
Everlong Foo Fighters
How Soon Is Now? Love Spit Love
Wonderwall Oasis

I Put the "Pro" in "Procrastination": Meet My Dream Guy

If it were up to me, more intelligent, attractive, adventurous men would be found like this: shirtless, barefoot, in a perfectly worn pair of jeans, sprawled in (my) bed.

Back in November, I was walking through Barnes & Noble when this postcard jumped out at me. Back in November, I was actually getting productive work done on my new play. I bought the postcard, tucked it into my notebook, and have been carrying it around ever since.

I don't write physical descriptions into my character notes, because I don't want directors and actors to feel limited by them. I have written and will continue to write characters for specific actors that I know, but even when I know who will likely be playing a role, I still don't write the description in.

Because I carry my notebook everywhere, denim boy made it to Thanksgiving dinner. Lisa took one look at it and said "That's the guy from your play."

Come again?

"The guy from your play. The character. That's him, right? That's why you've got the picture in your notebook."

Psychic, much?

Yes. That's him. That's why I bought the postcard. Everyone, meet Damon. Or at least, his bottom half.

My characters routinely visit my dreams, in some form or another, and this photo jarred me into some hazy dream recollection. Oh yeah, and it turned me on. It captures the balance of virility and vulnerability that I imagine the character to possess. So yes, he's my "dream guy"; i.e., he'll haunt me at least until the play is done.

Except, recently, he's been curiously absent. (I think he's on strike because I've been paying too much attention to the blog.) So today, I did what any self-respecting music-obsessed procrastinator would do after being deserted by the person of their dreams. I made him a playlist. Damon, this one's for you.

(Yes, I just addressed a fictional character.)

(Yes, I just dedicated a CD to him.)

(Yes, he has very eclectic taste in music.)

(Feel free to direct your comments at Damon. Maybe that'll make him come out and play again.)

This is Your Life (featuring Tyler Durden) The Dust Brothers [from Fight Club]
Believe Franka Potente [from Run Lola Run]
Ripper Sole Stomp [from Tank Girl]
Call Me (E-Smoove's Beat Vocal Mix) Blondie
Sunglasses at Night Corey Hart
Mrs. Robinson The Lemonheads
The Boys of Summer The Ataris
Paint it Black Rolling Stones
Baba O'Riley The Who
I Will Follow U2
Pour Some Sugar on Me Def Leppard
Talk Dirty to Me Poison
Panama Van Halen
Dangerous Type Letters to Cleo
Hit Me With Your Best Shot Pat Benatar
99 Red Balloons Nena
Let's Go Crazy Prince
It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) R.E.M.
Blitzkrieg Bop The Ramones
Time Bomb Rancid
Add It Up Violent Femmes


By the way, the photo is actually a 1993 portrait of Moby by photographer Wolfgang Tillmans. I rather enjoy the whole photograph, but many of my girlfriends can't abide a man so...uh...scrawny. I hate to use that word, because I'm all for men with lean bodies. So I cropped the photo. I didn't want you to get as distracted as they were by the negative.