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May 9, 2002
Various ogres stand against me.

I have a show tomorrow at the ImprovOlympic, for the second week. It's an event called the Cagematch. Two groups perform, and then the audience votes upon which one was better. The winner comes back the next week. We won by a healthy margin, having earned the adoration of the several dozen prom kids up front, but this will be our last week, because, after several years running, the Cagematch is being retired from the theater. (Something or other to do with someone throwing a chair a few weeks ago.) Unfortunate timing on our parts, but so it goes. I am still refining my pre-show rituals. The night before every sketch comedy show in college, for example, I watched The Big Lebowski. It was bad luck if I didn't. (Although I think I always did.) Before plays I directed, I always listened to the Rushmore soundtrack, but only the instrumentals. I feel that a new era should have new rituals, but I didn't have anything much for this show (or the two History Channel films), other than dozing off on the couch, which was not deliberate, and lacks that certain Rosicrucian something.

I've thought about acupuncture, but I can't take that risk right now, what with the ogres standing against me and all.

(music review) Perhaps When I Was Cruel's sweetest punch is that, at 47, Costello sounds pretty much exactly as he did at 27. Unlike Dylan, Springsteen, Wilson, or (Tom) Waits-- or, god knows, Lou Reed-- he hasn't had to compromise his music to fit his aging pipes.

Yeah, Tom Waits used to be able to hit those high gargling-a-dead-frog notes, but now his voice is wrecked, as opposed to how it was before, and that one song where he tries to apologize for having peed on the rug last night is really compromised by his pipes not being what they used to be.

A HORRIBLE LESSON

TOMMY is playing with his toys. He is a small boy, wearing overalls and an orange t-shirt. TOMMY's MOTHER enters, with RONNIE in tow. RONNIE is also a small boy.

TOMMY'S MOTHER: Tommy, this is Ronnie. He is your new playmate.
TOMMY: I do not want a playmate. I want to have all the toys for myself.
TOMMY'S MOTHER: But games are better when there is another person.
TOMMY: That is where you are wrong. I will not share my toys with this Ronnie.
TOMMY'S MOTHER: Ronnie is a nice boy. You are only five years old. I am your mother. You will do what I say.

TOMMY'S MOTHER exits. TOMMY begins playing with his toys.

RONNIE: May I play also? I have an idea for a scenario with the army figurines.
TOMMY: No. These are my toys, and I alone am entitled to play with them.

TOMMY'S MOTHER returns with milk and cookies. She is angry to see that RONNIE is not being allowed to play.

TOMMY'S MOTHER: Tommy, will you never learn?
TOMMY: I stand by my principles. The toys are mine, and therefore solely for my usage.
TOMMY'S MOTHER: Perhaps you will learn a lesson if I take away all of your toys. Now no one can play.
TOMMY: No! But a child must have toys. A young boy of my age, five years old, will grow restless without toys.
TOMMY'S MOTHER: That is how Ronnie feels when you will not share.
TOMMY: I reject that analogy.

TOMMY'S MOTHER takes away all of TOMMY's toys and exits.

TOMMY: Now what am I to do? I am unrepentant, but I have no toys, and I grow restless.
RONNIE: Would you like to share my toys?
TOMMY: How is this! You have toys?
RONNIE: Yes. I will share them with you.
TOMMY: This is an act of kindness. I decline to reconsider my position regarding my own toys, but I will play with yours.
RONNIE: I see. Well, here are my toys.

RONNIE pulls out his toys. They are trolls, with knives!

TOMMY: Aah! Trolls, with knives!

The trolls, with knives, stab TOMMY many times.

TOMMY: With my dying breath, I admit the error of my ways.

TOMMY dies.


NEXT, ON 'A HORRIBLE LESSON'

Fucking train driver. You saw me on the platform and you pulled away anyway. Well, here come some passengers who are trolls, with knives. Chew on that, shit head.

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