The Ninth: What's one life?

Sometimes I wish I could write a song about being in love with an Uptown Girl. Then I could be in the music video as a singing-and-dancing car mechanic. And it would sell millions and I'd be a rich celebrity and I'd love it. Except then I'd be Billy Joel. Fuck it, I'd rather write "We Didn't Start the Fire."

It's been sort of an idiosynchratic week. I've been all over the place, torn from one end to the other, doing every possible thing that can be expected. I can't stand the douchebags I have to work with in the Cafe. What kind of person can't wait for the light to turn off on the dishwasher? "Take it out, it's done," he says, except that the red "Wash" light is still on, the jets are still going and the rinse cycle has not yet begun. Fuckin' moron. Every time he opens that dishwasher a minute and a half early, it twists the knife in my stomach. It shouldn't take a genius to understand that red light equals dishwasher ON.

In Drama, we did this "Blackout" sketch and it was a hilarious wreck. Like, we were fucked because we weren't going to improv it, so we wrote a script, which nobody - myself included - really managed to memorize. So we fumbled our way through it and tried to hit all the key points. At first I was put-off because I was getting no audience reaction in my "Enthusiastic hero" role, and even the transition into perverted street-groper didn't get such a huge reaction (the radio announces that a pervert escaped after being pepper-sprayed, and I come in rubbing my eye - come on!) But as soon as we started really getting into the pervert jokes, the audience was with it. I'm still proud that I stetched out the "boobie-touching" line with a graphic hand-gesture, to capitalize on the unexpectedly quiet reaction. Seriously, we couldn't keep a straight face in rehearsal, but the audience wasn't going for it as much as they could have. Then later, someone dropped a line and we all froze, and after a couple seconds I could feel it all going wrong so I did my best to cover be ad-libbing - "Somebody pelase break the tension..." in order to kickstart the thing. Being it in was a mess, but watching it might have been even more funny than if it had gone off as planned. Ryan Goad then razzed me afterward "That's why you don't write a script!" But what does he know? The only funny thing about his was Doug, who is, like, the king of improv. In ours, because we had a script, we had a dramatic arc that was, for better or worse, the strength of the presentation. We had the audience, I think, right where we wanted them by the time we went into the very serious "Book of Revelations" series of events at the end. And I got one more laugh with "So... we won?"

The thing I love about Drama is not acting. It's writing, and getting immediate crowd reactions. The thing about the comics is that I have to ask people what they think, but you don't have to ask when a crowd is roaring with laughter after something you said - or at least wrote, that someone else has said - I love that immediate gratification.

I remember, during the Columbine project, when we had some Grade 12's sit in on a dress rehearsal and they were practically in tears by the end, because of some of the stuff I had written. The euology - which Steph Guest delivered flawlessly - came from my own brain with no outside resources, and was perhaps the most poignant part of the whole play. The play had a great ending - and that was not mine, except in my performance, but virtually everything in the script was me, often with participation with Josh and sometimes Goad, except for the odd scene. Before the rewrites, the script was superficial and shallow, and just bland. Ater the rewrites we did, it was pretty deep, and full, and is about my favourite thing I've ever done in Drama. At least that I have written.

On performances, I'll never forget doing "Try Again Eugene." That monologue was the best - possibly only worthwhile - monologue from the WOSS Sears entry "Sometimes I Wake Up in the Middle of the Night," and just happened to originally be performed by my own brother Eric, which is perhaps why it stood out to me, but it was undeniably a great piece, and I loved doing it. Because it was true, it was I was thinking at the time, and often still think to this day. "Try again, Eugene." It oozed pathos and self-pity. It was fierce, and sensitive, and I got to yell "I'M SICK OF THIS CRAP!" (Note: The script originally said "Shit," but in Grade 10 you can't say "Shit" in Drama. That's a Grade 11 word. "Fuck" is a Grade 12 word. And you can't say "jizz," "cunt" or "faggot" under any circumstances. Strangely enough, one need not come of age before being allowed to say "dyke," because I tossed that word about pretty heavily in Grade 9, although I consider it to be equally derogatory as "faggot.")

On a saddening note, we're not doing the Fringe this year. Josh and I agreed that we wouldn't have the time to devote ourselves to it this year. And considering the near-failure of "Half-Past," we're not eager to again risk defeat. Once is enough. And plus, we wouldn't have as good of a script. I don't know if I'll ever write another script as good as "Half-Past." I declare it at this moment as the best single piece I've ever written. The point is, we had that experience, we'll always look upon it fondly, and we wouldn't want to taint it in any way.

Ana claims to have the "best Fringe idea ever," which is a statement I take exception to. But I wouldn't say that to her.

I'm going to have the script to "Half-Past" up on the site for download, soon. Which reminds me, I added a couple of song lyrics to the page for the first time in a couple weeks.

So what's one life?

Keep on Rockin'
-Scott