Bowling With Alistair Cooke’s Cranium
The title for this post comes from the fact that I recently read that the former host of Masterpiece Theater’s 90-year-old cancer’fied bones were picked off his body before his cremation and sold on the body-part black market. How is that for an epitaph–a final footnote to his long, otherwise fully-lettered life? I am imagining, for some reason, some bodysnatcher standing in a smoky bowling alley–his fingers are wedged into the eye sockets of that wizened, lord of the manor’s skull. He tosses….strike!
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Anyway, I have something running related to note: Have you ever run along, say, a busy road and you have some stupid person inside their car, all in a hurry and whatnot; all rushed to go do whatever is more important than someone else’s life, and they are going to make a right turn into the right lane of said busy road; have you ever seen them not even look to the right to see if someone happens to be on the sidewalk/trying to cross; have you ever seen them just gun it with their neck craned to the left? I don’t even try anymore. I just run around these idiots.
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Summer uniform for university chicks: baby doll dress, bugeye shades, cell phone. If these chicks were in a play, it would be called Everyone Acts the Same!
Act 1 of Everyone Acts the Same! would start as follows:
[College chick enters stage right, she strolls lazily and smiles as she text messages]….
Act 2 would start like this:
[It’s morning. College chick was out late the night before. She’s wearing tight shorts with big hand prints on her ass. She’s also wearing her bugeye shades. She text messages as she strolls towards Starbucks…]
Act 3 would end like this:
[College chick wipes the tears that drop down from her bugeye shades like raindrops falling from the eave of an old house. She sniffs as she text messages the final emoticons: ISSTYLM 
ICBYDTTMYFI. She exits stage left with her Dooney and Bourke bag slung over her back. Curtain falls. Dark, requiem/dirge-type music plays. Audience ponders the meaning of life and gets up reluctantly; attendants at the exits are available for assistance; mental health counselors have booths set up; medical staff holding defibrilators are on call to jump start any failing hearts]
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Act 1: [Runner runs down the street; he dodges car. He cuts his run short and makes a beeline for his home. He sits behind his computer and writes about all the bad/stupid people out there–the polluting, non-runner types who are destroying his beautiful world. He thinks about an idea for a play about mindless college chicks. Then he showers–whistling Wolf Parade’s “Language City”–and dries himself off. He puts on his alternacool clothes; he slings some stupid Jim-from-the-Office Gap mapcasebagthing over his shoulder; he tugs at his patchy beard and mumbles a few Che Guevara quotes to get him used to talking Indie-like; then he walks down the street, gets into a car (a hybrid because hybrids are what the masses want) and goes here to sip some rum and Cokes before Act 2 starts; he is on the list; he gets to bring in his camera and so he is excited].
Act 2…it’s happening now!