Archive for February 2010

A Lesson on Breaking Your Own Wrist.

02/25/2010

When I was in tenth grade I got my mom to sign me up for a dance class at a local college. I had taken dance for four years between the ages of nine and twelve but since exiting middle school, hitting puberty, the theatrical release of Sandra Bullock and Ben Affleck’s ‘Forces of Nature’; and all the other things that happened when I was thirteen…. I’d not been dancing.

The idea of my signing up for this kind of class was that I could use it as a monthly PE credit for my homeschool program. The credit had up until this point been my mom forging the signature of a fictious yoga teacher named Karen Medence, who…. according to her ‘teacher’s notes’ was really enjoying having me in her class.

I liked the idea of furthering my dance studies at a college level and in theory it seemed like a neat idea to leave the house every once and while.

We went out and bought the shoes, the proper attire, and I went to my first class. A jazz class. I forced on the tight black lace up jazz shoes which hadn’t been stretched out yet but come two years and two productions of ‘West Side Story’ from now would be as loose as a…. fill in the blank….. I was gonna say goose there but you could make it sexual if you wanted to. But like, I’m letting YOU do that. I can’t do all the work for you anymore, Richie. I’m not gonna be around forever.

The dance teacher, who was taking things verrrrrry seriously, led us through an awkward physical warm up. I don’t care how much of a dancer you are, there are very few situations in which someone looks more ridiculous than whilst participating in a ‘phyiscal warm up’. ”Roll up your spine like you have a string holding up your head!’. Okay, Elizabeth, but I DON’T have a string holding up my head and neither do you and the sooner we both realize this the sooner we can start treating each other like adult human beings.’

After the warm up which seemed to last the length of an average pregnancy cycle….. we began working on various ‘moves’. I didn’t look any different or act any different than the college students scattered around the studio but I certainly felt like the biggest outsider in the world. None of them knew who the fuck I was or why the fuck I was there. I spent the entire class wondering if they knew I was fifteen or if they knew I was homeschooled or if they thought I looked stupid. At one point on a break, I went to the bathroom and stayed in the stall for a full ten minutes, so as to avoid any sort of small talk, and when I reentered the room a very ‘2001 college-y looking type’ named Blue (like the color she informed me, as opposed to…. the traditional Irish name?) came over and said ‘I gotta ask! What year are you?!’

I told her a sophomore which wasn’t a lie. But it just so happened I meant of the high school sect. She asked my major and I threw up my hands and shook my head like ‘I’ve got as much a clue as you do! See ya at the Quad’. She chuckled. ‘I hear that’ she said and returned to the dance floor. Class resumed and we proceeded with our padaburays.

After class I waited behind the building for thirty minutes before walking to the parking lot so no one would see me getting picked up by my Mom in her Honda CRV.

Over the next week I remained in denial of how uncomfortable the class had made me. I knew that the following Tuesday I’d have to return to the studio for my second class and spend yet another two hours with Blue and all the others but I didn’t want to think about it. Come Monday I started to get a little panicked. I COULDN’T go back there. I simply couldn’t. I was far too insecure, scared to talk to people, not used to socializing, and all the other issues stereotypically linked to home schooled kids. However, I had too much pride to just quit. I knew my Mom would be the one to have to deal with it and I felt bad, like I was letting her and Karen Mendence, my fictious yoga teacher, down. So I wracked my brain trying to come up with a reason that would prohibit me from returning. I could get sick but I couldn’t sustain that for an entire semester….. I could lie and just never actually go, spend the two hours every week in the bathroom or wandering around the campus, there’s a soda machine in the Science building with really really cold Dr. Peppers.

Finally I decided to break my wrist.

In the moment it seemed like a sensible solution and I wasn’t really giving it much thought. More just panic and determination. A broken wrist is gonna take me outta everything…. especially anything physical. So. Perfect. I’d never broken anything or had any real injury before so I wasn’t really aware of the kind of physical pain that would likely be linked to such a thing, all I really cared about was getting out of what I didn’t want to do for a long period of time.

So that afternoon, while I was home alone, I got out a hammer. I placed my arm on a hardback book and attempted to swing the hammer hard enough that it would…. thats right, Magic Screen…. break my wrist.

I tried for a good hour at least. Taking noble wacks at my skinny boney arm. Sometimes missing, sometimes chickening out, sometimes actually getting in there for a good smack. Of course. I wasn’t strong enough, focused enough, brave enough, crazy enough, whatever enough to actually swing hard enough. I mean, I don’t know anyone who’s ever broken their own wrist with a hammer from their Dad’s tool box but I assume it takes some guts and guts is exactly what I was lacking in the first place. Not having the guts to spend an entire semester learning some Luigi dance moves with a group of eighteen year olds most likely meant I didn’t have the guts to do much else. Thankfully.

That Monday night, I returned the hammer to the toolbox where I’d found it, slightly bruised up and down my arm, I threw on a hoodie and told my mother that the college jazz class was just going way over my head and I thought it’d be best to return to fictious yoga. She agreed and I didn’t return to jazz class again. And I didn’t have to break any of my bones.

Sometimes I wish she’d been a less wonderful mom and said ‘No, you have to go. Tough it up. Be uncomfortable. Thats what high school is.’ But because she’d do anything for me, she didn’t. And so I didn’t have to. Now every day, the echoes of a boy who’d break his own wrist to get outta being around people close to his own age are still here. Whether its concocting elaborate schemes to get out of an appointment or social encounter or feeling an intense rush of anxiety anytime I’m around people I don’t know….. not a lot has changed. Maybe thats DNA or maybe thats the kid who tried to break his own wrist. Or both.
I guess either way, no matter what, we come outta high school with a bruise or two, whether we make them ourselves or not.

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Sitcom Fan Fiction: WASH YOUR HAIR, BETSY LEEN, BETSY LEEN

02/23/2010


A scene from: WASH YOUR HAIR, BETSY LEEN, BETSY LEEN
By Jeffery Self

The following is the pilot for a failed CBS sitcom from the 1996-1997 television season. The show, ‘Wash Your Hair Betsy Leen, Betsy Leen’ was to star Brooke Shields in a pre-‘Suddenly Susan’ attempt at sitcom stardom. Set in San Francisco, the plot centers around Betsy Leen, the owner of a trendy women’s clothing boutique. She’s a single woman that is surrounded by predictably off beat friends. The odd premise of the show, however, is that Betsy Leen continuously refuses to wash her hair and in each week’s episode, the wacky cast characters surrounding her attempt to get her to wash her hair.

Here’s the pilot.

The camera pans into Betsy Leen’s boutique ‘Betsy’s Rags’. It’s Monday morning and shop worker, Varlerie is fussing with a display. Valerie is young, blond, bubbly, and quirky…. perhaps a little dim. The phone rings.

VALERIE:
(Answering)

Betsy’s Rags. How may I help you? (Visibly disgusted) Uh…. no sir…..we don’t mean THOSE kind of rags. Sorry.

She hangs up the phone, obviously freaked and grossed out at the same. She returns to the display. The door opens and Betsy Leen enters. She’s carrying a cup of coffee.

BETSY:
G’morning, Valerie.

VALERIE:
OH! Ms. Leen-

BETSY:
Valerie, how many times do I have to tell you…. I’m Betsy. Call my mother Mrs. Leen, call my Aunt Mary Mrs. Leen, hell…. call my cousin Paul Mrs. Leen if you want to you….. he certainly cries like a Mrs. on holidays….. but please, do NOT call me Mrs. Leen.

VALERIE:
Sorry! BETSY….. its hard to get used to calling somebody thats my elder by her first name.

BETSY:
Valerie. I’m only twenty nine years old. I’d hardly call myself your elder.

VALERIE:
I don’t know Mrs- uh…. Betsy—– back in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee most girls have had two or three babies by the time they get way up to your age.

BETSY:
Uh huh.

VALERIE:
I have messages for you.

BETSY:
Okay-

VALERIE:
One. Your dry cleaner called. They said they couldn’t get the stain out because for legal reasons they weren’t allowed to touch those kinds of stains.

BETSY:
(A little embarrassed)

Uh huh. What else?

VALERIE:
The mean Chinese lady with the glass eye from the jewelery company that always calls you ‘ugly slut’-

BETSY:
‘Scary whore’ but yes-

VALERIE:
Uh huh. She called and said she’d be by this afternoon-

BETSY:
(Preoccupied with setting up the cash register)

Okay.

VALERIE:
(Holding up a note)

And…. a Mike Miller called and he asked if you’d call him back at this number.

BETSY:
(Thrown off)

MIKE MILLER?! Uh. No. Throw that one away.

VALERIE:
But I told him-

BETSY:
Thats very well but….. throw that one away. Thanks.

VALERIE:
Uh. Okay. (She sniffs the air) Whats that smell?

BETSY:
I dunno…. what does it smell like?

VALERIE:
Like…. sorta….. feet and…. sweat….. and grease…..

BETSY:
Oh! Thats probably my hair.

VALERIE:
Yikes. Whats wrong with it?

BETSY:
Oh. Nothing. I just keep forgetting to wash it.

VALERIE:
Oh. Thats kinda gross.

BETSY:
Grossness is in the eye of the beholder. Thats what the Bible says.

VALERIE:
I don’t think thats-

BETSY:
Okay. Valerie. Could you get that shipment of cardigans from the store room and start folding those. I’d like to have those out on the floor today. I don’t want to be one of those stores that only puts winter clothes out in September and by the time January rolls around you’re displaying swimsuits. Don’t ya just hate that?

VALERIE:
I do!

BETSY:
Good. Then I’ll help you fold.

Valerie goes into the store room. Betsy accidentally spills her coffee on the floor.

BETSY:
Damn!

She gets a paper towel and begins wiping it up off the ground. She realizes she’s gotten the coffee all over her white leggings. Did I mention she’s wearing white leggings? Well, she is. She then hikes up her skirt and with her crotch and knees in the air begins scrubbing her leggings. Just then the front door opens and Michael Miller enters. A handsome man around Betsy’s age. The kind of man you saw a lot on nineties sitcoms. Big jawed and with a good head of hair. A good head of hair went a long time back then. Simpler times. Betsy looks up in shock.

BETSY:
(Giving him a full crotch shot)

Michael!

MICHAEL:
Well. This certainly is a better welcome than my Mom gave me.

Betsy quickly pulls her skirt down and gets up.

BETSY:
Michael! What the hell are you doing here?!

MICHAEL:
And thats exactly the greeting my mom gave me. I called you this morning then I was driving by and just thought I’d stop in.

BETSY:
What are you doing back in town?

MICHAEL:
Well. Thats why I called you. I’m back.

BETSY:
Back?

MICHAEL:
I moved back to San Francisco.

BETSY:
You? Why? How? For? What? When?

MICHAEL:
Which one of those do you want me to answer first?

Betsy kinda giggles but still holds her guard up.

MICHAEL:
Well. New York wasn’t for me. I mean….. I knew it was a bad omen when I walked into my apartment and saw Dead Baby.

BETSY:
Oh my God. There was a dead baby if your apartment?!

MICHAEL:
Ha! NO! That was my roommate. Dead Baby. She’s this performance artist. She does this act with chocolate syrup and a cardboard cut out of Alfred Hitchcock every weekend in the East Village. It’s…. not terrible just not my cup of tea I guess. But she was a really terrible roommate. Got chocolate syrup EVERYWHERE.

BETSY:
(A little freaked out to see him and trying to distance herself from him)

Oh. Wow. Well. Welcome back to San Francisco.

She goes back to her work.

MICHAEL:
Is that all I get?

BETSY:
What?

MICHAEL:
Thats it? Welcome back?

BETSY:
Uh…. have some Rice R Roni?

MICHAEL:
Betsy, we were engaged for five years…. and the best you can muster up is-

BETSY:
Yes, Michael. But you broke up that engagement after five years….. you DO realize that’s not how this works right?

MICHAEL:
Betsy, lets not-

BETSY:
Lets not what, Michael?!

They lock eyes for a moment. Then Betsy pulls away and goes back to the counter, fiddling with things to distract herself.

MICHAEL:
I’m sorry. How many times do I have to say I AM SORRY? Look. I miss you. Okay? I’ve missed you for the past eleven months. Every day. Ask Dead Baby. She’s sat and listened to me like…. well, a dead baby. And I dunno. Maybe…. maybe, part of me actually came back here to see you again. I’m just….. I’m really sorry Bets. I just wish you’d give me another chance to at least be your friend.

Betsy, despite all her attempts at staying strong and guarded, looks up at Michael and finds herself moved. Just then Valerie enters with the box.

VALERIE:
I dunno if its these panties I’m wearing or what. But my hoo hoo is itching like a huntin’ dog in sweat pants.


She sees Michael.

VALERIE:
(A little embarrassed)

Good morning.

BETSY:
Valerie, this is…. Michael. Miller.

VALERIE:
As in-

BETSY:
(Quickly)

As in Michael Miller.

VALERIE:
Wow. I’ve watched Betsy set fire to so many pictures of your face I feel like I already know you! Gimme an ole Tennessee tackle hug!

She locks him into a bear hug. It’s incredibly tight. After releases him.

MICHAEL:
I better get going. It’s nice to meet you, Valerie. Uh…. Betsy. Could I take you to dinner? Tomorrow night? 9PM? Our place?

BETSY:
(Without really looking at him, she begins folding the cardigans)

Sure. Fine.

MICHAEL:
Okay. Good. (He stops and sniffs the air) Whats that smell? It smells like sweat and grease and-

VALERIE:
It’s Betsy’s hair.

MICHAEL:
Whats wrong with it?

BETSY:
JESUS CHRIST! Nothing is wrong with it. I just haven’t washed it in a while. Is that such a crime?

MICHAEL:
(Weirded out)

Uh no.

VALERIE:
Though, I gotta say Betsy…. the way your hair smells right now might legitimately break some laws in some of the snooty New England states.

MICHAEL:
Okay. I’ll see you at 9PM tomorrow. (He sniffs again and shakes his head) Jeez. You really should do something about your hair.

He exits.

VALERIE:
So that was THE Michael huh?

BETSY:
Can you help me fold these sweaters, Valerie?

VALERIE:
Yes, ma’am.

Valerie vigorously scratches her crotch. Betsy vigorously folds the cardigans.

To be continued

Watch our new video, Mommy.

02/18/2010

Setting shit on fire this Sunday Night!

02/17/2010


Queers and Olympians,

Do not forget that this Sunday night.

February 21st at 9:30PM.

Is ‘The Jeffery and Cole Family Radio Programme’ at Joe’s Pub.

It features Andrew Andrew, Erin Markey, Max Steele, and JUSTIN BOND. Exciting shit.

Do you have tickets? If not you should click on the name CINDY WILLIAMS below.

Upon clicking you will NOT be directed to the IMDB page of ‘Laverne and Shirley’ star Cindy Williams, instead you will be directed to the page for all the details and information on Sunday night’s show.

So go here: CINDY WILLIAMS aka Jeffery and Cole Ticket information

And then if you’re all ‘What else has Cindy Williams done?!’ you can click here.

SEE YA SUNDAY!

100% Sally Field

02/17/2010


Do you remember 2006? I do. That was the year I dropped out of college, moved to New York, and Sally Field returned to primteime television. Sunday nights. Brothers and Sisters. Nora was/is the character. Such a great name for a Sally Field character. As if she was born a Nora and somebody was like…. lets call her Sally before they really knew her. Y’know? Like when you meet someone named Ruth but she’s SUCH a Stacey. I tuned into the first episode. Nothing better to do on a Sunday night. I’d dropped outta school, remember? Plus her. Sally. Nora. She was magical.

I woke up today feeling the familiar weird feeling that I can best describe as a chaotic low or some kind of mania. I’m pretty sure thats not the correct medical way to describe the way it feels but…. for lack of a better word…. mania seems suitable, as the feeling does feel quite out of control, like a maniac, the Tasmanian Devil. I should come up with a less paralyzing term than mania…. something that sounds less like the medical issue of a character in an indie film co-starring Zooey Deschanel starting this weekend at The Quad. Whatever it is, its a feeling that leads to a lot of frustrations, angst, resentment, anger and wacky plotting. Its a feeling I find pretty overwhelming and tough to manage. It’s a feeling that upon feeling, stops me in my tracks.

Sally Field is great on that first episode of Brothers and Sisters. She’s the matriarch of the family. Perfect casting. She’s a cool liberal. She’s free thinking. She’s got a gay kid! Free Love! Norma Rae! She’s marvelous. I love her. I love the show. Why hasn’t Sally Field been playing this part ever since Mrs. Doubtfire. She’s been ready! Why hasn’t this started soon?! She’s great. Where has Sally Field been since Mrs. Doubtfire?

The feeling…. whatever we’re choosing to call it….. is so on the nose predictable…. literally like someone you hear walking up the stairs to come to your apartment but you have no choice to let them in, no matter what it is they’re carrying…. they arrive and you’re like…. ‘No go away! I want to enjoy this episode of ‘Cybill’ and eat this brownie… not deal with your crap’….. but it’s all…. nope…. I’m setting up camp buddy, so you better get used to me right here, right now.’ Like Cousin Eddie in the Griswald Vacation movies. And you’re Clark and you’re all…. Oh shit. Here we go again.

I wikepedia-ed it and Sally Field wasn’t doing much in the nineties or early 2000’s which surprises me…. she was in the sequel to ‘Legally Blonde’ which I don’t think I have even seen (and thats saying something) and she did a bunch of ER. I mean, yes ‘Forest Gump’ the year after ‘Mrs. Doubtfire’ is something very big but I sorta think of those two achievements as their own period….. frankly, the tail end of something very very special, the end of an era. Its not like after that she went in obscurity or anything. Hardly that at all actually. But a guest appearance on ‘Murphy Brown’ does not a chapter two in a Sally Field biography make. She did some theater in the early 2000’s. That Edward Albee play on Broadway. And I remember when she did it, she was on a talk show promoting it, and my Mom and I watched it and my Mom said something like…. ‘I just think its so great that Sally Field is just being a Mom and living in New York and just doing some theater….. finally getting to relax.’ But I didn’t buy it, my Mom knew just like I knew that Sally Field didn’t want to just ‘relax’. Nobody wants that. Not my Sally. Sally wanted a movie, a something, who wouldn’t? She ain’t going down that easy.

I start to fall into old habits, a good portion of which are rooted in obsessive behavior…. tapping things a certain number of times, not wearing certain t-shirts because they yield weird luck, doing the same ritual every time I stand up. Stuff that in the moment, I am full aware is ridiculous and more than a little batty. Just now, I tried to fall asleep but it didn’t work. Too much crap going on. Too many worries, obsessions, voices, frustrations. All phony. All based on the same crap that arrived earlier, unannounced and unwelcomed. But like it or not…. its begun.

Then with ‘Brothers and Sisters’ she really nailed it. Awards, rave reviews, a hit show. FINALLY. The universe came together and we forgot Sally Field ever went away. Sally Field seemed to have always been there like the Statue of Liberty or Barbara Walters. I guess its because she never REALLY went away but she went from 100% to something like a 30 or 40….. but then poof, just like that, without any warning…. she’s back at 100% and I think thats just dandy. I can hardly remember back when she was at that 30 or 40 period. Who can? Because the good is good. And good is what matters. Congratulations Sally Field.

So now I’m here in my kitchen. I can’t really sleep because of all the crap, the garbage. Its upsetting, and there are moments where I become so angsty or resentful that I don’t think I can handle it but as we all know, I can. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. And I will remind myself that tomorrow or the next day or the next I will go from feeling 5% or 20% or whatever…. back up to a ‘Brothers and Sisters’ 100 and when I remind myself of these things, that nothing is permanent, that its always fleeting, then its like…. chill out weirdo, its all kind of cool. And okay.

Sitcom Fan Fiction: LEAVE IT TO BEAVER (Part 3)

02/12/2010


A Scene From: LEAVE IT TO BEAVER (Part 3)
By Jeffery Self

Theodore ‘Beaver’ Cleaver (Jerry Mathers) and Larry Mondello (Robert ‘Rusty’ Stevens) arrive at Hill Crest Cafe, a local sandwich shop. Beaver is wearing his best Sunday suit and his Dad’s overcoat and hat. Both are far too big for him. There are various tables filled with lunching patrons. Its the fifties so people a lot of woman are wearing hats. Thank God. The two boys look around the cafe.

LARRY:
There’s Mike Watson’s mom walking to the counter.

BEAVER:
Oh. Its so tragic what happened to her.

LARRY:
What happened?

BEAVER:
Boating accident.

We see a woman walking to the counter with an enormous ship anchor stuck through her leg. She’s dressed in an attractive 1950’s suit and appears to be managing with the anchor. Like a woman who’s learned to live with tragedy. Make lemons out of lemonade, says her demeanor and jaunty 1950’s sweater set. It’s an odd costume expense on the part of the producer’s, seeing as though we will not see this woman again for the rest of the episode. One day in a book about the making of the show, someone admit that the character and costume were a part of an oddly planned inside joke on one of the writers, who had recently lost his wife in a boating accident.

LARRY:
Where’s your date?

BEAVER:
She said she’d be at a table with a copy of ‘Pride and Prejduce’.

LARRY:
God. Don’t you think that’s a little on the nose?

BEAVER:
How so?

LARRY:
Well, I’m only eleven and I’m not quite sure why I say that now but…. I feel like when I look back on you meeting a strange single adult woman for a lunch date via a nickel ad….. who’s main locating feature is a copy of ‘Pride and Prejuduce’…. I’m gonna think to myself….. STEREOTYPE.

BEAVER:
Oh! There she is!

Seated at a table beside the window, we see Gladys Phillborne, a slightly heavy, straight laced looking woman in her mid thirties. Her hair is pulled into a bun and she wears big glasses. She stares out the window, tapping her fingers on the tattered copy of ‘Pride and Prejuduce’

LARRY:
Yikes. In what world does she look like Doris Day? Maybe Doris Day after Howard Keel got really screwed up and knocked her around a little bit.

BEAVER:
Larry!

LARRY:
What? Do YOU think she looks anything like Doris Day?

BEAVER:
No but…..

LARRY:
But what?

BEAVER:
But….. I don’t know. What should I do? I can’t leave her just sitting there all day.

LARRY:
Well….

BEAVER:
I’m just gonna go up and talk to her. Stick to Grandpa’s book. And have some lunch.

LARRY:
This ought to be rich. Look, if I don’t come home for lunch today my Mom’s gonna get really mad. I haven’t been home since last Tuesday.

BEAVER:
Where have you been?

LARRY:
(Looking around with an air suspicion and mystery)

Oh. Here and there.

Larry exits. It is the last time we Larry again in the show’s history. The writers make it a point not to deal with the topic of Beaver’s missing best friend. However, years later the American public will learn that it was due to an immigration issue that the actor, Robert ‘Rusty’ Stevens had to leave the country. No one even knew he was Yugoslavian to begin with. Beaver approaches the Gladys’ table. She looks at him.

GLADYS:
(Confused)

Hi?

BEAVER:
Hi.

GLADYS:
Can I help you?

BEAVER:
I think you can. Is that….. ‘Pride and Prejuduce’?

GLADYS:
(Suspicious)

It is….

BEAVER:
May I have a seat?

GLADYS:
Well, I’m sort of waiting on someone-

BEAVER:
(Sitting down)

I know. That’s me.

GLADYS:
Huh?

BEAVER:
I’m….. Greg. From the phone call. I answered your nickel ad.

GLADYS:
(Shocked)

Oh my God.

BEAVER:
Its alright. I know I’m not what you’re expecting-

GLADYS:
Well, that’s an-

BEAVER:
But if I can be so frank, I’d hardly compare you to Doris Day.

Gladys is both shocked and offended.

BEAVER:
Have you ordered lunch yet?

GLADYS:
Uh…. uh…. no….

A gum chewing waitress arrives.

WAITRESS:
Can I get your order?

BEAVER:
(He’s transformed himself into a smooth talking, suave, cigar smoking, playboy)

Sure darlin’. I’ll take your club sandwich and my gal over here will have your….. you like onion rings?

GLADYS:
Not really, could I have the-

BEAVER:
Ha. She’ll have the onion rings. And that’ll be all.

The waitress walks away.

GLADYS:
But I was gonna have the soup and grilled cheese-

BEAVER:
Oh come on, doll…. you don’t want soup.

GLADYS:
But I did-

BEAVER:
(He has opened his Grandpa’s guide book in his lap and looks down to reference it)

So…. what does your father do?

GLADYS:
Uh…. my father passed away a couple years ago.

BEAVER:
Yikes. So who do you live with?

GLADYS:
On my own. Well, I’ve got a cat named Cracker Jack but I don’t think she likes me. She gives me these mean glares that say ‘If you ever left a window open I’d jump. I don’t care what floor this is. It’d be worth the risk’. Its funny. Cracker Jack really seemed to like me when I first got her.

BEAVER:
Wait. Wait. Wait. You’re telling me that you….. an unwed woman of your age….. lives…. alone?

GLADYS:
Uh huh.

BEAVER:
(Flipping through the guide book)

Is that even legal?

GLADYS:
Yes. I do. I guess thats partly why I put that blurb in the nickel ads-

BEAVER:
Of course. To find a husband who will support you and give your life some structure-

GLADYS:
Well. I don’t know about that. I guess I’m just feeling lonely. I feel like I’m either home with my nose stuck in a book or all work work work…. nothing more, y’know?

BEAVER:
Work? What do you do? Secretary?

GLADYS:
No I-

BEAVER:
Waitress?

GLADYS:
No-

BEAVER:
Nurse?

GLADYS:
No. I’m….. a scientist.

BEAVER:
(Bursting into laughter)

Oh come on! COME ON! You’re kidding! Right? Right?!

GLADYS:
(Completely uncomfortable)

Uh….. no…. I am-

BEAVER:
You’re trying to tell me that they’re letting women become scientists now?!

GLADYS:
I am so confused by everything that is going on right now-

BEAVER:
You’re a nice chick…. don’t you think you be settling down, finding-

GLADYS:
I just wanted to meet somebody to spend some time with, have some fun. God knows Cracker Jack won’t even look at me. I posted that nickel ad to try and spice up my life. I realized a couple days ago that I might drop dead in ten, twenty, who knows how many years…. days…. whatever…. and that I’ve never once felt like I really live. I guess I just wanna let my hair down for once.

BEAVER:
Well letting your hair down might be a good first start to something.

Gladys, out of an act of severe desperation and weakness, removes a clip from her bun and lets her flat, dull hair fall down to her shoulders. It is an enormous moment for Gladys’ ego and soul. She looks at Beaver nervously with fear and sadness in her eyes. All she wants is some approval from somebody, something.

BEAVER:
Well. Maybe not.

Gladys is completely humiliated. She begins to cry and tries to quickly pull her hair back into the bun. If she were braver she’d run out of the cafe.

BEAVER:
(Reading directly from the book)

Heel Woman!

GLADYS:
Please stop-

BEAVER:
(More from book)

Woman what you need is a master!

GLADYS:
STOP IT! Stop! You sound just like Daddy did. Well its a new decade! And I just wanna have some fun! Is that such a crime? All I wanted was to try something new and maybe just this once feel a little less lonely. And when you walked up to this table today, I thought….. Oh God. Am I about to go all the way with an eleven year old boy? And wanna know something crazy? I thought- sure. I think thats something I can do. Because I want to live. To feel…. I don’t know…. special for just once. But no…. you’re…. a….. monster…. an eleven year old monster! Well, I can’t stay here another minute because this isn’t living. This isn’t living at all!!!!!!!!

She takes a glass of milk and throws it in Beaver’s face, she storms out flustered and a maniac. It is unclear if the producer’s intention was to scare single women into just getting married all ready or if they thought this situation would prove some amusing comedy stylings. Overall, however, the episode more so just confuses people. The actress playing Gladys, will not work again for thirty five years until she is cast as an estranged cousin who makes wacky hats on ‘Gimme a Break’. She is fired after the first day of shooting and eventually dies in obscurity in 2006. Just then Wally rushes in, also covered in milk.

WALLY:
Beav! Stop whatever it is you’re doing!

BEAVER:
(Looking up completely covered in milk)

You’re too late.

WALLY:
Jeez. Grandpa’s book was totally wrong.

BEAVER:
I think it was just a little out of date-

WALLY:
I’ll say, you should’ve seen what I did to Angela’s black neighbor.

BEAVER:
I don’t think I should’ve posted that nickel ad.

WALLY:
Probably not. But we learned an important lesson today, Beav.

BEAVER:
To respect women as our equals?

WALLY:
Oh. Yea. I guess we did learn that.

BEAVER:
What were you gonna say?

The police enter and look around the cafe.

WALLY:
(Seeing the cops and ducking down into the chair)

I learned that certain things in Grandpa’s book are seen assault and battery nowadays…. and that page forty seven is even considered a felony.

Wally quickly runs out of the cafe, the police chase after him.

BEAVER:
(Turning to page forty seven, he laughs to himself and shakes his head)

Haha. Yep. That certainly IS a felony, Wally. It certainly is.

The end.

Sitcom Fan Fiction: LEAVE IT TO BEAVER (Part 2)

02/11/2010

A Scene From: LEAVER IT TO BEAVER (Part 2)

Previously on Leave It To Beaver Click HERE for Part 1

The next day, Wallace ‘Wally’ Cleaver (Tony Dow) is looking through a tattered book titled “YOU’RE THE MAN, DAMMIT! A HOW TO GUIDE FOR THE MODERN MAN OF THE 1920’S ON GETTING A GIRL” he stands in front of a mirror in his bedroom, talking to himself.

WALLY:
(Sweetly)

Hi Angela. No…. thats not it…. uh…. (Matter a fact) Angela, Tell me how you’re doing in five words or less. No….. (Like a lady) Oh Angela, how funny to run into you in the girls bathroom like this. (Weirded out by himself) What was that?!

There is a knock at the door. He opens it, Theodore ‘Beaver’ Cleaver (Jerry Mathers) and Larry Mondello (Robert ‘Rusty’ Stevens) enter.

BEAVER:
Jeeeeez. Whats that smell?

LARRY:
It smells like my Uncle Danny, without the cigarettes and whiskey.

BEAVER:
(Picking up a colgne bottle and reading the label)

Le Aurburn Spices Colgne? Sheesh. Do you think you’re wearing enough?!

WALLY:
Hey! Gimme that. (Earnestly) You shouldn’t take things that belong to someone else.

LARRY:
Why the colgne? The perfume? The come up to my bachelor pad and unfasten your caridgan, little mama?

BEAVER:
Larry!

LARRY:
Nobody puts on colgne without a reason. Just like the Japanese don’t come to America without a reason. Except in the case of the colgne, the reason is not to steal our jobs and overthrow our goverment.

WALLY:
I’ve got a date. With Angela Carmichael. She’s the most beautiful girl in school.

LARRY:
OOOOO Angela Carmichael! She lives down the street from me. Za Za Zoom!

WALLY:
Hey! Have some respect. So I want to make sure I do everything just right. If all goes well I’m gonna invite her to the Fall Fling.

BEAVER:
Wally, I wanted to ask you some advice because…. well, I’ve got a date today too.

WALLY:
You?!

BEAVER:
Yea….. Larry put me up to it.

WALLY:
With who?

BEAVER:
You don’t know her-

WALLY:
Maybe I do-

BEAVER:
Trust me. You don’t. But I’m nervous and don’t know what to do.

WALLY:
Aw. Beav- this means a lot to me…. this a big moment, the two of us…. bonding as men for the first time….. will it weird you out if I give you a hug?

BEAVER:
Uh. Sure.

Wally embraces Beaver. He continues to hold it.

BEAVER:
(Still in hug)

Okay. Thats good.

WALLY:
(Letting him go)

God. We’re growing up so fast. (To himself) Don’t cry, Baby Wally. Don’t cry.

BEAVER:
(Weirded out)

Yea…..

WALLY:
Well. Here. (He hands him the book he was reading earlier) This will teach you everything. It was Grandpa’s.

BEAVER:
(Reading the title out loud)

‘You’re the Man, Dammit! A How To Guide For the Modern Man of the 1920’s on getting a Girl’

WALLY:
I’ve learned a lot from it and I’m excited to apply the techniques with Angela!

BEAVER:
Gee thanks, Wally. (Reading a page) ‘We must not forget that women are not our equals on any intellelectual or physical playing ground….. it is our job to maintain this knowledge as a woman’s brain is, despite what airs she might give off, not powerful enough to maintain a 50/50 experience’

WALLY:
What I like about the book is its an easy read.

BEAVER:
Hmmmm…..

WALLY:
I’d say just read as much from that as you can, apply it to your date this afternoon, and you ought to be good to go.

BEAVER:
‘Men, especially when white, are the center of focus here….. let the woman know this from the first encounter, and onward’

WALLY:
I’ve gotta go! How do I look?

LARRY:
Like a guy who’s gonna see some tits today.

WALLY:
What?!

LARRY:
Nothing. You look great.

WALLY:
Good luck Wally. Read that book. You’ll be fine.

BEAVER:
But Wally….. didn’t Grandma hate Grandpa? Weren’t her dying words to Mom: ‘Whatever you do make sure he pays for the hell that was both my girlhood and adulthood’?

WALLY:
The ramblings of a dying woman…. you’ll remember she also told Dad she didn’t ENJOY doing the dishes every night. Ha. What a nut. See ya later, Beav! Good luck!

He struts out. Beaver and Larry sit down and begin reading the book.

To Be Continued