A cowboy sings for his beer and a girl just wants her song. It's time for a one act play...

A Song for a Simple Beer

By Pete Schulte

SETTING: 

A dive bar on the edge of town. 

TIME: 

The present.

SCENE 1: 

A middle-aged woman approaches the table closest to a make-shift stage, opposite from the near empty bar. She carries a beer in each hand. She sees a slim, middle-aged man wearing a cowboy hat. He is seated by himself. She approaches him.

Woman: Hey, cowboy. You remember me?

Cowboy: (Squinting up at her face) Why sure I remember you, darlin. How could I forget such a pretty face? Please sit down. Take a load off.

Woman: (Sitting down) Thank you. 

Cowboy: The pleasure’s all mine.

Woman: Remember you were going to write a song for me? You were going to write a song and I was going to buy you a beer.

Cowboy: Of course I remember. I remember everything that involves  beer. 

Woman: Well then, here’s your beer. Now let’s hear my song.

Cowboy: (Reaching for the beer) Of course, of course. Your song.

Woman: You sure you remember? It was just last night. 

Cowbow: Okay now…Okay, I think I got it. I know your song.

(He sings) 
Put a cork in it, Nadine.
Put a cork in it, Nadine.
We’re gonna sail this vessel home,
Because we ain’t got no time to roam,
So put a cork in it, Nadine. 

Woman: Okay…Is that it? That’s my song?

Cowboy: No, no. It’s got another verse. Hang on now. It gets better. 

(He sings)
Stuff a sock in it, Nadine.
Stuff a sock in it, Nadine.
My pillow’s very soft,
But we’ve got to get off this raft.
So stuff a sock in it, Nadine.

Woman: That’s good, I guess, in a misogynistic kind of way.

Cowboy: Hey now, I don’t know that word, and I don’t write songs with any of those high and mighty ideas. I write about real folks. 

Woman: Really? 

Cowboy: Really.

Woman: And I see you’ve managed to rhyme soft with raft. I don’t know how but you did. 

Cowboy: I do know my rhymes. Some people know taxes and some know how to be a dentist. But I know my rhymes.

Woman: But do you know what’s the worst part about your song?

Cowboy: Worst part? There is no worst part. I don’t write worse parts.

Woman: Oh yes there is a worst part.

Cowboy: What?

Woman: My name’s not Nadine. 

Cowboy: It’s not. You sure?

Woman: It’s Gina. I’m sure. 

Cowboy: Wilma you say.

Woman: Gina. My name is Gina, you rube. Gina.  

Cowboy: Gina, huh? You don’t say. Well, I’ve got your back. I do. I’ve got a Gina song in here somewhere. (Pulls out a tattered notepad) 

Gina: Oh, I feel so very special.

Cowboy: Wait. Here’s one especially for you. 

(He sings)
Your booty, your booty, your booty’s on fire…Oh Gina, your booty…

Gina: (Rising from her seat) Okay, stop right there. That’s it, I’m done. You got your beer. My booty’s on fire? Really?

Cowboy: No, wait. I got a better one. I do. You’ll see.

Gina: (Sitting back down) Let’s hear it then, cowboy. Nothin’ about my booty though.

Cowboy: No, this one’s got a soft sound, more intimate. You’ll like it. Now listen here. 

(He sings…softly)
I’m gonna live in Gina’s house.
Yes, I’m a gonna live in Gina’s house.
She’s got a big kitchen
Where she’ll do all my stitchin.‘
Yes, I’m a gonna live in Gina’s house.

Gina: Well, at least you’re not wanting to put a cork in it, or my rear end being on fire. How about the second verse?

Cowboy: You think you can handle the second verse?

Gina: Lay it on me, cowboy.

Cowboy: 

(He sings)

I’m gonna play in Gina’s yard.
Yes, I’m gonna play in Gina’s yard.
The grass is much greener
And I’ve got a spleener.
Oh, I’m gonna play in Gina’s yard.

Gina: All right, I’ll bite. What the hell is a spleener?

Cowboy: Oh, it’s just a figure of speech is all. If something comes from the heart, it comes from the spleen. You know?

Gina: Since when does anything come from the spleen?

Cowboy: Since it does. Hey, I know my figure of speeches. I’ve been around this country from end to back…

Just then, a man’s voice over a microphone announces the next act.

Voice: Friends, we welcome you to Freddy’s Last Chance Saloon. We’ve got someone special taking the stage tonight. And if he’s not special, well, at least he showed up. So now, coming to you from parts unknown, here he is, the one -- and only -- Romulus Roadkill Maguire!

Romulus (Cowboy) rises up from his seat and grabs his guitar. He takes the small stage.

Romulus: This song’s for a little lady named Gina.

(He sings)
I’m gonna swim in Gina’s pool.
Yes, I’m gonna swim in Gina’s pool.
She’s got roller skates on and the kids are gone.
Yes, I’m gonna swim in Gina’s pool…

The end.

Some thoughts on Sylvia Plath's 'The Bell Jar.'

The Bell Jar, the classic (and only) novel by Sylvia Plath, tells the story of a young college student who finds a future of domesticity so abhorrent that she descends into a mental illness of such severity that it threatens her life. Esther Greenwood is smart, pretty, and would seemingly make an ideal wife for future doctor, Buddy Willard. But Esther wants none of it. She would like to become a writer, living a life of adventures that do not include being a wife and mother. The Bell Jar was written in the early 1960’s, prior to the sexual revolution and the freedoms that came with it. Young women of Esther’s day became wives and mothers, secretaries, school teachers, and nurses. Their options were far more restricted than today. Any deviation from the mommy path proved most difficult and often led to isolation and spinsterhood. 

A bell jar is defined as a ‘bell-shaped glass container used to keep air, moisture, and gases in or out’. You often see them in laboratories. In Esther’s case, her psychosis makes her feel as if she is inside a bell jar. She may be seen, pretty to look at, but is unable to be heard or to participate in society. Esther comes to realize that though the bell jar may be lifted, there is a chance that one day it may come back down upon her again. In the author’s real life, unfortunately, the bell jar did come back down, silencing her for good.  

I asked my wife what the difference is between a real good book and literature. Where is the line? I’m still not sure. But in my mind the Bell Jar is literature at its finest, as fresh today as it must have been in the  early 1960’s. I’m so glad I finally got around to reading it. 

The After Party. A new novel by Anton Disclafani

The After Party, by Anton Disclafani (author of The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls), tells the story of an intense friendship -- on one side anyway -- between Joan and Cece, young women coming of age in the Houston area during the late 1950’s. Money is no object for these two, both living in the affluent River Oaks section of Houston, and problems are few, or so it would seem. 

Joan is the ‘It’ girl of the moment, desired by men and envied by women. Cece loves her friend above all others, though remains in Joan’s shadow. She takes pride in knowing Joan more than any other, but does she really know her at all? At one point the girls live in the same home, share a bedroom. But again, even that close, can we really know someone as much as we sometimes think we do? Joan has her dark secrets and Cece is determined to discover her truth, even to the point of losing her own family in the process.  

The author does an excellent job of placing the reader into the heat, humidity, and fabulous wealth of a distinct part of Houston, Texas. But within that background, the novel’s core is about what money cannot buy, that being friendship, loyalty, forgiveness, health, family relationships, and the difficult decisions all of us have to face at one time or another. Who are you, and where are you when the party’s over? Often times the after party is much more interesting than the party itself. 

Some nearly Springtime pictures...

New buds.

Almost Spring

Rocks are a strange color this year.

Peppers are quite optimistic.

The metal plants are so easy to care for this time of year.

Since Cardinals don't come to this part of the country, it is necessary to paint them in. 

A Man Lies Dreaming' by Lavie Tidhar‏

**Comes out March, 2016.

A Jewish writer of pulp fiction is detained in a concentration camp during World War II. He has lost his family and is digging graves for the growing number of dead bodies in the camp. He has nothing left. But as a writer, perhaps out of habit or perhaps to keep himself sane, he still has stories buzzing around in his head. And the story he's writing, a private eye mystery set in London, is the crux of Tidhar's novel. I cannot reveal who he casts as his (hero/anti-hero?) private investigator, without spoiling the story, except to say that it's amazing the author went down this road. It's even more amazing that the plot works, despite the twisted politics of the time, the intense racism, the threat of world war. 

In a concentration camp, you're barely there and you may not live to see the next day. But in this narrator's case the imagination burns deep, too deep to extinguish. 'A Man Lies Dreaming' is some powerful fiction, though many of the characters were real. If you're like me, you'll be consulting Wikipedia to see who they really were, to try to wrap your head around this incredible, unforgettable tale.  

Almost springtime, time for art...

For my friends currently living in Brooklyn, and for family and friends who used to live there. Here's to you.

Yes, adult coloring books got me. It'll come to you, too. Don't resist. Don't. This too shall pass. 

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