As you know, I am not employed by Saturday Night Live or it's parent company NBC Universal.  That, however, cannot stop me from writing "free-lance" sketches for the show.  And as I'm quite used to not receiving monetary compensation for my artistic work by this point in life; wtf?  Right?  I mean, don't dream it, be it!  Am I right people!

So remember that sketch from back in the day on SNL.  The one about the failing mall and it's one store that was doing well: The Scotch Tape Store?  Well, I think it's high time to revisit...with special guest stars...

​THE SCOTCH BOUTIQUE 

FADE IN ON:
Shot of a typical American mall, still open but perhaps gone to seed a bit.  Or maybe on the verge of a comeback?

JANE CURTIN AND HER GRAND-DAUGHTER BELINDA are walking through the mall, sipping on Orange Julius.'

BELINDA: Thanks for the Orange Julius grand-mom!  I've never had one before.  It's delicious!
​JANE: Refreshing too!
BELINDA: I'm sorry you have to go back to Boca so soon...
JANE: Me too.  But Aunt Claudia has the dropsy again and somebody has to take care of her.  You know, I used to work
at this mall back in the 70's...
BELINDA: Really?  Where?
JANE: The pet shop.  It was right over there, where that nail salon is.
BELINDA: Wow!  You wanna get a pedi?
JANE: Actually, I want to check out a store on the second level...
BELINDA: Which one?
JANE: The Scotch Boutique.
BELINDA: Is that a gift shop or something?
JANE: Or something...

CUT TO:
EXT. OF THE SCOTCH BOUTIQUE.
A large group of people are milling around outside of the store, which is decorated in plaid and has a giant, neon tape dispenser sign.  A young woman, JENNY, wearing a smart plaid skirt and matching vest is speaking through a bull-horn.

JENNY: Two lines please!  Two lines please!  For those of you who want the "Build a Dispenser" experience, please queue up on the left.  For general tape purchases, please enter on the right!
BELINDA: This a mad-house!  What's going on?
JANE: They did it! They actually did it!
BELINDA: Did what grand-mom?
JANE: Built a Scotch tape empire!

DAN AYKROYD steps out from behind a potted palm, holding a package of Scotch cassette tapes.
DAN: But we're not just for the sticky kind anymore!
JANE: As I live and breathe!  Floyd Hunger of Hunger's Men's Shop's!
DAN: I know that face!  Peeble's Pet Shop!

​JANE: Close!  It was actually called "Puppy Land!"
FLOYD: Of course!  And your name is...now wait a minute...Marie?
JANE: Close again.  It's Mary.  Mary Milto.  And this is my grand-daughter Belinda.
Greetings are exchanged.
FLOYD: How would you ladies like a V.I.P. tour?​
MARY: Well, you look awfully busy.  We wouldn't want to take up--
BELINDA: Come on grand-mom; it'll be fun!
MARY: Oh, okay then!
​Floyd ushers them in through the side door.
CUT TO: INT. SCOTCH BOUTIQUE
Numerous employees man several stations: one features tape dispensers, another rolls of tape and another decorative items (all plaid) for the dispensers.  At a counter, the stock-boy Kevin, is reading a comic book.  On the counter is a box full of cassette tapes with the tape dangling out; and a jar full of No. 2 pencils.  Floyd goes to Kevin and puts the package of cassettes on the counter.
FLOYD: (Sweet but stern): Now Kevin, what did I say about reading when you're on the job?
KEVIN: Sorry Mr. Hunger...

MARY: (Peering into box) Are those mix tapes?  (She picks one up and reads the label): "Tina's Totally Gnarly New Wave Favs."  Wow, I don't think I've seen one of these since, maybe the early 90's?
FLOYD: They're making a comeback! 
BELINDA: What is it?-
MARY: It's a tape honey!
BELINDA: (Touching tape) But it's not sticky...
FLOYD: It's a music tape!  And we're the only place on the Eastern seaboard that can fix them.  Show them Kevin!
Kevin picks up a tape, takes a pencil, puts the pencil through one of the holes and winds the loose tape back into the cassette.  Mary applauds.
MARY: Wonderful!  And so strangely satisfying!
FLOYD: Would you like to try Belinda?
BELINDA: For some reason, yes!
Kevin hands her a cassette and a pencil and he and Floyd and Mary coach her through it.  Success!  At this point, Jenny rushes in all a fluster.
JENNY: Mr. Hunger! Mr. Hunger!  We just got a bid on a lot of the Scotch 111 Reel-to-reel tape.  It's a bidding war!  We need you in the auction room!
MARY: Do they even make that anymore?
FLOYD: No, which is why the 100 cases of the old 111 we have are a gold-mine!

He rushes to the back with Jenny.  Kevin opens his comic book and peers at Belinda from behind it.
BELINDA: Oh, I love Swamp Thing!
KEVIN: Really?
BELINDA: Yes!  Remember that time Aquaman battled Fake Swamp Thing!
KEVIN: In Super Friends!
MARY: Sounds like you two were destined to meet!  And what's a Swamp Thing?
Before she can get a reply; Floyd and Jenny return.
FLOYD: Sold, for twenty-five dollars! Ca-ching!
MARY: Congratulations!
FLOYD: Jenny, why don't you give these two lovely ladies the Build-A-Dispenser experience, on the house, of course!
​JENNY: Of course Mr. Hunger!
MARY: Oh, Mr. Hunger, we couldn't...
FLOYD: I insist...and call me Floyd.
Mary laughs nervously and blushes.
FLOYD: Is there a Mr. Milto?

​MARY: Not for a while now...God rest his soul...
BELINDA: Grandpa passed from Slinky disease.  He was born without a spine...
FLOYD: Oh, I'm so sorry about that.  Well, I'm sure the Build-A-Dispenser Experience will cheer you up.  And you'll have to excuse me, but I have a "Fun With Tape" class and the kids are waiting!
Floyd disappears into the back.
MARY: (To Kevin): Didn't the Hunter family own the store originally?
KEVIN: Yeah, but when Mr. Hunger made his parachute pants fortune, they sold it to him and he brought it to the next level.  The mall was about to go under, but Mr. Floyd managed to attract Sofa King and Vibrators "R" Us as anchor stores and the rest is history!
BELINDA AND MARY: Wow!
JENNY: (Starting the tour at the various stations): So, welcome to the "Build-A-Dispenser" Experience.  Here at station Alpha, you pick out the dispenser you want...(she waves a hand over a variety of tape dispensers).

MARY: Ooooh, I like this one!
JENNY: Good taste.  That's the "C-22" desktop two-roll!  And what would you like Belinda?
BELINDA: (Picks up a sleek two-tone number) I love this one!
KEVIN: The C-60...a girl after my own heart!
BELINDA: (Flirting, blushing): Kevin!  Stop!
JENNY: Yeah Kevin, stop.  I'm giving a tour.  And now, at station Beta, we pick out what tape we want.  So many choices but I can make some recommendations...
MARY: Well, you're the experts!
JENNY: And finally, at station Zeta, you can choose how you want your dispenser finished, in a dazzling array of cozies, appliques and festoonings!

MARY: The pink and purple polka-dots are darling!
BELINDA: Those plaid pom-poms will really make my dispenser pop!
KEVIN: (To Belinda): You know, I could install that on your desk for you...
BELINDA: Ah, gee, okay...but don't you just place it on the desk?
Before she can get an answer, Floyd returns with a group of kids.  Everyone has brown paper bags with eye-holes over their heads.
FLOYD: Okay kids, on the count of three, let's show Mary and Belinda what you learned.  One...two...three!
They all pull the bags off of their heads.  Everyone's faces are taped into grotesque, yet humorous contortions.​

Photos by Wes Naman

MARY: Oh my goodness!  
FLOYD: Mary, will you join me for dinner Saturday night?
MARY: Yes, but on one condition...
FLOYD: What's that?
MARY: You leave the tape on!
Everyone LAUGHS.  Floyd picks up Tina's Rad mix-tape and hands it to Kevin.
FLOYD: Kevin, you know what to do!
Kevin nods excitedly and puts the cassette into a nearby boom-box and hits play.  Big Country's "In a Big Country" plays and everyone dances.
​

FADE OUT:
END

CFR 7/31/22

So, I've been bummed.  About things in general and now my past history of ingesting dry cleaning solvent.  So, I always find that doing some art helps to whomp them blues up on the side of the head.
In that spirit, have you heard of "The Thrift Store Art Makeover Challenge"?  Or some such.  It's a trend.  A fad.  A trending fad. Not yet a fading trend...
So, what you do is, you go to a thrift store or yard sale or whatever and you find yourself a piece of "art" that maybe could use some improvement.  Or perhaps one of those mass produced reproductions that proliferated in mid-century America (usually acquired through trading stamps).  Robert Wood, for example.

This work, entitled "Autumn Wood Landscape," hung in my grand-parent's dining room throughout my childhood.  Oh, how many roast beef Sunday dinners were spent staring at that scene?  That incredibly banal, existentially questioning scene.
So, you go and you find one of those and take it home and alter it.  Hopefully in some cheeky, sardonic post-modern way.  For example:

So, that's the "challenge."
Anyhow, I'm gonna swing by the Goodwill after play practice and see what I can find.
​And, I'm back.
So, this is what I found at the Goodwill:
​

So, I'm sure it's instantly recognizable.  It's not Thomas Kincaid, but an incredible simulation!  It's by Lee K. Perkinson.  A reprint, of course. It was only $4.99, frame and all! I think it's named, "French Cottage Landscape."  It doesn't look very French to me.  And it seems as though it must've been hung in direct sunlight, 'cuz it's all faded.
So, I found my empty canvas, so to speak.  I was talking to my friend Joe Hayes on the phone when I came across it.  I described it to him and the "art challenge."  I asked him for some suggestions for the alteration.  When he mentioned Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman, I knew that's what it had to be.  So props and thanks to Joe!
Now, I would normally take you, dear reader, on this creative journey with me.  However, I want the unveiling to be a surprise, so check back here for updates!

​More to come!

An offer I can't refuse...I don't know...
​So this was in my spam folder the other day (sorry, it got cut off; but you'll get the gist):

My first thought was..."is this a scam?"  
And then I thought: "Well, if it's a scam, it's pretty specific.  I mean, I could see if a Nigerian prince was interested in producing; but Amat Escalante is a real person.

My third thought was: "Well, if it is a legit query, why did it end up in my spam folder?  Is some imposter at work?"
I mean, I'm flattered that he finds "....great potential with your (my) masterpiece..." but I can't help but wonder, why would a Mexican director who works mostly in Mexico and in the Spanish language be interested in this very American book?
Or, could it be an absolutely genuine offer to buy the rights to 83 In the Shade?  Also what does "if you qualify" mean?
I guess the only thing to do is call the number, right?
Unless someone else out there wants to beat Mr. Escalante to the punch...Christine Vachon.
I'll keep you posted on future developments. ;)

Addendum: So I called the number on the email on July 22.  It's a U.K. number.  I got a message "your call can not go through because the called party is unavailable..." Hmmmm.  Curiouser and curiouser.  It was 7:30 pm there.  We shall see.
​
​CFR July 19, 2022

What, me worry?
Uhhh, this time?  Yeah.

So, I just found out that huge portions of my childhood were spent wading in a chemical cesspool.
You see, I spent pretty much every summer of my life from infancy to about sixteen at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina.  The other night I had the TV on with the sound off and Camp LeJeune's iconic entry gate sign flashed up on the screen.  Immediately struck (that sign is part of my life), I read the scroll:
Did you work or live at Camp Lejeune Marine Corps. base between 1953 and 1987?
Ahh, yes.  Yes I did.  Why do you ask, TV?

It was a beautiful cesspool though.  Camp LeJeune is on the coast of North Carolina, near Jacksonville, in the southern part of the state, just below the Outer Banks.  It sits on a confluence of rivers, tidal flats, inlets, the Intracoastal Waterway and Onslow Bay.  The landscape is that of the piney lowlands.  It was idyllic.  Think The Prince of Tides (the non-Barbra parts).  We'd live there, on the base, every summer at the Onslow Beach campground in a trailer.  The beach was pristine; like we had our own private slice of the Carolina coast.

We really did sort of have the beach to ourselves, most of the time, like some fin de siecle robber baron family.  It wasn't a public beach.  You'd walk up the dusty road from the campground to the dunes.  To the right was the enlisted men's beach house, about an eighth of a mile down.  And then, to the left, was the officer's beach pavilion.  It was maybe a half a mile down.  So that's where we'd go, since my dad was an officer.  It was a little more posh than the enlisted men's section; but it was still pretty honky-tonk.  I remember they had these burgers, pre-made, wrapped in foil and heated beneath lamps.  They weren't the best quality--they had those little hard bits, like toe-nail clippings--but they were tasty.

So, we were about as far from the actual source of the cesspool as we could've been; or am I allowing myself some false sense of security?  Or should I say, "kidding" myself?  Since I've learned of this catastrophe, I keep thinking back on my water intake back then.  I remember there was a water fountain outside of the beach house.  I can taste it right now...luke-warm with a decidely rusty taste.  It was unpalatable, which in retrospect was probably a good thing.  It kept us from drinking a lot of it.  But you know kids when they see a water fountain.  They have to drink from it, just because.  I can see the white porcelain right now, stained with streaks of rust that looked like dried blood.

Was that water that came out of that drinking fountain tainted?  Was it laced with benzene, tetrachloroethylene and trichloroethylene?  Those chemicals are used in making plastic, dry cleaning fluid and metal degreaser.  Actually, it was a drycleaners in Jacksonville, off base, that was the source of a majority of the chemicals: improperly disposed of that then leached into the ground water.

Here's a closer up map:

Our campground was on the yellow spit of land where it says "Atlantic Ocean."  The drycleaners was to the northwest where that pink area is, above the inlet.  Safe?  Who knows.  Because we were all over that base.  And being in the South, it had water fountains everywhere.  We spent a lot of time at the Officer's Club and its pool...oh yes, bathing and swimming in these chemicals wasn't much better than drinking them.  We lived in base housing every now and again.

It was a beautiful place, for a military base.  It was all red brick, colonial revival.  Here's the Catholic church we went to, on the left:

Kind of ironic that the nearly exact focal point of the above is the water tower looming in the distance.
So, did my family ever get sick?  Well, there's an extensive list of illnesses, cancers, and so on that people who lived there are reporting.  Maladies of pretty much all the human body systems: cardiac, reproductive, neurological...
My parents are both 86.  My siblings are all still alive.  But my father has both a pace-maker and a shunt in his head and my mother had a miscarriage in the late 60's.  My older brother had developmental problems as a child.  So far I've been healthy; but I'm still relatively young.  Who knows what I might develop. Or one of my siblings.  We're all close in age (Irish Catholic, natch).  So it's more shit to worry about.  Out of all the dozens (make that hundreds) of military bases in the United States, Camp LeJeune would be the one, right?  And one of the most troubling questions that arises is: why weren't we informed?  1987 is a long time ago now.  You think the Marine Corps. or The Navy or the United States Government might've let us know that we were exposed to this shit.  You know, a little heads up to be on the lookout for, oh, I don't know...tumors and stuff.  Maybe those chemicals made me gay.  Hey, now there's a lawsuit!  What a headline!

                                                        DRY CLEANING TURNS MALE CHILD HOMOSEXUAL!

No, the thing at Camp LeJeune that more than likely made me gay, was all the HOT young Marines parading around in bathing suits:

​Now...Marine Life Guard at Onslow Beach

No one in my family was ever a huge water drinker.  But remember back in the day when you'd get a big glass of water, automatically, at a restaurant?  And you'd sip at it because it was there?  And we didn't do the Kool-Aid thing much either, which would've required base water.  No, as kids we sucked down soda like there was no tomorrow.  Coca-Cola, Seven-Up, Pepsi, Sprite, Orange Crush, Fanta...and in the South...tons of Dr. Pepper.  
​Could Dr. Pepper have spared me and my family?

Hmmmm...that's a military man, quite possibly Marine Corps.  And it says right there it's "Good for Life!"
I'm just gonna take this sign as a sign Universe and say a little prayer at 10, 2 and 4!
We were in the water every day.  Perhaps the curative powers of ocean water helped us.  Were we under the benevolent aegis of Poseidon?  The magical protection of the Nereids--who could control the waters?
So, one of the co-hosts of the infomercial about Camp LeJeune was a woman who I've seen on a lot of these lawsuit informercial things.  Her name is Wendy Walsh.  I find her incredibly genuine and well spoken.  Like, if I were to go to court, I'd want her to be my lawyer.  However, she isn't a lawyer, she's a doctor.  She was sexually harassed by Bill O'Reilly, allegedly.  I believe her.  
​Anyways, here she is in the Johnson and Johnson baby powder lawsuit clip:

I want to post some pix of us back in the day, with some more happier associations.  Of course, with this news of a toxic apocalypse at the base, my memories of these salad days will be forever altered...

I will post the family pix at LeJeune in a separate blog.

CFR July 19, 2022

Now, I love the fucking "F word" as much as the next guy.  I don't say it a lot; but I do use it a lot in my writing.  More than I might've thought.  The fuck count in my first novel was pretty high. I didn't plan it that way. I used the word 114 times over the course of roughly 500 pages.  That's kind of a lot; but nowhere near as much as say, the movie The Wolf of Wall Street that uses the word 506 times.  Apparently a record.  In my second book, which features the same characters, I purposely reined in the "fucks."  I just kinda thought, fuckin' enough with the fuckin' fucks.
The word is so overused now that it's lost a lot of its power.  Certainly its power to shock,  And that's a shame.  Well, I think it's a shame.  It's a word that needs to be kept in check, I feel, particularly during conversation.  If you're dropping the F bomb all the time you sort of run out of metaphorical ammunition.  The F word coming out of the mouth of someone who almost never uses it, is really the only time it packs a punch anymore.  I mean, inveterate users of the F word only have one other choice: the "C" word.  But the "C" word is not as all purpose as the F word.  The C word really can't be used as a verb, for example.  Fuck, on the other hand, lends itself to any grammatical situation.  It's a verb, a noun, an adjective, etc.
So, I've been watching Only Murders in the Building.  I love it!  It's witty, sophisticated, whimsical, imaginative and charming.  Which is why it doesn't need to use "fuck" in the dialogue; which it does, fairly often.  I mean, it doesn't really need to use the word at all.  "Fuck" seems out of place coming out of the character's mouths.  Even the edgy, angry at the world Mabel character.  I mean, why are they using it so often?  They don't have to.  I mean, if they want the characters to swear, why not have them come up with creative, witty, whimsical variations?  Like "fuckerini" which is in the play I'm doing right now (Neil Simon).  It would be way funnier and in tune with the show's tone.  Might I suggest: Fuggaboo-boo, fudge it, fuckadelic, fuckawalladingding, fuckalicious, etc.  It could become a running joke on the show.  Come on Steve Martin you can do better than that.  I mean, you already have one of the best fuck scenes on film.  Let me rephrase that: you appear in one of the best movie scenes to feature the word "fuck."

Now see, that's great; because it's a comedic bit that points up the F word's power.  When this movie came out, the scene kind of shocked people.  Probably more because the word was coming out of wild and crazy guy Steve's mouth; a gentleman not known for his use of the word.
I remember seeing Heathers in 1989 at the movies.  I was twenty-three or so.  So, I'd certainly heard the word fuck plenty of times.  But I vividly recall being shocked by that movie's use of the F word; because here they were putting the by then prosaic swear into rather baroque exclamations coming out of the mouths of prom queens.  "Fuck me getnly with a chainsaw!" comes to mind.  See, it is only creativity which can now restore the F word's impact.

I can't stand it when I go to a movie, usually something that's "edgy" or trying too hard to be "edgy," and the F word comes flying at me every two minutes or so.  Having characters say "fuck" all the time is simply the mark of poor screenwriting.  It's lazy.  It's a fall-back attempt to make material seem hard-boiled.  British crime movies are particularly guilty of this.  A lot of crime movies are.  And two extremely talented filmmakers come to mind.  Scorsese and Tarantino.  They've set records for using "fuck."  But did they really need to?  I mean, do Italians really say "fuck" that much?  I went to a high school that was like three-quarters Italian and I don't recall an inordinate amount of "fucks" from my classmates, so to speak.  As a matter of fact, most of the Italian boys were soft-spoken and polite.  It was the Irish boys who it seemed to me were always the ones with a ready "fuck" on the tips of their tongues.
So, here's a clip somebody put together of what they feel are Hollywood's best "fuck you" moments.  Taken out of context, they quickly become monotonous.  And I think it points up my idea that the use of the word "fuck" in any artistic context, now requires more thought and creativity as to its use.  Fuckin' A, baby!

Also, I think The Best Fuck You award-winner is handily, hands-down: Mr. Al Pacino.
Thank you and..
CFR 7/11/22

Addendum: So, I just watched Season 2 Episode 4 of  Only Murders... and Nathan Lane gave an F-word laden speech to Martin Short and I have to say, it was some first class fuckery.  Keep it up OMITB!

Well, we were supposed to start blocking Act 2 of Rumors today; but Mr. Covid had other ideas.  Several cast members have tested positive, so rehearsals for this week have been cancelled.  Yesterday, I swung by CVS and bought an at- home Covid test, which cost some twenty plus bucks.  Now, I thought these things were supposed to be free.  I was told to keep my receipt, as my insurance carrier may reimburse.

Don't you just love the picture on the box?  "Gee Grandpa, do you think I'll ever catch a life threatening respiratory disease?....Grandpa?  Grandpa?  Grandpa...why didn't your generation do anything to protect the environment?  Grandpa, you need to trim your nose hair..."
So reassuring!
Anyways...see how it says "EASY" on the box?  Well, it's not really that easy.  I was put in mind of the first at home pregnancy tests that came with beakers and a Bunsen burner.  However, according to Quick Vue's precise directions, my test was clearly negative.  Which is great.  I was almost certain it wouldn't be, 'cuz that's just my luck.  But by this point in my life, I've had so many preventative inoculations and vaccinations and prophylaxes pumped into my body I could probably go wander through the Ebola hot zone and come out relatively unscathed on the other side.
Rumors is not a musical.  However, I have been, at this point, in my fair share.  My first was a little show called The Green Room.  This was about twenty years ago (or more!).  Here's a number, kids!  I'm in the orange shirt:

This is the little show that could.  And I can say I was in the friggin' workshop production.  So here's the skinny...
It was around the turn of the last millennium, '99-2000 and The Off Hollywood Theater Company was having its heyday; although, at the time the company was not aware it was their heyday.  So, one day, the new boyfriend of one of the founders of the company, a young man named Chuck Pelletier, came to some of us and said: "My friend wrote a short story and I want to turn it into a musical.  Do you want to be in it?"  I raised an eyebrow.  Why was he asking me?  I wasn't exactly known for my singing.  Had he heard me sing?  Was he offering the part to me because he felt he had to or did he feel I would be up to the challenge?  I wasn't sure; but I said "yes."  I find you almost never regret saying "yes" but you often regret saying "no." Know what I mean?
So, he goes and finishes the thing and comes back to us with this short musical show about four college friends, all acting majors, on the verge of graduation.  They hang out in the school's drama department "green room." There, they try and finish papers, goof around, fall in love and wonder about their futures.  There's no plot really.  I thought the book needed a little work; but the songs.  The songs!  The songs, I thought, were incredible.  Like just not Broadway good; but Sondheim good.
So Chuck proceeds to put us through our paces.  He brooked no nonsense.  I barely knew him but got to know him pretty quick.  He had a great sense of humor and was a very "nice guy."  But when it came to the music, he was more serious than Beethoven.  Bordering on dictatorial (because perhaps he had to with at least two non-singers in his cast) he dropped us into complicated musical arrangements, that I, for one, wasn't sure we could pull off.  But I think we did.
​Here's another number from the show with the original cast:

So, The Green Room still trods the boards fairly regularly.  I have not seen it's current incarnation but the two songs I've featured here are still in the show with little to no changes.  Apparently, the show is quite popular with small theatrical groups and schools.  The simplicity of the show (one set, four characters) lends itself to this popularity.  But I think it's the amazing songs that are what keep this show alive.  I am certain this show is going have a break-through.  Like a big one.  And it deserves it.  And I'm so glad I said "yes" those twenty odd years ago; because I feel like I had a small part in bringing something--a real piece of ART--to life.
I hope some theatrical producer is out there reading this.  Anyone but Scott "String Cheese Now!!!" R.  Or how about Mr. String Cheese.  If anything, he knows a good thing when he sees it!

​CFR 7/722