Monday, February 7, 2011
"What a rush!"
"Where are we going with this?" asks my wife. Glad you asked, thank you. It was your comment, dear wife, regarding the fact that the aforementioned For Colored Girls was getting bad reviews, mostly from male viewers. This, of course, ties into my constant horror of watching couples fight over movie choices. The poor female enters the establishment, hoping that her alpha-male companion will not protest too much over her desire to see Letters To Juliet. As in most cases, this does not go unnoticed. "I don't wanna watch any CHICK flick!" tattooed grease monkey screams. Being sensitive to the hidden pain of the poor lady, her eyes moistening, but mouth silent for fear of the belt...yours truly, the ever constant smart ass, interjects to the mini gorilla male, "Oh, then you want to see a DICK flick." This results in a moment of stunned silence, a slight look of confusion or possible homicidal anger from aforementioned gorilla, and a faint flicker of eye contact from the silent female; a glimmer of hope that her father confessor has understood her inner turmoil. "Can this elderly man understand my needs and not be an interior decorator?" "Yes, my child," I say to her silently, letting her kiss my ring. "Men, they are a useless bunch. Except for one obvious appendage, what do women see in them? I understand, my child. I am a lesbian."
So for those of you who worship at the small statue of Schwarzenegger and Stallone; those of you who suck at the vulva of Van Damme; nibble at the nob of Norris; and measure your manliness in the magnificence of your Magnum: I say in the ancient Chinese wisdom of Yoda and Pat Morita, "Fung Goo." You are not worthy to be in the shadow of the lady you walk with.
What is it with these men? Why in the hell would any man, after a hard day rotating tires, laying linoleum or putting some unwanted person in cement, feel the urge to relax with a cacophony of greased up, hyper-steroided, badly tattooed, alpha-males, shoving sawed-off shotguns down the throats of various ethnic groups, while smashing their 4 wheeled trucks through plated glass windows? Doesn't any man enjoy seeing a beautiful woman who is not wrapped around a strip pole or relating to another human being without a handgun punctuating the conversation? Call me old-fashioned, but I can still enjoy a non-high octane moment with a glint of leg.
Now where was I?
Oh yes. In 1976 I had the opportunity to produce a play of mine called Casanova's Lips. How did this come about? Well, it's a kind of funny story and it begins this way...