Can of Spiders

I know, right?

Plot

 

    DJ Doctor Love is doing his weekly Saturday night show where he tries his best to mend the broken hearts of San Diego in the space of a half hour. This particular night, however, Lady Love has been quite fickle with the townspeople and they have called in with more problems than usual.

 

Cast (in order of appearance, with descs and wardrobe notes)

 

The Dancers [TD] – flirty multicolor mimes. Four girls, go-go style, in tie-dye shirts and black micro miniskirts. Bare feet or rainbow socks. (OPTIONAL: neon tights or leggings)

 

Dr. Elovee Love [D] – DJ. Disco Stu-style guy with more suavity. Black afro, bright 70’s shirt and bell-bottoms. Disco shoes or loafers. (OPTIONAL: sunglasses, aviators)

 

The Marias [TM] – Equivalent of greek chorus. Expressive and beautiful. Three girls, Supremes style singers. Black dresses, black high heels, flashy jewelry. (OPTIONAL, BUT HIGHLY RECOMMENDED: strapless dresses)

 

Caller 1[C1] – Young yuppie girl, whiny stereotypical teenager. Pastel polo, tennis skirt, white keds or tennis shoes, silver jewelry.

 

Caller 2 [C2] – Jock. Big, brawny, handsome, but tragically stupid. Sports jersey (soccer, football, baseball, etc.) and jeans and sneakers. Holds or wears appropriate sports prop. (soccer ball, helmet, etc.)

 

Paquito and the Deftones – Latin fusion-rock band. Band colors are purple and green.

 

Cheito the Bass Player [Ch] – Strong and silent. Shy, average guy. Wears tight jeans, converse, and a t-shirt that reads “Cheito” on the front and “Deftone” on the back. Sunglasses.

 

Paquito the front man [P] – Cute and cocky. Smiles a lot and leans back in his chair. Avg jeans, wild colored sneakers, and tee with “Paquito” on the front and “Goya” on the back.

 

Wiso the drummer [W] – Nihilistic, withdrawn. Loose jeans, black sneakers, sunglasses, and tee with “Wiso” on the front and “Deftone” on the back.

 

Martin [M] – A werewolf. Red shirt, blue jacket or over shirt, black jeans, black sneakers. Bushy or messy beard, or a hairy face.

 

Caller 3 [C3] – Asian nerd. White button-down w/breast pocket and short sleeves, black pants w/suspenders, and loafers. (OPTIONAL: pocket protector)

 

Props

 

Four microphones with stands: two on stage left (on table for Dr. Love), stage right (for callers) , and center stage (for The Marias). On stage left, one table (long or round) with three chairs. Cell phone for callers. Backstage mic optional. Sports prop for jock caller, sunglasses for girl caller and band. Headphones for Dr. Love.

 

 

 

Act I, Scene I

 

(Darkness.

Track 1, “Break on Through” begins to play. The lights, psychedelic and dim, come on.

The dancers stand center stage. They pose in sync with the xylophone.

When the bass begins, they dance.

Dr. Love comes in combing his afro.

He stops in front of Girl #1. She swoons.

As he walks over to Girl #2, Girl #1 does the hustle.

He pops his collar, Girl #2 swoons and does the same.

He walks over to the last two girls and turns, as they lean on either of his shoulders.

He shrugs them off and walks to his table and three chairs. He sits in the middle chair and puts on his headphones. As The Dancers walk out through stage right, The Marias come in single file through stage left as the music is fading.

They stand center stage. )

 

(deep voice)

YOU ARE LISTENING TO…

 

TM: ILOV FM Radio…

 

D: (to The Marias) Thank you, ladies. (into the mic) Good evening, San Diego, as of seven o’clock on a balmy summer night, you are being lulled by the dulcet tones on my lovely in-house songstresses, The Marias. This here is Doc Elovee Love, coming to ya live on ILOV FM, and boy, do we have a swinging show for all you hep cats and hep kitties. Later tonight, we have Puerto Rico’s own Paquito and the Deftones, promoting their new album, Si es Goya, tiene que ser bueno.

 

(Everybody backstage cheers.)

 

D: As for now, I will be taking calls from my wonderful audience. Come on, San Diego; tell the Doctor where it hurts.

 

TM: Ring, ring! Someone’s callin’ you, Doc!

 

(Caller 1 enters and stands on stage right)

 

C1: Yeah, Doctor? My name is Joe and I have a question.

D: Go ahead, Joe.

C1: Well, Doc, there’s this new girl I just met…

D: So far, so good.

C1: And she’s the most prettiest girl I’ve ever sawed. So I tried flirting with her, but she said she doesn’t like football players. (incredulous) I mean, what’s the deal with that? She says it’s cause we’re tectonic, or something.

 

D: Don’t you mean moronic?

 

TM: (to the tune of “Hit the Road, Jack”) Read a book, Joe, because you’re so dumb, so dumb, so dumb, so dumb, so dumb. Read a book, Joe, because you’re so dumb, baby…

 

C1: Yeah, that. So I asked her out and she turned me down, on account of she likes Plat-o and not John Madden. She even said I’m an immigrant, Doc! What should I do??

D: I think she meant ignorant, but at any cost, Joey-boy, you should first learn how to read. If that doesn’t work out, then this is probably not the girl for you. My advice is to find a girl who’s pretty and not much else.

 

C1: Yeah, that sounds like my type. (happy) Thanks, Doc!

D: You stay fly, guy. Next caller.

 

(C1 leaves and C2 enters through the same way.  She sighs a lot and checks her nails while talking with the Doc on a cell phone.)

 

C2: (sad) Good evening, Doctor.

D: Back at ya, pretty thing. Care to tell me what brings your sweet voice to my eardrums?

C2: (sighs) I’m depressed.

 

(everybody backstage): AWWWWW…

 

D: But why? You sound like a swinging chick…

C2: None of the other guys seem to think the same way. All of my friends already have boyfriends. (angry) I’m sick of being the third wheel! (distressed) How am I ever gonna shed the Old Maid syndrome?

 

D: Well, pretty girl, you have something those other girls don’t have: soul. Besides, having a boyfriend isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Don’t waste life on the living, sweetheart.

C2: (angry) But I want a boyfriend!

 

TM: (to the tune of “At Last”) Young girl, your love will come along…

 

D: In any case, there’s a time and a place for everything, sweetness, and it’s called “college.” Remember, the latest bloomer is always the most fly. Besides, if you’re already taken, what are you gonna do when a better make and model comes along?

C2: (sarcastic) Thanks, Doctor. That was SOME help.

D: (shrugs) Anything for a damsel in distress.

 

(C2 exits.)

 

D: (excited) San Diego, you are in for a delish dish of music. Here in our studio we have the Boricua band Paquito and the Deftones, who will be answering questions for our lovely crowd tonight.

 

(Track 2, “Baby, Call on me” begins to play.

When the music starts, Girl #4 comes in leading the pack. She gets to center stage and moves to right front stage. Cheito enters with his arm around Girl #3’s waist. Paquito is behind him, with Girl #1, and Wiso is last with Girl #2.

They walk to the front of the stage and all turn at the same time.

They pose.

The Dancers exit after passing by Dr. Love’s table and giving The Marias the evil eye.

The band dances a bit and when the lyrics start, the music fades out.

Paquito and Wiso sit next to of Dr. Love. Bass stands behind them.)

 

D: (shaking hands) Welcome, boys. Glad to have you here on this beautiful evening.

P: We’re glad to be here, Doc. We listen to your show every week.

D: Ah, fans, I see.

P: Yep. As a matter of fact, some of the guys in the band have a few questions. Do you mind?

D: Not at all. Fire away, boys.

 

(Cheito comes forward and speaks into the mic)

Ch: Um, yeah, Doc. Is there any way I can get (takes off sunglasses) Maria (winks at her) #2’s phone number?

 

Marias #1 &3: (simultaneously, shocked, and jealous) It’s always her!

 

D: That would be a resounding no, my friend.

 

Maria #2: (to the tune of “Jenny”) 867-5309. (flirty) Why don’t you call for a good time?

Ch: You bet!

 

(D looks at Maria #2, slightly mad. She shrugs and blows Cheito a kiss. He catches it and puts it in his pocket. All the while, they are being watched by Paquito. Wiso has fallen asleep.)

 

P: (dismissive) Anyway, Doctor, we’re just here to promote our newest album and our worldwide Goya tour.

D: (to Paquito) Good Luck with that, boys. (into the mic) And remember, you too can buy a (everybody makes spanking motions, even the sleeping Wiso) spanking new copy of Paquito and the Deftones’ new CD, Si es Goya, tiene que ser bueno hitting stands next week. Let’s go on to our next caller. Martin, you are on the air.

 

(Martin enters and stands with his back to the audience at stage right)

 

M: Doctor? I have a problem.

D: Go on.

M: (mumbling) I’m a werewolf.

D: Come again?

M: (turns and screams) I’m a WEREWOLF!

 

TM: (scream)

Ch: (faints)

 

(Wiso wakes and glances back at the unconscious Cheito, shrugs and goes back to sleep.)

 

M: You know, full moon, hairy face, bad breath, the whole nine yards.

D: Wow. That IS a problem.

M: You’re telling me. I can’t ever seem to get a date. It’s driving me crazy.

 

D: (sarcastic) It MIGHT have something to do with the fact that you’re a monster, but I’m just taking a wild guess.

M: Ha-ha, Doc. I’m serious. How can I get a girl that doesn’t run away when I try to bite her?

 

D: Well, first I would advise you (obvious) not to try and bite her. Secondly, find a girl who like you for who you are. Seeing as you change who you are on the outside every full moon, if she likes what’s on the inside, then you’re solid.

M: Thanks, Doc.

D: Thanks to you, my furry friend. Next caller.

 

(Martin exits, C3 enters.)

 

C3: (nerdy) Yeah, this one is for the band.

P: We’re listening.

C3: Why are you guys so cool?

 

P: (cocky) Well, caller, that would be because we are Puerto Rican, and nothing can ever top that.

(Everybody, even the unconscious Bass claps in time with TM)

 

TM: (singing) Oye como va, mi ritmo, bueno pa gozar, mulato.

 

C3: Oh.

P: Satisfied?

C3: Not really.

P: (giving up) Eh, the truth never satisfies.

C3: Thanks, guys.

P: Anytime.

 

(C3 exits.)

 

D: Wow, Paquito, I am impressed.

P: What can I say? We are so fly we should have wings.

 

 

W:(annoyed) Mano, vámonos, que yo estoy monchoso.

P: Dame un break.

W: (stands up, angry) Tipo, perNIL tengo HAMBRE…

(Cheito gets up.)

Ch: Pernil?

 

(everybody backstage peeks out)

DóNDE??

 

P: Chico, espera, que ya termino.

W: (angry) Mano, olvídate de tí. Yo me voy.

(Wiso exits. Cheito looks after Wiso,  shrugs and leaves.)

 

P: (to D) We need to be leaving now. Wiso’s mother is making pernil.

D: (shaking hands) Pork waits for no one, boys. Be safe, stay fly.

P: That won’t bee too hard. Night, Doc.

 

(P exits and takes Maria #2 with him.)

 

D: (to Maria) Pa dónde tu vas?

M2: (flirty, defiant) Ya yo ponché.

(D holds up his hands questioningly. He looks mildly annoyed. They leave. D shakes his head slowly.)

 

D: (low-impact) Some cat once said that parting was such sweet sorrow, and I can’t help but agree with him. That’s all the time we have for tonight, San Diego, but until next time: live well, love well, and for heaven’s sake, don’t forget to eat well. I’m Doctor Elovee Love, last on your dial, but first in your heart. Stay fly.

 

TM: (singing) ILOV FM radio…

 

(Curtians Close)

Copyright, Creative COmmons Share-Alike License. 2007.

Feel free to share and distribute, but don't sell or change it, and always give me credit.

Four from long ago.

===============

Canción para Aracné

 

Aquella mujer le dicen

Araña

Con sus greñas castañas

Y sus mñas tejidas

Agujas e hilo en manos torcidas

Aquella mujer le llaman

Araña

Araña castaña de mañas extrañas

Aracné

 

Carta de amor a un comunista (Fidel dice)

 

Fidel dice que el amor cobra impuestos, querido

Pero, ¿cómo pudiera ésto ser verdad?

Fidel dice que hasta el presidente fuma mis cigarros

Que los tiene escondiditos en su oficina

En una caja fuerte detrás del cuadro de Washington.

Fidel dice que no está muerto, pero

¿Cómo le puedo creerle

las palabras a un ciego?

Si por los ojos se notan

Las infidelidades que

Cometimos contra la verdad.

Fidel dice que todo hombre

Merece un buen whisky

Después de una cena de arroz

Y habichuelas negras.

Fidel dice que la vida es una preparación para la verdad,

Una muerte solitaria.

Fidel dice que hasta el amor cobra impuestos, querido

Pero, ¿cómo ésto pudiera ser verdad?

Fidel dice que la sinceridad es

Un precio mínimo

Para pagar por ser el dueño de tus lunes.

Fidel dice que no hay uso con preocuparse con el futuro

Porque el presente está justamente vivido.

Fidel dice que hasta el amor cobra impuestos, querido

Pero...

¿Cómo ésto pudiera ser la verdad?

Yo, felicidad y una hormiga

 

Contemplando tus ojos

De chocolate con caramelo

Y tus rizos de brea y humo,

Me di cuenta que sería feliz

Si pudiera vivir en tu pecho.

Quisiera ser yo una hormiga

Para balancearme en las colinas de tus pómulos

Y colgar una hamaca entre dos pestañas rizadas;

Para besar tus labios con cada paso de mis pies

Y vivir detrás de tu oreja.

Quisiera ser una hormiga

Para dormir encima de tus clavículas

Y sentir el latido de tu corazón,

Hasta cuando tu voz es ausente.

Quisiera ser una hormiga

Para que cuando te olvides de mí

Puedo ser feliz de que seguramente

Fue debido a mi tamaño

Y no a tu opinión de mí.

 

Nunca basta

 

Aunque sostenga mis pómulos

Con lujuria indentada

El rojo de mi rubor nunca basta.

Aunque adorne mis costados

Con encajes y bordados

La dulzura de mi pudor nunca basta.

Aunque suavize mis labios

Con mil halagos y agravios

La sinceridad de mi sudor nunca basta.

Y si encojo mi cintura

Con mil dietas y pinturas

La inocencia de mi rencor nunca basta.

Fiel artista, fiel pintor,

¿Por qué cambias la obr

Para no alterar el cuadro?

Si por frasco sin igual

Me llevas a algún mol

Para escoger otro envase.

Fiel poeta, escultor,

¿Por qué el espejo no muestra mentiras?

¿Por qué esta cintura no basta

y estas caderas me sobran?

¿Por qué me tendrás si no te agradan?

Es que si mi ser fuera perfecto,

De pies a cabeza en todos aspectos,

La fieldad de mi amor por tí

Nunca te basta.

You'll have to excuse the lack of spanish grammar, as my new comp is unable to do such things. Ah, advances in modern technology, I bite my thumb at thee.

What is the meaning behind your birth name?
Submitted by turtlegod.

My given name is Alexandra.

 

I share it with the Greek prophet Alexandra, more commonly known as Cassandra, who spent a night in Apollo's temple. The snakes licked her ears clean, and because of this, she was able to forsee the future. Apollo fell in love with her, but she didn't love him back, and he placed a curse on her to prevent everybody from believing her prophecies.

There were many Alexanders in Czar Nicholas II's family, and it is from his maternal grandmother, Maria Alexandrovna of Heese-Darmstadt, that I take my name.

 

My grandmother nicknamed me Araña, the Spanish word for "spider."

 

I have since used it as an artistic pseudonym, and its roots are also found in Greek mythology.

Arachne was a master weaver in Athens, and she was so proud of her work that she boasted that her weaving was better than that of the goddess Athena. Athena transforms into an old lady and warns Arachne to respect the deities, but Arachne, true to mythological form, not only challenges the goddess herself to a weaving contest, she weaves a tapestry of the twenty-one episodes of the gods' infidelities. In one telling of the myth, Arachne hangs herself when she realizes her mistake. In others, Athena punishes the foolish girl by turning her into a spider.

 

Araña is also the alter ego of Anya Sofia Corazon, Marvel's latina female Spider-Woman.

 

Show us an awesome mustache.
Submitted by Soup.

In honor of the upcoming Olympics, what could you win a gold medal in?
Submitted by TheFiercestCalm.

I think I would win an Olympic medal in awesomeness.

 

I don't know if any of you on the big bad internetz know this, but I am the reason why Saturn is still in one piece.

 

A couple of years ago, several races of aliens threatened the civilization on Saturn. I had been going to Saturn almost every weekend for about a year in my friend's minivan and already I had built a nice little gas lake-front house and a reputation to go with it.

Around the first year anniversary of my first visit to one of the outer planets, we were visited by several groups of malevolent aliens who wanted to get rid of my nice little weekend home and the gas lake that was in front of it. Now, me and my other human friends love the tanning on Saturn. It's nice and cool, and it's much too far away from the sun that the UV doesn't reach you as fast as it does on Earth. I was not about to let this happen.

 

And so, a rubber band, two glow sticks, an out-of-tune Fender guitar, and seven shorn sheep later those fuckers were back on their home planet with a few sore appendages.

 

That's pretty damn awesome.

I've got a podcast, na na-na- na-na nahhhh.

*dances around*

 

thepoetspassage.libsyn.com

 

I'm still at home, and I'm still editing last night's audio.

I got a sweet surprise and am still reeling from the memory of it.

 

Can't wait.

ugh.

 

Just got back home and finished editing a couple of episodes for the podcast, and now I'm freaking dying because I am extreeeemely tired.

I also have no new anything for poetry night, which means that I have to stop listening to Timothy Francine Henson and start writing.

I also have to shower.

Bad.

It is currently one oh seven, and I have counted the blog entries I'm supposed to have to the ones I actually do, and have come up short. As of July second, I am supposed (emphasis on the word "supposed") to have ten blog entries, and including this one, I have seven.

And so, in order to rectify this amazing mistake, I am going to...

 

rectify.. it.

 

Yes.

 

Moving on.

 

Let me give you a slice of my life.

(Hence the cunningly and cleverly crafted title of the entry.)

I am seventeen.

I am currently enjoying what is left of my summer vacation and what is starting to become a very enjoyable indie rom-com in which I am currently the co-star.

I'm the host/editor/bumbling creative breeze behind The Poet's Passage Podcast. If it's on the internetz, that's my fault. I am very sorry.

And I am in Puerto Rico.

 

Sure, yuk it up. You'll laugh now because I'm on a ridiculously small island that has a ridiculously high humidity percentage, but when hell freezes over and global warming turns the Arctic Sea into a hot tub, I'll be wearing a wool sweater and going "What?!!?!?! Betch."

Let's see. Most people I meet consider me to be a poet, but I prefer to be labeled as "stable."

My hands don't like being still, and my ears love to hear new and strange things.

 

My motto has always been : If you love it, set it on fire and then film it and frame the cat.

(I'll get you, cats.)