Post by Alice Wilde on Dec 22, 2006 19:27:59 GMT -5
WHAT CHILD IS THIS?
A 667 Holiday Miracl... I mean, of course, Musical.
Author’s Notes:
Hey, 667. I started this Tuesday afternoon, as another 667!dysfunctionalfamilies fiction. I had only gotten through the first section when I hit that wall of writer’s block and began writing terrible, terrible poetry on how I knew the story was supposed to go. Combined with my eggnog-addled brain and the off-Broadway musical Little Shop ofmonkeys Horrors, I had the idea that I was not so much writing terrible, terrible poetry to go along with a terrible, terrible story as writing a terrible, terrible, seriously-worse-than-that-play-you-did-in-fourth-grade-how-lame-was-that? off-Broadway musical.
Now, at first, I thought this would be a good thing. It is the holidays. Every thing on television around the holidays is a musical...why shouldn’t this be transferred into internet fiction? Yes, I know you cannot hear the songs...but you can read the lyrics, just as I was recently forced to do when I discovered the movie musical RENT was not available on Showtime but on the Starz network.
(A side-note for those who have seen RENT: (Please cover your eyes, those who have not, the next statement will contain spoilers) Oh my God, Angel dies? Angel dies? He...She...was the coolest character ever. In honor of Angel, I plan on moving to and opening up a restaurant in Santa Fe. It will be called Alice’s Restaurant.)
However, my creation, much like Audrey II in LSO(W)H, soon grew to mammoth proportions. Writing sixteen typed pages, no matter the amount of space in between the words, in three days is not healthy. Not to mention, it was and still is hard to read, hard to follow, and hard to concentrate on when listening to a particularly hilarious free audiobook.
Had I been a decent person, I would have thrown out this musical. No sane person should or would ever want to read this. It is long. It is obnoxious. It implies relationships between people who, at best, speak rarely. And there is no cameo by myself.
Some other reasons why you should not read this:
-Its themes glorify alcohol and tarnishes the notion that family is more important than friends.
-I have, for some reason, assigned people on to voice parts of my choosing, not on parts that would actually suit their voice. Also, I have made the heroine (J) a non-soprano and the hero (Sam) a non-tenor, something that, in musicals, should be punished by death. After all, how can the heroine not hit the high F after the first act? It the only reason why I attend said plays set to music.
-All the “songs” are original, with the exception of the Avenue Q number “If You Were Gay...”. I have included it because I felt like it.
-I have included a lengthy introduction, hoping to push the musical from sixteen pages to seventeen, as I believe sixteen to be an evil number and my last play was sixteen pages so I’m trying to get out of that habit.
If you are one of the loyal people who have read through this and intend to read on, I thank you. You will be disappointed. But at least you’ll get away from your family for a few hours. This “musical” is split into scenes. You are encouraged to take a break after each scene and meditate on how awful what you just read was.
Happy Holidays.
Love,
Alice
Song list
“Hush Baby” (Pandora, soprano)
“Oh 667" (J, contralto)
“But I Hate You!” (M, J, feuding contralto)
“Hey J” (Gigi, soprano, Shruti, mezzo-soprano, M, contralto, Akbar, tenor, PJ, bass)
“The Second Phone Call” (Pandora, soprano, Sam, baritone)
“If You Were Gay...”* (J, contralto)
“Sam’s Confession” (Sam, baritone, J contralto)
“Parenting Stinks” (J’s father, bass, J’s mother, contralto)
“Now I Know” (J, contralto)
“End Poem To Be Read Without Musical Accompaniment
(Subtitled: And probably by Gregory Peck provided, of course, that he isn’t dead. Yet.)” (Gregory Peck, yummy)
What child is this?
Pandora stood outside the house, cold and frustrated with the bundle in her hand. All day she had walked, searching for the home of a girl she’d never met before. And this thing hardly helped... She resisted the temptation to shake the bundle.
The path to the front door was made of cobblestone and hurt when sat down upon. Darkness and holly bushes surrounded her. The neighbors’ homes were lit with Christmas lights...Of course this would be her house. She didn’t celebrate Christmas.
Inside the bundle, a baby began to squall.
“Shush!” Pandora cried, picking the child up.
“I’ve tried all the lullabies
To soothe your tiny cries
Before mommy’s brain turns to mush...
Baby baby won’t you hush?
I don’t know what I’m doing
I should have stopped before screwing
I guess your mommy’s just a lush...
Hush, baby, hush.
I’m sorry that your daddy’s not here
Or that I soon won’t be near
You won’t miss us all that much...
Hush, baby, hush.
Baby, don’t you see
Here you’ll be more happy
Have a family
She’s the best of the online VFD---”
The door opened. A bespeckled teenage girl rolled her eyes and yelled into the night “Could you please keep that kid down, I’m trying to watch The Office—Pandora?” Light poured from behind her as the girl left the door and went to her e-friend.
“Hey, J,” Pandora sighed. The child wept still. Pandora cradled it, then reached into the pocket of her overcoat and pulled out a pacifier.
The girl, J,’s mouth fell open. “What’re you...how’d you...Whose is...?”
The baby grabbed for the pacifier, smiling and shutting up. Pandora grinned it yet looked up at J, frowning. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. Um...Well, this is a very long story but... this” She held up the child. “...is mine. However, I can’t raise him. I mean, I’m in my second year of college. I don’t even know what I’m majoring in yet!”
Pandora’s teeth chattered, but she continued. “You’re the closest person I know. Geographically. I’m going to go home for Christmas and tell my parents. We’re going to think of something. I’ll be back. Could...could you watch him?”
J blinked. “Uh...”
Pandora thrust the baby in her arms. “Thank you.” She whispered and began to walk away, calling things backed to the stunned teenager. “Um, there are some baby things on the porch. It’ll be a few days...I’ll call you.”
Ten thousand questions ran through J’s head. Who was the father of the child she held? What was going to happen to it? Why was she suddenly wrapped into this mess? Just a few minutes ago she been watching what’s-his-name stealing casino chips...Wait.
“What’s its name?” J shouted.
But Pandora was gone.
J glanced down at the baby. “Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.” She said, falling to her knees. The baby clapped his hands. Shocked, J rose. She’d almost endangered a child! Wasn’t that illegal or something?
The baby laughed, pacifier falling out of his mouth.
“You like that?” J asked. “Really?”
The baby laughed harder then began to tear at the blue blanket in which he was wrapped.
“Well, I know you’re a boy.” J bit her lip. “Your mommy never told me your name. I’m going to call you Dizzy.”
J stood in her doorway for a moment.
“Or Michael.” She corrected. “Yeah, I’m going to call you Michael.”
Another moment passed.
“My parents are going to salsa.”
- - - - -
J’s parents did not ‘salsa’ but were quite unnerved when they saw their daughter bringing a baby inside their home.
“What will the family think?” J’s mother moaned. “I mean, they’ll be coming here for Hanukkah in just a few days and here you are, holding a baby.”
“You should have told us you were pregnant.” Her father shook his head. “We could have married you off.”
“He’s not mine.” J said. “He’s a friend’s.”
“Lying to us isn’t going to help.” Her mother stood up, tears in her eyes, voice cracking. “J, how did this happen? We would have put you on the pill...Oh God, my daughter is a wh---”
J turned her back to her parents for a moment, picking up a novelty brandy snifter printed with the words “In case of tired plot device, have parents become alcoholics”. This was certainly the case.
After fixing them several brandies, J calmed her parents down and convinced them to pull out her old baby things. Together they put together a suitable nursery in the guest bedroom at which point J’s parents passed out.
“Great.” J told Michael. “Now all I have to do is keep them drunk until Christmas. Or whenever your mom gets back.”
Michael squirmed in J’s crib.
“Are you supposed to do that?” She asked. “Oh, I don’t know anything about babies...”
Michael yawned and closed his eyes.
“Oh, sleep huh?” J nodded. “Yeah, you probably could use some shut-eye. I’m going to go downstairs for a little bit.” She eyed the pile of her parents. “They’ll wake up if you need anything...I think. Good night.”
She stood over the crib for a moment, before turning off the lights and exiting. A glowing computer screen awaited her downstairs. Her homepage was the 667 Dark Avenue forum, the website by which she knew Pandora. The forum and the people on it were often able to help her with her problems.
And what a problem this was...
Of course, it was the holidays. J was not the only one with problems. Threads bearing problematic topics ranging from Shruti’s “Re: Five Reasons Why College Sucks” to both Akbar and PJ posts “I Have Nothing To Do Over The Break” and finally M’s “Christmas Is Going To Make Me Kill Myself” and “Hey, Has Anyone Seen BSam?”
J hated to burden them yet knew that alone she was hopeless.
She began to type, reading what she had written aloud.
“Oh my 667,
I know it’s almost eleven
Yet I won’t get a wink of sleep tonight
Pandora’s gone, taken flight
Left me with a bundle of joy
Or whatever you can call a baby boy
Oh my 667,
in the name of bread unleavened
In the name of charity
In the name of VFD
In the name of any thing you hold sacrosanct
In the name of everything I ain’t
Oh my 667,
Or to any god in heaven
What am I going to do?
I’m sorry for turning to you
I’ve eschewed being mild
Isn’t there anyone to help me with this child?”
- - - -.
The next morning, J awoke, face-in-keyboard, to the sound of someone knocking at her door. Yawning, J checked the time. Six-thirty. Who the hell would show up on her doorstep at six-thirty...?
An old friend and member of 667 Dark Avenue, M smiled at her when the door opened. “I’m here to help.”
“But I hate you.” J spat.
The words were automatic. The two had a falling out a year or so back, though neither could accurately remember over what. Some have speculated it was over a man or piece of candy...Either way the hate between them was not lost.
“Where’s the baby?” M’s voice was soft as though volume would set off a physical fight. “You’ve probably been treating it horribly.”
“In the guest room, and he’s been doing wonderful!” J cried. She had not checked on the baby in seven and a half hours, yet took his silence as a sign of well-being. Or that Michael had perished. But she would never admit that to M.
“Do you know what your problem is?” M snapped, climbing the stairs to Michael’s nursery.
“You’re never concerned with what you need
Focusing only on what you desire
This is my advice, take heed
I’m not known for being a liar
This child is not rightfully yours
Yet a parent to it you must play
You asked for help with parenting chores
So here am I to stay.”
“But I hate you.” J said again, the statement having now acquired a lilting rhythm and backed by the sounds of violins and tubas.
“I don’t care
I’ve packed my suitcase
Brought the baby a bear
So shut your face.
Face it, J, I’m moving in
Not for yours, but the baby’s sake
Let the proper child care begin
I’ll give while you take.”
“But I hate you!” J cried, over the roar of the tubas, crescendoing on the ‘you’.
“I thought our friendship was over
You thought the same, too
Don’t come to my home and spout clover!”
M entered the nursery, her singing as soft as possible so not to disturb the baby or J’s hung-over parents. “Did I say that we were friends?
I only wish to be the meet to the babies ends.”
J snarled after her, paying no mind to her dynamics.
“So then it’s settled?
I’m just supposed to sit here, nettled?”
“Yes!” M said, as the instruments stopped. She bent over the crib, looking down at Michael and tickling him awake. The baby burped. M smiled and crossed her hands over her heart. “Oh, what an adorable baby!”
J glared at her former friend, hatred seeping off her skin. “I---”
Michael began to sputter and cry. J’s lips began to twitch in horror but M picked the baby up and rocked him until his tears were gone.
“There, there.” She said, glancing at the corner of her eye at J, a silent ‘I’m-great-with-the-kid-so-let-me-stay-or-he’ll-cry-and-probably-haunt-your-dreams’. It is a common look among dysfunctional e-family members.
J furrowed her brow.
“Oh, fine, you can stay here
Catering to Michael’s whim and mew
I won’t say anything or jeer
But, the fact is, I still hate you.”
“Well, you won’t have to deal with me for long. Other 667ers are coming.” M rocked Michael a little more before placing him back in his crib. She tapped his nose and began to make baby-noises at him.
“What?” J asked.
M faced her, hands on hips. “You asked us for help. We’re giving it.”
J folded her arms. “I would say ‘thank you’ if you were such a fuc--”
M cut her off, gesturing at the child and shaking her head. “You’re welcome.”
- - - - -
A 667 Holiday Miracl... I mean, of course, Musical.
Author’s Notes:
Hey, 667. I started this Tuesday afternoon, as another 667!dysfunctionalfamilies fiction. I had only gotten through the first section when I hit that wall of writer’s block and began writing terrible, terrible poetry on how I knew the story was supposed to go. Combined with my eggnog-addled brain and the off-Broadway musical Little Shop of
Now, at first, I thought this would be a good thing. It is the holidays. Every thing on television around the holidays is a musical...why shouldn’t this be transferred into internet fiction? Yes, I know you cannot hear the songs...but you can read the lyrics, just as I was recently forced to do when I discovered the movie musical RENT was not available on Showtime but on the Starz network.
(A side-note for those who have seen RENT: (Please cover your eyes, those who have not, the next statement will contain spoilers) Oh my God, Angel dies? Angel dies? He...She...was the coolest character ever. In honor of Angel, I plan on moving to and opening up a restaurant in Santa Fe. It will be called Alice’s Restaurant.)
However, my creation, much like Audrey II in LSO(W)H, soon grew to mammoth proportions. Writing sixteen typed pages, no matter the amount of space in between the words, in three days is not healthy. Not to mention, it was and still is hard to read, hard to follow, and hard to concentrate on when listening to a particularly hilarious free audiobook.
Had I been a decent person, I would have thrown out this musical. No sane person should or would ever want to read this. It is long. It is obnoxious. It implies relationships between people who, at best, speak rarely. And there is no cameo by myself.
Some other reasons why you should not read this:
-Its themes glorify alcohol and tarnishes the notion that family is more important than friends.
-I have, for some reason, assigned people on to voice parts of my choosing, not on parts that would actually suit their voice. Also, I have made the heroine (J) a non-soprano and the hero (Sam) a non-tenor, something that, in musicals, should be punished by death. After all, how can the heroine not hit the high F after the first act? It the only reason why I attend said plays set to music.
-All the “songs” are original, with the exception of the Avenue Q number “If You Were Gay...”. I have included it because I felt like it.
-I have included a lengthy introduction, hoping to push the musical from sixteen pages to seventeen, as I believe sixteen to be an evil number and my last play was sixteen pages so I’m trying to get out of that habit.
If you are one of the loyal people who have read through this and intend to read on, I thank you. You will be disappointed. But at least you’ll get away from your family for a few hours. This “musical” is split into scenes. You are encouraged to take a break after each scene and meditate on how awful what you just read was.
Happy Holidays.
Love,
Alice
Song list
“Hush Baby” (Pandora, soprano)
“Oh 667" (J, contralto)
“But I Hate You!” (M, J, feuding contralto)
“Hey J” (Gigi, soprano, Shruti, mezzo-soprano, M, contralto, Akbar, tenor, PJ, bass)
“The Second Phone Call” (Pandora, soprano, Sam, baritone)
“If You Were Gay...”* (J, contralto)
“Sam’s Confession” (Sam, baritone, J contralto)
“Parenting Stinks” (J’s father, bass, J’s mother, contralto)
“Now I Know” (J, contralto)
“End Poem To Be Read Without Musical Accompaniment
(Subtitled: And probably by Gregory Peck provided, of course, that he isn’t dead. Yet.)” (Gregory Peck, yummy)
What child is this?
Pandora stood outside the house, cold and frustrated with the bundle in her hand. All day she had walked, searching for the home of a girl she’d never met before. And this thing hardly helped... She resisted the temptation to shake the bundle.
The path to the front door was made of cobblestone and hurt when sat down upon. Darkness and holly bushes surrounded her. The neighbors’ homes were lit with Christmas lights...Of course this would be her house. She didn’t celebrate Christmas.
Inside the bundle, a baby began to squall.
“Shush!” Pandora cried, picking the child up.
“I’ve tried all the lullabies
To soothe your tiny cries
Before mommy’s brain turns to mush...
Baby baby won’t you hush?
I don’t know what I’m doing
I should have stopped before screwing
I guess your mommy’s just a lush...
Hush, baby, hush.
I’m sorry that your daddy’s not here
Or that I soon won’t be near
You won’t miss us all that much...
Hush, baby, hush.
Baby, don’t you see
Here you’ll be more happy
Have a family
She’s the best of the online VFD---”
The door opened. A bespeckled teenage girl rolled her eyes and yelled into the night “Could you please keep that kid down, I’m trying to watch The Office—Pandora?” Light poured from behind her as the girl left the door and went to her e-friend.
“Hey, J,” Pandora sighed. The child wept still. Pandora cradled it, then reached into the pocket of her overcoat and pulled out a pacifier.
The girl, J,’s mouth fell open. “What’re you...how’d you...Whose is...?”
The baby grabbed for the pacifier, smiling and shutting up. Pandora grinned it yet looked up at J, frowning. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. Um...Well, this is a very long story but... this” She held up the child. “...is mine. However, I can’t raise him. I mean, I’m in my second year of college. I don’t even know what I’m majoring in yet!”
Pandora’s teeth chattered, but she continued. “You’re the closest person I know. Geographically. I’m going to go home for Christmas and tell my parents. We’re going to think of something. I’ll be back. Could...could you watch him?”
J blinked. “Uh...”
Pandora thrust the baby in her arms. “Thank you.” She whispered and began to walk away, calling things backed to the stunned teenager. “Um, there are some baby things on the porch. It’ll be a few days...I’ll call you.”
Ten thousand questions ran through J’s head. Who was the father of the child she held? What was going to happen to it? Why was she suddenly wrapped into this mess? Just a few minutes ago she been watching what’s-his-name stealing casino chips...Wait.
“What’s its name?” J shouted.
But Pandora was gone.
J glanced down at the baby. “Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.” She said, falling to her knees. The baby clapped his hands. Shocked, J rose. She’d almost endangered a child! Wasn’t that illegal or something?
The baby laughed, pacifier falling out of his mouth.
“You like that?” J asked. “Really?”
The baby laughed harder then began to tear at the blue blanket in which he was wrapped.
“Well, I know you’re a boy.” J bit her lip. “Your mommy never told me your name. I’m going to call you Dizzy.”
J stood in her doorway for a moment.
“Or Michael.” She corrected. “Yeah, I’m going to call you Michael.”
Another moment passed.
“My parents are going to salsa.”
- - - - -
J’s parents did not ‘salsa’ but were quite unnerved when they saw their daughter bringing a baby inside their home.
“What will the family think?” J’s mother moaned. “I mean, they’ll be coming here for Hanukkah in just a few days and here you are, holding a baby.”
“You should have told us you were pregnant.” Her father shook his head. “We could have married you off.”
“He’s not mine.” J said. “He’s a friend’s.”
“Lying to us isn’t going to help.” Her mother stood up, tears in her eyes, voice cracking. “J, how did this happen? We would have put you on the pill...Oh God, my daughter is a wh---”
J turned her back to her parents for a moment, picking up a novelty brandy snifter printed with the words “In case of tired plot device, have parents become alcoholics”. This was certainly the case.
After fixing them several brandies, J calmed her parents down and convinced them to pull out her old baby things. Together they put together a suitable nursery in the guest bedroom at which point J’s parents passed out.
“Great.” J told Michael. “Now all I have to do is keep them drunk until Christmas. Or whenever your mom gets back.”
Michael squirmed in J’s crib.
“Are you supposed to do that?” She asked. “Oh, I don’t know anything about babies...”
Michael yawned and closed his eyes.
“Oh, sleep huh?” J nodded. “Yeah, you probably could use some shut-eye. I’m going to go downstairs for a little bit.” She eyed the pile of her parents. “They’ll wake up if you need anything...I think. Good night.”
She stood over the crib for a moment, before turning off the lights and exiting. A glowing computer screen awaited her downstairs. Her homepage was the 667 Dark Avenue forum, the website by which she knew Pandora. The forum and the people on it were often able to help her with her problems.
And what a problem this was...
Of course, it was the holidays. J was not the only one with problems. Threads bearing problematic topics ranging from Shruti’s “Re: Five Reasons Why College Sucks” to both Akbar and PJ posts “I Have Nothing To Do Over The Break” and finally M’s “Christmas Is Going To Make Me Kill Myself” and “Hey, Has Anyone Seen BSam?”
J hated to burden them yet knew that alone she was hopeless.
She began to type, reading what she had written aloud.
“Oh my 667,
I know it’s almost eleven
Yet I won’t get a wink of sleep tonight
Pandora’s gone, taken flight
Left me with a bundle of joy
Or whatever you can call a baby boy
Oh my 667,
in the name of bread unleavened
In the name of charity
In the name of VFD
In the name of any thing you hold sacrosanct
In the name of everything I ain’t
Oh my 667,
Or to any god in heaven
What am I going to do?
I’m sorry for turning to you
I’ve eschewed being mild
Isn’t there anyone to help me with this child?”
- - - -.
The next morning, J awoke, face-in-keyboard, to the sound of someone knocking at her door. Yawning, J checked the time. Six-thirty. Who the hell would show up on her doorstep at six-thirty...?
An old friend and member of 667 Dark Avenue, M smiled at her when the door opened. “I’m here to help.”
“But I hate you.” J spat.
The words were automatic. The two had a falling out a year or so back, though neither could accurately remember over what. Some have speculated it was over a man or piece of candy...Either way the hate between them was not lost.
“Where’s the baby?” M’s voice was soft as though volume would set off a physical fight. “You’ve probably been treating it horribly.”
“In the guest room, and he’s been doing wonderful!” J cried. She had not checked on the baby in seven and a half hours, yet took his silence as a sign of well-being. Or that Michael had perished. But she would never admit that to M.
“Do you know what your problem is?” M snapped, climbing the stairs to Michael’s nursery.
“You’re never concerned with what you need
Focusing only on what you desire
This is my advice, take heed
I’m not known for being a liar
This child is not rightfully yours
Yet a parent to it you must play
You asked for help with parenting chores
So here am I to stay.”
“But I hate you.” J said again, the statement having now acquired a lilting rhythm and backed by the sounds of violins and tubas.
“I don’t care
I’ve packed my suitcase
Brought the baby a bear
So shut your face.
Face it, J, I’m moving in
Not for yours, but the baby’s sake
Let the proper child care begin
I’ll give while you take.”
“But I hate you!” J cried, over the roar of the tubas, crescendoing on the ‘you’.
“I thought our friendship was over
You thought the same, too
Don’t come to my home and spout clover!”
M entered the nursery, her singing as soft as possible so not to disturb the baby or J’s hung-over parents. “Did I say that we were friends?
I only wish to be the meet to the babies ends.”
J snarled after her, paying no mind to her dynamics.
“So then it’s settled?
I’m just supposed to sit here, nettled?”
“Yes!” M said, as the instruments stopped. She bent over the crib, looking down at Michael and tickling him awake. The baby burped. M smiled and crossed her hands over her heart. “Oh, what an adorable baby!”
J glared at her former friend, hatred seeping off her skin. “I---”
Michael began to sputter and cry. J’s lips began to twitch in horror but M picked the baby up and rocked him until his tears were gone.
“There, there.” She said, glancing at the corner of her eye at J, a silent ‘I’m-great-with-the-kid-so-let-me-stay-or-he’ll-cry-and-probably-haunt-your-dreams’. It is a common look among dysfunctional e-family members.
J furrowed her brow.
“Oh, fine, you can stay here
Catering to Michael’s whim and mew
I won’t say anything or jeer
But, the fact is, I still hate you.”
“Well, you won’t have to deal with me for long. Other 667ers are coming.” M rocked Michael a little more before placing him back in his crib. She tapped his nose and began to make baby-noises at him.
“What?” J asked.
M faced her, hands on hips. “You asked us for help. We’re giving it.”
J folded her arms. “I would say ‘thank you’ if you were such a fuc--”
M cut her off, gesturing at the child and shaking her head. “You’re welcome.”
- - - - -