Donna Spector - playwright

		HOME \| RESUME \| PLAY SYNOPSES \| REVIEWS & QUOTES\| NOVELS \| PHOTOS "THEATER IN MY HOUSE" - EXCERPT: Suddenly I live in a madhouse. Esther and Jack—excuse me, Morning Star and The Magus (meaning “Magician”), who were Mom and Dad a week ago—decided to ruin my life. I came home from a French dinner party at school, heard music and strange voices inside my house, opened the door and found this huge crowd of weird people I’d never seen before. They were sitting and lying around in clouds of incense and smoke, both cigarettes and pot. A guy was playing a bamboo flute in our stone fireplace, two guys were riffing on bongos, there were guitarists, a woman standing on her head, a few dancers wrapped around each other, and in the middle of all this, my mom and dad having an intense discussion with some creepy, long-haired types. I thought, I’m in the wrong house, and I tried to back out when my dad saw me. “Come on in, Sarah!” he yelled. Which made a bunch of other people yell, “Come on in, Sarah!” in this totally mindless way, like a chorus in a 50’s musical, so I had to drag myself inside. “This is my daughter!” he shouted, as though I was only his, not my mom’s. “Groovy!” one of the bongo guys said in a sarcastic way. I felt like puking, so I ran upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. My former parents are having artists’ meetings now that last till two or three in the morning on school nights. Our living room is wall-to-wall actors, musicians, poets, dancers, jewelers, potters, pillow-makers and some guy named Carl who’s an encounter group expert. There’s no way to drown out their loud talk. A lot of b.s. about starting a new society with no money, just barter. Like trading a painting for food. Can you imagine? I work on a painting for months, and what does someone give me? A bunch of carrots? “Money is the downfall of civilization,” The Magus says, a little too often. Or “Capitalism corrupts the soul.” Easy for him to say, since Morning Star supports us with her teaching. Last night the artists sat around making pink, blue, green and yellow salt putty beads and stringing them up all over the living room. This morning when I went downstairs to make my breakfast, I almost hung myself. Headline in the San Francisco Chronicle: DEATH BY SALT PUTTY BEADS. They’re also playing their guitars, drums and The Magus’ Wurlitzer organ at top volume, improvising with dancers who slam into walls and shout stuff like PEACE! FREEDOM! JUSTICE! I wouldn’t be surprised to find blood streaking our walls some morning. Our next-door neighbor Mr. Grillo called The Magus yesterday at 2 a.m. and yelled, “IF YOU HIPPIES DON’T SHUT UP, I’M CALLING THE COPS!” “Be cool, dude,” The Magus said and hung up. BACK TO TOP HOME \| RESUME \| PLAY SYNOPSES \| REVIEWS & QUOTES\| NOVELS \| PHOTOS www.donnaspector.net All material copyright © 2001-2012 by Donna Spector. Web design and interface copyright 2001 by TBE Design, New York City.