All the World’s a Stage Productions

"All the World's a Stage and All the Men and Women Merely Players."

We're standing in a small off-Broadway theater in New York City. The marque out front says "All The World's a Stage Productions." 

Perry Block:   Umm, Mr. Shakeman, sir?  I was ...er ... told to introduce myself to you.

Director William Shakeman:  And you are?

Perry: I’m your new assistant, Perry Block.

Will:  Oh, hullo, Perry.  Welcome to All the World’s a Stage Productions.

Perry:  Thank you, sir.  If I may, Mr. Shakeman, I'm afraid I don't really know what kind of show you put on here.

Will: Oh, sure.  What we do here, Perry, is write, direct, and produce everything that goes on in the world everywhere all the time.

Perry:  What?  Gee, I always thought all that stuff just ... kind of happens.

Will:  No, Perry, nothing  just kind of happens.  

Perry: No?

Will: No.  For example, today we’re going to be presenting a short scene in Kliman’s Bar, Abilene Texas on June 15, 2016.  I’ve just gotten the script in now.

Perry:   Gotten the script in now?  Doesn't everybody just speak for themselves?

Will: Of course not!  Remember: All the World’s a Stage.  

Perry:  I always thought that was just a metaphor or something.

Will: No, not at all.

Perry: Well, who writes the dialogue?

Will: Aaron Sorkin, of course.  But all the dumb people on Earth are written by the Farrelly Brothers.

Perry: That does make sense.

Will: Now, everybody, hit your marks and let’s do the scene!

Bar Owner Ernest Kliman:  You’ve had enough hootch, Sidney.  I’m shutting you off.

Sidney, the Town Drunk: Horsefeathers!

Will: That’s it. 

Perry:   That’s it?

Will: That’s all that happened that day in Kliman’s Bar.

Perry:   Let me get this straight: you cast all the roles for everyone in the whole world, produce everything that happens everywhere all the time, and bring it in on time and on budget? You must have a lot of investors.

Will: Seven point three billion, to be exact.

Perry:  But... but ...this has all gotta take an incredible amount of time!

Will: Tell me about it:  hey, what’s a weekend? What’s getting home before 12:00 AM?

Perry:  How do you do it? Direct everything that happens involving everybody in the entire world!

Will: I must modestly admit I’ve got me a bit of a knack for multi-tasking. 

Perry:  Mr. Shakeman, I mean no disrespect, but all of this, every scene, everywhere in the world. This will never work!

Will: Been working for thousands of years.

Perry:  What?

Will: You think Alexander the Great conquered the world by himself?  We had a cast of thousands and one terrific makeup man.

Ralph:   I can’t believe it!

Will: Remember: All The World's a Stage. You should see the scenes of your life. Always get laughs! 

Perry:   So that's why I can’t make it with chicks? 

Will: Yes, Perry, that's why.  But it's great to leave 'em laughing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You Say You Want a Resolution?

You say you want a resolution?

Actually, you don't.  You should want to make a resolution for 2013 about as much as you want discretion lessons from General Petraeus. 

New Year's resolutions are the source of more guilt than a battalion of Jewish mothers.  A 2007 survey showed that 88% of all people who set New Year's resolutions fail to keep them, a figure we know to be reliable because the researcher performing the survey had resolved for 2007 to be slipshod and inaccurate in surveys about resolutions.

And face facts: there's little doubt the 12% of folks who actually succeed with their resolutions have been keeping every one made since birth, unlike you and me who've been breaking them regularly since we first resolved to stop sucking on our pacifiers in the middle of the last century. 

So you still say you want a resolution?  Here's why you don't:

1) Increase your vocabulary. 
Want to start throwing words like indolent and ingenuous around?   Dude, you're not about to be hired by the New York Review of Books and the lazy and simple-minded idiots you hang with wouldn't understand you anyway.

2) Get a better job.
In this economy?  Look, you're putting food on the table.  Granted it's a very small table.

3) Stop your excessive drinking.
Instead, join the Republican Party; you'll learn all about the wasteful federal programs for the 47% who won't take responsibility for their own lives.  Sign up for each one and pretty soon you'll be living better than Mitt Romney.  And you'll still be drinking!

4) Watch less television.
There's a rumor Kim Kardashian might take off her top this year.  You going to miss that? 

5)  Lose weight.
So you get on a scale and it makes a highly audible "BOINGGG" sound and the needle spins like a seismograph in the middle of an earthquake. Sure, you could resolve to lose weight but if you're over 45 nobody's going to want to have sex with you anyway. Relax and enjoy the Swedish meatballs. 

6) Stop procrastinating
I'll come up with a rationalization for this one later.

7) Volunteer to help those suffering through a disaster.  
 Why? What did the victims of Hurricane Sandy ever do for you all the years you were married?

8) Join a gym.
Gyms and fitness centers in January look like the national convention of the American Society of Endormorphs & Ectomorphs. By February they resemble a 3-D audiovisual depiction of your social life.  Why hand money over to a cynical corporation so thoroughly on to you?

9)  Stop Biting Your Nails.
Yeah, you could do this. Odds are you're going to wind up biting something else, like my nails or the nails of the guy on the bus next to you. 

10) Be a Better Person.
You?

Hope all of this is helpful.  But what, after all, is the one true reason that you ought to never say you want a resolution?

That's the one.

Happy New Year! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's a Quarter to Three ...

It's a quarter to three,  and there's no one in the place except you and me.  So set 'em up,  Joe ....

Joe: Okay, fellas, it's almost time to close up.  One more  for the road?

General Petraeus:  Sure, Joe.  Gimme a double scotch and pour another bourbon for my diminutive friend here.

Joe: Y'know, I never would have figured you for a scotch drinker, General.

General Petraeus:  Sure am, Joe.  Paula and I used to pound down the scotch until she'd go "Ready for that drone strike, General! Here's your coordinates!"

Joe: And you, young man, of all things --- a bourbon drinker!

Elmo:  Oh my yes,  Joseph!  Elmo been guzzling bourbon ever since Elmo start trolling gay bars in the Village back in the Seventies.  Elmo l0oooove sucking down the bourbon! 

Joe: Well,  glad you two found each other.  Shame what happened to you guys.

General Petraeus: I just can't believe it, Joe!  One day I'm running the entire Central Intelligence Agency, next day I can't get a call back from George Lazenby!

Elmo: You think that's bad, General?  Elmo called every homophobic name in the book by Bill Moyers!

General Petraeus: Say, Elmo, I need a job.  Think there's a place for an old military man on Sesame Street? 

Fade Out to >>>>>> 

[Sesame Street Theme Plays]

Big Bird:  Maria!  Luis!  

Maria: What is it, Big Bird?

Big Bird: Here comes General Dave.

Big Bird, Maria, Luis:  Hi, General Dave!

General Dave:  Hi, Everybody! I'm General Dave, the Fornicating General!  Today's show is brought to you by the Letter A for Adultery.  

Big Bird: And by the number 69.

Fade Back In.

Elmo:  Or what if Elmo decide to join the Army? 

Fade Out to >>>>>> 

[Army Fight Song Plays]

Soldier No. 1:  What are your orders, General Elmo?  

General Elmo: Men, our next tactical move will be to initiate a Surge!

Soldier No. 2:  A Surge, General? 

General Elmo: Yes,  a great big strong thrust forward, hard and straight and penetrating and deep  .... and...... and ....

Soldier No. 3:  General Elmo!  General Elmo!!!  What's wrong, sir?!!!!!

Fade Back In.

Joe: You know what you fellas should have learned from the messes you got yourself into?

General Petraeus: What's that, Joe?

Joe: Reason flies out the window when a man's pecker is straight.

Elmo: And that goes double for Elmo!

Joe:  All right, guys.  Closing time. 

Elmo:  Gracious thanks, Joseph!  C'mon, General .... Elmo and General go to hot after-hours club.  

General Petraeus: Know a good one, my furry little LGBT friend?

Elmo: Elmo sure do!  Same one Anthony Weiner and Lance Armstrong  get thrown out of every day at dawn.

General Petraeus:  Works for me.  Goodbye,  Joe. 

Joe:  Goodbye, fellas! 

Elmo:  Arrivederci, Joseph!

Joe:   Well, who knows, folks?  There just might be a sunny day for those two after all!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elmo,  think I'm gonna be sick!       General just can't hold liquor like 
                                                                       Elmo. 

Don't You Pardon that Bird!

You're free, Squawky!

This year, as in many others, the President of the United States will on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving  good-naturedly but officially pardon a turkey. 

Mr. President, don't you pardon that bird!

According to recently classified documents obtained by Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute, pardoning a turkey serves only to release back into the general populace a terrorist bent on the overthrow of the United States and the destruction of everything we hold dear, including Betty White!   

                                                                 Who?  Me? 

Turkey Nation,  as we have now learned,  has sought to destroy the United States from a time before there even was a United States.

How did it all begin?   

When the Pilgrims first landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620, indigenous American turkeys were terrified by the pale-skinned,  non-feathered, non-turkey necked* New Kids on the Rock.  Turkey Nation feared that before long they'd be forced to wear shoes with annoyingly cute little buckles and read boring poetry by Longfellow. 

Their leader, known as Squawky, devised a cunning scheme in which he feigned friendship with the settlers and actually encouraged them to pound down the turkey on Thanksgiving Day. Once saturated with typtophan,  the dozing Pilgrims would be no match for Turkey Nation's plans for murder most fowl!

Two days after Thanksgiving 1621, Squawky led a raid known to history as Gobblers' Gambit in which 16 soporific settlers were killed, another eight wounded, and 14 more smeared with mashed potatoes and giblet gravy. Additional raids followed, some of which involved  frontal assault with pumpkin pie, which has no other purpose aside from warfare.

Squawky feigns friendliness toward the Pilgrims at the First Thanksgiving, 1621

During the Revolutionary War, Turkey Nation continued its treachery by remaining loyal to the British Crown. Squawky (not the original Squawky) convinced General  Benedict Arnold to slip secret information concerning "basting techniques" to British spymaster Major John Andre, thereby causing the name "Squawky" to become forever synonymous with the word "traitor!" 

(Occasionally the name "Benedict Arnold" is used for similar purposes as well.)

And what of today? 

Your Thanksgiving Dinner is  enabled each year through the efforts of millions of kamikaze turkeys willing to give their lives and gizzards for the cause. Aided by their evil partner in crime, the National Football League, Turkey Nation seeks to get you so sleepy Thursday afternoon that it can seize power before you can say "fuckin' turkey  leftovers again?"

Fortunately the CIA has been able to counter their plans by covertly orchestrating disturbances to keep you awake.  Think your loud bigoted uncle at dinner, your vomiting St. Bernard, and your daughter weepily telling you she's pregnant by General Petraeus are all coincidences?   It's the U.S. government keeping you safe!

At least until now.

And so, Mr. President, don't you pardon that bird!  

And to all of you:  this Thanksgiving,  please be careful when you hit that living room, undo your bulging fat belly pants, and shut your eyes.  

You might just wake up marching to the beat of a different drumstick.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING,  EVERYONE!

YOU TOO,  SQUAWKY!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Squawky (not the original Squawky) greets close buds
 in Berlin, 1937

*except for one Captain Newton Gingrich

Hey, Paula: My Biography's Waiting for You

Paula Broadwell and I hard at work on my biography.

(Notice the firm, erect positioning of my right hand)

When a man reaches the "Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute" years of his life,  it comes natural to him to want to leave behind some sort of testament of his life and times.  This is true both for those men who have actually "done stuff" as well as for men such as myself whose major lifetime achievement has been breaking the habit of fingernail biting  at age 57. 

But how to create that testament?

With personal memoir eliminated as a possible option since writing one involves "doing stuff," I created a short list of competent biographers consisting of:

1) David McCullough.  My first choice was golden-throated master historian and PBS superstar McCullough,  envisioning his magical narration on the followup Ken Burns feature about me ... 

"Faced with the recurring prospect of being savagely beaten up on his way to school, Perry chose an alternate route across the Gingham Pass and through the Bernsteins' back yard, unaware that two of the fourth grade girls lay in wait for him."

Unfortunately Mr. McCullough declined to author my biography as his historical research led him to side with the fourth grade girls.

2) Doris Kearns Goodwin.  The esteemed author of the book No Ordinary Time about Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt had to be eliminated from consideration after her projected title for my bio was "Very Ordinary Time, If That."

3) Paula Broadwell.  Though you've probably never heard of her, Ms. Broadwell had authored a book about General David Petraeus, the renowned US. general with an impeccable reputation. When I first looked her comely resume over up and down,  I began to get immediately excited.  The woman had a firm grasp of history, and she had come ... umm, I mean ... had come well recommended by the General himself!

We arranged to meet  and she flew to Philadelphia.  As soon as I laid eyes on her,  I realized that if I were to ever have the opportunity to discover how well my biographer made fried eggs and toast, I'd rather it be Ms. Broadwell than David McCullough.

"UCCHHH!" she said as she got off the plane and greeted me.

I suppose she was tired from the long flight from Washington D.C. to Philadelphia.

Gradually, however,  I came to win her over.  While we initially worked over the phone with me in Pennsylvania and her in North Carolina, we drew closer and soon began working from opposite ends of North Carolina. Continuing to communicate over the phone,  later we began working several blocks away from each other in North Carolina, although I didn't realize at the time she had built a moat between our two houses.    

As we approached the end of the project and page 37 of the book (with illustrations), I could contain myself no longer.

"Paula, why don't you dig me?" I pleaded. "You know all the special things about me that make me me, such as that I write a blog that no one reads and I no longer bite my nails!"

She then explained that she had a thing for General Petraeus!   She'd even been imbedded with him! Also it was then that she told me about the moat.

My collaboration with Paula Broadwell ended, I've decided to give it a couple more years until I try again to have my biography written.  Next time I'm going to get me a really hot biographer who hasn't yet written about anybody exciting or interesting. 

Someone who spends all her time around Republicans.

And in a couple of years, who knows?   Maybe I'll actually have "done stuff." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll get myself an even hotter biographer.  You'll see.