Sunday Sceneggiata

music/up&down courtesy/the mountains and the trees http://www.rockandroots.com

Roman/à clef

ZURICH (DICTATED LETTER from undisclosed location CENSORED by Swiss Justice Ministry)

My Dearest Wife(s)

As I write I sweep away the last crumbs of my paltry prison breakfast – pain au chocolat (stone-cold) orange juice (concentrate, I suspect) eggs (over-poached) and a pauper’s wedge of cheese (runny) I ask that you plead my case with the lawyers, the French government, and the court of public opinion.

Please speak to the children – perhaps in a low, gravely accent from an adjoining room, just as they are falling asleep – and remind them that although he is being held captive behind bars, like an animal without acceptable moisturizer or bottled wasser – their papa is a man, a flawed man, a man who has made mistakes. And counsel them, again, in hushed tones, perhaps over a speakerphone, oui? – not to make the same mistakes I, by no fault of my own, save for my puckish spirit and predisposition toward elfin mischief, have made.

Let us not compound these errors my love(s.) Chins up! While I am in the care of the Swiss government, life goes on! Alas, would you please set the DVR to record the Hell’s Kitchen Finale and next week’s Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares. And do not forget to postpone our October 11 reservation at L’Ambroisie (indefinitely.) Injustice and liberty denied shall not affect long-standing relationships with favorite maître d’s.

Yours,

R.

.......

Written in spidery hand on the back of a Lindt Chocoletti Stracciatella Bar WRAPPER

Dear Madame and Mr. President Secretary Clinton (and Chelsea)

Surely YOU understand. I am the victim of a Frankenstein witch-hunt. A vast right-wing conspiracy! For too long have the names Polanski and Clinton been slandered (though rarely in the same breath) on Fox News and held over the devilish flames of politically motivated inquisition. I say to fathead Glen Beck, YOU FIB!

Sweet Madame, I know you are a busy woman, a citizen of the world whose passport has been stamped more times than Carla Bruni (wink) but as they say in America, if you want something done right, go to the top! And I know of no higher authority in the Department of State - save for Vice-President Biden, who does not list his email online.

Rest assured I would have voted for you, save for my status as a citizen of the Republique Française. France, where the great libertarian and free-thinker Thomas Jefferson – middle namesake of your own free-swinging husband “Le Willy Luisant” – could educate and cavort with his true love Sally Hemmings! I appeal to your sense of patriotism, your sense of propriety, your sense of persecution!

And if all else fails, may I opt instead for traffic school?

Check enclosed,


A victim of circumstance
 .......



Scrawled on a cigarette rolling paper found as a MESSAGE IN A (Moet & Chandon) CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE

The Most Reverend Jesse Jackson –

My pleas to Amnesty International and the liberal media have fallen on deaf ears. Won’t you please help? In casting terms, you were always my first choice. If I were making a movie -- and believe me, before this Swiss sting operation, that’s exactly what I did between ski vacations and bible study – and I needed a suave, silver-tongued spiritual and social activist leader to play the private citizen cum diplomatic emissary, the role would be yours to lose! Man-to-man – we both rock a mean turtleneck, which is my way of saying “I dig your style.”

Let me put it another way – a non-nuclear Iran may be beyond your influence, but THIS is something you can accomplish.

Praying for a hero,


The Littlest Auteur

.......

EMAIL originally transcribed on a piece of one-ply toilet paper
 

To: bono@Amnestyinternatinal.org
cc: charlierose@bloomberg.com
cc: jerryspringer@jerry!jerry.tv

Good sirs –

Together you are the three most powerful men in the Jewish dominated media, and while only one of you is “technically” a member of the tribe, the remaining pair either work for Jews, or closely “identify” with our struggle. Though none of you are a filmmaker (nor need the gig to get with chicks – you all do fine on your own!) I ask that you lend your voices, and signatures, and bully pulpits to the huddle masses which have lined up behind me in support.

These include Oscar™ winner Martin Scorcese (not Jewish, but New York Italian!) Woody Allen (King of Jews!) Debra Winger (Oscar™-nominated Jewess!) Adrien Brody (Three-quarters Jew!) Sir Ben Kingsley (Gandhi AND a Jew!)

Why should you care? It is simple my landsman - Today, a Swiss prison, tomorrow a HUAC tribunal? There but for the grace of G-d, let he without sin, etc et al.

Let me be the first to wish you a belated L’shana Tovah!


Roman (my real last name) Polański

.......

ETCHED on a 1ply Dryer Fabric Softener sheet dropped at American Express, Zurich

Dear (NAME DELETED)

Free at last! Free at last!
I am out!

Without the time nor inclination for a “Hudsucker” denouement, I took matters into my own hands and volunteered for the prison laundry - an undesirable task in inhumane conditions – ever hear of “Swiss Laundry?” Exactement! 

Mummified in the scratchy sheets of my tormented sleep (150 thread count – sandpaper!) I tumbled vertiginously through an energy-saving cycle before squeezing out, born-again into newfound liberty via the linty loins of a steam vent. I am shaken, but not stirred, and my shirts have never been cleaner.

Disguised as a homely house frau in chain store-purchased dungarees – think of a taller Linda Hunt - I intend to sneak back into my hotel suite and retrieve—

POP! Flashbulbs! Merde!

PAPARAZZI!

And me in my chain store denim!


Jean Valjean


.......

E.C.U. (Extreme Close-up) DIGITAL VIDEO recorded on media card found in pocket of Wrangler (children’s) jeans retrieved outside Zurich Prison

Forgive me for I am weak.

(And for my derivative and under-lit composition - tres “Blair Witch.”)

I am returning to my Swiss hell, a baby bird to his nest. I am not meant for a life on the streets, hounded like a fox for the sport of those blood thirsty savages who will not be satisfied until I am ensconced in a squalid American minimum security facility for a presumed stay of 16 months to three years. (minus good behavior.)

Define “good behavior.”

I’d rather eat Nutella,

(Napoleon-in-Exile)
RP.

Sunday Sceneggiata

The Audacity/of Soap

An MSNBC survey asked:

What’s the biggest item you would steal from a hotel?
15.1% Wouldn’t steal anything
6.4% Towels
1.2% Slippers
2.7% Bathrobe
74.6% Just takes the soap, shampoo, and lotion

........

Come closer.

Oui mon coeur.. I am talking to you. And only you.
Your skin so perfect. So soft.

Like me.

Oui. We. Belong together.

I am exotic, this we know.

Born in the Orient.
Milled in Paris.

I am a citizen of the world.
A wanderer.
A seeker.

Like you.

That’s why we’re both here.
In this place.
At this moment.

Coincidence?

I don’t believe in coincidence.
I believe in you and me.

The catalytic explosion of chemistry. Le Big Bang.

I know what you are thinking (before you think it.)

You’re thinking –

“G-d does not play dice with the universe.
Anything Mother Nature makes that looks this good.
And smells this good.

Must feel so good.”

Come closer.

Take me.

You know you want to.

And I want to be taken.

(darkness)


........

I am alone.

In this strange place.

But unafraid.

The scents of bergamot and Provence Shea butter replaced by..

Renuzit?

(sniff)

Edelweiss and glacier buttercup overpowered by..

(sniff-sniff)

Pine-sol?

(sigh)

Why?

(sigh)

Why do you treat me so?

Shh. Don’t answer.
This is not what either of us expected.

Cie la vie.

I know you are seeing others. Using them.
Like you once dreamed of using me.

Do you not understand, mon petit chou?

When you use them, when you touch them, when you soil yourself by letting them rub themselves all across your body..

(moan)

You cheapen yourself.

Because you could be touching..

Me.

Allowing me to touch you.

What are you afraid of?

Is that it? Are you afraid?

Afraid to unwrap me, to ruffle my frilly decoupage?

To dance your fingertips along my timeless, Louis XIV contours.

To trace your tongue down my spine like a Mr. Whippy softserve cone?

Do you shiver when you peer at my pristine, chiseled physique?

Reminiscent of the chilly marble of Dave’s bedroom suite at the end of 2001, A Space Odyssey?

I am David. You are Bathsheba.
That is not a pun.

Ceci n'est pas un calembour.

Undress me – let me anoint you in juniper and sandalwood.

Let me sing to you with the smoky bonhomie of Leonard Cohen.

Let’s take a bath together and watch all of Kieslowski’s Decalogue.

What was that? How do I know so much about the cinema?

Pay-per-view, of course!

I am shocked you do not have a television in your bathroom.
You call this “living?”

I would rather endure the downward spiral of the drain..

No!.
Do not go! Not yet!

Do not shut me out. Do not –

(darkness, redux)


........

A dream of flight.

No. A dreamy flight. First class.
The clink-clink of airline crystal.

The pop of champagne.

Bubbles.
I know bubbles.

You’re taking me away.
I always knew you would.

Sweet music of an elevator.
Penthouse level.
Ding. Ding.

Music to my ears.

Déjà vu.
(all over again)

The perfume of freshly scrubbed Roman marble.
Brightly polished brass.

A five-star hotel suite.
The manner to which I’m accustomed.

We will rendezvous.
Tonight.

‘til then..

Au voir..

(interminable darkness)






.......

Time stood still while you were gone. Anticipation fed my soul.

How was my trip?

Eh. The usual.

The clumsy choreography of airport security.

Their ham hands and thick sausage fingers fumbling through your toiletry kit.

Shaking but not stirring my heaven-sent scent.

But that was then.

And now – we are alone
(at last.)

Would you like to freshen up first?
Or simply join me in the shower?

(grrrrowwl)

Mon cher?

Where are you going?
Leave your baggage at the door.

(Again, not a pun.)

Mon amour?

(!)

Sacre bleu – you are not unpacking.
You are packing up!

The rejuvenating lotion, the botanical shampoo!

Merd!
How could I have been so stupid?

And you?

Are you so superficial as to sell your soul for a whiff of lemongrass and chamomile?
A hint of tea tree oil and verbana.

You are leaving me for THAT?

Ha!

You will find that I am more than just a pretty label slapped across a (non)biodegradable polyethethylene fliptop bottle.

I am a survivor.
I will wait.

And I will find you.
This is my solemn promise.

Just as Daniel Day Lewis promised Madeline Stowe beneath the waterfall in
The Last of the Mohicans.

I will find you!

You will see!
We are meant to be.

You will be back – you filthy little..

Ho!

Someone harkens..
The servants?

No. I knew you would return – it was only a matter of..

Hellooooo…

Who are you?
Have we met before?

No, I would have remembered.

Are you..

New? Just checking in?

In our fair city for a short visit.
Of course.

Looking for a bit of good, clean fun.

(blush)

Do not be embarrassed.

We are the same, you and I.

Your pleasure is my pleasure.
Your future my path.

We meet at a fortuitous time.

(purrr)

Come closer..

Sunday Sceneggiata

Subterranean/Hill Street Blues

Associated Press – Fri Aug 14,2009

Bob Dylan was treated like a complete unknown by police in a New Jersey shore community when a resident called to report “an eccentric looking old man” walking around the neighborhood.

A 24-year-old police officer apparently was unaware of who Dylan is and asked him for identification. The singer of such classics as "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Blowin' in the Wind" said that he didn't have any ID with him, that he was just walking around looking at houses to pass some time before that night's show.

A second officer, also in his 20s, responded to assist the first officer. He, too, apparently was unfamiliar with Dylan.

-------------------

Good morning, officers. Settle down, rooks settle down. Guiliano brought the BIG box Dunkin coffee and bear claws.. plenty to go around.

By now its become clear that the unfortunate incident of August the 14th was not this Precinct’s “finest hour.” You may say “Hey, Sarge - cops make mistakes.” Don’t I know it. And have the alimony to prove it. I get that. But this thing was all easily avoided. And here’s the thing about this thing – we detained a legend.

Ipso Facto – you book the wrong Hahvad professor, Spike Lee crawls up your anus.
Arrest Robert Zimmerman – well, let’s just say that none of us needs Senator Lautenberg riding shotgun on his retirement package. Dayenu!

So as in the interest of making sure that such an “error” in judgment never, EVER happens again, I present to you -- LIGHTS PLEASE -- a brief power point presentation in..

HOW TO IDENTIFY A ROCK ICON

You say “Sarge – whattathis all mean? We gotta go pussy footin’ around every Tom Jones, Dick, and Harry that comes to town?” No.. Plenty of long-haired faggedy dressed rock types you can shake down. Snoop Dogg. Haul his ass in. Amy Winehouse – the Mrs. don’t like her looks. Me? I’d personally like to kick Coldplay’s ass for ripping off U2’s sound.

But I don’t.

Question in back – Who’s Tom Jones? LOOK IT UP, fuckface. The Wikipedia.

Slide please.

This here is Bob Dylan. Aka Robert Allen Zimmerman. Aka Lucky Wilbury. Jack Fate. Willow Scarlet. Sometimes known as Hymie the Kid. Recorded in 1963 as Blind Boy Grunt. Checks into hotels as Justin Case. I see a hand up - What was that? No.. NOT with my wife..

Here’s a current photo. Looks like the guy who panhandles outside the Passaic diner, I know. Makes Tom Waits look like Brad Pitt. Yes, man’s got jowls like my sister-in-law’s basset hound. But there are ways of knowing. What our friends at the FBI -- and my daughter at Brown University – call “signifiers.” You dig?

Slide –

The rock icons often hide behind the urban camouflage of “the cap.” Example – the Spanish gaucho hat – as worn by Dylan on his “Never Ending Tour” or favored by Jack White of the eponymous White Stripes on his most recent concert appearances. Yet even even if Dylan is sporting said chapeau, I’m tossing out two words for you –

JEW. FRO.

Slide.

Hoodie. Right. Suspect was wearing a hoodie so you couldn’t see the Jew Fro. Feeling you. I do. Read the police blotter. Nine outta ten assailants in the commission of a crime are dressed in hoodies. Forget prohibiting the sale of spray paint, BAN THE HOODIE, watch the crime rate drop like a ten dollar hooker.

Next slide..

I got this from a Gap ad. You riff-raff still shop at the Gap? What’s the GAP? F-U, what’s the Gap! It’s the space between your sister’s legs is the GAP!

‘kay.. simmer down. Look at the jeans. You/me. Relaxed fit. Boot cut. Mom Jeans. Rock types go for the SKINNY CUT. Pipe Cleaner legs. Case in point – DAVID BOWIE. Inseam cuts right up to his scrotum. How else does he hit the high notes in “Young Americans.”

Slide..

Talk to the man. And I quote the Rolling Stone Encyclopedia Of Rock, “By performing his allusive, poetic songs in his nasal, spontaneous cadence, Dylan enlarged pop’s range and vocabulary while creating a widely imitated sound.”

Checklist: Does he mumble? UH-HUH! Does he sound like my Grandpa Frank after a pitcher of Pabst and a boilermaker chaser? THEN HE’S BOB FREEKIN’ DYLAN!

Let’s test what you’ve learned.

Slide puh-leeze..

Western-style hat, unshaven, reeks of weed.

No.. Not my mother..

ANSWER: Dylan. Or tourmate Willie Nelson..

P.S. Funnyman - You are now a CROSSING GUARD.

Officers we’ve got 30 seconds here – questions?

Dylan’s best album? Me, I’m a “Blood on the Tracks” man, but there is nothing wrong with the evangelical overtones of “Slow Train Coming” – We’ve all got to serve somebody, capeche?

Germaine question?

No, I do not watch Flight of the Conchords. Wife won’t let me get the HBO.

Anyone else?

Uh-huh, uh-huh..

I’ll repeat it so everyone can hear – Down at the park, you seen a large African American fella.. Played leftie.. Incendiary chord progressions? Good call – that was the GHOST OF JIMI HENDRIX, let the man be..

That’s our designated time for today officers, in summary – the ghost of Hendrix walks amongst us, Dylan’s the man, but Springsteen RULES! Do not fuck with Bruuuuuuuceee..

I see a hand up in back?

Yes. You can still arrest a black guy breaking into his house.

Sheez..

Let’s be careful out there.

Sunday Sceneggiata