Since this blog is sponsored by Norton Critical Editions, I am under contractual obligation to provide commentary for any and all creative work I post. The following are my own comments on my recently posted dramatic piece “Salad Daze.”
First of all, you got me. You’ve suspected me all along, haven’t you? I’ve got aspirations to be something other than a Japanese restaurant and I like to dabble with a little serious writing from time to time. My background, as you might have guessed, is in playwriting, but I also have aspirations to write for the screen (I’ve got a notebook full of screenplay ideas if I could only find the time to write them--I only I could dumb them down enough to make them palatable to Hollywood, ha ha). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my little creative venture. I was kind of embarrassed to even share it with you, but putting your work out there is something every artist has to do sooner or later. What good does it do hidden away in some drawer (or in some secret folder on a hard drive)?
“Salad Days” was an idea I had kicking about my head ever since I had the misfortune of sheltering the Blowhard and his party from the elements on the night they dined inside of me. It is not complete in and of itself, but the middle territory of a much larger work, which follows the Blowhard and his companions throughout the entire course of their dining experience. The second act of the play hinges upon a reveal that further illustrates our understanding of the character of Blowhard, namely that his chosen profession is that of lawyer. Like all good endings, it should be surprising yet inevitable. I think that many will, in reading the casual manner in which this information is imparted by the Unfortunately Complected Woman, experience the moment of “a-ha,” and then perhaps think to themselves I knew it all along.
To hear the Blowhard speak in his nasal, weasel-like, measured tones, as if he is the very voice of reason, would be the first clue that he is a lawyer (this is why, in casting “Salad Daze,” choosing an actor with the ability to convey the marrow-deep repulsiveness of the Blowhard is of the utmost importance). It is the type of speech that if the listener should fall into the trap of listening to the music rather than the words, he or she would be in grave danger of swallowing whole any quantity of manure that the Blowhard is capable of producing. If you talk loud and long enough and with enough conviction in your voice, people are going to believe you. (Let me save myself from a barrage of complaints by saying that yes, of course, there are good lawyers out there. The Blowhard, however, is not one of them.) This manner of speaking seems to be something that is explicitly taught in law school. If I might make a small suggestion to universities across the country: if you are going to outright teach lawyers-to-be to speak in a certain manner, you might want to see to it that the outcome of this instruction is less grating.
I dare say that a lawyer so obsessed with the work of Larry David is dangerous and would be an obstruction to the very process of dispensing justice. With the Blowhard in a court of law, a murder trial might quickly devolve into a nonsense discussion of a Cobb Salad or a loaf of marble rye. Perhaps the Blowhard would even go so far to fabricate evidence for comic effect, since it is obvious to any and all that his true calling is comedy and this whole lawyer thing is simply his way of marking time until he is discovered (because, god knows, we certainly need two Larry David’s in the entertainment business).
The flaws in the Blowhard’s reasoning border on mental illness. Is he actually so dense that he sees a restaurant as a singular entity--something akin to a colony of ants--rather than a group of individuals working for more or less their own means? Does he think that the server pledges blind allegiance to the owner? Is a server’s greatest dream nothing more than to make his boss rich? If that is the Blowhard’s belief, he is sorely mistaken. It is not always in a server’s best interest to keep a customer happy. The Blowhard and his party, with the exception of the young woman, conducted themselves like swine. An intelligent server, not wishing increase the likelihood of repeated bad behavior by rewarding it with friendliness or good service, will cut his losses and eat a bad tip in the hope that certain individuals will be unhappy with the experience and never return. If a server sees things otherwise, he needs to reevaluate his relationship with trifling amounts of money. In all honesty, Blowhard, a server could give a toss about your happiness if you are a pig. And you, Blowhard, are a pig.
Perhaps the real sickness lies in the Blowhard’s estimation of what is required in the name of good service. If a server can get in trouble, or, say, lose his job for serving alcohol after closing, why would you expect him to bend the rules for you? Oh, yes, we have forgotten about your heroic exploits with the salad, for which you lost your job. Well, listen, Richie Rich not everyone is so ready to cast their job aside (especially in times when unemployment is hovering around the ten percent mark). Maybe things were different in your youth when you had a summer job as a busboy--a job that if you had lost would not put you in any real danger. A server is not likely to put his or her livelihood on the line in order to please a man in a tacky shirt. We’re sorry if your server stopped at the line of providing good service and didn’t actually risk being fired in order to get you another beer--ESPECIALLY WHEN HE OFFERED TO GET YOU ONE FIVE MINUTES EARLIER FOR LAST CALL AND YOU DECLINED.
Perhaps what you really like is to manipulate people, to flex whatever scrap of power you may have at any given moment. Well, now that I’ve turned down the beer for last call, let’s see if I can’t get another beer out of the server. If he brings it, he’s a good dude, he knows I’m cool and that it wouldn’t hurt to bend the rules for me. I’m just like Larry David, after all, and who doesn’t like Larry David? If he doesn’t bend to my will, I’ll have to break out the big guns--at any rate I’ll get to impress my son’s date with that great salad story that I haven’t told since, well, since the last time I had a bad experience in a restaurant. There’s no way I can possibly lose this one. I’m a lawyer, after all, a silver-tongued voice of reason to whom all weaker minds must succumb.
These are the respectable members of our society? Thanks, Blowhard. I think I’m starting to like Larry David less.
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