English Report 6

“A COUNTRYE FORE ALL SEASONSE: AN EXERCISE IN TENDENTIOUS MORALIZING”

(you know, cuz it’s cool to make words with grr in it…)

p.s. the english report has new readers this time! they are no doubt disappointed by this vapid play. remember, you can access better, more substantial back issues of the english report at carl’s philosophesque website.

(:title English Report 6:)

kind readers of the english report:

there is no english report 6. corey has not been studying much lately, and to get back on track he is undergoing a retoxification regime of 100% caffeine milkshakes and “absolute” sugar therapy. in its place, here is a half-baked script found on his floor that may indicate his mental state:

SCRIPT FOR A ONE-ACT PLAY

“A COUNTRYE FORE ALL SEASONSE: AN EXERCISE IN TENDENTIOUS MORALIZING”

BY THE GREAT PLAYWRIGHT AND CITIZEN C.O. GARRIOTT

CAST AND DIRECTIONS:

The common man: Actor should be in early adulthood (i.e. the gray sunday afternoon before the monday of life). Character should wear black tights from head to foot to reinforce his role as faceless everystudent. The tights delineate an emaciated figure. His pale face is weary. Its expression is that of religious detatchment. He is the golden hope of the new learning.

England: Thirties. Has a bad body, never exercised. Should wear Diesel jeans with lots of holes ripped in them, red soccer shoes and a white jersey with the cross of St. George, and have spikey highlighted hair. Absurd swagger when moving. Thinks himself the dignified inheritor of a very old culture, but in fact walks the path of a happy lout. As irony inexorably dictates, it is England that has a lesson to teach in this play.

ACT THE ONLY:

The common man (in bed, socks still on): Boy. Am I. Am. Hungover. What happened last night? Wait, it’s all coming back now. A drinking game… with Germans… why, God? (existential angst. sickness unto death. nausea. jean-paul sartre. jean-luc picard. john reid edwards.) I am never drinking Guinness spiked with whisky again.

England: POOF!

Common man: Behold, the spirit of England made flesh has apparated in my room! Clearly I am part of a play with allegorical characters intended to torture a metaphor, an ignoble exercise in tendentious moralizing. Hence the title.

England: Knave, who suffers ye to remain in bed? You who have been nourished by the new learning of economics! Know ye not the Pareto optimal use of your time is to study mathematical derivations? How blunted grows a mind when sunk by Irish drink!

Common man: Spirit, the spirits I drank are not the sole cause of my procrastination. I am unhappy in your country.

England: These words strike my ears bitter. Have the colonies decayed completely? Have you forgotten Shakespeare? Did Keats fade so quickly? Is Bono’s fame so small?

Common man: No, good spirit, none of these. It is not your past but your present that bugs me. I find your people wearisome, your weather discouraging, your habits alternatively boorish and prim.

England: Holy Europe’s union! Argument will not change this boy’s mind. I shall prove the worth of this country to you in a display. Come, we are to depart on a magical journey through England: past, present and future!

SCENE ONE: ENGLAND WHISKS THE COMMON MAN AWAY TO A QUEENS’ COLLEGE COURTYARD IN THE *LAND OF STUDENTS’ PAST*

Common man: Hey. Um, this is just yesterday.

England: A perfect day! O nature, what we as…

Common man: Nature? Spirit, we’re standing on one of these exactly-one-inch-high college lawns that people aren’t allowed to walk on. It’s less than natural.

England: O the outdoors, then! What we as English long for in our hearts and regard as divine right!

Common man: See, I like long walks as much as anyone. But your outdoors are damp, your skies cloudy, your temperature a maddening chill. I mean, there’s something about the English cold that makes you think it’s alive and hates humanity. I’ve been places where the temperature drops enough below freezing to actually snow, and the wind blows down streets like through a tunnel, but nothing offends quite like the English chill, which somehow creeps through any jacket or scarf the way even a hurricane’s gust won’t.

England: Ah — but consider. Is it raining?

Common man: Well, no it’s not, for once.

England: Hailing? Drizzling? Do you see water falling in any of its myriad forms?

Common man: Not today anyway.

England: Why, my dear boy. Then it IS a perfect day — in England! Count your blessings.

SCENE TWO: ENGLAND WHISKS THE COMMON MAN TO THE LAND OF STUDENTS’ PRESENT, WHICH IS ACTAULLY THE SAME PLACE JUST LATER

England: Sweet Prince Harry’s bounty! It’s almost 5:00 p.m. and not dark yet!

The common man: Augh! But this is just it. A normal day on earth doesn’t end at four or eleven! It is again unnatural, offensive! Honestly, the climate here should be a third character in this play, like a painting in Tennessee Williams that glowers at you eternally. How can anyone maintain a normal sleep cycle here?

England: Is it possible that you have not learned the lesson? I will have you answer more questions: Boy, could you see where you were going at 4:30?

Common man: Well, yes.

England: Urchin, and at 4:00, did you see your feet atop the pavement below?

Common man: Finally I could, yes.

England: Foolish mortal, and did the sun set at 11:00 p.m. yesterday?

Common man: It hasn’t even begun to do that yet, and I dread it.

England: Verily it IS a perfect day — in England! Count your blessings.

SCENE THREE: ENGLAND WHISKS THE COMMON MAN TO THE LAND OF STUDENTS’ FUTURE, AN OFFICE IN LONDON

Common man: A cramped office in London?

England: We all have to do our time here.

Common man: Clearly I need to get out of my field. Everything good in London either closes at 11 p.m. or charges an exorbitant fee.

England: Once again you miss the point. Are you in Scotland?

Common man: Um, by the way, why is it you people still don’t consider Scotland to be part of your country? It’s been long enough. But I’d prefer to be in Scotland actually.

England: No you wouldn’t. Furthermore, are you in Wales?

Common man: Look, that would be nice too.

England: Silence. Neither of those completely separate countries where they don’t speak the same language nor share the same government AT ALL will pay you anything for your degree in the social sciences. But for some reason we’ll pay you a lot of money to go to London and “consult.”

Common man: Now I see.

England: Count your blessings.

END

EPILOGUE:

It’s freezing here.

And no, I’m not going to sell out and go to London. Not yet, anyway.

REAL END

Send love, C.O. Grriott

(you know, cuz it’s cool to make words with grr in it…)

p.s. the english report has new readers this time! they are no doubt disappointed by this vapid play. remember, you can access better, more substantial back issues of the english report at carl’s philosophesque website:

http://www.deadhobosociety.com/index.php/Sections/HelloWorldProject