Cold War Luck

Here it is, my first attempt at play writing. I got the idea from a fun story generator and the play wrote itself rather organically. If I had to edit it, I would try to add more humor and Russian puns; I wanted it to have an air of whimsy.

Cold War Luck: Playwriting

Cold War Luck

By

Callie Lopshire-Bratt

Characters:

Bill: a stressed psychiatrist, divorced from his socialite wife, yet still adores her. Deals in psychoanalysis and is very good at his job. Successful and a typical all-American man.

Carolina: a beautiful Russian spy living in the United States. Rather bubbly and empty-headed, surprised at her ability to survive as a spy as she speaks broken English at best. Must have a huge amount of luck to have survived thus far, and indeed situations always go her way. Has just received orders to find a husband to better camouflage herself.

Scene 1

Open curtains to a party in full swing in the 1950s. Women and men stand chatting and laughing around the couches, the high shrill laughter of women mingling with the smoke in the room. The room itself is done in red velvet, a throwback to the older era of New York, very gothic and rich-looking. A dark-wood table is off to the side, covered in whiskey glasses and bottles. The lights are set to low, casting a sultry yet seedy light over the party. One woman is standing by herself, her dress silky and straight, at odds with the flared dresses of others. Blonde and beautiful, she stands out like a sore thumb with her long hair among the brunette bobs. A man approaches her, nervous in his tweed-brown suit.

BILL: (nervously) You look lonely. Are you, you know, waiting for anyone?

CAROLINA: (with a noticeably bad attempt at masking her Russian accent) I’m a friend of….(with an air of grasping at straws) Mary’s. I’m just waiting here for her so we can go home.

BILL: Mary who?

CAROLINA: Mary (long pause while she desperately tries to think of an answer in English, then triumphantly) Miller!

BILL: There’s no Mary Miller here. (Carolina waits with bated breath for her discovery) She must have stood you up!

CAROLINA: (relaxing visibly) Why, what a horrible woman. (Suddenly remembers her orders to find a husband, and begins studying Bill intently)

BILL: So….what are you doing here? (he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze)

CAROLINA: Well, I was waiting for Mary, but since she stood me up, I guess I should go home. It was nice to meet you...

BILL: Bill.

CAROLINA: It was nice to meet you, Bill. (Moves towards the coat rack)

BILL: Don't go, can I get you a, a drink? (seems startled that he just asked a beautiful woman to get a drink)

CAROLINA: Sure, what about a vodka?

BILL: That Soviet swill? (laughs) We're in America, baby!

CAROLINA: (nervously) Ha, ha. I was just joking...what about...(desperately trying to think of an American drink) whiskey?

BILL: Sure thing! (moves out of sight to drink table)

A single light shines on CAROLINA, as she enters into a solioquy. Silence falls as everyone else on stage freezes in place.

CAROLINA: Whew, that was lucky. I can't believe no one has noticed that I have a Russian accent! Or that I'm terrible at this spying thing. My handler just instructed me to find a husband for better cover, so maybe this man will do? He's very....American.

BILL reenters into the spotlight. The moment is broken, and the rest of the people on stage start moving and chatting again.

BILL: Here's your whiskey. I put it on the rocks, hope that's okay.

CAROLINA: (takes a sip from her drink she takes from BILL) So, Bill, what do you do for a living?

BILL: I'm a psychoanalyist. (CAROLINA starts, frightened) Don't worry, I can't just look at you and see all your secrets.

CAROLINA: Well, that's a relief. (She laughs, relieved)

BILL: What about you....

CAROLINA: Carolina.

BILL: What about you, Carolina?

CAROLINA: Well, I'm an...accountant.

BILL: How interesting! You meet so few female accountants. With what firm?

CAROLINA: Um, well, actually I'm an unemployed accountant (again with an air of making things up)

BILL: I'm sorry to hear that. (Suddenly snaps his fingers) That's who you remind me of!

CAROLINA: I'm sorry?

BILL: You remind me of Natalia Makarova, that Russian ballerina who defected!

CAROLINA: (terrified) You don't think I'm from the Soviet Union, do you? (prepares to go down fighting)

BILL: Don't be ridiculous, of course you're American! You're too beautiful to be a Soviet spy. (realizes what he just says and turns bright red)

CAROLINA: (laughs) I like you, Bill. Shall we dance?

BILL: (offering his arm, which she takes) We shall.

THE PAIR dances off stage. Close curtain.

Senior Project: Why is Society So Obsessed with Blood and Monsters?

The reason I chose these piece (or really, a fraction of this piece) was because this essay and project have consumed my life for the last year of school. The Senior Project, a graduation requirement at my high school, must be on a question that the student chooses; in my case, I studied violence in the media. The following paragraph is from my 10 page paper, one of my favorite parts, on serial killers and violence in the news media.

Wild Card: An Excerpt from Vampires of Violent Media: Society and its Obsession with Violence

Monsters and blood go hand in hand, and oftentimes monsters are created by the blood they spill. A look at the genre of true crime novels and television (think 48 Hours, Criminal Minds, CSI) proves that American culture might assume that the monsters in human skin are the worst of all. However, our society is not only interested in the exploits of people like monstrous serial killers Dahmer and Ramirez, but even in some cases seems to worship them: Just look at the large demand for Ramirez's prison artwork (Kottler 119). Serial murders are incredibly rare, less than 1% of the homicides in America, but the news coverage of these “human monsters” makes these murders seem 1,000% more common (124). During an interview with Erica DeGarmo, who holds a PhD in social psychology, she made the note that “society finds marginal behavior like serial homicide interesting because it is so abnormal and unusual.” However, it's not only real serial killers that are documented far beyond their actual occurrence: Serial killers both imagined and real became the subjects of mountains of books during the Reagan years and beyond (Poole 149).

Moving beyond serial killers for the moment, if you were to take a look at the 5 o'clock news on any day, the old adage “if it bleeds, it leads” comes immediately to mind. Think back to the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary late last year: That story (and rightfully so) led on all of the news media stations; but as the shock of the tragedy faded, so did the faces of the victims, to be replaced by the face of the killer: Adam Lanza. During a brief interview with A-- Z--, the media studies teacher at L-- L----, she remarked, about the increasingly high levels of portrayal of any type of school violence, “The news make it seem like these random acts of violence are so commonplace, but schools are one of the safest places to be; your children are way more likely to get killed walking down the street or being hit by a car, than to get gunned down in school.” In yet another incidence of the media sensationalizing violence, in the 1980s, after a ill-timed statement by the Justice Department, the media hysterically speculated that more than 4,000 unsolved murder cases a year were caused by serial killers and that the typical American is more than 37% likely to meet a serial killer (Poole 152). In reality, in the excellent wording of Poole, “the typical middle class American had about as much chance of being in an airplane crash over the ocean, surviving it, and then being killed by sharks as falling into the hands of a Ted Bundy”(152). 

If we're talking about the media, nowhere do we see more violence, blood, and gore than in our movies and television shows. Dr. Ritchey remarked over the classical music in the background of Peet's, “Levels of violence weren't so graphic growing up; it was the era of family sitcoms, Ozzie and Harriet on one side, and shoot-'em-out Westerns on the other.” Clearly, that's not the case so much anymore, with shows like The Walking Dead and True Blood (not to mention ones like Fringe or Supernatural) , and movies like Hansel and Gretel: Witchhunters, and Django: Unchained, among others. For example, seven of the ten most popular cable shows, including Criminal Minds and Elementary, showcase intense crime scene violence (Lemire et al.); and to talk about The Walking Dead is to talk about one of the bloodiest shows that I have ever seen in my life—blood sometimes even splatters the camera lens from exploding zombie heads and limbs. And it's not just me watching this gory show: TIME reports that The Walking Dead gets the highest 18-to-49 ratings of any drama on TV. But, as James Poniewozik explains in TIME, “it's not just that there's too much violence on TV, though there probably is...it's that producers have decided that the best way to touch a viewer's heart is to rip it out and show it to him”(50). However, TV isn't only overrun in dumb, over-the-top violence; it's using this extreme violence in intelligent ways, whether it's to show the struggle between morality and survival in The Walking Dead or misogyny in American Horror Story (50), or even the effects of apartheid in District 9 (Kottler 115). Part of this overabundance of violence on TV is to attract the viewers: without viewers, it's a short fall until TV shows are canceled and the network loses the money it spent filming and producing the show. However, the more pressing question is really why does TV feel the need to show us this violent media that used to be called drama? Because we lap it up. Remember, if it bleeds, it leads.

The Mop Speaks

I chose this poem as a wild card because it is rather a different side of me, a more angry poem, as a mop describing its experiences. The description in my opinion brings the mop to life; whenever my mother makes me mop, I always try to be gentle. I think trying to understand the world from another object's point of view is important; after all, understanding one another is our only way to peace.

The Mop Speaks: A Wild Card

Rough wood my body,

long and luscious and limp my hair.

Too bad THEY don’t understand that

hair is not supposed to be used to

clean up Cheerios and toast crumbs and peas

that fall on the floor.

THEY plunge me into soapy water

then drag my head

across the grubby ground;

then I am shoved back into the bucket,

shaken and stirred in a cocktail,

the main ingredient dirt.

My favorite type of THEM are babies;

we share a secret bond that only other

floor cleaners would understand. Too bad

THEY grow up.

Sometimes I get a break from working,

and am waltzed around the house in

THEIR arms.

It hurts to know that I am only practice,

perfect practice, for another one of THEM.

nerdiness and me

I originally wrote this essay for a college application to a college I wasn't accepted to. But since I didn't want to go there anyway, I consider it a win win situation. If you've read my "About me" section, then you know that I am going to Bryn Mawr in the fall--and the reason I'm going to Bryn Mawr in the fall is because the women there accepted me with this essay. This essay is me, and the reason it's a wild card is because it shows my passion unlike really any other story.

Nerdiness: A Wild Card

I am opposed to the word nerd. I prefer "passionate about something which others consider weird, socially unusual, or just plain odd". Sometimes I just want to read my book, and all I can think about is it lying on my nightstand, pages still flat and unread. I pace around the room when the next book in a series is not immediately available for downloading on my e-reader. The entire Eragon series? Yeah, I've read it. Three times. The Hobbit? Yeah, I saw it. At midnight. On my eighteenth birthday. Game of Thrones? Don't get me started; if George RR Martin doesn't hurry up and finish Winds of Winter, he's going to have a very impatient redhead on his front porch with a sleeping bag, because waiting out in front of Walmart on Black Friday is to "normal" people what Game of Thrones is to me. Santa brought me a two-pound backpacking sleeping bag this year, because it was the one of the few things I asked him for. I'm a nerd about camping and backpacking as well. No car camping for me - I prefer isolated, packing food in, and some serious hills, because the only way I feel good after a hike is knowing that I climbed up, not down. I look normal on the outside – no glasses, just contacts; no suspenders, or high-waisted pants; and definitely no personal computer that my eyes are always glued to, unless you count my iPhone (I don't). But if someone mentions a book that I've read, or a TV series I like, I immediately jump up and down and grill them on every single aspect, all shyness gone. I don't have to celebrate my nerdiness, since I celebrate every day, just by being myself. Words don't define me, but if they had to, I would say I was a "passionate person with varied interests usually in the realm of the unusual".

The Day I Jumped Off A Cliff

One of the most clear moments of my life was when I rappelled in the Sierra Nevadas as part of my wilderness adventure/leadership course, which was one of the defining moments in my life. An organization called GirlVentures took me out into nature to teach me leadership skills and the value of me as a person, and I now work for this amazing organization and love every minute. This vignette shows the moment when I transitioned from girl to woman, from shy to brave.

The Day I Jumped Off A Cliff: A Vignette

I looked down, then, completely panicked, looked back up. My hiking boots dangled into open space, knees desperately digging into the ledge, fingers wanting to grasp the rock but were too busy tightly knotting themselves on the rope that was my salvation. Shakily, breathing deeply and steeling my nerves, I looked down at my dearest friends reaching up to me, yelling encouragement. Their support would have helped, if I weren’t fifty feet in the air above them.

I looked immediately back up, deaf to the soothing voice of my wilderness instructor, telling me that I can do it, I can jump. No, this was a battle between me and my inner demons, those little voices that told me I’ll never be good enough or brave enough for this world. Tears of frustration threatened; had I really come all this way, physically and mentally, just to give up now?

No, my new-found confidence whispered, Don't give up now, you can do it, just jump.

I could climb back up, but that would be giving in to my little voices, and the newly courageous me rebelled at that idea: I would not, could not, give up. I was going to rappel down this cliff and there was nothing those little voices could do about it.

Except then I looked down. My determination vanished, and I needed every ounce of courage and strength in my body not to admit defeat and climb back up away from the edge and my crippling fear. But then, strangely, gripped by a sudden impulse, I took a deep breath and glanced down, and for the first time, I consciously saw the beauty around me: the tall trees that brushed the sky, the majestic mountains, the rock itself, beautiful in the way only dirt can be, faceted with all kinds of small glittering particles, the wind, brushing its current against my face as if to say, let go and fly.

Suddenly I knew: If I didn’t jump now, I would never take a risk like this again. I would never know what it would feel like to live in the present, where every action wasn’t planned and controlled. I would never know what it would be like to be confident in myself, to lead, to take those first steps towards anywhere new I might want to go. Did I really want that life? The answer was mine and mine alone to choose: jump and continue jumping, living for myself and the ones I love. Or climb up, give in to my fears, and live a life I didn't want.

The choice was mine, the hardest yet most important choice I've ever had to make in my life. Decision time had arrived, and I was as ready as any girl could possibly be to make a decision that would change her life as she knew it.

To jump or not to jump? That was my question.

Jump, my confidence said, and I'll catch you.

I jumped.

And I’ve been jumping ever since.

Burning House Project

Wild Card: Burning House Project

This project was one of my favorites. I had a great time picking out my ten items, but it wasn't easy at all. I had some existential moments picking out these items: it wasn't easy to pick things that were truly irreplaceable. I kept thinking about what was really important to me, and here's a list of what is in the picture and why.

1. Long tribal-patterned skirt: I love to dance in this skirt and it's pretty irreplaceable, as I found it in a thrift store.
2. My journal: the black journal is an old Kahlil Gibran book, that was turned into a journal. I love it to pieces.
3. True Blood: a new addiction; while not irreplaceable, it holds a special place in my heart.
4. Illustrated Fairy Tales: my grandparents gave this book to me when I was just a baby, and someday I want my children to read it.
5. NOOK: I would most definitely die without my books. I could always get a new NOOK, but this one and I have been together for many memories.
6. My chapstick: a girl can't deal with a fire if she has chapped lips!
7. Poohlie: my Poohbear stuffed animal I've had since I was three is definitely like no other, and he is very important to me.
8. King Dork: this is one of my favorite books and will never be replaced! I have written notes in it and it is like a Bible to me.
9. Mohindar Suresh action figure: Mohindar is one of my favorite characters from Heroes, and my best friend gave it to me.
10. My sister Addie: this one is pretty self-explanatory: I love my sister to death and would do anything for her.

the best days are spent outside

Short Writing: the best days are spent outside

The original assignment was to write a six word sentence to best describe me and my outlook on life. I love nature, so I knew mine had to include that idea that nature is quite honestly the best. I chose the fragment to illustrate my innermost thoughts about nature, for I believe that it is amazing to spend a day outdoors, and I try to at least once a day, for just a little bit if I don't have much time.