Thou shalt not count to four, neither count thou two

All this talk about the Pope has everyone getting in on the Catholic religion. Even the SBWs. Oh, yeah, the Sassy Black Women. On my way to poli sci I overheard this little snippet:

"I'm glad we don't have a Pope. Ain't nobody gone tell me what to do with my Jesus." - SBW #1

Then I got to thinking about what it would be like if I were the pope. I'd be more popular this this Ratzinger fellow; I am Polish, after all. I might lost some of that popularity when I make everyone Jewish.

"In a bold move today by Pope Spark of Life I, the Catholic church ceased to exist...."

I'd also add a Commandment: Thou shalt not be not Jewish. The Bible would be replaced by Monty Python's Book of Armaments, and I'd impose a 3:1 Catholic to Jew ratio. Every Catholic must have a at least one Jewish buddy, preferably more, a Jew Crew, if you will.

Bear witness to my wrath

For those who wanted evidence of my terrible deed toward little Satan, I mean Alex, here it is, the moment before I drowned that little wretch.

Spark of Life, wanton sex goddess

Spark of Life's Total Request Live #2
NDC requests: "The best sex you ever had. Other than the sex with me. So really, the second best sex you ever had."

Oh, NDC. I could go on forever about the earth shattering event that was our romp in the hay, but such an endeavor would take up far too long to write. I just don't have the time. The experience was one which I will never be able to equal, and all my future lovers will have you to live up to, we'll just leave it at that. *

I won't go into the "best sex I ever had" for the simple reason that I can't. You can figure that one out for yourselves, people, I'm trying to be tactful, and not announce to the world my state of pleasant untaintedness.

I will, however, describe my ultimate sexual ambition: a menage a trois with David Hyde Pierce and Adrien Brody (while Jon Stewart watches, and Colin Firth video tapes). This will take place in a villa somewhere along the Mediterranean, preferably Florence. They'll be there, waiting for me to arrive with baited breath. And straight from the off, we'll have the sex. No, not sex, we'll FUCK. I'm talking the rough, hair-pulling, up against the wall, screaming until your voice is raw variety of sex; there'll be plenty of time for foreplay later. I figure we can go at that for a while, then I'll give the boys a chance to catch their breath. Jon can give me a full body massage, then we'll take a meal break (we'll need our strength, of course) which David will prepare, skilled cook that he is. Now we can move on to the slow, labrious love-making. Fully romaticized, now. Huge four-poster bed, satin sheet, candles, a string quartet in the background, all the essentials. But it won't be all about me, oh no. I'll give Adrien and David plenty of time to go at it themselves. David, of course, won't have a problem with this, but I'm sure that Adrien would be so far under my spell that he'd do anything to please me. It is me we're talking about of course. That's right. Spark of Life, Wanton Sex Goddess. Once I've gotten my fill of guy-on-guy action, we can go back to me, and the glorious sex will continue on through the night....

* Are you fucking shitting me? NDC lasted about 2 mintues before he was spent, and I swear he went soft halfway through. It was hard to tell, though, because his member was so laughably small I could barely feel a thing. I faked my orgasm the first time, but when he wanted to do it all again, I just didn't even bother. I let him carry on, though; I know he's a poor, lonely man who doesn't get laid much (and with good reason), so I thought I'd try and help him out.

Consider that payback for this.

Three girls in a fountain?

Spark of Life's Total Request Live #1
Caliofornia Will asks, "So, about this person you drowned in a fountain? Is there a back story or is that pretty self explanatory?"

I did drown a girl in a fountain, but unfortunately, due to the conventions of the stage, she didn't stay that way.

For those not familiar with the ending of Six Characters in Search of an Author, let me explain. The "characters" go about trying to tell their story to The Director, and in doing so end up acting it out, thereby reinforcing their fate to repeat the same story over and over until they find someone to give them life. So, The Step-Daughter (my character) is poised on this fountian with The Little Girl, who she knows is about to die once again. In order to show The Director this plot part of the story, I lower her into the fountain, and she drowns. And then The Little Boy shoots himself. The end.

The real meat of this story comes from who played The Little Girl, and how much I really wanted to drown her. I'm talking about one 9-year-old Alex Something-Or-Other, who the University found to play this part.

Now, I'm sure most of you know my stance on children. I don't like them. I do, however, like setting them on fire (or drowning them, as the case may be). However, I was pleasantly surprised at the start of production when I met the intelligent, calm, articulate, and QUIET little Alex. She was professional, and took direction well, so I thought, "maybe this one isn't so bad." Oh, how wrong I was. It seems that the Monster was hidden within her sweet exterior, and soon we all felt her wrath. I'll not go into detail about her escapdes, but I will say that I'll never be able to be naked in a dressing room again, without feeling distinctly paranoid.

On the first night of dress I dropped her into the fountain on accident. There was a big crash. And all of us smiled inside. And I think baby Jesus did, too.

Keep the requests coming. This is fun.

Spark of Life: Total Request Live

Taking a nod from NDC and various others, I'll be hosting a Total Request Live for the next few posts (groans at references to anything invloving MTV). That's right. Comment and request something for me to right about in an upcoming post*. No holds barred.

And if no one requests anything, I may do something decidedly emo like cry and write a song about it. Or kick your grandmother. In the shins. Douche.

*Please note that these may not be responded to in a timely fashion. I'm a busy woman with a brothel to run.

Putafest 2005: the Reunion (part II - the night of)

The time: April 1, 2005

When we last left our beloved putas, they had just completed work on The Fifth Sun (drinking a wealth of absinthe and throwing many naked cartwheels in the process). A year has passed since then, and the rumble in the El Salvadoran jungle began to stir: it was time for a reunion. Presente!

After some secret planning, sly hoarding, and hiding a few prostitutes in my trunk, we assembled at the Mexican't 's for our one year anniversay of opening night. What ensued can only be described as : putaliscious.

To sum up the night:
ritualistic dancing and animal sacrifices to Nanautzin
chimichangas
bitch drinks
putting our balls to the wall, ceiling, and anything that moved
a rousing game of "waterfall"
me being more inebriated than I have ever been (still not drunk, though. "I'm a good girl, I am")
naked cartwheels
light sabre fights (also naked)
one trip to Wal-Mart
learning about kegels
doing inappropriate things with a Jesus stick

Alas, the night did not have some of the things that brought charm to the original: absinthe, hickies, a dance-off, Shareef, the Vag, and dead pigeons.

What wouldn't Jesus do?

The Diary of Jesus

If I wasn't going to hell for denouncing my faith (and drowning a girl in a fountain, and pretending to be a Jewish lesbian, and being in The Fifth Sun, and kicking your grandmother.......in the shins) I think it's now cemented by getting so much enjoyment out of this.

Putafest 2005: the Reunion (part I - background)

The time: March, 2004

It was a dark time in the age of downstage theatre. Patrons had yet to be moved, and visions were not yet fufilled. Then, lo! A light shone upon The Vag, coming from the general direction of El Salvador. Inspiration flooded the almighty Vag; auditions were held, shows cast, rehearsals took place, an audiences were floored. Oh, yes, I am speaking of Nicholas Patricca's The Fifth Sun.

The individuals who forged this production together coined themselves: the Putas. These amazing students learned in the span of one month how to put their balls on anything that moved, and bonded throughout the process.....some might even say that they became a "cult" of sorts. They enganged in several questionable practices such as naked cartwheels, teabagging (and the occasional taco drop), ritualistic dancing, and sacrifices to Nanautzin. Absinthe was ingested, chimmichangas were eaten, vaginas were touched, chi was harnessed, and sassy feet were tapped at with the Jesus Stick. And of course, the fucking. Oh, the Fucking. No, not that, you sick freak - get your mind out of the gutter (and into El Salvador). I'm talking about this:

The Fifth Sun *Fuck* List
Fuck Doubt.
Fuck the President.
Fuck the Drums.
Fuck the Lines.
Fuck Fine.
Fuck the Catholic Church.
Fuck Sounding Stupid.
Fuck the Lights.
Fuck Good.
Fuck Ethics.
Fuck the Guardians.
Fuck Superb.
Fuck the Audience!

If you have ever been given a pair of balls by The Vag you are a puta.

If you have ever worn those balls around your neck you are a puta.

If you have ever asked the question "Is this where I move to 3 facing 6 with my head turned to 4.5?" you are a puta.

If you have ever put the Body of Christ into a tupperware container marked "Body of Christ" you are a puta.

If you know who Nanautzin is you are a puta.

If you have ever watched the Spanish dubbed version of the movie "Romero" you are a puta.

If you have ever harrnessed your chi around a Mayan altar then you are most definitely a puta!

A true Puta understands that sometimes it is not sufficient to wear only one mask onstage at a time, rather you must adorm yourself with two, even if it takes an act of engineering genius to affix one on top of the other. A puta will preferably have black hair but exceptions will be made for special cases (i.e. pale-freckled nuns, Aryan assistant directors, and sassy brunette stage managers). A puta can also recite the prolouge from "Romeo and Juliet" while shaking out all the homesexual tension in their wrists and ankles. Putas can tell you how to say the following words in Spanish: stapler, bacon, hippoptamos, computer, and pubic hair.

Putas are multi-talented.
Putas stick together.

Putas have dance-offs in The Vag's bedroom and feast on chimichangas. They know that it isn't a party unless there is guacamole and plenty of bitch drinks (and a 40 for the Arab!). Ask a Puta to perform a nude cartwheel, taco-drop, or an act of tea-bagging and they will do it.
Vivas las putas.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Part II: the Reunion. PRESENTE!!!

With contributions from Méghan Adriel Dwyer, otherwise known as The Vag.

Plumbing my depths

Sorry, Hydrass, for jocking your style. It's time for Q & A with Spark of Life:

Now that "Shooting Simone" is over, what are you going to do with your life?
Life? Wow, that's assuming an awful lot, there......Let's start with a full night's sleep, follow up with an unrushed meal, a dose of loafing about, and some naked cartwheels for good measure. Lot's of naked cartwheels.

Are the post-production blues set in yet?
Thankfully no.

Why do you love David Hyde Pierce so much?
I think the more important question is: Why don't I love DHP? There's just something I can't resist about intelligent, witty, lanky, talented, cultured men. What I don't love it when they turn out to be gay. However, that makes the odds of a menage a trois with him and Jon Stewart that much more in my favor.

If you had super powers would you use them for good or evil?
Do I have to choose the extreme ends of the spectrum? Why doesn't anyone use their powers for mild annoyance? Oh, wait, Tom Green....

Why the adamant oppostition on dating theatre majors?
It's hard to be attracted to people who you've already seen naked, dressed in women's clothing, and have had to make out with in front of an audience. The thrill is gone. But, really, conflict of interest. Not mixing business with pleasure and all that (though I'm not sure which is which).

You've got to play one role for the rest of your life, what is it?
Gah. For as much as I've thought about this, I still can't come up with a clear decision. I've narrowed it down to: Clytemnestra in the Oresteia, Grusha in The Caucasian Chalk Circle, Blanche in A Streetcar Named Desire, or Harper in Angels in America part I: Millenium Approaches.

Would you kill a homeless man for $1 million?
I'd like to think so.

Marriage and children. Your thoughts?
I hate children. I don't hate setting them on fire. Let's be honest, if I ever had children, I'd probably end up Andrea Yates-ing myself into some major trouble. They'd either end up in therapy, severly unhinged, or abandoned backstage one night. Probably both. As for marriage.......I won't swear it off, but the idea doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather go the Simone de Beauvoir- Jean Paul Sartre route on this one (funny, once I've played her, I've noticed so many similarities). An open relationship which functions for the sake of art..........now that's something I could do.

So, wait, are you Jewish?
Are you?

What's the one favorite movie that you're least likely to own up to?
Lolita. Because I'm a kinky, kinky girl.

So, when this whole "theatre" things inevitably falls through, how do you plan to keep yourself from living in a carboard box in Central Park?
Prostitution. Not the terrible dirty whore kind, but the high-class Audrey Hepburn-as-Holly Golightly variety. That and the fact that I'll do anything for money. Even naked cartwheels. Especially naked cartwheels. But, wait. I'd do those for free, anyway. I've more or less resigned myself to a life of poverty.

What's with the naked cartwheels?
Oh, that's a long story, and several shows ago. I will tell all. In time......

Journalism at its finest

This was said on ABC news at 10 by a man who was waiting in line to see the Pope:

"Our flight leaves at midnight, and we're going to wait in this line until the last possible minute. We love that Pope, and we're gonna see him, even if we have to push little old ladies out of the way."

Now, they had to have interviewed more than just one person, and the fact that they chose this one, is a perfect testament to East Texas sensibilities.

This ranks right up there with the news story about the man who built his own personal golf course: "Now, you may not think driving a bulldozer is relaxing, but let me tell ya, nothing makes a bad day better than knocking down a tree."

From this we can conclude East Texans let neither trees nor little old ladies get in their way.

Falling further into obsession

Dear David Hyde Pierce,

Happy birthday. I was going to surprise you and jump out of a cake while scantily clad, but I was at a kick-ass cast party until the wee hours of this morning, and didn't think I would be up-to-par for you. I mean, if I'm going to do somehting, I'll do it right, naked cartwheels and all. Next year, my darling, next year.

Eternally yours,
Spark of Life

We have seen quite enough of Simone de Beauvoir's vagina

Production post mortem.

We closed Saturday night. Good run, bad matineé. Overall, I'm v.v. pleased. But I learned entirely too much about the sex lives of 75-year-old philosophers. Only drawback: damned theatre apprec. students with no theatre ettiquette who thought the characters were ghosts. I guess I just expect a lot out of an audience; I think I underestimated the "WTF Factor" of this play.

And no one actually did get to see my vagina.

Strike was non-heinous, cast party was absolutely brill. (especially considering that I actually went to this one). I kissed about 10 people (no alcohol involved) and fondled a three-legged cat. Bra-burning brought the night to a close. I walked home happy.

I'll miss being Simone.