A Star is Born or Something

I'm huffing and puffing and carrying a large ironing board. I still have tons of things to do. One is to print out 60 copies of the show sequence. After that I have to attach cardboard fins to the ironing board and cover it all with aluminum foil. I need to make jaws out of paper plates or something. Where's Susan's classroom? I zip around the third floor. Finally I find the right room. Inside is a curvy, beautiful Chinese woman. She's naked. She's surrounded by people. She smiles at me. "Wow," I think, "I really should get some sleep." The shocked students in Susan's nude drawing class watch me retreat. Stepping backwards into the hall, I knock down an impeccably dressed student. I apologize by asking where the printer is. He stares at the ironing board as he gets up. My wild eyes meet his. The electric hair clipper falls from my overloaded bag. Then, the big ball of aluminum foil drops and rolls right in front of his fancy red shoes. "You're an artist or something?" "Yep. An artist or something." He steps towards a door and waves a plastic card near a space-agey thing. Like a scene from Star Trek, the door slides open, revealing a room full of grey desks. The student must leave, but he introduces me to Ginette. Ginette is what they call "a fixture on the underground music scene." She's just come from the airport after "my little show in Paris.". She's helpful and cheerful. She is attractive. Very attractive. She takes my thumbdrive and inserts it into her laptop. Yes, I know what you are thinking and I was thinking it too, but Ginette is a Singaporean superstar and I'm just a guy carrying an ironing board. Twenty minutes from now I'll be onstage, reading a sad story about hairless Chihuahuas. But yes, if I had time and we'd had a few drinks, I would certainly ask Ginette if I could insert my thumbdrive into her laptop again. Anyhoo, the printer's near a magnificent window and I spend three seconds taking in the sprawling dynamic, culturally diverse Singaporean nightscape before me. Yada yada yada. I finish, pick up my ironing board and profusely thank Ginette. I put my thumbdrive back in my pants and fly downstairs. Amith and Mel met each other for the first time about ten minutes ago. I introduced them just before I bumped into the naked woman. Amith plays acoustic guitar and Mel plays the nose flute and some kind of electronic thingy he made from an ice cream container. The y will play music while I read. I pass them the freshly printed show sequence. I say we'll do a quick runthrough when I "come back in a minute." I run off to finally make the shark from the ironing board. I reach backstage and suddenly ten people ask me twenty, thirty questions, all at once. I ignore them all. "Will you be a shark?" I say to Luke. Luke is a tall, thin Indian guy, dressed in black. Against the dark stage, he will be nearly invisible and it will seem as though the aluminum foil shark is magically and ferociously pursuing Joe the diver. As Joe is singing and being attacked, I will loudly proclaim that, "Joe the diver does not exist!" Luke adjusts his glasses worriedly? "Me, a shark? How, sir, shall this effect be realized?" "You see this ironing board? It'll be wrapped in foil and it'll have fins. I need to make some teeth. Anyway... just hold the ironing board shark and jump around like you're a bloodthirsty wolf of the sea!" Luke looks like he wants to write this down. "Bloodthirsty wolf of the sea... Understood. When, sir, shall this jumping occur?" "Just wait for the diver to start singing. Then, count to ten and start stalking. Stalk him like, like, like he's a chicken, a chicken dinner! Yeah, he's a chicken dinner and and you're a wildly hungry jumping starving sea wolf! Ignore my screaming and DO NOT attack me!" I walk backstage and answer hundreds of questions while using the last bit of happy face Scotch tape and some Band-Aids to attach the fins to the ironing board. Amith's gonna kill me because the tape and Band-Aids are going to leave gooey marks on the ironing board for sure. In the corner of the backstreets of my mind I am in a yoga position, cross-legged, chanting a long soothing mantra:Luke will be invisible. The ironing board shark WILL float menacingly and magically towards Joe as he sings his Air Supply song. The little yoga guy in my head can already see panties and bras being thrown onstage. The yoga guy can hear five hundred people in the audience screaming "Wow!" and "Magnifico!" Thato, one of the poet/performers from the Serengeti, patiently taps me on the shoulder and asks for his cue. Thato will perform his poem called "I'm Coming." Mel will accompany him with the nose flute. Then, Andrew will come onstage and will slowly gyrate his hips. In his best Barry White voice, he will read about the Armenian Church and pie dough. I cannot find Andrew. My Lady Gaga ringtone blares from the bag with the foil. I finally find it. It's Ben. He'll be here in ten minutes. I go on in five. My hair clippers are missing. I tell the musicians to forget about the hair performance art piece. Savinder pushes me and I nervously join Amith and Mel onstage... It was great. The music was incredible. As I ranted about not being able to see Joe the diver, the audience saw Joe walk onstage with his flippers and air tank, sounding like Darth Vader on his honeymoon. Then Luke the shark appeared. Joe tried to run but his mask was fogged and he plowed into Mel. Luke chased Joe semi-invisibly. His glasses fell off and he got lost in the stage curtain. Amith later said he was laughing so hard that he was in tears. Joe couldn't sing at first because using the oxygen tank on land made his throat dry. I couldn't hear anything. I was calmly reading to the four remaining members of the audience, expressing my frustration that it is impossible for the reader to accurately visualize the events which take place in a writer's head. 3how CD: The Riverwalk Session, co-produced by SB Mel Araneta and Stephen Black are featured in SPOKEN, a virtual exhibition
a man wearing a diving mask and tank on stage

Performance by 3how at LASALLE college of the Arts. part of the Lit Up festival organised by Word Forward. 2010

4 Responses to A Star is Born or Something

  1. When making prints or copies or impressions etc first make sure the mechanism is fully-wound and then press buttons and flick swithes at random until the desired effect is achieved. If this does not work, ask a passing blackbird, crow, magpie, dove etc or any black-and-white cows that may be around or that have wandered over to watch. Pandas, if you’re lucky.

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