Pledge This!
All the way to the left on your radio dial!
Transcript
BOB GARFIELD: So now that we know about you, we thought we’d expose a little bit more of ourselves. On the Media has never been shy about finding fault, and poking fun, at all sorts of media institutions….from the Fox News Channel to The New York Times to vanity license plates. Very seldom though have we placed our own institution… public radio…under our pitiless gaze. And yet public radio - with all its conflicts and eccentricities – isn't just an inviting target; it's the proverbial side of a barn. What follows therefore is a preposterously extravagant offering of the most outrageous stereotypes ever applied to public radio, an unforgivably self-indulgent exercise in biting the hand that feeds us.
BROOKE GLADSTONE: Actually, we’ve done it before – this will be the third broadcast of our only effort at full-fledged radio theatre, and we call our little production “Pledge This!" It’s a sneak peek into the life of a struggling public-radio station in the mythical planned community of Blandon Park, and it stars Janeane Garafalo, Fred Willard and Tony Shaloub. Actually, we’d make replays of “Pledge This!” a holiday tradition if we thought we could get away with it. By the way, NPR had nothing to do with this – Bob and I wrote it - so send your complain…compliments …to on the media DOT org.
ACT I
SHOW OPEN: A RADIO DIAL BEING TUNED, SAMPLING THE VARIOUS FREQUENCIES SERVING BLANDON PARK. STATIC... "YOU PICKED A FINE TIME TO LEAVE ME, LUCILLE"... STATIC... "BOLERO"... STATIC... "DR. TOM RICHARDS. BLANDON PARK'S LEADING COSMETIC SURGEON, CELEBRATES THE GRAND OPENING OF HIS LIPO DEPOT IN THE BLANDON PARK MALL... STATIC... (SAME COMMERCIAL IN SPANISH)... STATIC W-FAST. GIVE US TWO MINUTES AND 45 SECONDS, AND WE'LL GIVE YOU THE WORLD!... STATIC... (DULCIMER MUSIC) W-ACLU, 87.1-ALL THE WAY TO THE LEFT ON YOUR RADIO DIAL. LISTENER-SUPPORTED NEWS AND DULCIMER, BROADCASTING DIRECT, 18 HOURS A DAY, 24 DURING PLEDGE DRIVES, FROM THE BLANDON PARK MALL. COMING UP: BLANDON PARK EDITION WITH TRENT ROSENBLITT.
(THE SCENE IS THE NEWSROOM OF W-ACLU. THERE IS DULCIMER MUSIC PLAYING ON THE RADIO IN THE BACKGROUND, SOME GENERAL OFFICE NOISE, AND THE SOUND OF A PHONE RINGING.)
RECEPTIONIST (ON P.A.): Trent Rosenblitt, Trent Rosenblitt. Your Ethiopian take-out is waiting at the desk. Mary Demarest, line one, Mary Demarest, line one.
MARY: (LOUDLY): I didn't eat all of my babaganoush, if anybody wants it... Hello, newsroom. This is Mary Demarest... Oh, hello, your Excellency... No, I really don't, I'm... in the middle of... Now? Can't it wait? The show's... (LOWERING VOICE) I know the station has a cash-flow problem, but there's a pledge drive in a couple of weeks. I'm sure that will bring in, gosh, hundreds of dollars... Shut down the station?! No, things can't be that bad... All right, but please make it fast, and don't let it be another sleazebag... How would I define "sleazebag?" Mr. Pringle, wasn't your last hot underwriting prospect The Psychic Hotline Federation? ..All right, you're the President... Bye. (SHE HANGS UP, AND ADDRESSES TRENT)
MARY: Unbelievable. Trent, guess what.
TRENT: That was Pringle. The station is broke and he's bringing in another unsavory underwriter. Have you tried the Ethiopian kik alicha? Pureed yellow lentils in exotic spices. Marvelous.
MARY: Do you have to listen to all of my conversations?
TRENT: Mary, how far do we sit apart?
MARY: Umm... 3 feet?
TRENT: What do you do all day?
MARY: Talk on the phone.
TRENT: What do you do after every call?
MARY: Tell you about it.
TRENT: Even when I'mmmm...
MARY: Busy.
TRENT: Orrr...
MARY: On the phone yourself.
TRENT: The day you set up that David Bowie interview, what did you do when you hung up the phone?
MARY: Tell you about it.
TRENT: Even though I wassss...
MARY: Passing a kidney stone. Come on, Trent. It was David Bowie, for crying out loud. Do you think we're really in trouble?
TRENT: Que sera sera... Listen, I want to talk to you about this Jenkins interview today. I've been looking over your questions, and they seem to lack a certain... gravitas.
MARY: (SURPRISED AND IRRITATED) What?!
TRENT: Well, I don't want to be harsh but the material is a bit... lightweight. I was wondering if you might take another look.
MARY: Come on, Trent, it's three o'clock. Our cut-in is 83 minutes away. I have an entire newscast to write. I have to edit Porfyria's commentary. I have to scratch the ears of Pringle's latest Capitalist Running Dog. If you don't like the questions, write some of your own.
TRENT: You know I don't write questions. That's the producer's job.
MARY: (EXASPERATED) All right. What question don't you like?
TRENT: (RATTLING SCRIPT PAGES) Well, for example: "Courtney Jenkins, you are the Girl Scout cookie sales champ for Blandon Park. You sold 1,212 boxes of cookies. What are your selling secrets?"
MARY: What on earth is the matter with that?
TRENT: I don't know. Don't you find it a bit... juvenile?
MARY: Trent, she's 11.
TRENT: That's no reason to be condescending.
PORFYRIA: (OFF-MIKE, APPROACHING FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE NEWSROOM IN HER ELECTRIC WHEELCHAIR, WHICH HAS A CHARACTERISTIC LOUD HUM WHEN IT OPERATES. AND A HORN IS BLOWING.) Those jackasses! Those simple-minded jackasses!
MARY: Ah, our understated commentator. Is that a new horn on the wheelchair, Porfyria?
TRENT: Hello, Porfyria. You look so lovely today.
PORFYRIA: (AGITATED) I can't believe this!
MARY: Can't believe what?
TRENT: I don't mean "lovely" in a patronizing way.
PORFYRIA: Gott im himmel. This frosts my patoot!
TRENT: …because I would never resort to demeaning gender stereotypes, which, are course, tantamount to sexual violence.
MARY: Trent, please... Porfyria, what is it this time?
PORFYRIA: Yesterday's commentary. About Prince Charles's visit to Metroplex.
MARY: Yeah, you called the future King of England a poster child for inbreeding. I thought we might get a little feedback.
PORFYRIA: Sure, if you want to take a few words out of context.
MARY: I have the reel right here. Let's give it a listen, shall we?
(MARY RACKS UP THE REEL, AND CUES IT UP, WITH ALL THE BRRRDLEEEELPPP SOUNDS, AND WE HEAR A BIT OF THE COMMENTARY, WITH "GOD SAVE THE QUEEN" UNDERNEATH)
PORFYRIA: (ON TAPE) "…Don't these pasty-faced kidneyphiliacs know they lost the Revolutionary War? If the Prince formerly known as Doofus wants to tie up traffic with his motorcade, he can take his pallid red-lipped, old-school, kippers-stinking, darts-tossing, pub-crawling, banger-stuffed rump in a lorry and drive the wrong side of the road straight off the white cliffs of Dover. On the other hand, is there anything nicer for breakfast than a hot, toasted English muffin? For W-ACLU, this is Porfyria Stoltzfuss-Hawkfeather."
PORFYRIA: See, it's balanced.
MARY: I'll just send out the form apology. So what do you have today?
PORFYRIA: Wheelchair access. Yesterday I was denied admittance to a public venue.
MARY: In this day and age? That's unbelievable. Which public venue?
PORFYRIA: Skate-a-Rama.
MARY: The ice rink?
PORFYRIA: Just because I'm not... (AS IF IN QUOTATIONS)... "able-bodied."
MARY: That's ridiculous... You are able-bodied.
TRENT: Mary.
MARY: I just can't get Friday night out of my mind.
TRENT: Ah, the limbo contest.
PORFYRIA: (AGITATED AGAIN) What are you saying? What are you saying?!!
MARY: Nothing, Porfyria.
PORFYRIA:: You know I'm a semi-plegic. Don't make me bring the lawyers into this!
MARY: Just read me the commentary.
PORFYRIA: I hope you're not suggesting...
MARY: Porfyria, I'm not suggesting anything. I fully understand that many people are disabled with...
TRENT: Differently abled, Mary.
MARY: ... differently abled...
PORFYRIA: The term is "counter intuitively gifted," thank you very much.
MARY: All right, counter intuitively gifted... with Restless Leg Syndrome...
PORFYRIA: Afflicting 10 million Americans with tragic annoyance-plus, in my case, a morbid disinclination to walk. I have a doctor's note.
TRENT: Mary, the girl scout will be here...
RECEPTIONIST (ON P.A.): Scooter Pyle, line one. Scooter Pyle, line one.
SCOOTER (OVER THE INTERCOM): Hello?... HELLO?!
PORFYRIA: Gott im Himmel, I can't tolerate this commotion. It unsettles my extremities.
MARY: Hold on...something's happening in the studio… Scooter, What?
SCOOTER: Yo, Mary. What's up?
MARY: Nothing's up. I'm talking to Porfyria. Why?
SCOOTER: Then why are you calling me?
MARY: I'm not, Scooter. There's a phone call for you. This is the intercom.
PORFYRIA: I'm out of here. I have a commentary to write. Those jackasses! (AS SHE HITS THE HORN, HER WHEELCHAIR WHIRS AWAY.)
RECEPTIONIST: Scooter Pyle, line one. Scooter, pick up line one.
SCOOTER: Who do you suppose is it?
MARY: How should I know? You're the engineer - why don't you try something technical, like answering the phone?
SCOOTER: Good idea. It may be about my silencer. See ya, Mary.
TRENT: Silencer? What's that, some new piece of equipment in his control room?
MARY: I don't think so.
(THERE IS A BIG COMMOTION, AS THE STATION PRESIDENT MAKES HIS WAY INTO THE ROOM)
Oh, no.
PRINGLE: (OFF-MIKE) Now, Horatio, this is the newsroom itself. This is the nerve center. This is where it all comes together.
TRENT: Hello, Mr. Pringle.
PRINGLE: Hello, team. Allow me the pleasure of introducing our newest broadcast partner, Horatio Chung.
CHUNG: Please don't stand up.
MARY: I won't. (TO PRINGLE) "Broadcast partner", Mr. Pringle?
PRINGLE: That's right. Mr. Chung is the newest member of our team. He's very excited about partnering with us and exploring the synergies that will direct W-ACLU toward a new paradigm for the 21st century. From the moment he read our mission statement, he knew he wished to...
MARY: ... advertise on our station.
CHUNG: Exactly!
PRINGLE: Absolutely not! No maam. Not while I'm president of W-ACLU will we have any advertising on it. No, no, no. This is a sacred trust we have been... entrusted with. We are not salesmen. We are stewards of the public airwaves, and we are not for sale. Repeat: not for sale!
CHUNG: Well said, Mr. Pringle. Shall we play her the commercial?
MARY: I'll bet you mean "underwriting credit."
PRINGLE: Of course he does. Mr. Chung, Mary is the producer of Blandon Park Edition, and, as you can see, she is as fiercely independent as she is bright and unthreateningly attractive.
CHUNG: I can see that you are fearful, Ms. Demarest, but there is no need for you to be concerned. The people I represent share your agenda.
MARY: Public radio has no agenda.
CHUNG: The people I represent share your lack of an agenda.
PRINGLE: Mary and Trent, Mr. Chung is the director of public outreach, North American directorate for the People's Republic of China.
CHUNG: Pringle!
PRINGLE: What?... Oh! Did I say China? I meant "The Middle Kingdom.." Mr. Chung represents "The Middle Kingdom."
CHUNG: We are repositioning the brand.
PRINGLE: New and improved, and on our team!
TRENT: Maaary...
MARY: (TENSE HISS) I'm in a situation here. I can't rewrite the questions now.
TRENT: But I've got to make an important phone call, and then the kid will be here, and I've got nothing but softballs to lob.
MARY: You don't hear Larry King complaining.
TRENT: Okay, listen, I'm running out to the mall for a moment.
MARY: I thought you had to make a phone call.
TRENT: (NERVOUS) I do, but the kik alicha has me parched. I'm gonna stop by World O' Cuisine for a cup of hot Afghan yogurt. I won't be long.
PRINGLE: Mary, if you don't mind. Mr. Chung's support is worth a great deal to W-ACLU, so I need a moment of your undivided attention, and I need you to keep an open mind.
MARY: That's what you said when you brought in the Dioxin Foundation.
PRINGLE: (Wistfully) Deep pockets too. We could have skipped the Fall pledge drive. So please, Mary, if you'll just give an ear to the funding credit, I'm sure you'll also want to enlist Chi... the Middle Kingdom onto the roll of esteemed teammates as much as I do.
(HE SLIPS THE CASSETTE INTO THE DECK, HITS PLAY AND UP COMES THE SOUND OF THE CHINESE NATIONAL ANTHEM.)
SPOT: "W-ACLU is supported by listeners like you. Also by, the Middle Kingdom, sponsors of the 35th national Congress of the Communist Party, where President Jiang Zemin wowed the crowd with his 30,000-word report titled: "Hold High the Great Banner of Socialism Despite Imperialist Meddling in our Internal Affairs." The Middle Kingdom-- Where labor is cheap and expression is dear!"
PRINGLE: I, for one, think it strikes just the right tone.
MARY: Nice jingle.
CHUNG: That's our national anthem.
MARY: Well, it really rocks... Excuse me, Mr. Chung. May I have just a quick word with His Eminence?
CHUNG: By all means.
MARY: (TAKING PRINGLE ASIDE AND WHISPERING) Sign him up, Mr. Pringle. I'm sure you'll be able to find another producer in no time.
PRINGLE: Are you saying you'd resign?
MARY: I'm saying I'd resign and Trent would follow me out the door. But I'm sure Porfyria would make an excellent anchor.
PRINGLE: Lose Rosenblitt? He's the dean of suburban Metroplex broadcast journalists... not counting Metroplex Heights. This place would go down like the... what was that horrible disaster movie?
MARY: "Pluto Nash?"
PRINGLE: (SPLUTTERING) All right, Mary, you may win this one. But when it's time to get your Christmas tote bag, don't come crying to me.
SOUND MOVES ACROSS THE NEWSROOM TOWARD THE RECEPTIONIST, AND PHONE RINGS OFTEN.
RECEPTIONIST: W-ACLU, hold please… W-ACLU, hold please…
TRENT: Back in a flash, Trudy. I'm running out to the mall.
RECEPTIONIST: OK, Mr. Rosenblitt… (Phone rings). W-ACLU, may I help you.
(TRENT PUSHES OPEN DOOR TO REVEAL MALL AMBIENCE. SHOPPERS MURMUR, "A TASTE OF HONEY" IS ON THE SOUND SYSTEM, PUNCTUATED BY P.A. ANNOUNCEMENTS)
P.A.: Attention, Blandon Park Mall shoppers: Looking for the perfect gift for that certain Blandon Park someone? For mailboxes, lawn ornaments and bicycle reflectors in tasteful earth tones, check out the deals at The Conformity Shoppe on Level 2! ... And shoppers, stop by Dr. Tom Richards' Lipo Depot. Eyelids and lips done while you wait. And ask about his Valentine's Day special: Do two breasts, get one free. (TRENT WALKS A FEW PACES, OPENS A DOOR AND ENTERS WORLD 'O' CUISINE. WE NO LONGER HEAR "A TASTE OF HONEY." NOW WE HEAR "IT'S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL.")
GREETER: Welcome to World O'Cuisine. Your passport please.
TRENT: Um, you know, I didn't bring it. I just...
GREETER: No problem. We'll arrange a one-meal visa. Which country would you like to dine in? We can seat you immediately in Belarus. There's a 20-minute wait for Italy. Sri Lanka is temporarily closed while the bomb squad roots around.
TRENT: Actually, I just wanted to make a phone call. Where are the payphones?
GREETER: Just past Swaziland.
TRENT: Thanks... Excuse me... Pardon me.
(WE HEAR HIM SQUEEZE PAST OTHER PATRONS AND REACH THE PHONES. HE PICKS UP THE PHONE, DEPOSITS A COIN AND DIALS. WE HEAR RINGING, THEN A RECORDED GREETING.)
MESSAGE: Hello, you have reached Universal Public Radio. If you are calling for program information, press 1 now. If you are calling for the news department, press 2 now. If you are calling in to complain about leftist bias in our coverage, please hold and a comrade will be with you shortly.
(BEEP SOUND AS TRENT PRESSES 2)
Hello, this is the UPR news department. If you wish to file a story, press 1 now. If you wish to file a commentary, press 2. If you wish to file a lawsuit, press 3 now. If you wish to speak with some temp, press 0.
(BEEP SOUND AS TRENT PRESSES 0)
OPERATOR: Hello, Universal Public Radio.
TRENT: Leona Krump, please.
OPERATOR: Connecting.
LEONA: "Third World Week." This is Leona.
TRENT: Leona. Trent Rosenblitt.
LEONA: Trent!
TRENT: Hey, I'm calling about that audition we discussed.
LEONA: Oh yeahhh. Listen, Trent, we just can't do it.
TRENT: What?! I thought you said I was a top candidate for the host gig. I'd really kind of...
LEONA: The timing doesn't work, Trent. Sorry. So we'll just be listening to your show today.
TRENT: What?! Today's show?
LEONA: Yeah, we have to pull the trigger fast on this hire. So we'll all be listening to Blandon Park Edition today-in about 15 minutes actually. That'll be your audition.
TRENT: Gee, Leona, I'm not sure this is the most ideal platform for me. It's kind of a slow news day. You see...
LEONA: Make it ideal, Trent. Dig deeper. Find the essence. Live the moment. Tell it with sound. That's why people tune into UPR, Trent. Church bells, gravel. Truth that goes crunch, Trent. Truth that goes crunch!
TRENT: But...
LEONA: Gotta run, buddy. And I think you do, too. Break a leg... and let me hear it snap. (SHE HANGS UP AND SO DOES TRENT)
END OF ACT I
ACT II
(MALL AMBIANCE)
FAYE: (APPROACHING FROM A DISTANCE) Trent! Trent! How are you?
TRENT: Faye! Why you look positively… seamless. What's happening?
FAYE: Well it's 67 degrees here in Blandon Park under partly cloudy skies. And we're playin' the hits! How are things at old Without a Clue?
TRENT: W-ACLU is and always will be W-ACLU. It's immutable. Unlike W-BPR. What's the format this week? Still all Kenny Rogers, all the time?
FAYE: You betcha. As we swing past 4 p.m. on this beautiful Monday, we're number one in the market.
TRENT: Look at you, Faye! The pedicure, the power hair... you even sound commercial.
FAYE: The word is "marketable," my friend. I took my instrument to Tom Richards. The man's a genius. One little laryngeal tuck and W-PBR moves me into morning drive time. I get seven figures, the chopper and in five years I get to choose my own doctor.
TRENT: Actually, I have a little negotiation of my own going on right now... (LOWERING VOICE TO CONSPIRATORIAL WHISPER)... with UPR. Don't tell Mary.
FAYE: You two still sitting three feet apart?
TRENT: She doesn't know.
FAYE: Trent, Trent, Trent... what are you screwing around with Universal Public Radio for? It's a snake pit. The pay stinks. The politics... my God, the politics! Listen, you gotta know when to walk away, know when to run. See Dr. Richards about that nose whistle, and I can get you an interview at W-BPR.
TRENT: Thanks, but no thanks. It's not my... uh... style.
FAYE: Now, Trent, think about my offer. This is Faye "Have a Nice Day" McVeigh. Catch you next time! (WHEELCHAIR HUM)
PORFYRIA:: (OFF MIKE) Those jackasses! Those simple-minded jackasses!
TRENT: Porfyria, what are you doing here so close to show time?
PORFYRIA:: I might ask you the same thing. But if you must know, I wanted to go to Belize for some fried plantains and a Diet Coke, but these jackasses have closed it for some sort of cholera outbreak.
TRENT: Did Mary like your commentary?
PORFYRIA:: I haven't showed it to her yet. I'm still frankly aghast at her thoughtless implication that simply because I technically have the use of my legs, I somehow don't belong in a wheelchair.
TRENT: Don't be silly, Profyria. Mary respects you enormously. We all do. I know I do. I.. I... You are an... an... irrepressible voice.
PORFYRIA:: I'm the voice of the unheard.
TRENT: Of course you are.
PORFYRIA:: And the damned unheard never shut up.
TRENT: Mmm. I've seen your mail.
PORFYRIA:: These jackasses! They hear a half-Latina, one-quarter-Amish, one-quarter Native American in a wheelchair and they can't get past, you know, the easy stereotype.
TRENT: Sure… lump you in a category.
PORFYRIA:: Gavolt, they don't know me….. Yikes! It's 4:10. I've got to burn rubber.
TRENT: Yeah. Thirteen minutes to show time. Barely time to be edited.
PORFYRIA:: Oh, no time for that. I have four bonnets at the dry cleaner. Peace, pale brother. (MUSICAL BRIDGE)
(DOOR OPENS TO W-ACLU, LEAVING "A TASTE OF HONEY" BEHIND. TRENT IS HUFFING AND PUFFING.)
TRENT: Sorry I'm late. How's everything going?
MARY: (AGITATED) It's a nightmare, that's how it's going. Pringle's coming by with another live one, and if it falls through, we're all on the bread line. You blow in, five minutes before the show, like you haven't got a care in the world, and Porfyria has completely and totally vanished.
TRENT: I think she had to roll out on an errand.
MARY: Who rolls... who does errands in the middle of the show? I haven't edited her commentary. I haven't even seen her commentary.
TRENT: I believe she said it's about Skate-a-Rama... What do you suppose makes it an "a-Rama?"
MARY: What's the difference? I know she has a bee in her bonnet. But I need to see the bonnet.
TRENT: I'm pretty sure you will.
MARY: Well she's certainly not going on the air with something I haven't seen first. We'll have to use an evergreen. Let's check the studio and see what's on the shelf. (SHE HITS INTERCOM BUTTON AND TALKS TO SCOOTER IN MASTER CONTROL)
MARY: Scooter, are you there?
SCOOTER: (ON INTERCOM) Where?
MARY: Are you... Scooter, for God's sake, check the rack, please, and see if we have any pre-recorded Porfyrias.
SCOOTER: 10-4, good buddy. (LONG PAUSE). Whoaaa!
MARY: "Whoa" what?
SCOOTER: Somebody spilled chai on my "Soldier of Fortune."
MARY: (SHOUTING) Scooter! The show is about to start. Do we have any Porfyria commentaries ready?
SCOOTER: Oh, yeah, fer sher. Not to worry. We have one.
MARY: Are you holding it in your hand?
SCOOTER: No, Mary. That would be gross!
MARY: The reel, Scooter. Are you holding the reel of the Porfyria commentary? (OFF-MIKE, UNTIL WE "PAN" TOWARD THEM)
PRINGLE: Now, Hank, this is the newsroom. This is the nerve center. This is where it all comes together. Three minutes from now, the whole day of journalism comes to fruition in Studio A. We'll listen to the show live in the master control, come on.
HANK ARAMA: This is very exciting.
PRINGLE: I know you'll be impressed. See that glass window? See that fellow with the vague look about him? Go in there, Hank. I'll be right behind you.
HANK ARAMA: Through there?
PRINGLE: Yep. I'll join you in two shakes. (WHISPERING TO MARY)
All right, Mary. You win. China is out of the picture. But I have got the answer to our prayers. The real deal. You said you'd embrace any underwriter whose business you didn't find morally reprehensible. Well, I found him! I found him, Mary, right here in the mall! And get this: he's willing to underwrite the show-the whole shootin' match-for two years!
MARY: Well, that's excellent, Mr. Pringle. Congratulations. Who is this Mr. Right?
PRINGLE: It's not Mr. Right. It's Mr. Arama.
MARY: Mr. Arama?
PRINGLE: That's right. Hank Arama. He owns Skate-a-Rama.
MARY: And that's him? In the control room? But, Mr. Pringle...
PRINGLE: Mary, Hank's part of the family now... He had to meet Scooter eventually.
SCOOTER: (OVER INTERCOM) One minute to air... Hey, Hank, wanna see my scar? (PORFYRIA WHIRS IN, HONKING)
PORFYRIA: Clear a path, colleagues! I come bearing commentary!
MARY: Porfyria! Where the hell have you been?
PORFYRIA: Meditating on truth. I have been to Skate-a-Rama and I shall never be the same.
PRINGLE: No! This is almost too good to be true. I've gotta tell Hank.
MARY: All right, Porfyria. Go live. But never again.
PORFYRIA: (WHIRRING AWAY) Don't worry, Mary, you wouldn't change a thing.
MARY: (TO HERSELF) Mmmmm. Except my identity.
(STARK AMBIENCE SHIFT TO THE STUDIO. NO THRUM OF NEWSROOM, NO DULCIMER. THERE IS THROAT CLEARING, PAPER RUSTLING AND THE SOUND OF TRENT FORCING AIR THROUGH HIS NOSE.)
TRENT: 1,2,3,4,5. 1,2,3,4,5. Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peppers… Scooter, how's the whistle situation?
SCOOTER: I'm not hearing it. Gimme some more nose.
(TRENT EXHALES THROUGH HIS NOSE AGAIN)
SCOOTER: Clean as a whistle... No, I mean, clean as a not whistle. Stand by, Trent... 3... 2... 1. You're on!
TRENT: (THE MOMENT HE IS ON THE AIR, HIS NOSE STARTS WHISTLING. WE ALSO HEAR PAPER RUSTLE EVERY TIME HE TURNS THE PAGE.) You're listening to Blandon Park Edition. I'm Trent Rosenblitt. (RUSTLE). In today's top stories: In a big blow to the local economy, Blandon Park was eliminated as a possible site for a U.S. Department of Energy radioactive waste disposal site. Disappointed economic development officials remain optimistic, however, about Blandon Park's chances to be a finalist for the so-called "Prison Without Walls" for terrorists and serial killers. The Blandon Park Good Neighbors Council has announced revised architectural standards aimed at curbing the outbreak of non-earth-tone mailbox flags. Citing numerous examples of, quote, "alarming nonconformity," Supreme Neighbor Thad Von Dachau vowed to eradicate what he called "the red menace." Von Dachau, of course, created a stir last month while pressing for the arrest and deportation of Joseph Winter, an albino-American who resides in Blandon Park's Highway Vista quadrant. (TAPE ROLL: "I stand by my position. He's a decent fellow but his eyes are simply too garish.")… Supreme Neighbor Thad von Dachau. ... In entertainment news, actress Jaye P. Morgan has agreed to be Grand Marshal of the annual Blandon Park Parade of Minivans. This follows the sudden withdrawal from the event of the Blandon Park High School Fightin' Compromisers football squad. The tan and beige are serving a month of weekend detention for what administrators termed "unspecified crimes against humanity." ... More Blandon Park Edition after the break.
ANNOUNCER: You're listening to W-ACLU, all the way to the left, underwritten this hour by Dr. Tom Richards' Lipo Depot, pleased to support W-ACLU's continuing commitment to broadcasting excellence and all of your cosmetic surgery needs; and by Funeral Shak, the last word in the last purchase you'll ever make. See our familiar black kiosk at the Blandon Park Mall; and by... listeners like you. (DULCIMER MUSIC)
SCOOTER: Stand by, Trent, in five.
COURTNEY: When do I talk?
TRENT: Just wait for the light to go on, honey.
COURTNEY: 'kay.
TRENT: Are you nervous, sweetheart?
COURTNEY: (GIGGLING) A little bit!
TRENT: Don't worry. It'll be fun!
ANNOUNCER: And now back to Blandon Park Edition, and the dean of broadcast journalists in southwestern suburbs of Metroplex, not counting Metroplex Heights, Trent Rosenblitt.
TRENT: We're back with our very special guest, a very nice, if I may say, very sweet little girl named Courtney Jenkins, who is the Girl Scout cookie sales champ for all of Blandon Park. (PAPER RUSTLES) Courtney, you sold 1,212 boxes of cookies... (PAUSE)... what... are... your... selling... secrets?
COURTNEY: I followed the stench of fear, Mr. Rosenblitt. I walked down every street in Blandon Park, and every stinking cul de sac, in the darker districts, the shadows, the seamy underbelly where decent people seldom go. I saw things, Mr. Rosenblitt. A dead bird. A decapitated Care Bear. A set of shutters in a non-conforming shade of lavender.
TRENT: (GASPING) My God!
COURTNEY: God has nothing to do with it. I bore my cookies on my back, and sold them to the frightened and the weak. I'm only 11, but I'm tired. So very tired.
TRENT: (A LONG PAUSE, FOLLOWED BY FRANTIC PAPER SHUFFLING AND THE FLUSTERED TONE OF AN INTERVIEWER VAMPING FOR HIS LIFE) I see... and... did... your Mommy and Daddy help you?
COURTNEY: My parents are dead. I'm a ward of the county.
TRENT: And I'm sure the county is very proud of you... What... what do you think you'd like to be when you grow up?
COURTNEY: Heavily sedated, because the things I feel would make you weep.
TRENT: We only have... um... we only have... 30 seconds left... Courtney... and I wanted to ask you... in the few... 26 seconds... now it's 25 seconds... in the remaining few... okay... okay, only 22 seconds we have remaining... did you think... um... Courtney...
COURTNEY: Did you know that there's a whistling sound coming out of your nose?
TRENT: (CHIRPY) All rightly! We're here with the adorable Courtney Jenkins, Blandon Park Girl Scout cookie sales champ. Courtney, to wrap up, what would you say is the most popular cookie?
COURTNEY: Oh, that would have to be the thin mints.
TRENT: Thank you sweetheart. And now, with today's last word, W-ACLU's senior news analyst, Porfyria Stoltzfuss-Hawkfeather. (PORFYRIA THEME MUSIC)
PORFYRIA: Today I speak on a disturbing subject, a nightmare, one of our society's most postulant chancres. I refer, of course, to ice-skating. (ICE RINK AMBIENCE UP) Consider for example, the waste of resources. "Don't water your exquisite lawn," we're warned over here. "Don't put so much ice in my whiskey sour, you whore!" over there. And every damn time you turn around, "Don't take a long lingering, so desperately needed 'get-me-away-from-all-this-pain you-simple-minded-jackass' bath. (BATH SOUND) (ICE RINK)) Countless marriages have been split like the paw of a playful kitten named Penny trying to catch the needle of my sewing machine over the issue of running water while brushing teeth. (KITTEN) I know mine was. And I know I'm a very fast brusher. (TOOTH BRUSHING)
(ICE RINK VOICE: Girl in the red dress, stay there, someone will get you.)
Do you see the children? Wee ones? Adorable little angels, gliding across the ice? Hah! They are baby seals, innocently awaiting slaughter. (SEALS BARKING) It's called slam and slice, and I ask you, whose wobbling little calf will be next? Ask yourself when next you skate on a frozen river of blood. (CHURCH BELLS, GLUB, GLUB) At long last, something must be done about ice skating, and I cannot do it alone. I am very, very busy. For W-ACLU, this is Porfyria Stoltzfuss-Hawkfeather.*
SCOOTER: ... 3... 2... 1... Okay, Trent, we're clear.
TRENT: Thank God.
(AMBIENCE SHIFT BACK TO NEWSROOM, AS TRENT, PRINGLE, COURTNEY EXIT STUDIO, THERE IS A SLURPING SOUND OF COURTNEY DRINKING THROUGH A STRAW.)
COURTNEY: Thanks for watching my Orange Julius for me, Mr. Pringle.
PRINGLE: My pleasure, Courtney. Would you like another one?
COURTNEY: Yes, please.
PRINGLE: Okay! I'm buying... Hello, Mary. Great show as usual.
MARY: I'm sorry, Mr. Pringle, but... what?!
PRINGLE: You really shifted the paradigm! Excellent work!
MARY: I noticed Mr. Arama left in a rather big hurry. Is he still on the team?
PRINGLE: Hmmm? Hank? Noooo.
MARY: Well you don't seem too upset about it. I thought he was our last hope.
PRINGLE: Last hope? Are you out of your mind? This is our greatest opportunity!
MARY: Huh? Trent, do you know what's going on?
TRENT: (SOUNDING DEFEATED) The girl scout talked Arama out of suing.
PRINGLE: And sold him 70 boxes of Do-Si-Dos! Mary, meet our new vice president for development.
COURTNEY: Hi.
MARY: Well, that's an awfully big job for such a little girl.
COURTNEY: (SLURPING) Don't worry. I'll squeeze them till they bleed.
PRINGLE: Come on, Courtney. Let's hit the mall and synergize.
COURTNEY: 'kay! (THEY EXIT)
MARY: Well, Trent, that wasn't so bad, was it?
RECEPTIONIST: Trent Rosenblitt. Call on line one. Trent. Line one.
MARY: I think we made radio history this afternoon.
TRENT: Mary, please, not now... (ANSWERING PHONE) Hello, Rosenblitt here... Oh... Yeah..uh huh... No, no. You're right right... it didn't crunch... Mmmm, I understand. Thanks anyway... Bye... (TO MARY) Well Mary, I guess I should tell you what that was all about.
MARY: It was some yoda from UPR calling to say you didn't get the job.
TRENT: How could you possibly know that?! All I said was "it didn't crunch."
MARY: Trent. How far apart do we sit?
-----------
*Porfyria's commentary on Skate-a-Rama written by Lisa Gladstone
BROOKE GLADSTONE: Actually, we’ve done it before – this will be the third broadcast of our only effort at full-fledged radio theatre, and we call our little production “Pledge This!" It’s a sneak peek into the life of a struggling public-radio station in the mythical planned community of Blandon Park, and it stars Janeane Garafalo, Fred Willard and Tony Shaloub. Actually, we’d make replays of “Pledge This!” a holiday tradition if we thought we could get away with it. By the way, NPR had nothing to do with this – Bob and I wrote it - so send your complain…compliments …to on the media DOT org.
ACT I
SHOW OPEN: A RADIO DIAL BEING TUNED, SAMPLING THE VARIOUS FREQUENCIES SERVING BLANDON PARK. STATIC... "YOU PICKED A FINE TIME TO LEAVE ME, LUCILLE"... STATIC... "BOLERO"... STATIC... "DR. TOM RICHARDS. BLANDON PARK'S LEADING COSMETIC SURGEON, CELEBRATES THE GRAND OPENING OF HIS LIPO DEPOT IN THE BLANDON PARK MALL... STATIC... (SAME COMMERCIAL IN SPANISH)... STATIC W-FAST. GIVE US TWO MINUTES AND 45 SECONDS, AND WE'LL GIVE YOU THE WORLD!... STATIC... (DULCIMER MUSIC) W-ACLU, 87.1-ALL THE WAY TO THE LEFT ON YOUR RADIO DIAL. LISTENER-SUPPORTED NEWS AND DULCIMER, BROADCASTING DIRECT, 18 HOURS A DAY, 24 DURING PLEDGE DRIVES, FROM THE BLANDON PARK MALL. COMING UP: BLANDON PARK EDITION WITH TRENT ROSENBLITT.
(THE SCENE IS THE NEWSROOM OF W-ACLU. THERE IS DULCIMER MUSIC PLAYING ON THE RADIO IN THE BACKGROUND, SOME GENERAL OFFICE NOISE, AND THE SOUND OF A PHONE RINGING.)
RECEPTIONIST (ON P.A.): Trent Rosenblitt, Trent Rosenblitt. Your Ethiopian take-out is waiting at the desk. Mary Demarest, line one, Mary Demarest, line one.
MARY: (LOUDLY): I didn't eat all of my babaganoush, if anybody wants it... Hello, newsroom. This is Mary Demarest... Oh, hello, your Excellency... No, I really don't, I'm... in the middle of... Now? Can't it wait? The show's... (LOWERING VOICE) I know the station has a cash-flow problem, but there's a pledge drive in a couple of weeks. I'm sure that will bring in, gosh, hundreds of dollars... Shut down the station?! No, things can't be that bad... All right, but please make it fast, and don't let it be another sleazebag... How would I define "sleazebag?" Mr. Pringle, wasn't your last hot underwriting prospect The Psychic Hotline Federation? ..All right, you're the President... Bye. (SHE HANGS UP, AND ADDRESSES TRENT)
MARY: Unbelievable. Trent, guess what.
TRENT: That was Pringle. The station is broke and he's bringing in another unsavory underwriter. Have you tried the Ethiopian kik alicha? Pureed yellow lentils in exotic spices. Marvelous.
MARY: Do you have to listen to all of my conversations?
TRENT: Mary, how far do we sit apart?
MARY: Umm... 3 feet?
TRENT: What do you do all day?
MARY: Talk on the phone.
TRENT: What do you do after every call?
MARY: Tell you about it.
TRENT: Even when I'mmmm...
MARY: Busy.
TRENT: Orrr...
MARY: On the phone yourself.
TRENT: The day you set up that David Bowie interview, what did you do when you hung up the phone?
MARY: Tell you about it.
TRENT: Even though I wassss...
MARY: Passing a kidney stone. Come on, Trent. It was David Bowie, for crying out loud. Do you think we're really in trouble?
TRENT: Que sera sera... Listen, I want to talk to you about this Jenkins interview today. I've been looking over your questions, and they seem to lack a certain... gravitas.
MARY: (SURPRISED AND IRRITATED) What?!
TRENT: Well, I don't want to be harsh but the material is a bit... lightweight. I was wondering if you might take another look.
MARY: Come on, Trent, it's three o'clock. Our cut-in is 83 minutes away. I have an entire newscast to write. I have to edit Porfyria's commentary. I have to scratch the ears of Pringle's latest Capitalist Running Dog. If you don't like the questions, write some of your own.
TRENT: You know I don't write questions. That's the producer's job.
MARY: (EXASPERATED) All right. What question don't you like?
TRENT: (RATTLING SCRIPT PAGES) Well, for example: "Courtney Jenkins, you are the Girl Scout cookie sales champ for Blandon Park. You sold 1,212 boxes of cookies. What are your selling secrets?"
MARY: What on earth is the matter with that?
TRENT: I don't know. Don't you find it a bit... juvenile?
MARY: Trent, she's 11.
TRENT: That's no reason to be condescending.
PORFYRIA: (OFF-MIKE, APPROACHING FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE NEWSROOM IN HER ELECTRIC WHEELCHAIR, WHICH HAS A CHARACTERISTIC LOUD HUM WHEN IT OPERATES. AND A HORN IS BLOWING.) Those jackasses! Those simple-minded jackasses!
MARY: Ah, our understated commentator. Is that a new horn on the wheelchair, Porfyria?
TRENT: Hello, Porfyria. You look so lovely today.
PORFYRIA: (AGITATED) I can't believe this!
MARY: Can't believe what?
TRENT: I don't mean "lovely" in a patronizing way.
PORFYRIA: Gott im himmel. This frosts my patoot!
TRENT: …because I would never resort to demeaning gender stereotypes, which, are course, tantamount to sexual violence.
MARY: Trent, please... Porfyria, what is it this time?
PORFYRIA: Yesterday's commentary. About Prince Charles's visit to Metroplex.
MARY: Yeah, you called the future King of England a poster child for inbreeding. I thought we might get a little feedback.
PORFYRIA: Sure, if you want to take a few words out of context.
MARY: I have the reel right here. Let's give it a listen, shall we?
(MARY RACKS UP THE REEL, AND CUES IT UP, WITH ALL THE BRRRDLEEEELPPP SOUNDS, AND WE HEAR A BIT OF THE COMMENTARY, WITH "GOD SAVE THE QUEEN" UNDERNEATH)
PORFYRIA: (ON TAPE) "…Don't these pasty-faced kidneyphiliacs know they lost the Revolutionary War? If the Prince formerly known as Doofus wants to tie up traffic with his motorcade, he can take his pallid red-lipped, old-school, kippers-stinking, darts-tossing, pub-crawling, banger-stuffed rump in a lorry and drive the wrong side of the road straight off the white cliffs of Dover. On the other hand, is there anything nicer for breakfast than a hot, toasted English muffin? For W-ACLU, this is Porfyria Stoltzfuss-Hawkfeather."
PORFYRIA: See, it's balanced.
MARY: I'll just send out the form apology. So what do you have today?
PORFYRIA: Wheelchair access. Yesterday I was denied admittance to a public venue.
MARY: In this day and age? That's unbelievable. Which public venue?
PORFYRIA: Skate-a-Rama.
MARY: The ice rink?
PORFYRIA: Just because I'm not... (AS IF IN QUOTATIONS)... "able-bodied."
MARY: That's ridiculous... You are able-bodied.
TRENT: Mary.
MARY: I just can't get Friday night out of my mind.
TRENT: Ah, the limbo contest.
PORFYRIA: (AGITATED AGAIN) What are you saying? What are you saying?!!
MARY: Nothing, Porfyria.
PORFYRIA:: You know I'm a semi-plegic. Don't make me bring the lawyers into this!
MARY: Just read me the commentary.
PORFYRIA: I hope you're not suggesting...
MARY: Porfyria, I'm not suggesting anything. I fully understand that many people are disabled with...
TRENT: Differently abled, Mary.
MARY: ... differently abled...
PORFYRIA: The term is "counter intuitively gifted," thank you very much.
MARY: All right, counter intuitively gifted... with Restless Leg Syndrome...
PORFYRIA: Afflicting 10 million Americans with tragic annoyance-plus, in my case, a morbid disinclination to walk. I have a doctor's note.
TRENT: Mary, the girl scout will be here...
RECEPTIONIST (ON P.A.): Scooter Pyle, line one. Scooter Pyle, line one.
SCOOTER (OVER THE INTERCOM): Hello?... HELLO?!
PORFYRIA: Gott im Himmel, I can't tolerate this commotion. It unsettles my extremities.
MARY: Hold on...something's happening in the studio… Scooter, What?
SCOOTER: Yo, Mary. What's up?
MARY: Nothing's up. I'm talking to Porfyria. Why?
SCOOTER: Then why are you calling me?
MARY: I'm not, Scooter. There's a phone call for you. This is the intercom.
PORFYRIA: I'm out of here. I have a commentary to write. Those jackasses! (AS SHE HITS THE HORN, HER WHEELCHAIR WHIRS AWAY.)
RECEPTIONIST: Scooter Pyle, line one. Scooter, pick up line one.
SCOOTER: Who do you suppose is it?
MARY: How should I know? You're the engineer - why don't you try something technical, like answering the phone?
SCOOTER: Good idea. It may be about my silencer. See ya, Mary.
TRENT: Silencer? What's that, some new piece of equipment in his control room?
MARY: I don't think so.
(THERE IS A BIG COMMOTION, AS THE STATION PRESIDENT MAKES HIS WAY INTO THE ROOM)
Oh, no.
PRINGLE: (OFF-MIKE) Now, Horatio, this is the newsroom itself. This is the nerve center. This is where it all comes together.
TRENT: Hello, Mr. Pringle.
PRINGLE: Hello, team. Allow me the pleasure of introducing our newest broadcast partner, Horatio Chung.
CHUNG: Please don't stand up.
MARY: I won't. (TO PRINGLE) "Broadcast partner", Mr. Pringle?
PRINGLE: That's right. Mr. Chung is the newest member of our team. He's very excited about partnering with us and exploring the synergies that will direct W-ACLU toward a new paradigm for the 21st century. From the moment he read our mission statement, he knew he wished to...
MARY: ... advertise on our station.
CHUNG: Exactly!
PRINGLE: Absolutely not! No maam. Not while I'm president of W-ACLU will we have any advertising on it. No, no, no. This is a sacred trust we have been... entrusted with. We are not salesmen. We are stewards of the public airwaves, and we are not for sale. Repeat: not for sale!
CHUNG: Well said, Mr. Pringle. Shall we play her the commercial?
MARY: I'll bet you mean "underwriting credit."
PRINGLE: Of course he does. Mr. Chung, Mary is the producer of Blandon Park Edition, and, as you can see, she is as fiercely independent as she is bright and unthreateningly attractive.
CHUNG: I can see that you are fearful, Ms. Demarest, but there is no need for you to be concerned. The people I represent share your agenda.
MARY: Public radio has no agenda.
CHUNG: The people I represent share your lack of an agenda.
PRINGLE: Mary and Trent, Mr. Chung is the director of public outreach, North American directorate for the People's Republic of China.
CHUNG: Pringle!
PRINGLE: What?... Oh! Did I say China? I meant "The Middle Kingdom.." Mr. Chung represents "The Middle Kingdom."
CHUNG: We are repositioning the brand.
PRINGLE: New and improved, and on our team!
TRENT: Maaary...
MARY: (TENSE HISS) I'm in a situation here. I can't rewrite the questions now.
TRENT: But I've got to make an important phone call, and then the kid will be here, and I've got nothing but softballs to lob.
MARY: You don't hear Larry King complaining.
TRENT: Okay, listen, I'm running out to the mall for a moment.
MARY: I thought you had to make a phone call.
TRENT: (NERVOUS) I do, but the kik alicha has me parched. I'm gonna stop by World O' Cuisine for a cup of hot Afghan yogurt. I won't be long.
PRINGLE: Mary, if you don't mind. Mr. Chung's support is worth a great deal to W-ACLU, so I need a moment of your undivided attention, and I need you to keep an open mind.
MARY: That's what you said when you brought in the Dioxin Foundation.
PRINGLE: (Wistfully) Deep pockets too. We could have skipped the Fall pledge drive. So please, Mary, if you'll just give an ear to the funding credit, I'm sure you'll also want to enlist Chi... the Middle Kingdom onto the roll of esteemed teammates as much as I do.
(HE SLIPS THE CASSETTE INTO THE DECK, HITS PLAY AND UP COMES THE SOUND OF THE CHINESE NATIONAL ANTHEM.)
SPOT: "W-ACLU is supported by listeners like you. Also by, the Middle Kingdom, sponsors of the 35th national Congress of the Communist Party, where President Jiang Zemin wowed the crowd with his 30,000-word report titled: "Hold High the Great Banner of Socialism Despite Imperialist Meddling in our Internal Affairs." The Middle Kingdom-- Where labor is cheap and expression is dear!"
PRINGLE: I, for one, think it strikes just the right tone.
MARY: Nice jingle.
CHUNG: That's our national anthem.
MARY: Well, it really rocks... Excuse me, Mr. Chung. May I have just a quick word with His Eminence?
CHUNG: By all means.
MARY: (TAKING PRINGLE ASIDE AND WHISPERING) Sign him up, Mr. Pringle. I'm sure you'll be able to find another producer in no time.
PRINGLE: Are you saying you'd resign?
MARY: I'm saying I'd resign and Trent would follow me out the door. But I'm sure Porfyria would make an excellent anchor.
PRINGLE: Lose Rosenblitt? He's the dean of suburban Metroplex broadcast journalists... not counting Metroplex Heights. This place would go down like the... what was that horrible disaster movie?
MARY: "Pluto Nash?"
PRINGLE: (SPLUTTERING) All right, Mary, you may win this one. But when it's time to get your Christmas tote bag, don't come crying to me.
SOUND MOVES ACROSS THE NEWSROOM TOWARD THE RECEPTIONIST, AND PHONE RINGS OFTEN.
RECEPTIONIST: W-ACLU, hold please… W-ACLU, hold please…
TRENT: Back in a flash, Trudy. I'm running out to the mall.
RECEPTIONIST: OK, Mr. Rosenblitt… (Phone rings). W-ACLU, may I help you.
(TRENT PUSHES OPEN DOOR TO REVEAL MALL AMBIENCE. SHOPPERS MURMUR, "A TASTE OF HONEY" IS ON THE SOUND SYSTEM, PUNCTUATED BY P.A. ANNOUNCEMENTS)
P.A.: Attention, Blandon Park Mall shoppers: Looking for the perfect gift for that certain Blandon Park someone? For mailboxes, lawn ornaments and bicycle reflectors in tasteful earth tones, check out the deals at The Conformity Shoppe on Level 2! ... And shoppers, stop by Dr. Tom Richards' Lipo Depot. Eyelids and lips done while you wait. And ask about his Valentine's Day special: Do two breasts, get one free. (TRENT WALKS A FEW PACES, OPENS A DOOR AND ENTERS WORLD 'O' CUISINE. WE NO LONGER HEAR "A TASTE OF HONEY." NOW WE HEAR "IT'S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL.")
GREETER: Welcome to World O'Cuisine. Your passport please.
TRENT: Um, you know, I didn't bring it. I just...
GREETER: No problem. We'll arrange a one-meal visa. Which country would you like to dine in? We can seat you immediately in Belarus. There's a 20-minute wait for Italy. Sri Lanka is temporarily closed while the bomb squad roots around.
TRENT: Actually, I just wanted to make a phone call. Where are the payphones?
GREETER: Just past Swaziland.
TRENT: Thanks... Excuse me... Pardon me.
(WE HEAR HIM SQUEEZE PAST OTHER PATRONS AND REACH THE PHONES. HE PICKS UP THE PHONE, DEPOSITS A COIN AND DIALS. WE HEAR RINGING, THEN A RECORDED GREETING.)
MESSAGE: Hello, you have reached Universal Public Radio. If you are calling for program information, press 1 now. If you are calling for the news department, press 2 now. If you are calling in to complain about leftist bias in our coverage, please hold and a comrade will be with you shortly.
(BEEP SOUND AS TRENT PRESSES 2)
Hello, this is the UPR news department. If you wish to file a story, press 1 now. If you wish to file a commentary, press 2. If you wish to file a lawsuit, press 3 now. If you wish to speak with some temp, press 0.
(BEEP SOUND AS TRENT PRESSES 0)
OPERATOR: Hello, Universal Public Radio.
TRENT: Leona Krump, please.
OPERATOR: Connecting.
LEONA: "Third World Week." This is Leona.
TRENT: Leona. Trent Rosenblitt.
LEONA: Trent!
TRENT: Hey, I'm calling about that audition we discussed.
LEONA: Oh yeahhh. Listen, Trent, we just can't do it.
TRENT: What?! I thought you said I was a top candidate for the host gig. I'd really kind of...
LEONA: The timing doesn't work, Trent. Sorry. So we'll just be listening to your show today.
TRENT: What?! Today's show?
LEONA: Yeah, we have to pull the trigger fast on this hire. So we'll all be listening to Blandon Park Edition today-in about 15 minutes actually. That'll be your audition.
TRENT: Gee, Leona, I'm not sure this is the most ideal platform for me. It's kind of a slow news day. You see...
LEONA: Make it ideal, Trent. Dig deeper. Find the essence. Live the moment. Tell it with sound. That's why people tune into UPR, Trent. Church bells, gravel. Truth that goes crunch, Trent. Truth that goes crunch!
TRENT: But...
LEONA: Gotta run, buddy. And I think you do, too. Break a leg... and let me hear it snap. (SHE HANGS UP AND SO DOES TRENT)
END OF ACT I
ACT II
(MALL AMBIANCE)
FAYE: (APPROACHING FROM A DISTANCE) Trent! Trent! How are you?
TRENT: Faye! Why you look positively… seamless. What's happening?
FAYE: Well it's 67 degrees here in Blandon Park under partly cloudy skies. And we're playin' the hits! How are things at old Without a Clue?
TRENT: W-ACLU is and always will be W-ACLU. It's immutable. Unlike W-BPR. What's the format this week? Still all Kenny Rogers, all the time?
FAYE: You betcha. As we swing past 4 p.m. on this beautiful Monday, we're number one in the market.
TRENT: Look at you, Faye! The pedicure, the power hair... you even sound commercial.
FAYE: The word is "marketable," my friend. I took my instrument to Tom Richards. The man's a genius. One little laryngeal tuck and W-PBR moves me into morning drive time. I get seven figures, the chopper and in five years I get to choose my own doctor.
TRENT: Actually, I have a little negotiation of my own going on right now... (LOWERING VOICE TO CONSPIRATORIAL WHISPER)... with UPR. Don't tell Mary.
FAYE: You two still sitting three feet apart?
TRENT: She doesn't know.
FAYE: Trent, Trent, Trent... what are you screwing around with Universal Public Radio for? It's a snake pit. The pay stinks. The politics... my God, the politics! Listen, you gotta know when to walk away, know when to run. See Dr. Richards about that nose whistle, and I can get you an interview at W-BPR.
TRENT: Thanks, but no thanks. It's not my... uh... style.
FAYE: Now, Trent, think about my offer. This is Faye "Have a Nice Day" McVeigh. Catch you next time! (WHEELCHAIR HUM)
PORFYRIA:: (OFF MIKE) Those jackasses! Those simple-minded jackasses!
TRENT: Porfyria, what are you doing here so close to show time?
PORFYRIA:: I might ask you the same thing. But if you must know, I wanted to go to Belize for some fried plantains and a Diet Coke, but these jackasses have closed it for some sort of cholera outbreak.
TRENT: Did Mary like your commentary?
PORFYRIA:: I haven't showed it to her yet. I'm still frankly aghast at her thoughtless implication that simply because I technically have the use of my legs, I somehow don't belong in a wheelchair.
TRENT: Don't be silly, Profyria. Mary respects you enormously. We all do. I know I do. I.. I... You are an... an... irrepressible voice.
PORFYRIA:: I'm the voice of the unheard.
TRENT: Of course you are.
PORFYRIA:: And the damned unheard never shut up.
TRENT: Mmm. I've seen your mail.
PORFYRIA:: These jackasses! They hear a half-Latina, one-quarter-Amish, one-quarter Native American in a wheelchair and they can't get past, you know, the easy stereotype.
TRENT: Sure… lump you in a category.
PORFYRIA:: Gavolt, they don't know me….. Yikes! It's 4:10. I've got to burn rubber.
TRENT: Yeah. Thirteen minutes to show time. Barely time to be edited.
PORFYRIA:: Oh, no time for that. I have four bonnets at the dry cleaner. Peace, pale brother. (MUSICAL BRIDGE)
(DOOR OPENS TO W-ACLU, LEAVING "A TASTE OF HONEY" BEHIND. TRENT IS HUFFING AND PUFFING.)
TRENT: Sorry I'm late. How's everything going?
MARY: (AGITATED) It's a nightmare, that's how it's going. Pringle's coming by with another live one, and if it falls through, we're all on the bread line. You blow in, five minutes before the show, like you haven't got a care in the world, and Porfyria has completely and totally vanished.
TRENT: I think she had to roll out on an errand.
MARY: Who rolls... who does errands in the middle of the show? I haven't edited her commentary. I haven't even seen her commentary.
TRENT: I believe she said it's about Skate-a-Rama... What do you suppose makes it an "a-Rama?"
MARY: What's the difference? I know she has a bee in her bonnet. But I need to see the bonnet.
TRENT: I'm pretty sure you will.
MARY: Well she's certainly not going on the air with something I haven't seen first. We'll have to use an evergreen. Let's check the studio and see what's on the shelf. (SHE HITS INTERCOM BUTTON AND TALKS TO SCOOTER IN MASTER CONTROL)
MARY: Scooter, are you there?
SCOOTER: (ON INTERCOM) Where?
MARY: Are you... Scooter, for God's sake, check the rack, please, and see if we have any pre-recorded Porfyrias.
SCOOTER: 10-4, good buddy. (LONG PAUSE). Whoaaa!
MARY: "Whoa" what?
SCOOTER: Somebody spilled chai on my "Soldier of Fortune."
MARY: (SHOUTING) Scooter! The show is about to start. Do we have any Porfyria commentaries ready?
SCOOTER: Oh, yeah, fer sher. Not to worry. We have one.
MARY: Are you holding it in your hand?
SCOOTER: No, Mary. That would be gross!
MARY: The reel, Scooter. Are you holding the reel of the Porfyria commentary? (OFF-MIKE, UNTIL WE "PAN" TOWARD THEM)
PRINGLE: Now, Hank, this is the newsroom. This is the nerve center. This is where it all comes together. Three minutes from now, the whole day of journalism comes to fruition in Studio A. We'll listen to the show live in the master control, come on.
HANK ARAMA: This is very exciting.
PRINGLE: I know you'll be impressed. See that glass window? See that fellow with the vague look about him? Go in there, Hank. I'll be right behind you.
HANK ARAMA: Through there?
PRINGLE: Yep. I'll join you in two shakes. (WHISPERING TO MARY)
All right, Mary. You win. China is out of the picture. But I have got the answer to our prayers. The real deal. You said you'd embrace any underwriter whose business you didn't find morally reprehensible. Well, I found him! I found him, Mary, right here in the mall! And get this: he's willing to underwrite the show-the whole shootin' match-for two years!
MARY: Well, that's excellent, Mr. Pringle. Congratulations. Who is this Mr. Right?
PRINGLE: It's not Mr. Right. It's Mr. Arama.
MARY: Mr. Arama?
PRINGLE: That's right. Hank Arama. He owns Skate-a-Rama.
MARY: And that's him? In the control room? But, Mr. Pringle...
PRINGLE: Mary, Hank's part of the family now... He had to meet Scooter eventually.
SCOOTER: (OVER INTERCOM) One minute to air... Hey, Hank, wanna see my scar? (PORFYRIA WHIRS IN, HONKING)
PORFYRIA: Clear a path, colleagues! I come bearing commentary!
MARY: Porfyria! Where the hell have you been?
PORFYRIA: Meditating on truth. I have been to Skate-a-Rama and I shall never be the same.
PRINGLE: No! This is almost too good to be true. I've gotta tell Hank.
MARY: All right, Porfyria. Go live. But never again.
PORFYRIA: (WHIRRING AWAY) Don't worry, Mary, you wouldn't change a thing.
MARY: (TO HERSELF) Mmmmm. Except my identity.
(STARK AMBIENCE SHIFT TO THE STUDIO. NO THRUM OF NEWSROOM, NO DULCIMER. THERE IS THROAT CLEARING, PAPER RUSTLING AND THE SOUND OF TRENT FORCING AIR THROUGH HIS NOSE.)
TRENT: 1,2,3,4,5. 1,2,3,4,5. Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peppers… Scooter, how's the whistle situation?
SCOOTER: I'm not hearing it. Gimme some more nose.
(TRENT EXHALES THROUGH HIS NOSE AGAIN)
SCOOTER: Clean as a whistle... No, I mean, clean as a not whistle. Stand by, Trent... 3... 2... 1. You're on!
TRENT: (THE MOMENT HE IS ON THE AIR, HIS NOSE STARTS WHISTLING. WE ALSO HEAR PAPER RUSTLE EVERY TIME HE TURNS THE PAGE.) You're listening to Blandon Park Edition. I'm Trent Rosenblitt. (RUSTLE). In today's top stories: In a big blow to the local economy, Blandon Park was eliminated as a possible site for a U.S. Department of Energy radioactive waste disposal site. Disappointed economic development officials remain optimistic, however, about Blandon Park's chances to be a finalist for the so-called "Prison Without Walls" for terrorists and serial killers. The Blandon Park Good Neighbors Council has announced revised architectural standards aimed at curbing the outbreak of non-earth-tone mailbox flags. Citing numerous examples of, quote, "alarming nonconformity," Supreme Neighbor Thad Von Dachau vowed to eradicate what he called "the red menace." Von Dachau, of course, created a stir last month while pressing for the arrest and deportation of Joseph Winter, an albino-American who resides in Blandon Park's Highway Vista quadrant. (TAPE ROLL: "I stand by my position. He's a decent fellow but his eyes are simply too garish.")… Supreme Neighbor Thad von Dachau. ... In entertainment news, actress Jaye P. Morgan has agreed to be Grand Marshal of the annual Blandon Park Parade of Minivans. This follows the sudden withdrawal from the event of the Blandon Park High School Fightin' Compromisers football squad. The tan and beige are serving a month of weekend detention for what administrators termed "unspecified crimes against humanity." ... More Blandon Park Edition after the break.
ANNOUNCER: You're listening to W-ACLU, all the way to the left, underwritten this hour by Dr. Tom Richards' Lipo Depot, pleased to support W-ACLU's continuing commitment to broadcasting excellence and all of your cosmetic surgery needs; and by Funeral Shak, the last word in the last purchase you'll ever make. See our familiar black kiosk at the Blandon Park Mall; and by... listeners like you. (DULCIMER MUSIC)
SCOOTER: Stand by, Trent, in five.
COURTNEY: When do I talk?
TRENT: Just wait for the light to go on, honey.
COURTNEY: 'kay.
TRENT: Are you nervous, sweetheart?
COURTNEY: (GIGGLING) A little bit!
TRENT: Don't worry. It'll be fun!
ANNOUNCER: And now back to Blandon Park Edition, and the dean of broadcast journalists in southwestern suburbs of Metroplex, not counting Metroplex Heights, Trent Rosenblitt.
TRENT: We're back with our very special guest, a very nice, if I may say, very sweet little girl named Courtney Jenkins, who is the Girl Scout cookie sales champ for all of Blandon Park. (PAPER RUSTLES) Courtney, you sold 1,212 boxes of cookies... (PAUSE)... what... are... your... selling... secrets?
COURTNEY: I followed the stench of fear, Mr. Rosenblitt. I walked down every street in Blandon Park, and every stinking cul de sac, in the darker districts, the shadows, the seamy underbelly where decent people seldom go. I saw things, Mr. Rosenblitt. A dead bird. A decapitated Care Bear. A set of shutters in a non-conforming shade of lavender.
TRENT: (GASPING) My God!
COURTNEY: God has nothing to do with it. I bore my cookies on my back, and sold them to the frightened and the weak. I'm only 11, but I'm tired. So very tired.
TRENT: (A LONG PAUSE, FOLLOWED BY FRANTIC PAPER SHUFFLING AND THE FLUSTERED TONE OF AN INTERVIEWER VAMPING FOR HIS LIFE) I see... and... did... your Mommy and Daddy help you?
COURTNEY: My parents are dead. I'm a ward of the county.
TRENT: And I'm sure the county is very proud of you... What... what do you think you'd like to be when you grow up?
COURTNEY: Heavily sedated, because the things I feel would make you weep.
TRENT: We only have... um... we only have... 30 seconds left... Courtney... and I wanted to ask you... in the few... 26 seconds... now it's 25 seconds... in the remaining few... okay... okay, only 22 seconds we have remaining... did you think... um... Courtney...
COURTNEY: Did you know that there's a whistling sound coming out of your nose?
TRENT: (CHIRPY) All rightly! We're here with the adorable Courtney Jenkins, Blandon Park Girl Scout cookie sales champ. Courtney, to wrap up, what would you say is the most popular cookie?
COURTNEY: Oh, that would have to be the thin mints.
TRENT: Thank you sweetheart. And now, with today's last word, W-ACLU's senior news analyst, Porfyria Stoltzfuss-Hawkfeather. (PORFYRIA THEME MUSIC)
PORFYRIA: Today I speak on a disturbing subject, a nightmare, one of our society's most postulant chancres. I refer, of course, to ice-skating. (ICE RINK AMBIENCE UP) Consider for example, the waste of resources. "Don't water your exquisite lawn," we're warned over here. "Don't put so much ice in my whiskey sour, you whore!" over there. And every damn time you turn around, "Don't take a long lingering, so desperately needed 'get-me-away-from-all-this-pain you-simple-minded-jackass' bath. (BATH SOUND) (ICE RINK)) Countless marriages have been split like the paw of a playful kitten named Penny trying to catch the needle of my sewing machine over the issue of running water while brushing teeth. (KITTEN) I know mine was. And I know I'm a very fast brusher. (TOOTH BRUSHING)
(ICE RINK VOICE: Girl in the red dress, stay there, someone will get you.)
Do you see the children? Wee ones? Adorable little angels, gliding across the ice? Hah! They are baby seals, innocently awaiting slaughter. (SEALS BARKING) It's called slam and slice, and I ask you, whose wobbling little calf will be next? Ask yourself when next you skate on a frozen river of blood. (CHURCH BELLS, GLUB, GLUB) At long last, something must be done about ice skating, and I cannot do it alone. I am very, very busy. For W-ACLU, this is Porfyria Stoltzfuss-Hawkfeather.*
SCOOTER: ... 3... 2... 1... Okay, Trent, we're clear.
TRENT: Thank God.
(AMBIENCE SHIFT BACK TO NEWSROOM, AS TRENT, PRINGLE, COURTNEY EXIT STUDIO, THERE IS A SLURPING SOUND OF COURTNEY DRINKING THROUGH A STRAW.)
COURTNEY: Thanks for watching my Orange Julius for me, Mr. Pringle.
PRINGLE: My pleasure, Courtney. Would you like another one?
COURTNEY: Yes, please.
PRINGLE: Okay! I'm buying... Hello, Mary. Great show as usual.
MARY: I'm sorry, Mr. Pringle, but... what?!
PRINGLE: You really shifted the paradigm! Excellent work!
MARY: I noticed Mr. Arama left in a rather big hurry. Is he still on the team?
PRINGLE: Hmmm? Hank? Noooo.
MARY: Well you don't seem too upset about it. I thought he was our last hope.
PRINGLE: Last hope? Are you out of your mind? This is our greatest opportunity!
MARY: Huh? Trent, do you know what's going on?
TRENT: (SOUNDING DEFEATED) The girl scout talked Arama out of suing.
PRINGLE: And sold him 70 boxes of Do-Si-Dos! Mary, meet our new vice president for development.
COURTNEY: Hi.
MARY: Well, that's an awfully big job for such a little girl.
COURTNEY: (SLURPING) Don't worry. I'll squeeze them till they bleed.
PRINGLE: Come on, Courtney. Let's hit the mall and synergize.
COURTNEY: 'kay! (THEY EXIT)
MARY: Well, Trent, that wasn't so bad, was it?
RECEPTIONIST: Trent Rosenblitt. Call on line one. Trent. Line one.
MARY: I think we made radio history this afternoon.
TRENT: Mary, please, not now... (ANSWERING PHONE) Hello, Rosenblitt here... Oh... Yeah..uh huh... No, no. You're right right... it didn't crunch... Mmmm, I understand. Thanks anyway... Bye... (TO MARY) Well Mary, I guess I should tell you what that was all about.
MARY: It was some yoda from UPR calling to say you didn't get the job.
TRENT: How could you possibly know that?! All I said was "it didn't crunch."
MARY: Trent. How far apart do we sit?
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*Porfyria's commentary on Skate-a-Rama written by Lisa Gladstone
Produced by WNYC Studios