Act 3, Scene 5: “A New Magazine for Suburban Living”

Essentially all magazines take their cue from the city. Suburbia needs its own magazine. Sure, there’s the 10,000 titles on the Home Depot magazine rack: How to Stain Wood, How to Super Stain Wood, Celebrity Wood Staining, etc., but these are essentially trade magazines. TRL’s talking a consumer publication with a suburban viewpoint. New York magazine, but taking its cue from the suburbs that surround the city rather then the other way around. And with any new publication, whatever the quality of the content, for sales you need a really kick-ass title. The candidates in the running:

Sexy Suburban [it has sex in it, but sounds too much like a fetish car magazine]

Suburban Sexy [that’s it! well, no, but better]

town and Country [OK, damn similar to something already out there, but the difference is all in the capitalization. And it’s so ee you-know-who meets Paper]

Suck This [gratuitous. But it is eye catching. Maybe right name, wrong publication? Hey, there are no bad ideas during brainstorming.]

23 Smith Street [homey and simple. Evocative. TRL likes it. This one’s a keeper!]

Reverse Commute [commuting has negative connotations. Nix this one]

Applebee’s [copyright problems?]

Neighbors [this one has legs, though may attract just nice people, and nice people buy less alcohol, mink coats, fancy outdoor barbeques and calves leather driving gloves. So this name is already upsetting potential advertisers.]

Desperate [too dark?]

Gasoline Alley [too negative?]

Fences [too dividing?]

Soft Lights, Little Town [too 80s?]

Town [hmmmm, very simple and approachable. TRL likes it]

Towne [maybe even better]

Lawnmower Love [way too fetish]

TRL takes a break.

Act 3, Scene 4: “How to Choose the Perfect Furniture for Your Child-friendly Suburban Home”

In a word, plastics.

To wit: TRL lies in bed, the sing-song chipper and Disney squirrel voices of C&E cascading from their room; they are deep into a conversation both passionate and light-hearted. S is gone for the day, having left at 7 am for a work conference in Boston. TRL finally rises, goes downstairs to get the boys milk, opens the door and greets the day with a hearty “Morning fellas.” Squeaks and bouncing ensues.

TRL takes a sniff: all seems fresh. The previous morning it wasn’t: C had a stomach bug. TRL, responding to C’s cries, had walked into a major biohazard: exploding diarrhea, stink like a frat bathroom in a vinegar factory. But today, all seems well. He dresses C&E as they drink their milk, C in particular guzzling down the cold white stuff. They go downstairs and begin their breakfast: more milk, some bread, some yogurt.

And then C makes a gurgling sound, and suddenly it’s the Fountains of Wayne out his mouth, a Bellagio water show thick and white. TRL grabs C and holds him, bringing him over the sink. When C is finished and TRL has cleaned his face and mouth and comforted him, he turns to survey the damage. E sits staring at the scene. Little white chunks and liquid are spread over the table and chair and floor. And sink and counter. And on C’s shirt and pants and socks. And TRL’s pants. It’s a massacre, the White Album version. TRL stripes C and himself and throws everything in the wash. He takes C&E upstairs, puts a fresh set of clothes on C and they head downstairs.

“Stay on the carpet, please,” TRL instructs as he begins the cleanup. But in a trip to the sink, TRL turns around: E has walked to the table, going through the vomit, which now trails him in little footprints on the floor. TRL sighs and picks up E, takes off his pants and socks, and once again they all head upstairs to change.

Finally, with C&E all clean, and with the sink and table and floor cleaned up, TRL turns his attention to the chair. A black plastic one with little square holes in the seat. TRL and S had bought it for their apartment in NYC, and it had followed them out to San Francisco and now outside Boston. After scrubbing and poking in the holes, white vomit still clung. So TRL did the only logical thing: he put the entire chair in the bathtub and gave it a good hot shower. Something which TRL had not found the time to do for two days. Under the strong stream of water, the chair comes clean. If it had been wood or had a cloth cushion, the chair would have taken half-an-hour to clean. But because of the smooth attractive lines and overall durability of plastics, it is a 30-second affair. Finally, with the chair in the shower drying, the boys dry and good-smelling, the kitchen once again clean, it was time to start all over again.

“Breakfast time,” TRL announces to the boys. “Only bread and water for you, C.”

Act 3, Scene 3: “You Know It’s Spring in the Suburbs When…”

1. The Lawn Care Experts mail TRL brochures and call him, and the local teenagers stuff flyers about their lawnmowing services into the mailbox.
2. TRL’s neighbor, in a bid to be the first one on the block to mow his lawn, fires up his lawnmower before the grass even considers starting to grow again.
3. Yellow and pink tulips peak from deep green emerging stalks, lovely white blooms blanket the dogwood tree, purple flowers drip from the neighbors bushes, i.e., TRL’s allergies begin to pound out a constant overwhelming headache, nasal congestion, and fuzzy-headedness.
4. S knows it’s spring when TRL’s allergy meds are lined up on the bathroom counter.
5. When TRL goes outside he feels the emotional stirrings of spring on the college campus. The warmth, the smells, the expectation. It is made all the more bittersweet the farther away TRL gets from college.
6. The neighbor’s three boys ride up and down the block on their bicycles, shouting and jumping the curb and not wearing their helmets.
7. Spider babies hatch and clamber up the window glass.
8. S screams and tells TRL to kill the spiders.
9. The ritual and time of putting on the boys’ winter jackets and hats are replaced with the ritual and time of putting on the boys’ sunscreen and insect repellant.
10. S starts writing lists of things to fix around the house, and TRL starts writing lists to avoid doing those things.

Act 3, Scene 2: “How I Learned to be Happy or All I Really Need To Know I Learned from My Two-year-old Twins”

1. Bored in life? Make like C&E in their crib: Take off your clothes and bounce, bounce, bounce.

2. Love something so much you just don’t know how to channel your emotions? Make like C with his beloved Maisy book: rip it up and scatter it about (use actual or metaphorical tearing, depending upon the object of your intense emotion).

3. Then piss on it. Just like C from his crib onto the floor strewn with Maisy bits. And then like E, have a friend join in. Because, let’s face it, urinating rarely is the wrong thing to do, and almost always results in relief if not outright pleasure.

4. Cheerfully take responsibility for your actions. Did I rip that up and piss on it? Why yes, I did, Daddy! Smile, smile, smile and bounce up and down. It’s good to take ownership and feel good about your actions.

Chicken Tallulah

Invite Tallulah Chicken over for afternoon tea. Offer her a butter massage. After she is nice and relaxed, he muscles well kneaded, invite her to the woodshed.
"Oh, Tallulah, is that a pretty bracelet on the chopping block?"
"Oh, you might be right."
"Shiny. Pretty. Have a closer look."
As T bends over the chopping block, pick up the hatchet, raise it over your head. Aim for the skin just above the collar of her pretty polka dot dress. Feeds family of four.

Chicken Breasts
Olive Oil
Spices (hot paprika, pepper, thyme)
White Wine
Salt
Butter
Parsley

Heat olive oil in frying pan.
Add chicken to brown.
Season top with spices. Flip when underside brown.
Season top with spices as underside browns.
Once both sides browned, add white wine, nearly covering chicken.
Cover pan with top and allow to cook for 3 minutes. Remove cover, turn chicken over.
Add a bit of salt. Add fresh chopped Italian parsley. Add several slivers of butter.
Keep top off, adjust heat to allow simmer but do not let chicken burn, allow to reduce.
Once juices reduced but enough remains for sauce, sprinkle chicken with good quality aged parmesan cheese. Let melt, and mix into sauce to thicken.
Taste chicken, adjust salt to taste.
Remove chicken, plate, scrap pan and drizzle pan bits and juice over chicken, top with sprig or two of fresh parsley. Serve.

Act 3, Scene 1: “Real Estate Envy”

TRL and S go off to the big city with the boys to see the INLAWS. The INLAWS get capitals because they have the gravity of real people. They have had real important jobs, they have owned real fancy homes, and they now live in a real fancy apartment. They are real in the way that TRL and S feel like they are unreal: struggling along in their careers, unsure of where they want to live and taking the child rearing thing day by day (the fact that they have children is sur-real). C&E practically squeal when they see Mother-in-Law, and in fact E charges off towards her and promptly falls onto his hands and stomach on the sidewalk. Lesson number one: beware of smiling women; they can cause pain. But Granny does not cause pain. Granny brings books and smiles.

So TRL and S deposit C&E with the INLAWS and go off to meet J, a high-school buddy of S’s, and his live-in girlfriend. TRL is along for the sentimental ride, knowing he will hear recycled stories that may or may not have been interesting the first or second or third time around, so he votes heartily for the Mexican restaurant: margaritas.

It’s a night out with free people, for TRL and S are in parent prison. Additionally, S’s friend and girlfriend have the freedom granted to the got-in-early-on-the-real-estate boom set. It drives TRL nuts. Because he rarely gets anywhere early, and definitely not real estate. At the end of the night S’s friend and his girlfriend are on their way out for more drinks and TRL and S head back to the INLAWS’ to change little bodies into shark and truck pajamas and cross fingers that they’ll sleep on the car ride home to their snug little house in the suburbs, spring with its chirping birds too early in the morning, hatching mosquitoes, growing blades of grass screaming for the lawnmower, and days of warmth and sun descending. Not an unpleasant way to spend the Sunday.