Sketch: Hot Air Balloon Tour

CAST

COPPELLI: a hot-air balloon pilot [a balloonero] with a showy, old-timey air. Morbidly fixated on

                     hot air balloon fatalities.

MEL: a bright-eyed and unflappable amateur balloon enthusiast.

ARCHIE: Mel’s husband, a good sport who’s afraid of heights and regrets being talked into this.

Coppelli, Mel, and Archie are ascending in a hot air balloon, the ground hundreds of feet beneath them. Coppelli pilots the balloon with toggles.

COPPELLI

So, folks, is this your first odyssey in a hot-air balloon?

MEL

Yes, and it’s even more glorious than I imagined it! Isn’t it magnificent, honey?

            Archie is clutching the ropes and refuses to look down.

ARCHIE

(nervous) Yes, magnificent. Glad you’re enjoying it, dear. Now, how long did you say the tour was?

COPPELLI

We’re aiming to touch down by three, but it all hangs on mother nature. And, if there’s one thing we ballooneros know, it’s that Mother Nature is a fickle mistress, and we her mere playthings.

ARCHIE

(laughs nervously) Playthings? Playthings how?

MEL

Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m sure we’re in good hands with Mr. Coppelli here. After all, he holds the world’s fastest record for circumnavigating the globe by hot air balloon.

COPPELLI

I simply rode the air currents Dame Nature gave me.

MEL

Oh, honey, look down there! (pointing in the distance) Isn’t that Mount Henley?

            Archie keeps his head fixed firmly upward.

ARCHIE

(nervous) Hmm? Oh yes, stunning…

MEL

Mount Henley is where Archie and I went on our first hike together.

COPPELLI

(matter of fact) What a coincidence. It’s also the site of history’s deadliest hot air balloon accident.

ARCHIE

What?!

MEL

That’s terrible.

COPPELLI

Yes, it was. Terrible carnage. That jagged peak popped the aerostat like a soap bubble.

ARCHIE

Oh sweet Jesus…

COPPELLI

And the sound! Like someone had sat on a celestial whoopee cushion. That is, until the gas-bag combusted and the wicker basket went up in flames. Then pretty much all you could hear were the screams of the burning ballooneros. See, that’s the technical term for people who --

ARCHIE

--Please, for the love of god, stop!

MEL

Honey, what’s gotten into you?

COPPELLI

It’s okay, I get it. Not everyone’s keen to learn the arcane jargon. (looks overhead) But here’s something that might catch your fancy: fix your peepers on that flock of seagulls overhead.

MEL

Wow, would you look at that! Honey, do you see them?

            Archie is already looking up, so he actually does seem them.

ARCHIE

(actually intrigued) Yeah, huh. I didn’t think they flew that high up.

COPPELLI

Oh, they don’t usually. But they’re attracted to the balloon. Something about the warp and weft of the aerostat drives them positively mad.

MEL

Fascinating…

ARCHIE

What do you mean mad? Will they attack?

COPPELLI

I certainly hope not, but they might.

ARCHIE

What do you mean they might?!

COPPELLI

You never know when a gull’s liable to snap near an aerostat. In fact, it was a flock of irate seagulls in this very same patch of cerulean that did in the Anderson odyssey last year. That’s why they call it Anderson’s Abbatoir.

ARCHIE

I want to get down now! Please land the balloon!

MEL

Oh honey, relax. I’m sure Mr. Coppelli encountered far greater perils on his record-breaking round-the-world journey? Isn’t that right, Mr. Coppelli?

COPPELLI

(laughing) Indeed I did! And to think it was all by accident...

MEL

What’s that? Breaking the record?

COPPELLI

It was supposed to be a simple lunch-time tour of the Kansas City skyline. Turns out Mother Nature, that cosmic prankster-ess, had other plans for me…

ARCHIE

(full panic) Land this fucking balloon right now!! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now!

COPPELLI

Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Only thing that riles up a gull more than a balloon is verbal repetition. Learned that one the hard way!

MEL

Verbal repetition?

COPPELLI

Yeah, verbal repetition.

MEL

What do you mean by verbal repetition?

ARCHIE

(pointing at an incoming object) Seagull!!!

            Blackout.

Sketch: Barber School

CAST

Steven: an affable lawyer in for a quick haircut

Bones: a troubled man trying for a fresh start in barbering

Big Mike: the owner of the barber school

Bones is brushing off the barber’s chair, while Big Mike watches him.

BIG MIKE

That was solid work, Bones. You keep at it, you’re going to be a full-fledged barber in no time.

BONES

Thanks, Big Mike. I appreciate you givin’ me this opportunity. A lot of folks would’ve been put off, you know, I mean, on account of the whole…

            Big Mike puts his hand on Bones’ shoulder.

BIG MIKE

Hey, just remember: you’re not who you’ve been. You’re who you’re becoming. You got that?

           

            Steven enters the shop in a hurry.

STEVEN

Hi there. Any chance I could get a quick trim and a shave?

BIG MIKE

Sure thing, boss. Have a seat right here. Bones’ll take care of you. Right, Bones?

Bones and Steven briefly lock eyes, before Bones nods.

Steven sits down in the barber’s chair. Bones puts the apron around him.

BIG MIKE

Good man. I’m gonna see how Emilio’s faring with the blow-dryer. I’ll check back on you in a minute.

            Big Mike exits. Bones assumes his position behind Steven and takes up his scissors.

BONES

Trim and shave, yeah?

STEVEN

Yeah, thanks. You’re a life-saver.

Bones looks sternly at himself in the mirror.

BONES

C’mon, Bones, you can do this!          

           

Steven looks bewildered, as Bones begins tentatively trimming Steven’s hair.

STEVEN

Yeah, just stepped off the red-eye from Boston and gotta be in court in less than an hour. And, believe you me, Judge Eldridge does not take grooming lightly.

           

            Bones freezes for a moment, then resumes his trim, more halting than before.

BONES

(awkwardly) So you’re... uh… involved with the legal system. You a lawyer?

STEVEN

Guilty as charged! Insert lawyer joke here.

BONES

I don’t know nothing ‘bout no lawyers, man.

STEVEN

Aw, c’mon, I’ve heard ‘em all. Gimme your--

BONES

I don’t got problems with lawyers, ok?!!

Steven notices Bones’ hand is shaking, with the scissors mere inches from his face.

STEVEN

(nervous) Okay, no problem. No lawyer jokes.

Steven watches as Bones resumes snipping at his hair with shaking hands.

STEVEN

So, how long you been cutting hair?

BONES

Two days.

STEVEN

You don’t say…

BONES

You want me to fade the sides?

STEVEN

(nervous) No, no—nothing fancy. Just a real basic, second-day-of-work kind of trim is fine. So--Bones, is it? -- what did you do before this?

BONES

I was involved with the legal system, too.

            Bones snips at Steven’s hair more aggressively.

STEVEN

No kiddin? [Laughing nervously] Don’t tell me you were a lawyer, too?

BONES

Nah, man.

           

Bones broods as he thoughtlessly tugs at tufts of Steven’s hair and hacks it wildly.

STEVEN

(meekly) Bailiff?

BONES

Nope.

Bones puts the scissors down and picks up a straight razor. He grabs Steven’s head and tilts it up, exposing his neck, the razor trembling in his hand.

            He takes a long deep breath to compose himself. Steven looks on terrified.

BONES

You want me to shave the side burns, too?

STEVEN

(scared) You know, on second thought, I don’t think I need a shave.

            Bones still holds Steven by the hair, with head pulled back.

BONES

Are you sure? I could really use the practice.

            Big Mike returns.

BIG MIKE

How’s everything shaping up here?

BONES

(dejected) He doesn’t want me to shave him.

STEVEN

Sorry, wish I had more time, but I really gotta get over to the courthouse.

BIG MIKE

Courthouse, eh? Did Bones here tell you he used to be a court stenographer?

STEVEN

(relieved) Stenographer? Oh man, I thought… Phew! Why didn’t you say so?

            Bones shrugs.

BIG MIKE

I think it meant a lot to him, being a court stenographer. Isn’t that right, Bones?

           

            Bones nods.

STEVEN

Say, you know what? I still got five minutes. I’ll take that shave, after all.

Bones gingerly lathers up Steven’s neck and cheeks, then brings the razor up to his throat.

BIG MIKE

Yeah, it was a real shame how the carpal tunnel ended his career so suddenly. Wasn’t it Bones?

            Bones’ hand begins to shake again. Steven notices as a troubled look washes over Bones.

BIG MIKE

Yeah, if that damn carpal tunnel hadn’t given him such bad PTSD, he’d never have slit that lawyer’s throat. Isn’t that right, Bones?

            Blackout.

Sketch: Scat Solo

CAST

CAP: a demanding bandleader of a jazz trio and patient uncle of young Kenny

GRIF: an old-school jazz bassist

SHERLOCK: a salty jazz drummer

KENNY: Cap’s ingénue nephew, a novice jazzman not quite clear on the concept of scatting

Cap sits at the piano, while Sherlock’s on drums and Grif’s on the upright bass. Seated off to the side is Kenny.

CAP

That’s sounding pretty tight, gang. We keep it up, we just might get that album deal. Only a couple notes: Sherlock, when we hit he coda, be sure to lay down some sizzle.

SHERLOCK

You got it, Cap.

CAP

And Grif— on the bridge, make sure you don’t let the stank drop.

GRIF

Roger that, Cap.

CAP

Ok, let’s take it from the top again, but this time why don’t we let Kenny here have sixteen bars for a scat solo.

            The bandmates grumble.

CAP

Hey now. I know he’s green. But so were all of you once. And I promised my brother on his deathbed that I’d teach the boy to be a jazz man.

(to Kenny) You ready, son?

KENNY

I think so, Uncle Cap.

            Cap turns to the piano to start the number. Sherlock and Grif get ready to play.

CAP

(counting off the tempo) A five, six, seven, eight…

The musicians play a swingin’ jazz tune. The drums, bass, and piano are locked in a tight groove. Then they reach the solo section. Cap points at Kenny. Kenny stands up and nervously looks around.

KENNY

(jazz singing) Jazz jazz jazz, piano, drums, and a bassman boogie, bassman with a fat ole face, fat ole face, fat ole droopy eyes in a fat ole face. Hairy mole stickin out the side of his cheek—

Grif grows distracted while Kenny sings about him, and loses his rhythm.

Cap cuts off the tune.

CAP

Grif, what happened? You fall asleep over there?

GRIF

Nah, Cap, it’s just the dude was saying my face was fat.

KENNY

I was just singing the sounds that first come into my head. I thought that’s how you said to scat, Uncle Cap.

CAP

That’s right, son. You’re doing great. But they don’t even have to be real words. Just sounds is enough. (singing) Ba-ba-ba-dee-bee—bop. See?

KENNY

I think so.

CAP

Ok, from the top again. And, Grif, keep it together this time.

            Cap turns to the piano.

CAP

A-five, six, seven, eight.

The band starts off strong again. Then it comes to Kenny’s solo. He stands, and when Cap points, he sings.

KENNY

            (singing) Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba bassman with them chubby cheeks. Chubby chubby, chubby chubby. Drummer’s got a lazy eye! Looks like a muppet from fraggle rock! Heard he has an amphetamine problem!

            Grif and Sherlock look at Kenny irate, as the drums and bass fall out of tempo.

Cap cuts it off.

CAP

(to Sherlock and Grif) What kind of bush league shit are you two pullin?! How’s Kenny here supposed to hone his chops when you two knuckleheads can’t even keep time?

GRIF

Aw, come on, Cap. You must’ve heard the smack he was talking!

SHERLOCK

Yeah, Cap, dude’s raggin’ on my congenital medical condition. (to Kenny) It’s called strabismus—not lazy eye! And I’ll have you know I got a prescription for those pills!

KENNY

Did I do it wrong, Uncle Cap? I just look around the room, and the sounds come tumbling outta my mouth.

GRIF

I hear another sound that refers to the heft of my face, junior, then the only thing gonna be tumbling outta your mouth are your teeth!

CAP

(to Grif) Hey, cool it! (to Kenny) You’re doing just fine, son. Don’t mind these crotchety old leatherheads. Just think of your daddy, on his deathbed, and how badly he wanted you to be a jazzman. Only how ‘bout this time you try closing your eyes? Then you just sing sounds—not words, not what you see— just the sounds you feel in that blank space in your mind. Got it?

KENNY

I’ll give it my best shot, Uncle Cap.

CAP

Attaboy. (to Grif and Sherlock) Alright, now can we all act like grown-ups here and let the boy get through his solo?

            Grif and Sherlock sulkily agree. Cap turns to the piano.

CAP

A-five, six, seven, eight…

The band plays again. When they come to Kenny’s solo, Kenny stands, and Cap points at him. Kenny closes his eyes.

KENNY

            (singing) Can’t see, can’t see, can’t see, can’t see nothing but my eyelids. Can’t see that dumb old fat face fatty pluckin on the bass. Can’t see that scary cross-eyed man turnin red in the face. Can’t even see my Uncle Cap, who told the record exec on the phone last night he’d be happy to ditch those washed up losers and sign as a solo artist.

            Grif and Sherlock stare in shock at Cap, who freezes at the piano.

KENNY

Skee-bee-dee-bap!

            Blackout.