100 Years of Attitude - opening monologue

BIO: Going South

Hamletango Monologues

Liars 17

Gross National Product (extract)

I Hate German Food

Hot Tamale



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I Hate German Food

I am not gonna dance. I promise. I just need the money.

We should all be afraid of people thinking that we are crazy.

Confidential my ass. Nothing is confidential. Documented information, that's what it is. There's scientific knowledge about your mind. Don't expect the unexpected. Everything is expected. We'll do the expected. We are just the expected

I do respect you. Tremendously. I just have trouble finding the right words.

No, I don't have a plan to kill myself, or others. I don't own any gun. I do think some people should die soon thou. Before it's too late. It is too late, they reproduce

I am sure there's something illegal in the way I think about you.

I hate the art world in general. I am British. I hate people who know nothing about art too. I also hate when they learn something about art and they start talking about it. I was born in Norway. After the invasion of Prague, my family had to escape to the Alps. My mother Sofia Lorena was pregnant, she was Scottish and my father was Dutch, but my whole family in general was very German.

My childhood was full of Swedish songs and white cheese. My mother's hands smelled like goat milk. When I was born and I opened my big blue eyes everybody knew that I was going to grow to be a big man. According to our Czech tradition the oldest man in the family came to spit on my blonde hair. Then, they washed it with goat milk. They do that to every boy with big blue eyes that is going to grow to be a big man. The male family member who had to spit on my blonde hair was uncle Herb. He was 84 at the time. A fine gentleman from Ohio. We grew up to be very good friends. We fought together hand by hand in many wars. He told me - Harold, you will always have big blue eyes, and that's good.

I got attached to the color of my eyes. People didn't know much about biology at the time. We were working hard to keep our eyes blue. My mother taught me to look at the sky for long hours, to keep my eyes light blue. She was washing them with warm goat milk and she used to bake a potato once a month, wrap it in a wet towel and put it on our eyes for 15 minutes so the dirt would drain properly not changing the color.

My mother was an evangelist, so I grew up to be very tall. I thank her for her prayers. My family was very compassionate, we helped all kinds of people.

One day I was ready to prove that I was big. It was during our trip to Indonesia. People were dying very easily at the time, entire cities and towns. We were not afraid. We were so familiar with death. It was more common to die than to survive. I think we all died. We were all dying almost at the same time. It was clearly the end. The whole world was around us, dying. I died next to Jezabel. I loved her. We knew it was the end, we stayed close together waiting for death. Our seven children were jumping around us, dying. The older one, Tamarindo, still remembers. I found him again, after twenty years lying in the beaches of Manila. I knew it was him when he opened his eyes, blue, clean eyes like mine. He looked older than me. Maybe because he was taller. A gentleman. A fine gentleman.

A fine gentleman at that time in that place was not the same thing than a fine gentleman in this place now, the clothes were different, the gestures.

- I am your mother Tamarindo - I told him - Let me wash your eyes with goat milk.

We had to disguise in men's clothes again. Escaping. The war was burning down in Yugoslavia and we were coming from a very compassionate family. We had to go down there and fight.

When we got to Belgrade I told them - My mother is an evangelist, many generations prayed hard for my blue eyes.

I was a tall captain. I married Anabelle and I gave her three beautiful daughters, Shannah, Leah and Hala. I made white dresses for all of us, so we would always recognize each other.
My hair was turning darker, so I shaved my three daughters' head. My hair was growing longer and darker.

Shannah, Leah, Halah and Annabelle were afraid of me, they had to leave. I didn't know where to hide my hair. It was against my religion. I learned pottery from another old hairy woman. Her name was Kalah Maroon. I think she was my mother. She wanted badly to be my mother. So I did call her mother, every time I needed to call her.

We built old times, and we remembered them. My heart condition forced me to move to a warmer place. I knew who I was but it was difficult to find past around me, everything in my life seemed to be related with the snow and the war. I tried to get used to the sun. My muscles were growing from the hard work. My skin was getting hard and darker from the sun, my thoughts were strong, but my fingers were still fine from the long hours at the piano. I couldn't articulate clearly my thoughts, but nobody was there to listen anyway. One day I saw a piano. I felt the temptation to sit and play but I was afraid, what if I didn't remember? I didn't care about being famous anyway. I didn't need that kind of money. I didn't believe in God either. I remembered Uncle Herb spitting on my blonde baby head, and I spat tenderly on the piano.

I didn't like hobbies. I didn't like German food. I was still trying to think. I wasn't suicidal, I was killed by mental illness. Why couldn't I stop it? I couldn't see it. It was the sun. I know I am not the last one. I think I am still hiding somewhere. If it makes you feel any better, you are an asshole, and I do hate you.

If I kiss your ass you gonna love me?
I could kiss your ass
It's right here on top of me
So many asses sitting on top of me
How come I never thought about kissing them?

Oh, I know you are not ok. What is your problem? Drugs? Poverty? What is wrong? Let us hit you in the head, feeling better now? Ok, let us hit you in the stomach, feeling better now?

What do you want me to do? I am gonna sit my ass. I am gonna sit my ass because it hurts my ass. I am not glad you are suffering, I didn't say that. I just said that I was going to sit my ass. Leave that alone. Don't touch my ass. That was funny, I enjoy entertainment. Shake my ass. A little bit, just a little bit. Could somebody make her shut up please! Thank you. You are not gonna buy a piece of chicken with a poem.

I know I am miserable. I don't need you to tell me that. That's what life is about honey. For god's sake! I am not doing rock and roll here!

If you yell at me I am not gonna listen. Why don't you write me a letter? Tell me what you think. Do not tell me you were touching my butt. We were not that close. I am not sure who brought us together. If only you could sing.

I can touch your butt as much as it pleases me. You put it here. I can touch the butt of all the people who sit in my head.

Looking up
Where is God? So many asses, I can't see. It keeps me warm, you farting

Let's go home honey. I need to go home. We are not going to copulate tonight. Do you really love me? Do you desire me? Who cares? Things are not that bad. They aren't. They are not. We have nothing to do with that

With what?

You don't need sex honey, you need a job. Or love, a love, the love. Or human contact, or reading something good. You have to let go. I let go. If I let go of everybody I'll be left alone. That's why I keep everybody here. It's so depressing to know that whatever you say somebody said it before. I am no William Shakespeare. If you are smoking too much, just take a shower and you'll feel better.

Did anybody stop their mind? Are you really meditating? I don't care if you are any good at this. Just tell me the truth. Did you really stop your mind? Deep inside, deep inside you know you are lying to me. But you can't reach your guts. That's what I am here for. Come on turn me on, turn me on. Nothing like a hot shower

I am looking for the truth. Good sex helps
Trying to look good, to feel good, to get a better job
I hope nobody noticed, time is passing by
Life is a strange thing, nobody wants to get old, it's not that bad to get old
It gets scary when nothing matters anymore.
But we are not discussing anything here. I am still acting



I am your Hot Tamale baby.
Come sweet señorita you know you can't resist our full lips and curvaceous bodies

Let's run for the border mamita
Do you want to know what I eat where I live and what music I listen to

do you want to know about Frida Kahlo Che Guevara Evita Peron Tango Malambo Guacamole

I am not talking about Public Transportation

They say that it is the final triumph of a system of domination when the dominated starts singing its virtues

Let's dance colonizer
I am for civilization and progress

I am your colonized stereotype of the Latino-macho-catholic fatalism

I am an insatiable sex machine........... Market me baby

I love you my democratic enlightened post-modern one
on the basis of this confrontation with this exotic other

I am your significant other..... Do you want to know what I signify?

Do you want to taste my exotic Passion.... with beans....

Chew my uncivilized, primitive, barbarian second class identity. while I drink your bold superior fully shaped identity of the one

I am a hungry dog, I am your Chihuahua
I am enjoying this hierarchical exchange of emotional capital
Give me baby I am building my national identity

Let's walk half naked under the sun eating tortilla and mango

I was recently brought into civilization
I could never fully overcome the fact of carrying primitiveness in my blood

I arrived late to the capitalist fiesta...... but I run
I am your Speedy Gonzales baby
I am your bandit.......... your papi chulo
Sit back look pretty and let the immigrant do the work



The other day I heard one of those famous baseball players on TV. He said: "Homerun is a God giving thing, you can't teach a kid how to hit a homerun".

It's true. I knew exactly what he was saying, because that gift was given to me, I hit home runs.
My 5th grade gym teacher was the first one to notice that, she told me: -Que te pario!
You were born to hit Homeruns!

But growing up in Argentina that wasn't much of a use, nobody plays baseball there, everybody plays soccer.

I was standing in the middle of the soccer field, I had no base, no pitch, no catcher, a baseball bat felt from heaven right into my hands, the soccer ball became smaller, faster and was coming right to me, and I hit it! The ball flu faster in the air, hit a plane, which fell in the middle of the soccer field.

I was suspended from my soccer team and I thought: - My gym teacher was right!
I was born to hit homeruns!

But what was the point if in Argentina nobody plays baseball?

I looked up the sky, the flames from the plane were still there, they started to shape something, the word... AMERICA!!!

Of course! America was the answer, everybody plays baseball there, baseball is so important in America. I should go to America, the land of freedom and baseball!

I came to america, I kneeled before that green lady with a torch and I started hitting homeruns.

People noticed my gift right away, WoW! Great Amigo!

But being a woman that wasn't much of a use, I couldn't play in the major league, what about the minor league? I asked -Only the little league, they told me, I started to play in the little league, but I wanted to be professional, God wanted me to be professional, I tried to
explain to them

- Listen God threw this bat into my hands, I have a gift, I was born to be a

"No way Jose", they told me. Jose?, that gave me an idea.
I put on my uniform, I went to talk to the League ministers, I went to the try outs, and I told them

-My name is Jose, Garcia Jose

In my passport says Maria Mendoza
in my soc. sec. card Ulrich Wainberg
in my green card Marcel Lapoint

but I am Jose, Garcia Jose
and I started playing in the Major League
I became very popular - JOSE! they were yelling, -Go Jose!!! Charge!
Homerun!! Strike him out!

A priest/cardinal came to see the final game
he immediately noticed that my Homeruns were a God giving thing
and that they could help to increase people's faith in God
so he invited me to hit Homeruns every sunday at the church.

People were crazy about me
the girls were screaming, pulling their hair, fainting.
God was on my side
I was invited to interviews, talk shows
They wanted to have my opinion about neurosurgury, philosophy and budget
and the influence of colonialism in genetic engineering.
I started a big business, they made a perfum with my smell, exactly my smell
after the game, tee shirts that smelled like me.
I performed in a couple of movies

My Homeruns were increasing people's faith in god all over the world
so I felt entitled to talk to God
I told him : "God, I am very thankful for this gift,
I consider myself very privileged
I know Homeruns are very important
but, what were you thinking when you gave me this gift?
I am from Argentina, nobody gives a shit about baseball there

I miss my people,
but they don't understand my gift
To them I am a common, mediocre, unblessed human being"

And you know I am not Jose, you made me female

God didn't answer to me

God makes mistakes sometimes

but a gift is a gift

even if you can't use it

you have to be grateful.


© Susana Cook 2009
photo credits