My Dear!

Today, I received an e-mail address with the heading "My Dear!" The author's name was Susan Patrick, which sounded vaguely familiar but I couldn't put a face to the name.

Since it was a message from someone that I didn't know, here were my thoughts:

a) 40 percent chance that Susan wants to sell me Viagra or Ciali$
b) 40 percent chance that Susan wants to enact a business deal with me, and all she needs is my banking information
c) 20 percent chance that there is a real Susan Patrick out there, somewhere.

Unfortunately, the answer was "b", but I have to give "Susan" a thumbs-up. It's not often that a spammer manages to put together the right name and title on an e-mail to get the user to open it. (I moved the mail to Yahoo!'s SpamGuard and let SpamGuard increase its knowledge.)

My Google Mail account absolutely floods with spam. Spammers everywhere try to come up with a title to an e-mail message that will get the recipient to bite:

"I didn't get your e-mail"
"Robert just died"
"Obama has heart attack"
"I need a turnaround on this memo or there's trouble"

In any case, it was a good title for the spammer. "My Dear!" It isn't often that you're called "My Dear!" It made me feel warm inside.

Puppeteering

"Come in."

I entered what appeared to be a little-used room in a vacant Hollywood movie set. It was actually a vacant Toronto movie set, but if Toronto can replace New York on television, its sets can replace Hollywood ones.

The man sitting at the desk wore khaki. He looked half like Jeff Probst of Survivor and half used car salesman. He smiled, as if he were completely and absolutely satisfied with himself.

Sitting on a folding chair next to him was a very large, bald black man. His lips were lined with a thin mustache and something small at the bottom of his lower lip; a Hitler mustache from the bottom and not from the top. His look was the opposite of my host's, one conveying contempt for anything physically weaker than him - and I counted.

"Take a load off," said the man behind the desk. "Have a seat!"

I sat.

"So, Mr. -- uhm -- "

"You can just call me Chris," said the man with a smile. "So, CINCGREEN, I heard that you're interested in the little operation we have up here."

"Where did you hear that?" I replied, not even noticing that he called me by my old internet name. "This invitation was out of the blue. I didn't expect to see either of you here." Now that I had figured out who the two were - the fact that the black guy wasn't wearing his hat threw me - I was starting to enter panic territory.

"Come on! Duuuuuuuuude! I can see what's inside your head! We all can! And after you read 'Where's Mary Sue When You Need Her?' it gave both of us the opportunity to make that connection."

"Uh...okay. Curtiss can handle conversations with fictional characters. I can't. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my real real and my fiction fiction."

"Well," Chris said, "it might work that way where your from, but it doesn't work that way up here. We're go getters up here in the North! We have to take our opportunities when we can!"

"So," I said. "Uh...Chris...I'm willing to listen."

"Coool!" he said, half-skateboard dude. "I gotta tell you, dude. We're really struggling for some good fan fiction here."

"I'm more of a critic than a writer. 'Those that can't do....'"

"Yeah. But you could do a lot better than what I've been reading. We're getting a lot of tweens writing. Don't think I don't like the market share! But everything is what you'd call a 'relationshipper' or just resettings of the show in different circumstances. Or those awful Mary Sues with which I'm sure you're familiar. You know how 13 year olds write!"

"Go on."

"Let me tell you, CINCGREEN, we've got a lot of the stock characters that Daria has, and some more interesting ones. We have the Queen Bee and the Dumb Blonde, and the Daria. We even have the Cool Musician, whose name...get this...happens to be 'Trent'. But we have even more archetypes than Daria. Dude, you don't even have to import them! We have the Rage-a-Holic, we have the Psycho and the Loudmouth, and the Over-Achieving Prep! You'll never get the chance to explore those kinds of personalities as regular Daria characters. And there's virtually no canon for any of these kids. Open page, duuuude!"

"Furthermore," Chris continued. "You're always looking for conflict as a writer. The entire show is about conflict! Everyone wants money, so our characters are at each other's throats. They're split into teams, they compete, they argue, they fall in love. The conflict is always there to drive the narrative."

"Yeah...I tried writing a Daria/Survivor crossover. It sucked. I would rather not repeat that."

"But it doesn't have to be that way. You can put the characters in any situation you want. Look, dude, I know about the whole 'Legion of Lawndale Heroes' thing. You had to call it an 'alternate universe'. But the rules of this universe let me get away with a ton of horse-hockey. We've had our characters fight pirahnas, sharks, bears, and the dreaded purple Sasquatch! I actually revealed that the place they had been living at for weeks was nothing more than a giant movie set despite being surrounded by water for miles in all directions! And they accepted that!"

"How?"

"Because...I'm God. I can do anything I want to to them, and they accept it. If I don't like the parameters of the universe they're in, I just change it at whim. I've even changed the rules, told the characters that I was changing the rules...and no rebellion, just acceptance. If there's anything you want to do to them...just say the word, dude. I can make it happen."

I remained silent.

"He's right," said the Chef, a chef unlike the one from South Park. "He can make it happen. I've seen it."

"Well...I'm tempted," I said. And I was. But looking at Chris's eyes, I began to have second thoughts. He was a master manipulator, a man who had interns in the series, all of whom had died doing his bidding...except for Chef, who was a force of his own. This was a man who could manipulate circumstances easily and better, a man who could hide bodies. Hell, he had manipulated me into coming here. How was I to know that I wasn't just some pawn in a larger game? Some mental-mind-fuck he had planned for his unhappy competitors?"

He called himself "God". I began to suspect that he was someone else.

"I don't know. I've got into legitimate blogging. I don't want to be dragged into that fan fiction business any more. No one's even reading Daria fan fic, who is going to be reading this -- !"

"Come onnnnnn!" Chris was in his salesman persona, his eyes sparkling. "You know you want to. Just a taste!"

I tried not to lick my lips.

"What about the Goth Girl? Isn't she special? Tough, but sweet. Caring, but cynical. All of the best qualities of Daria and Jane in one character. Who could pass up writing a story about her? Dude, it would take a man with a heart of stone to -- "

"-- fine!" I said. "I'll think about it."

"Great! Then you're on board!"

"I said I'll think about it. No more."

"Whatever! Listen...I know you also follow those teens in the mall...."

"Good Lord," I said. "One coffin-nail at a time. What kind of incestuous universe do you have over here?" Even Satan ought to know when not to push it.

Water Over the Bridge

(Exterior: Dark, with small amounts of ambient light. There appears to be an audience assembled, murmuring anxiously to itself.

Suddenly, the house lights come up. We see what appears to the be the interior of Mr. DeMartino's classroom, converted to a stage set. A snippet of Splendora's "You're Standing on My Neck" cues up and the crowd shows its obvious enthusiasm.)


ANNOUNCER: Ladies and Gentlemen, live from the Los Angeles Ampitheatre, it's "Daria"!

(The crowd goes wild and stands up to applaud. When nothing happens on stage, they sit back down again, expectantly.)

Mr. DeMartino (off-stage): Those - DAMNED - students!

(DeMartino enters from the left to the applause of the crowd, which respond like they haven't seen him in years. (They haven't.) DeMartino looks like he's in his 80s, but despite the paunch and the stoop he still gives the crowd what they've been waiting for.)

Mr. DeMartino: Gah! Changing the lunch hour! Now everybody's late!

Kevin: We're not late, Mr. D!

(Kevin and Brittany enter from stage right. They now appear to be in their early 40s. Brittany is about 10 pounds heavier and slightly more heavily made up. Kevin's hair is slightly off - it is worn in straight bangs, but he is wearing his football uniform and still has his six-pack abdomen. The crowd greets their arrival with warm applause.)

Mr. DeMartino: Of COURSE you're not late, Kevin. I have to give you CREDIT for that. And it's the ONLY THING I can give you CREDIT for in this class!

Kevin (breezily): Gee, thanks!

Brittany (squeakily): Mr. D, thanks for the extra credit! I really need it to pull up my grades!

Kevin: Aw, babe. To me, you'll always be a "C" student!

(The two hug to the laughter of the audience.)

Mr. DeMartino: Someone save me before I KILL someone. (Audience laughs.)

Jodie: Sorry, we're late!

(Jodie and Mack arrive. Jodie does not look like a teenage girl anymore: her braids have been replaced with straight hair extensions and she can't convey teenage innocence anymore in her short skirt - she comes off as a hooker, but plays it straight. Mack now has a goatee and his hair is cut very close to his scalp; he looks like some serious adult actor wandered on to the set.)

Mr. DeMartino: I SEE. So...Jodie...what were the two of you DOING?

Mack (sotto voce): Don't tell him. (Jodie smiles and the audience chuckles.)

Mr. DeMartino: Why, during the time of the birds and the bees, must I be covered in BIRD POOP? (Audience laughter.)

Kevin: Surely, Mr. D, you were young once?

(Jodie and Mack shake their heads 'no' furiously, to the laughter of the audience.)

Brittany: Yeah, Mr. D.! Who was your girlfriend in high school?

Mr. DeMartino: Girlfriend? I had SEVERAL of them.

Upchuck: Rrrrrowwwww! Feisty!

(Upchuck enters. Time hasn't been kind to him. He's even thinner than his teenage years and his skin isn't in good condition.)

Mr. DeMartino: Yes, CHARLES? You just HAD to make a COMMENT?

Upchuck (a little throaty): I merely congratulate you, Mr. D. Clearly, we are both birds of a feather! (Upchuck walks over to Brittany.)

Brittany: Stand back, pipsqueak...or I'll pluck your chicken! (Audience does the OOOOOOOOO sound.)

Upchuck: Hmmm....kinky! (Audience laughs.)

Quinn (off-stage): Mr. DeMartino! Mr. Demartino!

(Quinn walks in. She is quite clearly wearing a long wig with straight red hair. She looks Hollywood fifty. The audience is very glad to see her.)

Mr. DeMartino: YOU'RE NOT supposed to be in here!

Quinn: I'm just looking for...Daria! (Quinn milks the pause, and the audience goes wild.)

Mr. DeMartino: I was hoping you wouldn't show up UNTIL FIFTH PERIOD! (Audience laughs.) Where is the rest of your BRAIN DEAD TRIO?

Tiffany: ....KwinnNNNNNNNNNNNNN?

(Tiffany walks in, followed by Stacy. Tiffany looks a lot healthier than her teenage years. Stacy follows behind and when the audience sees her...they go crazy. The show is stopped for about 20 seconds while they applaud this older woman with pigtails that has stepped out of their shared past.)

Stacy: Gee, Quinn....are we going to get in trouble? (Loud audience laughter.)

Quinn: Duh....NO! (Audience laughs.)

Mr. DeMartino: So where is the other one?

Quinn: Oh...Sandi will be here later!

(A pause. Some of the cast bow their heads slightly, sadly, and reverently. The audience is in on the message. They understand.)

Mr. DeMartino: And why, Quinn, have you VIOLATED the SANCTITY of my CLASSROOM!

Quinn: Ooo! Gross! Don't talk about violation!

(Tiffany covers Stacy's ears and the audience laughs. Stacy throws an "I'm puzzled" look for more laughter.)

Jodie: I saw Daria (AUDIENCE APPLAUSE) walking down the hall with Jane (MORE AUDIENCE APPLAUSE) just a few minutes ago. Now Mr. D. - tell us about your girlfriends.

Mr. DeMartino: Well, I had two girlfriends. The first of them was the ARTISTIC type...very FREE SPIRITED....

Jane (from offstage): Hey-OHHHHH!!

(Jane steps on to the stage and the audience is on its feet with a standing ovation. She has wavy, shoulder-length hair and does not possess the "helmet-haircut". She looks quite stylish, even in her red jacket and black hose.)

Jodie: I think your spirit was just invoked.

Jane: Funny. That usually involves a pentagram. (Audience laughter.)

Upchuck: I'm ready to cast a spell...of love! (Chuckles from audience.)

Jane: There was one word of that sentence I liked. Cast. (Jane punches Upchuck in the arm to the joy of the audience.)

Upchuck: Owwwwww! (The actors are taken aback for a second, then move forward.)

Mack: So Mr. D, who was your other girlfriend?

Mr. DeMartino: She was the STUDIOUS TYPE! Very smart...very witty...very OUTSPOKEN!

Daria (off stage): Will someone open this damn door!

(Jane rushes over to open the imaginary stage right door, and Daria walks in carrying about twenty textbooks in a stack. The audience applauds at the sight of Daria, despite the fact that she is not wearing her trademark glasses. The applause goes on as Daria ignores it, carrying the books to Mr. DeMartino's desk and dumping the load.)

Jane: So, Morgendorffer. How are your contacts?

Daria: They don't have enough pull to get me out of class. (Audience laughter.)

Upchuck (Leering at Daria): Daria, your eyes make it quite clear that you are quite attracted to me. Nice to see that you're not hiding behind those glasses anymore.

(Daria looks genuinely disgusted, the most honest display of emotion in this show so far.)

Daria: Right. I need my peripheral vision, so I can get a head start. (Audience laughter.)

Jane: Mr. D was telling us about his romantic exploits.

Daria: I have to sit down for this. And put this in my diary...and possibly, on the internet. (More laughter.)

Brittany: At least Mr. D has an exploit!

Jane: She's got a point.

Daria: One covered by blonde hair. (Audience laughter.)

Stacy: So, Daria...tell us about your romances!

Tom (off stage): Daria! DARIA!

(Tom enters to the applause of the crowd. He must weigh about 300 pounds, but he carries it well and he seems to be a genuininely charming man. He has a mustache.)

Tom: Daria! I need to talk to you.

Daria: Okay, just...wait, I mean. (Silence for eight seconds or more.) What the fuck is this?

(Some confusion among the cast. Stacy rolls her eyes. Everyone else looks unsettled.)

Daria: What the fuck is this? The first time that we get together in twenty years, Sloane, and you can't shave the goddamn mustache? You never had a mustache on the show! What's the audience supposed to think?

Tom (not breaking character): Heh. I...guess you're still mad at me for breaking up with you.

Daria: I mean, Jesus Christ, show some respect for your craft. Everyone else here is at least making a half-assed effort at getting it right. Why can't you?

Tom (finally breaking character, angrily): Oh yeah? Where are those glasses? Everyone here expects you to wear those glasses.

Daria: Tom, the show is called 'Daria', not 'Tom'. When they ever name a show after you, you can dress how you damned well please. And since that's not going to...oh fuck, let's just get on with it.

Mr. DeMartino (quietly): I'm too old for this bullshit. (He walks off the stage. The audience murmurs to itself, unsettled.

Jane (smiling but clearly furious): So...Daria...tell us about your romances.

Daria: Well...oh, forget it. This is going nowhere. So everyone...do you want to know what I've been up to these past couple of decades?

(The audience takes the opportunity to forget what just happened and applauds.)

Daria: Lower the lights a little bit. (The lights dim.) I've not been seen a lot in the last few years, but I want you to know that I'm still active.

(More applause.)

Daria: Not necessarily doing what I did twenty years ago, but I'm more into politics now. Ladies and gentlemen, there's going to be a new referendum on the state ballot, and I'd like you to support it. We're facing what might be the greatest problem in our nation's history. That problem is illegal immigration.

(Tiffany walks off the stage. Jane follows her.)

Daria: The same radical liberal campus speakers who support the child-murderers of radical Islam, who pump state money into hiring professors with clearly radical viewpoints on the survival of Israel - or should I say, rather, the negation of Israel - are attempting to overwhelm this country and bring us to the age of the hijab.

(There are some hisses from the audience. Daria seems unperturbed.)

Daria: The instigators of these anti-American ideas do not come from the United States. The enemy has never been homegrown, but come from the decadent Europeans, the terrorist Middle East, and their newest vanguard, the shiftless and crime-prone Mexicans.

(There is now obvious and loud booing.)

Daria: Mexicans! Who are taking jobs away from real Americans! Who only bring crime and abortion to this inner cities, and who seep into the inner cities currently held captive by the poverty pimps of the Al Sharptons and the -- !

Mack: -- God, you're the most ignorant woman I've ever met.

Daria: Hey, Mack, guess what gay stands for? "Got AIDS Yet?" What's your white cell count today?

(Everyone is shocked. Mack shrivels. Stacy picks up one of the textbooks and throws it at Daria, hitting her right in the head to the applause of some members of the angry crowd. (There are boos.)

In turn, Daria attacks Stacy, and the two grapple on the floor, as amphitheatre staff rush the scene. A shocked crowd watches as the curtain closes, for good.)