bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

and this is what I look like

November 29th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


As soon as I arrive, Sebastian pulls down a giant book of photography from the shelf, because he is the kind of kid that respects and enjoys this sort of thing. Sebastian flips through it eagerly. There are a lot of naked pictures. To each one he says naked, naked or filfthy. We are apparently flipping through said book because somewhere inside of it, he claims there is a girl who looks like me.

Finally, we arrive at her. Or me, that is.

I look.


Oh – okay – is it because we both have short dark hair?

Yeah! Those are boobies!

……Yes. Yes, they are.

Mine are bigger.

Posted in horn tooting, i am scared | No Comments »

the kkk

November 29th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


This is hard to explain to a child. Most things are confusing, even though, actually, they are a heck of a lot smarter than we think. It’s frightening. They have nano’s and know how to google things. But what is up with that hood, the babysitter? I don’t understand that picture. It makes no sense.

Sebastian looked at it and said, what is that? I don’t know what that is. So I turned the page.

Posted in i am scared, life, worrying | No Comments »


November 27th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

Research ensues. I have challenged myself to the duel that is the writing of a new (science inspired) full length play in 33 days.  Can I do it? No clue. Will I try? Yes. Is it about elephants? You bet. What’s the story? I got nothing.

Isaac directed me to the crazy phenomenon going on with the Elephant as of late. Their violence towards humans has increased immensely. They have become pissed, irrational. Neurologists theorize that it is because they are scarred from witnessing their parents being poached.

A little girl dreams that her parents are gutted by elephants. The prophecy comes true. Or perhaps there are elephants in the room, but no one can see them.  We can hear them, though. Do they shake the room? Are we scared of them when we are little? Are they toys? Are we Toys? Are we elephants? God. No. We are not elephants. I sure hope that this play does not end up THAT kind of play. There will be NO stretched metaphors, journaling, or audience address. There might be floating things and facts.

I have no idea. All I know is that for now, I am intrigued. My palate is indeed wet.

Posted in factual smarts, the writing of drama plays | No Comments »

Yeah, I drink. What if I do.

November 25th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


So what. You don’t know me. YA’LL DON’T KNOW ME!

Don’t hate, even.

Posted in vices | No Comments »


November 25th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


Hi, friend. Hi. Hello, dancing dinosaurs, the apocalypse, and the appearance of friends from third grade as supporting characters who wear un-hat objects as hats. Hello, tornado dreams.



….Why? Just Why?

I don’t feel good.

I wish someone would butter me up some saltines, wetrag my forehead and tell me a story.

Posted in vices, whining | No Comments »

thanks: a thorough report

November 23rd, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


I thank the apron.

It was a success, as they say in France, and in 3054 Panther Ridge Lane Lewisville NC 27023. (Stalkers, desist.) It was a success, despite the fact that I threw back a couple of glasses of angst-reducing, finger-bitey chardonnay while waiting for the turkey to finish – and later took ibprofen for some ladypains – so basically – I was high as so many kites during most of the shebang, and was plunged into a coma-esque nap circa 3 minutes after the meal concluded.

Let me begin by noting that my parents’ house is big and beautiful, with lots of windows and light and happy trees to boot.  This provided a pleasant backdrop to my cooking frenzy.



My uncle Robert arrived early BEFORE I had donned myspecialgrownupdress, just as I had finished laying out the pumpkin cupcakes and assorted dessert things:


So my Dad choked him.



Cheese tray in tact, with sharp cheddar, havarti, goat and brie, coupled with the ‘I made ya’ll a dip, ya’ll!’ that Tim’s cute ass girlfriend Olivia brought, appetizering happened as guests arrived. (My Grandma and a few of her friends.) The men ate ruffly chips in the basement (each with their own recliner) as I tried to pretend that 12 things fit in one oven at once.  Ha, I say to that. Ha. Hi, the microwave.

A mere hour later than I anticipated, everything was finally ready, and lunchdinner was ‘served’ if you will, on the finest of Brunstetter heirloom China.


Yes, that is a card table at the end. Yes, I sat at it. Yes, it quivered every time I cut my turkey (which was kind of dry/suck it five times, Whole Foods.)

All in all, people were fed. My stuffing, I have to say, so I will say, was pretty top notch, with little toasted pecan bits, and the green beans were killer for being my first romp with ‘mashed’ garlic. Yeah, I mashed some garlic. Maybe I did.

Fat and happy, we posed, as Really Tall Related People should:


And that, as they say, was a Wrap. You know, like a day after thanksgiving turkey wrap with stuffing bits and cranberry goo. That kind.

Posted in holidays, horn tooting, recipes, trying too hard | No Comments »

knick knacks

November 23rd, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


When we are Grown and have a Home, we may choose to fill said home with ‘knick knacks.’ These grow to be porcelian (or pewter) suggestions of our belief system, values, whims; reincarnations of once pets.


Our tendency being to collect little things we will Never Need, to fill some Void that shapeshifts from wooden rabbit to Russian tea doll, these collections grew SO vast that someone created a thing to put them in:


And inside, little Objects laden with sentiment, painted with quaint eyes and quiet lips, can be arranged. There they can sit, dust free, being knacky.

I officially lament all of the knick knacks I accumulated from Goodwill while in high school, having not yet found a Home to put them in.

Posted in life, vices | No Comments »


November 20th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

A racist dream of the prophet kind.

When I was small, and you were small, I dreamt one night that we lived back in ‘olden times.’ To me, this meant general stores with big butter cloths and floors made of dust; corn and wood walls. In this olden time, the slaves were uprising, I somehow understood this, and all of us (me, mom, dad, dan, pete) were escaping on our family ‘wagon’ as it were. The slaves were following fast and suit, chasing us with knives, and assorted kitchen things. They emerged from the dust like wolves and their angry eyes shining like moons in their skulls and I was crying because their anger was hot and silent and these were olden times, and my olden dress was strange and I cried because we had dropped you.

We had dropped you, or you had fallen, or you were too small, but whatever it was, you were running behind our wagon, trying to catch up. We all reached out our hands for you, but you were the smallest (remember that time you were not large?) and you could not and we could not reach.  They were coming up fast behind you, reaching for you, stealing you, getting you, trying to. That’s where the dream ends, on your fat hands reaching through the dust.

This is only the eight millionth time I have thought about that dream, and now that you are big and now that you sign your name on thing and make Large Choices, now that you are going Over There (this just in, were you going to tell me?), should I now say, Guess what? I am a prophet. In my dreams, you die. Something is going to happen to you. Don’t go. You don’t know me, I don’t know you, but if you stayed, we could start to.  Would you listen?

Posted in i am scared | No Comments »

winter ear hats

November 19th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

I have MY this year’s winter hat, which will be worn beyond reason, to the point of ridiculous. It’s bright (bright) blue, and makes well-dressed women stare, and old man say things like ‘nice hat.’ To which I say, thanks.


Now the question is – do you have yours? And if negative, uh, why not? The token This Year’s Winter Hat will cost you a cool five to ten bucks, so it’s okay if you chew on it/ if someone accidentally spits on it/if birds pee on it/if it’s lost/stolen/neglected; if it suddenly rendered useless by the apocalypse.

But either way, get one. It’s funny, I’ve had mine for a little over 24 hours, and I cannot seem to remove it from my head. So on my head it shall stay, even perhaps as I turkey bake in 70 degree NC. I will wear it, ironically.

winterearhats are also available for ‘men’:


and ‘babies,’ though they protest to the wearing of them.

Boys, I suggest something rustic, with furry flaps. But most importantly, remember this: only YOU can choose your winter ear hat. Let no one else choose it for you. The choice is hard, and the decision is yours.

Posted in holidays, what I'm wearing | No Comments »

Lars and the Real Girl

November 17th, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter


I saw this last night. So should you. It is touching and funny and makes you slink into your seat and say stuff like ‘Gah‘ and ‘No he didn’t‘ and mean them. It’s about a lonely dude who takes a sex toy as a lover – for real. But there is nothing campy or gratutious about it, it’s dealt with total humanity and respect for even the most adverse of fetishes/desires. Really sweet. Go see it.

Posted in le film | No Comments »

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