Break a Leg

As usual, I have been extremely busy trying to put my life into some semblance of order this last week:  I had a special performance of Shrew in the middle of an old-growth Redwood forest, cast party, going away party, battlegrounds to run, a roommate to find, a $1000 fine to avoid, a house to clean, my wife to murder, and Gilder to frame for it...wait, I think that last bit was from somebody else.  Anyway, point is, I've had a lot on my mind.  So when it came time to write this blog I was completely blank.  So I asked one of my coworkers what I should write about.  Guess what he said.  Can you guess what he said?  Go ahead and guess what he said.  I bet you can guess what he said.

Now, I don't know a whole lot about farm animals.  Aside from they are tasty with gravy.  In fact, I think the idea stemmed from the fact that not 5 minutes prior to me starting this blog somebody had mentioned having ribs for lunch, which spawned a conversation about where one might conveniently and locally acquire said delicacy.  Most places are too far to be convenient to make the trip there and back in our 1/2 hour lunch break.

See, personally, my lunch break is about far more than filling my stomach with nutrients.  It's time away; a slight repreave from this madcap word of sign making.  I get my food, yes, but more importantly I escape the world for a little while.  I generally like to get a lot of reading done.  So if I have to spend my precious time running hither and yawn without getting to rest my brain and let somebody else do the work by opening a book....I feel unfulfilled.  I'm sure you can relate.  And now I'm completely off topic.

Over the weekend, at one of the parties I was attending I was told more or less the following story:

A fellow actor of mine, an older gentleman who's life partner had been in the interior design business, was at a party courting some rather rich and famous clients.  The owner of the house where this party was held also had cattle on the property, as eccentric Hollywood types are commonly wont to do.  Some of the guests decided that they would go have a look at the cows in question "for a change of pace."  One young starlet, respendant in some extremely expensive evening gown, asked if she could milk one of the cows.  So it was arranged.  While she was under there yanking inexpertly on the udders she asked, "Isn't it supposed to get hard?"

Wow.

Makes you think about just how much you know in relation just how much other people know.  I know a lot of people are somewhat scared of large barnyard animals.  I mean, if that thing decided it would rather reverse the order of the food chain, you could suddenly have 2 tons of stomach charging your opposable-thumb-having ass in an effort to make some Jennifer pate.  But actually, most of the farm animals I've encountered are pretty resigned to their role in life:  "I eat, I sleep, I poop, I get turned into dinner."  Or: "I am a beast of burden.  I carry this asshole around, I carry that asshole around.  Fine.  Where are my carrots?"  When I was in Korea everywhere you went you would see withered old men standing in the middle of a rice patty with a cow attached to a string.  What was the cow's job?  To poop.  What was the old man's job?  To hold the string.

What the hell does this have to do with anything, you ask?

At least I'm working on Break A Leg and not pooping in a field while tethered to a withered old Korean man.

Not an eloquent statement I know, but  I think it gives you some sort of perspective.

Happy Jenday!