8th show, folks

      The eighth show of an eight show week is amazing in some ways. Your body starts to just effortlessly do what it knows, sort of like the horse that, within a certain perimeter of the barn, simply takes the lead because by that point, it knows the way.  And if it doesn't, the rider may just be too tired to correct it...Not that I would ever allow my body to just do what it wants (for instance, in the dark upstage corner, when I am simply standing, barely discernible to the audience at large, I would never let myself relax, maybe even shift my weight from one foot to another to give a brief respite to well, one foot then the other...).

   What else? Well, for some reason there is nothing left to prove. I don't know why, but come Tuesday, the first show of the week, you feel like you have a lot to prove. You've been separated from the show for a good 24 hours (and I do mean a good 24 hours, we do love our day off) and now it's time to show the world--or maybe, more appropriately--yourself that you can do this thing and do it well. But the 8th show?! Shoot, you're golden. You've done it practically forever this week already, you can surely do it one more time. Ain't no thing at all.

   And then there is the matter of the feet. Maybe the most beat up, unappreciated body part that exists; having to traverse many miles, wedged within the confines of the latest fashion, or worse, all natural--with nothing separating them from whatever happens to be on the ground that day. My poor feet have certainly been through it. And by the eighth show, especially, I feel it. Just tonight I was getting these sharp shooting pains throughout my metatarsal...but wait, U2 just came onto the TV screen...excuse me for a moment or two...

   I am back and wow, that was wonderful. I am watching the inaugural concert in honor of President-elect Obama and while I was just as happy to write while Shakira was on the screen, I simply had to give my full attention to Bono. You know how it is. 

  But, as I was saying, by the eighth show of the week, my feet hurt. Like the dickens. That isn't a curse word, is it? I don't think so, but perhaps it is an old fashioned one. 

  Oh, and last but not least, the eighth show of the week leaves me feeling giddy and ready to crack up laughing at the drop of a hat (which is quite possible since we deal with many hats in A Chorus Line)... 

  That is all for now. Happy Monday to all.