Do those words incite the same kind of excitement in you as they do me?

And no, I am not talking Christmas here. Not yet, anyway.

But it’s on parr with that, I’d say–the greatest of holidays.

It’s time to go home.

To box up my stuff, tape it up tight, and mark it with my name and address.

To send it back to where it belongs and more importantly, where I belong.

And just looking at all this stuff makes me so happy.
Actually, I was rushing to finish boxing up my trunk during the Paul and Cassie scenes tonight. So there I was in my leotard and fishnets, knee deep in packaging supplies. And after getting all my stuff into five boxes, I was faced with the monumental task of carrying them to the company manager office, all the way on the other side of the theater. And then there was the added hassle of my rib and how I am not really supposed to be lifting much.

But that’s when I got creative.

And found a dolly.

Perfect.
And so I rolled my boxes from one side of the theater to the next, making more than a few people laugh at me along the way.

And if you know who said that, you get 5 points to be used at your discretion.

5 whole probably useless points, people. Now THINK.

I woke up kind of late. Something to do with late conversations about cereal, I am sure.

But then I got myself to the theater. I had planned on taking the warm-up class that our veneered choreographer gives when she is in town, but I didn’t quite leave my hotel in time. Oops.

Something to do with getting up late because of late conversations about cereal.

But I already mentioned that.

So I warmed myself up on stage, which is what I do most of the time anyway. And aside from being afraid that I was about to get a migraine after I stared at the lights a little too long and started seeing spots because of it (the warm-up act for my migraines is what doctors call an aura. I see spots and have blurred vision and it fills me with dread because once the aura comes, I know what is coming next. And if you’ve ever suffered a migraine, than you know what I’m talking about, though I sincerely hope for your sake that you don’t.), I got warm and all that.

Oh yeah, and I didn’t get a migraine. Turns out those bright lights on the stage make you see spots and it doesn’t always mean you’re gonna have to find somebody to please remove your head in just a little while. You’ll know when because I will be squirming and writhing and moaning, thank you. So I was relieved that this wasn’t the case.

And then I did a show. And honestly? I’ve done so many now that it’s hard to remember one itty bitty matinee* on a Sunday.

*notice I said MATINEE, as in afternoon performance and not, MANATEE, as in large and lovable sea creature that I swam with in Florida. Though I will still probably get at least one comment that says they thought I was confessing I had DONE a MANATEE and ewwwwwww and isn’t that funny?! And here I go proving my brother Jason, who once told the world wide web that I often write about manatees on my blog, right yet again by mentioning manatees.

I cannot win.

And if you did think that I said MANATEE instead of MATINEE and happen to think it’s funny, well I agree: it is funny.

Moving on.

So I did the show and it went well and I don’t think I made any mistakes, so that’s good. I even managed to make some people laugh, which is even better than just not making mistakes, if I do say so myself.

But if you sang really badly in front of thousands of people while wearing a leotard you could probably make them laugh too.

Oh, and another part of the day that made it good was that the Eagles won.

Go Green.

But after I woke up kind of late and after I got out of my hotel room late and missed the warm-up class and after I was afraid I was getting a migraine but I was really just underneath some bright lights and after I did a show in which I don’t think I made any mistakes and managed to make some people laugh in the process and after the Eagles won–well, after all that, something great happened.

It looked like this.

And oh my goodness it was so good. If I used expletives I might be tempted to insert one there, just as an accent, just to let you know that Memphis doesn’t joke around when it comes to home cooked meals.

In large platters.

And many different colors.

And lots and lots of butter, I’d bet.

It’s a tradition here at the Orpheum Theater for the ushers and friends of the theater to cook and bake their best from their own respective kitchens and then feed us a feast to end all feasts.

I mean, just look at it.
The only problem was that we had to do another show after this southern feast, so you know, I had to content myself with just one plate.

One packed plate.

Of food stacked right on top of each other.

Cause I had decided on just one plate.

And the pecan pie was heavenly. Just crumbled goodness on a fork.

Oh, and the sweet potatoes even rivaled my sister-in-law, Rebekah’s. Sorry Rebekah, but it’s true. I didn’t say they were better, mind you; I merely asserted the fact that they were contenders. But I think we can all agree that there is room in this great big world for two different plates of out-if-this-world delicious sweet potatoes.

And Memphis and Maryland are far enough apart from each other to let bygones be bygones, I’d say.

And another great part about this meal?

They gave each of us a to-go box and let us have at it.

So I got to take this
home.

And ate it after the second show, because believe it or not, after that first feast my stomach managed to get hungry all over again.

Yep, a pretty good day.

And this commute is riddled with tickets–a pink one and a blue one, to be precise, that I cannot lose because without them I can neither enter nor leave the subway station. I was handed exactly 10 pink tickets and 10 blue tickets upon checking into my hotel on Monday and must make sure to have them on hand for our daily commute.

As if that weren’t enough, I also have to change trains twice and pray that I get the express train rather than the local, though to be honest I don’t think I would recognize one over the other before I was on it and was either stopping at every hole in the wall I passed or was seeing Hyogo in a blur as I zipped by.

Now imagine me.

Directionally challenged.

Not good at keeping small papers.

Or larger papers, for that matter, like marriage licenses.

Don’t speak Japanese, so good luck at retaining the names of the stations at which I need to get off.

Or pronouncing them.

And 5’8, too.

Since you’re imagining me, I thought it might be easier if you knew my height too.

I know, I think of everything and you’re welcome.

But suffice it to say, I am desperate to make sure that I accompany others to the theater. Otherwise, I am pretty sure I might just end up in Tibet.

And I’d still be in the same situation: unable to speak the language, juggling many pastel tickets, confused, and of course, 5’8.

So think of me fondly as you wake up and, with contentment, realize that you know just exactly how to get to where you are going today.

Must be nice.

Which is why I was so surprised to sweat profusely this afternoon.

Every time.

What kind of word is Texarkana anyway?

A great one, I can tell you that.

And this prize of a magazine is currently being offered as prime reading material in my hotel.
There’s nowhere quite like Tejas, I think.

And of course, Drew can always make me laugh.

And tonight he made me cry…Good tears, though; some of the best kind, I think.

Now it’s time to sleep.

Thank God for this.

His excitement may be due to the fact that he doesn’t have to wear a leotard and stand on the line for a very long time, but that’s just a guess.

And that other little dude you saw?

Well he belongs to the St. Louis Zoo which has no admission.

I mean, they don’t even ask for a donation.

Even the Museum of Natural History in NYC claims free admission yet, as soon as you walk through those grand doors there is a clearly stated “suggested donation.” And if you don’t follow through with their suggestion you might as well wait for the Ghost of Christmas Past, Present, and Future to pay you a visit right after dealing with Scrooge come December.

Yes, you pay the donation more out of sheer embarrassment of not paying it and how that will make you look rather than any sort of philanthropic inclinations; but in the end, money is handed over and the museum is happy and you are looking at very large stuffed animals and sort of wishing they were actually alive.

Same goes for the pygmy village too.

And oh yeah–all your vast plans for Free Things To Do In The City are once again trumped and you figure you might as well completely throw in the towel and take a cab rather than walk back from the museum.

I mean, the day on a budget is already shot anyway, right?

But entrance to the St. Louis Zoo is gotten by nothing so much as a turn of the turnstile and a smile.

And actually, the smile is even optional.

I saw these two guys there and thought they were funny and cute.
They look plenty comfortable and I am not even totally sure the big guy knows about the freeloader on his back.

The strangest thing I saw today was the legless lizard. It looked just like a snake except…off. Before I read the caption (which literally said, Think this is a snake? It’s not–I mean, I felt like it was reading my mind!), I was staring at it, wondering if maybe it was a degenerate snake of some kind.

Poor thing. It totally got the short end of the stick. Both sticks, actually. It’s a lizard but has no legs so does not have that darting mobility or those sticky fingers which allows them to crawl upside down effortlessly. It’s a snake but doesn’t bite like one (I think) and lacks the smooth finesse when it comes to crawling or gliding. Plus it’s body is a little thicker than a snake’s and so is kind of cumbersome.

Actually, the legless lizard reminded me of the song from Miss Saigon, Bui-Doi. There were so many half Vietnamese, half American children born during the Vietnam War and the poor things were not claimed by either country.

It’s a moving and beautiful song, and I think these lyrics apply to the plight of the Legless Lizard quite poignantly. Forgive me, but I took some poetic license and changed them just a tad.

You know the Gateway to the West and all that.

But honestly, in person, it’s really pretty amazing.
Rising 630 feet above the ground, the Arch overlooks the Mississippi river. And from the top of it, I was very sure that I saw a snake in the water. David told me that I did not, that it looked too much like a branch for his taste. Whatever. I preferred to call it serpentine and the fact that it wasn’t moving could have been due to a number of things. Sure, one could have been that it was in fact a branch, but let’s not jump to conclusions, people. It could have just been a very lazy snake. Just because I am at times inanimate, and could look like a branch if it is dark and you squint, people don’t start doubting my existence. Which is the same courtesy I was trying to afford the snake.

Um, or the branch.
The guard at the entrance to the underbelly of the Arch was quite friendly. I told him I liked his arch and he replied with a thank you, since I did build it and it was hard to miss the twinkle in his eye. He then informed us that the actual designer, Eero Saarinen, came up with the idea by holding each end of a chain and letting the links dangle in between. I guess the inverted arch struck him and voila! you’ve got the tallest man-made monument in the country.

Once I got over the shocking news that the security guard did not in fact make the Arch, I actually found that whole chain process a little disappointingly simple. I mean, really? Just dangle a chain? Come on, famous Finnish designer whose name I don’t even know how to pronounce–I could do that!
No-brainer idea or not, the inside of the Arch is quite fun. Simply put, there are these little pods that travel up to the top. You get inside and start climbing and just for a second it feels like you could be in Star Trek (now that the new movie is so great, Star Trek references are pretty cool. So spread the word.).

And at the top, you see the whole city sprawled out before you and the Mississippi winding it’s way around the border. The Arch even shifts with the wind a bit, which is disconcerting until you realize that most likely your time to go will not be in the Gateway to the West.

Because what are the chances?

Afterward we sprawled out in the grass underneath, talking about who wants kids and who doesn’t, my wedding (simply because they asked), religion, and being generally stupid when we weren’t being serious. The sky was a great blue comfort, the warmth from the sun a kiss. Tonight I did the show with little itchy red marks on my back from the grass, but I didn’t mind.

They were worth it after today.

I am pretty sure it has to do with procuring a working visa.

Anyway.

I suppose since we are a company of talented artists, some of whom went to college and everything but that college may have only required 3 credits of a math or a science or better yet, some sort of hippie science class called perception in which you basically learn about the five senses but not a ton about filling out rote paper work–right, so because of all that our company manager thought it best to give us a cheat sheet of sorts.

He had filled out the entire thing himself, leaving us to copy verbatim what he wrote, with the simple task of swapping his personal information with ours.

I took up my pen, sat down at the desk, and made sure I looked like I belonged in this cubicle. I mean, I had taken perception, after all, I knew how to fill out papers. Shoot, I didn’t even need that equivalent to the Japanese Working Visa for Dummies that had been left for me.

Whatever.

I guess I would humor my manager, since he had gone to all that trouble and all.

I sighed and began looking over my shoulder at the cheat sheet, pen scrawling across my own copy of the pages in front of me.

A moment later I sheepishly asked, Uh, do you guys have any whiteout?

Sure, my company manager says, Why do you need it?

Well, I know I have short hair and everything, but I don’t think the Japanese are going to believe that my name is Matthew Sherr, I say.

I guess I missed the lesson on effectively swapping out somebody else’s personal information for your own when using a cheat sheet for a Japanese working Visa in my perception class. Too bad, because it sure could have come in handy.

But man, do I ever love whiteout.