Vacate

I am on vacation.

I will enjoy my vacation.

I will not feel guilty for studying the master schedule very carefully three months ago and, realizing that the schedule would involve a show on Tuesday, two shows on Wednesday, two shows on Friday, two shows on Saturday and a matinee on Sunday to serve the crowd and respect the mandatory Equity Thanksgiving-off union policy, putting in for vacation this week. I will in fact empathize with my cast members who have the additional burden of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, which means they will get off the stage at 11:00 Wednesday night and then be back in Midtown Manhattan at 5:30 a.m. to perform in costume in the morning only to go home and stuff their faces and struggle with the two shows the following day.

I will not resort to self-flagellation in the event that I don’t unbury my face from the pillow here in pleasant, quiet Dallas at 9:00 a.m. Thursday to watch my friends perform the Opening Number that Stephanie and I restaged just for the occasion. Nor will I call everyone I know and handle in advance their bewilderment about not seeing me anywhere on their television screens.

I will not worry about my vacation swing and new homey Daniel, who – when I checked on after his first and only opportunity to perform on-stage (with me watching) my entire track with tumbling passes – said his body was pissed. I will not answer his rampant text messages cursing me out for agreeing to put my body through absurdities eight times a week so that any swing or successor might struggle. I will not worry…especially since that Negro has keys to my apartment and can take the requisite Epsom salt bath there if necessary. Addendum: I will patch the hole in my heart that bleeds because he too is an only child and the poor thing’s mother is in town this week (of all weeks for him) and by show number six he might very well perish from exhaustion.

I will thank God every day that I chose this week to take off.

I will thank God that I put in my vacation request and got it approved before company management learned that Grasan’s replacement would not be available Thanksgiving week (it’s not feasible to have two dancers or two singers of the same gender out at the same time). I will thank God that I do not have to be there when someone calls out and Africa has to be danced with three men instead of four since both our swings are on stage the whole week anyway.

Whew!

I will eat turkey and dressing and stuffing and gravy from scratch and collard greens and candied yams and ham until I can’t stand up.

I will shove with Grecian delight a healthy slice of the homemade Italian cream cake my great aunt makes – the one so moist it jiggled like jello the entire ride from Dallas to whatever city we went to next on the Cher Tour when she last made it for me – into my stomach.

I pledge allegiance to really…well, vacate the synapses in my brain that fire off instruction to work.

I will not make plans this week.

I say yes to vacation.

Technology

On tour for so long I’d forgotten about one of the nuisances of living at home on a regular basis: the persistence of junk mail. Subscription invitations, charities and fundraising companies which (to a great degree of success in my house) use printed address labels to coerce me into sending money, bills and my favorite, credit card invitations. Recently though, I got something so interesting I had to add it to my collection of things to rotate on my little train commute to work.


So there I was on the train sipping my apple-cider-vinegar-spiked honey ginger tea, flipping through the Brookstone catalogue featuring “hard to find tools.” I was doing fine with the bionic wrench that instantly grips any bold and removes it by automatically adjusting to fit the bolt. The Swiss army knife that includes a USB flash drive, okay fine. But when I got to the hands-free voice-activated television remote I was bothered. With this device you can simply speak the channel into a little microphone located on the top of the remote and avoid the trouble of pressing buttons. Mind you, it’s still necessary to hold the remote so that it can hear your command. But I guess being a couch potato with the remote that requires the metacarpal muscles to work periodically to push the up and down arrows is too much now. If you’re feeling especially patriotic and want to repost your flag now that the Democrats have taken over the House and Senate (Hallelu), Brookstone offers a tangle free flagpole for a mere $39.95. Then the “Pet Steps” invention that gives your dog or cat a three step advantage to climb easily to the bed or any other “hard to access” area of the house I was done. Now the pets don’t even have to exercise as they make their way to YOUR bed. Hmm.

My all time favorite is the “Life Hammer” multi-functional safety tool for drivers. If you’re in an accident and you happen not to be conscious and not mangled, disoriented, or too sore to move, you can get free of your trapped position by using the safety tool with a blade sharp enough to cut through the seat belt. Then you flip it over and the machined steel heads can assist with breaking the glass. The inventors of it have thought it through thoroughly, right down to the fluorescent marker so that you can “pinpoint its location in dark or murky water.” Provided of course that the accident has left you able to reach into your glove compartment or the back seat or the belly of your seat and access it.

Up until now, I’ve been turning over the question about whether technology has gone too far. Now I’m sure it has. I’m absolutely sure. Now granted I own my Roomba robotic duster that goes over an entire floor and collects its dust; my sophomore Wester Civ teacher and her husband assured me it’s absolutely fine. But if I ever own a voice activated television remote, someone please intervene, intervene, intervene…