Excellent theatre tonight, shifting rooms tomorrow. Getting used to this itinerant mode at about the same rate that I'm wearying of it. For some reason, the Harper in Goethe's Willhelm Meister comes to mind, perhaps because the theatre was an adaptation of a novel of the era.
Not just whistlin' dixie here, and not just because no one in earshot would have the faintest notion of the melody, let alone the meaning. It's a bit like carrying the most important thing in the world--a delicate and irreplaceable object--on a rather difficult journey through masses of inexplicably sedate and reasonably prosperous folks. The incongruity between the CV and the circumstances does lead one to a quiet radicalism. A peculiar monasticism; if it doesn't become a discipline, the valuable things begin to be lost.
Tuned into the NYC parish and another midtown church when I returned from the theatre, both apparently opting for the scrutiny lectionary portion -- one line, heard from both houses: "Fill your horn with oil, and be on your way."
As the evening is starting to wane, probably best to set about doing what the fellow suggests.