Latest Articles by Sarah Canice Funke
--Anna Funke
The two of us went to see Josh's play, more technically known in the theatrical world as Oliver!. Josh played Mr. Bumble, a role that we found to be a slight departure from his previous acting gigs. And he played the part rather well. Sleezy, sleezy, sleezy. The production was unfortunately a somewhat rushed community affair, although most of the main characters were well-cast (including our friend Mr. Bumble). The audience was somewhat unresponsive, a trait that yielded undesirable consequences during the Moment of Revelation regarding Oliver's patrimony** (matrimony??). A wizened woman who was trying not to lose her white-haired wig coughed out her confession and then hit the floor--dead. The situation was so absurdly cliche that a single bark of "Hah!" escaped my lips. The sound echoed--I mean ECHOED--throughout the theater. I turned to Anna in embarrassment. ""Don't confess anything, Sarah, or you, too, might die immediately afterwards!" she admonished me. Sadly, this commentary on the moral of the play did nothing to stifle my growing gale of giggles.
The scene did, however, reinforce the vital importance of securing a nanny or some other sort of intimate acquaintance in one's infancy. These personages, however underappreciated in one's formative years, always resurface at rather crucial stages in one's history in order to establish proof positive one's right of succession. Apparently, nurses surpass even birth certificates in legitimate identity confirmation. And despite the fact that often these venerated characters disappear for twenty or thirty years at a time, they always emerge when needed most and never fail to recognize the charge they once dandled upon their ample knees. My friends, I reiterate: get thee a nurse! It may make the difference some day between the gutter and the grand estate.
**Although actually it was Oliver's mother's identity they were establishing, but the word that should parallel patrimony means in fact marriage.
