Puppies! Puppies will make them sleeeeeep...!

We've seen bats, cats, and cocker spaniels. Now welcome the newest member of the 42nd Floor animal family:

Tarajae Nambuko Sawaleegee a.k.a. "Li'l Runt"

Queen III bought this little guy this weekend. He's a six-week old Toy Poodle about the size of a fully grown teddy bear hamster. When Queenie told me his name is Swahili for "Faith and Hope, Restoration, Cute Coping Tool for Painful Breakup, and Born on a Sunday", I suggested that, considering he's a poodle and not a dingo, she might try something a little less...tribal, a little more...America. How about shortening Tarajae to 'Roger' or 'Rodge'? But it doesn't really matter. To Uncle Forky, he will always be "Li'l Runt" (or "Little Nipper" depending on if he nips or not). Queen III, good luck trying to discipline him without bursting into tears.

It's a good thing I have access to the world's cutest puppy. Last night at 'Fiddler' rehearsals, I realized I had made a huge mistake.

Lola Levenstein's concept for Anatevka is the audience sees the townsfolk in the background of every scene. In theory, it's supposed to create a sense of community by showing the other townspeople going through their hard, gritty, real-life, day-to-day lives. Nevermind the fact that we're working with a totally abstract set or that we don't have the resources to put spinning wheels, horses, or a real butcher shop on stage. And especially nevermind the fact that any sense of authenticity is pretty much shot whenever our actors open their mouths to deliver jarringly 21st century line readings.

So we're at the part where my character joins Tevye's family for the Sabbath and I'm told to go wash by the well with everybody else. It's basically a way to get the extra people offstage so the next six or seven minutes can be devoted to focusing on advancing the Tzeitel/Lazar Woolf subplot.

But do you think the "extra people" go offstage?

For almost ten minutes, me and two twelve year old Jewish girls are far downstage right "washing" our hands at an imaginary pump with imaginary water. The scene--what the audience is supposed to be paying attention to--is upstage left.

Now, in the comments section of this post, I especially want the theatre folks to tell me what's wrong with this picture.

So we're washing our hands at the pump and one of the girls says, "I hope we'll get to leave at 9 like the schedule said."

The other one, the bookish one who speaks Hebrew, said, "No. We'll probably be here until 10 or later."

"What?" I asked.

"Is this your first show with Lola Levenstein?"

"Yes."

The girl raised her eyebrows and gave me this look.

"Just so you know," she said, "During tech week we'll be up here until 1 and 2 in the morning."

I've made a huge mistake.

I want a puppy.