Fuck It:

The Goat. The name of the show was "The Goat." Screw legal ramifications.

So, The Goat just closed with its final performance today, and I am definitely mourning its loss. Grieving is a phase that's part of any show that you're really invested in (especially when the material is as heavy as The Goat ' s), but its a bit more painful with a Brown Bag Company show. We rehearse nonstop for about a month, at breakneck speed, and quickly grow close with our cast and director (out of neccesity, for the benefit of the show). It all amalgamates to only 3 public performances (and 1 preview performance), and then we move on: to the next show, with the next cast, and the next director. It's sort of like adopting a child, with the knowledge that you'll only be able to keep it about a month, but you let yourself fall in love with it anyway and forget. When the end of that month creeps around, though, you remember (with great despair) that you must give up your baby. I've given up many babies, all of whom I've loved unconditionally, and I will continue to give up new ones for the rest of my life.