A timeless contemplation of the Theater;

All this talk of Hollywood had put Andrea in a pensive mood. "I wonder who, besides Paul Neuman, is the oldest Hollywood Producer?" she asked. "I always thought that he just used his Neuman Haas credentials to prove he was the fastest man in Hollywood... he has left us in peace by now," Sam replied. The Aussie smiled, and pointed out that the Oldest theatrical production was none other than Stonehenge. Ms. Sheila pondered this, and instead of zoning in on the venerable and aged among Hollywood elite, she consented to discuss historical anomalies and said "Theatrical Production? I thought it was a Calendar!" The Aussie would not be denied. "I'll grant you that keeping season separate from season was mission critical as long ago as then, but I don't think a calendar could have been important enough to cart all those obelisks around until they could set them up in a circle for a theater." The natural fair-mindedness of the male 5t had been engaged. "My Aggie friends set great store by Poor Richard's calendar book." He volunteered. "They set the date for the Sadie Hawkins dance, and when to fix the tractors, and all manner of other lazy pursuits just according to when the crops are busy growing themselves, but not yet in need of harvest. Which brings up another question: Was there a proper hitching rail at this Stonehenge theater?" Andrea pondered this herself while the refugee from Oz contemplated any possibility of explaining the discrepancies available between historical calendars (Julian, Gregorian and other calendars of known historical record,) and prehistorical ones that Dinosaurs nonetheless did not employ. "England may not be in the horse LATITUDES," she added knowledgeably, "but Horses are FROM there. Arabians may be from Arabia, but all Mustangs trace their lineage back to horses employed by those who defeated the residents of Saxony." In a mental departure from gymnastics, the sole PhD possessor of the group let go of all hope of explaining the difference between recorded history and Evolution, and instead did a mental flip over the disregard for a Nation, Sea Going Empire AND Culture, over what amounted to the Equine equivalent of a MUTT. He then caught himself, and finished his contemplation of how hard they would both laugh if he conveyed to them the scale of the Kingdom in question, and stood there vacillating. "I wonder if the English ones can swim?" Sam added, in a genuine conversational gambit. "Nope," she replied with conviction, "Or they'd have known already better than to try and change horses half-way across a river." This logic did not brook much contradiction, and Melbourne did his best to portray an interested version of a Guppy. Andrea caught his hint, and added "...but if they CAN, they probably do it right-side up, just like ours do." She wasn't sure exactly WHY Melbourne was taking the swimming thing so literally, but she couldn't deny a certain affection for him anyway... he was CUTE TOO! Her sense of humor led her to experiment to see how long he could portray an interested fish if she took his breath away, and her eyes twinkled as she asked, "Where would you like to be on the 14th?" For his part, Sam could tell that the thespian experiment had a piscean theme; he sucked his cheeks in and worked his contracted lips up and down like a Goldfish in solidarity.

Melbourne's mind had a remarkable capacity for analogy. No matter how absurd, he seemed to be able to think of a physical analog, against which to compare the intellectual behavior of his new mates. In this case, he was defensibly contemplating a wooden floor in a closed environment, in which his own personal efforts at painting had left him barefoot in a corner opposite the door, with an unbroken expanse of paint between the two. His efforts to abandon the comparison, and usefully contemplate a reply served only to enhance the effect, making it indelibly clearer in his mind, in a kind of holographic clarity that defied description. Catching the very last mental train leaving the station for the evening, he played for time. "Where do YOU think would be a fun place to be?" he asked redundantly, telegraphing his chosen audience to his inquisitor by rounding squarely on Sam with his gaze. To do him credit, Sam had tired of aping a goldfish in less than three seconds, and undertook a confident and unrehearsed answer: "Easy; Happy or Valentine." Melbourne was not immediately sure if this represented salvation or comeuppance, but Andrea left him no time for worry. "HAPPY?" she exclaimed. "THAT tourist trap?" Without letting on for a moment, Sam considered if there might be another tourist trap of the same name; he answered without pause, conveying debonair assurance, "Valentine it is, then." He turned and addressed Melbourne helpfully... "I have some candy left over from Halloween," he offered. "It's not for you, it's for the Missus." In his turn, the Aussie made a cultural deposit. "You're a real Card, Sam," he intoned. Sam knew that this was another word for "Character," and put his hand on Melbourne's shoulder platonicaly, and steered him straight into Andrea's waiting arms. No further words were needed, and this time he sprang for the Limo himself.