No Business I Know

There’s a line from Who Framed Roger Rabbit? that’s been rattling around in my head for the past 24 hours. It’s one of those deceptively perfect moments when the movie pauses long enough to let a line land and stick with you forever. Eddie Valiant is in the office of the head of the movie studio. The exec looks him in the eye and says:

"What do you know about show business, Mr. Valiant?"

And Eddie, without missing a beat:

"Only that there's no business like it. No business I know."

It’s stupidly funny. It’s achingly sharp. It’s probably one of my favorite lines of dialogue ever written. And it only could have come from the Bobs Zemeckis and Gale.

That kind of wit—that tiptoes between deadpan and existential truth—keeps me from cracking open completely. Because the world, as it stands right now, doesn’t leave much room for clarity, comfort, or even basic decency. So, instead, I collect lines like that. I wear them like armor.

And speaking of misunderstood lines, I’m reminded of something Anthony Bourdain shared in Kitchen Confidential. He’s interviewing for a chef gig—at a steakhouse. He’s got the job in the bag, absolutely killing it, charm turned all the way up. And then the owner asks:

"What do you know about me?"

Bourdain freezes. What kind of trap is this? Is it some philosophical test? An invitation to flattery? He plays it safe:

"Absolutely nothing."

Which, as it turns out, was the wrong answer.

Because the guy didn’t ask what he knew about him. He asked:

"What do you know about meat?"

Career-limiting move. End of interview.

I’m unsure if the moral is to listen more carefully or expect the universe to throw fastballs directly at your soul. But either way, it lands. We’re all getting asked the wrong questions right now. Or maybe we’re hearing them wrong. Either way, we’re stuck in systems that require clarity from people who can barely function under the pressure, including ourselves.

I didn’t get what I wanted to get done today. The monkeys were throwing shit again. The prosthetics clinic failed me again. My neuropathy is back. Duffy, my boy—he might be sick. And everything that matters to me keeps getting shoved to the side because someone, somewhere, didn’t think through a decision that affected my entire day, body, and heart.

But this—this little post, this moment—it matters. Even if I had to carve it out of pain. Even if I had to drag it out of the fog.

Because there’s no business like this, no business, I know.