Today was a fairly boring day for Adam and Jeff. Until it wasn’t.
I’ll start with the fun stories for those who only read a paragraph or so.
Adam and I were meeting an old work friend of his. We were going to have a very quick dinner at Legasea, at the Moxy Hotel. It was near her work, and since she got off late and we had a show to get to it had to be quick.
We were running late, and my right knee was being a pain in the ass, so when I saw the long flight of stairs to the second floor, I requested the elevator. We pushed the button and waited. It came pretty quickly. We entered first, followed by two couples and a single man. The single man pressed the buttons we needed and the elevator began to move.
The elevator lifted about a foot, then dropped suddenly about a foot, then the screen you used for buttons went dark. We waited. Nothing. The single man pressed the screen but nothing was happening. At first we were all joking and laughing, until we realized that we were stuck.
I lived in NYC for a long time, and I’ve used elevators all my life, even in some questionable buildings, but I’ve never gotten stuck. It was true for everyone in the elevator.
The man standing behind me announced that we all should stay calm. No one was panicking, but okay. The man on the other side of me popped open a can containing a margarita. I jokingly asked if he had another and he showed me he did. Still no one was panicking.
Soon the single guy, who was next to the screen took control. First, he tried calling for help on the elevator system. No one answered. At my new job, if you call on the elevator it goes to 911. He tried again. Still no answer.
He then pressed the alarm. Now a loud alarm was going off. Still, no one was responding. Eventually, he pried open the door enough to realize we were still on the first floor. He ended up prying them open about 6 inches and suggested we call for help, at which point the woman behind Adam on the other side of the elevator let out a blood curdling scream. Like something you’d hear on Friday the 13th. The man in charge announced, no more of that, why don’t you let me call for help. So he stood next to the doors and began to call for help.
Here’s the fucked-up part. We could see people walking by, but no one was interested in helping. The alarm is still going off. He’s calling for help. And after what seemed like forever, maintenance showed up, pried the doors open from the outside and let us out. In all it was ten minutes at the most, but it’s a long time to be stuck, when you don’t know the outcome.
Adam was very sweet when we got out. He said, “I was just upset we weren’t standing together so I could hold your hand.”
Once we were out, we walked up the stairs, had dinner and caught up with our friend.
As for the rest of the day:
We had bagels again.
We saw The Outsiders again. With NINE high school groups. (There was a print out of the schools inserted in the Playbill). The show was great. And it’s a great first Broadway experience for kids, as there is fire, and rain, and the sets and lighting are wonderful. And it really is a great score. I cried again, even though I knew how it ended.
After the show we grabbed a snack at Shake Shack, and NYC institution at this point.
After dinner, we saw Beaches.
On the way home we stopped at Dante Apertivo for a night cap. I had the best boulevardier I’ve had all week. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if they’d had Rittenhouse as the base spirit.
Now it’s approaching midnight. I’m sleeping, so I’m going to shower and go to bed.
Not a lot of photos today as we repeated a few things.
Started the day back at Los Tacos No. 1. Who doesn’t love a good taco and fried quesadilla to start the day. Double Topo Chicos today because it was extra spicy.
Then we were off to the theater.
Today’s matinee was Fear of 13. A true story of a man who was sentenced to death for a murder he didn’t commit. It stars Adrian Brody. I have no photo there as they put a sticker on your camera when you went in. I still don’t know what for, because it didn’t stop people from taking photos. (I did grab a shot of the playbill from online).
They also went VERY out of the way to make an announcement to shut off your phones part of the show. It didn’t work. Six. Count them. Six cell phones went off during the show. And of course, they are always in the quietest part of the show. And I’d like to go on record saying that OLD people are the worst. At both the matinee and the evening show there were old ladies still looking at their phones after the show had started.
The show was serious, but with a good number of laughs. I loved the lighting as it wasn’t big and splashy and spoke more to the kind of lighting I like to create. Adam prefers when things are bright and moving. It was two hours with no intermission, but it moved along at a nice pace. Definitely worth seeing, if for no other reason than to see Adrian Brody in his underwear.
Dinner was at an Italian restaurant up the street from our matinee. Unfortunately, their website said open all day, but when we got there, they didn’t open for dinner until 5:00 and as we had a 7:00 show, we needed to eat early. So we moved on to Joe Allen’s. Joe Allen’s is on Restaurant Row, and for those of you not in NYC, it’s often frequented by actors in the area and the posters on the wall are all the posters from notorious flops from Broadway. Carrie. Dance of the Vampires. The big ones.
We grabbed seats at the bar. Ordered dinner and was waited on by the best bartender we’ve been waited on in forever. I’m surprised Adam sits at the bar there, because every time we do, I make friends with the person next to me and he hates it. I did not do that today, but there was a shared moment when the French Dip that I ordered arrived sans dip. The boat for the gravy was on the plate but it was completely empty. The foodrunner, the bartender, and everyone around me had a good laugh about it. It was delicious once the gravy was brought.
After dinner we went back to The Rum House, where we had the worst service we’ve ever had there. The server was short and snappy; didn’t seem to care we were there and I did something I never do which was to call across the restaurant to get her attention so that we could pay our check and get on to our show. She was busy talking to a table across the restaurant about her botched haircut and I learned that her mother always says don’t not spend money on your hair and your eyebrows. You’ll regret it every time.
Tonight, we saw Giant, a play about Roald Dahl. Who knew he was a bigot. Which is ultimately, what the play is about. It stars John Lithgow, who really is 7 feet tall. Well, actually 6’4”. He commanded the stage and turned in an amazing performance. So far, we are still batting 1,000 with our show selection.
After the show, we returned to our hotel, packed our belongings and moved to the apartment that friends loan us in the West Village. Their daughter, had been staying here this week, so we couldn’t get it until today. It’s a wonderful space, and is next to everything you might need. Food, drinks, bagels, coffee, subways, parking. In fact, we were able to park right in front of our building tonight. Of course, we are supposed to move our car in the a.m. but we usually just pay the ticket so we don’t have to get up early.
Adam and I have seen more straight plays (non-musicals) this trip than ever before. We also made the switch from the mezzanine (the first balcony) to the orchestra this time and we have discovered that there is more leg room and I don’t have to climb as many stairs, unless I have to pee.
We are both having fun, but we are ready to see our kitties and sleep in our own bed.
Day started later than I thought it would, thanks to Adam letting me sleep. It was especially nice since I didn’t sleep great last night.
We were up and out by 11:30.
We made our usual stops at Starbucks and McDonald’s then afterwards we walked across to Park Avenue to have lunch at Hillstone. This is the second time we’ve had reservations for lunch here, the last time we cancelled because we stayed out too late. Today was not the case. Adam has wanted to eat here for a bit, because it’s part of the Houston’s restaurant group. They have an excellent reputation for service and food.
My story about Houston’s is that I couldn’t get hired there when I worked in Atlanta. Of course, at the time, I probably wouldn’t have hired me either. I didn’t have the right experience. I use them as an example of strict management because when I applied there, they had line up and you had to look spot on, with the right number of pens, and they had to be a certain brand at that. I can assure you, that everyone was using the same pens today.
We were sat right away, and the experience was good. It an interesting team serving experience, where everyone takes care of everyone. My water glass was never empty, I never needed for anything. The portions were huge. The food was excellent. And for NYC the prices were actually affordable.
After lunch we walked down through Madison Square Park to Broadway then on to Fish’s Eddy. It’s a fun dishware store that’s been at 19th and Broadway forever. They sell vintage dishware as well as kitschy things, along with just normal plates and glasses. We actually found some pasta bowls that Adam is going to order when we get home. If you haven’t heard of them you should look them up online.
After that we headed south again to the Daryl Roth Theater to see Mexodus. On any other day, this show would not have even been on our radar, but who else has a Tuesday matinee. We are so glad we didn’t skip it. It’s a two-man musical about The Underground Railroad that ran south to Mexico, instead of north toward Canada. Until I heard about this show, I had never known about the southern underground railroad. The two actors cover that this is not taught in school.
The show starts strong and continues to get better. The two men who starred in and wrote the show, were terrific. I was moved to tears at the end, as they began to wrap up the story with references to how we all are one people, and are taught to hate.
Half the audience today was school age kids, and I have to say they were incredibly well behaved. In fact, their behavior was called out at the end by the actors who told them to hold onto their joy and not let the world shame them out of it.
After that, we took the subway north, to get a snack. Adam has seen Tic Toc’s about a pizza place on 50th street called Don Antonio. They are known for their fried pizzas. We were going to stop in for a snack before we got a drink before the show.
It’s a cute place, and the service was great. Adam ordered a fried calzone and the only thing that would have made it better was ranch dressing which they didn’t have.
Then it was on to The Rum House, for a quick cocktail before our evening show. We recognized the server from last fall, and after she slowed down, we commented on how nice it was to continue to see familiar faces there. To thank us for our compliment, she offered us shots, when she brought the check. And what 60 year old man doesn’t like a shot.
Next up. The Lost Boys. Based on the movie that I loved from the 80’s.
It’s big. It’s splashy. The set is three plus stories tall. There is flying. There are a million lights. There are lots of sets. There are lifts. It’s loud. There is fire. And fog is everywhere. And well it’s a ton of fun. It lacks the scare factor from the 80’s but it makes up for that with a fun score and a pretty cast. It’s still set in the late 80’s and the costumes and references are great.
It’s a mindless way to spend a couple of hours watching a spectacle. I loved it.
After the show, we cabbed back downtown to a bar called Seed Library. Fun fancy cocktail list. Laid back room. Service was great. My only complaint, was that the menu was short on bourbon cocktail choices. The ones I chose were great, but it would have been nice to have a wider selection.
After the bar, we walked home hoping to grab a snack and soda at McDonald’s. I’d assured Adam that the McDonald’s near our hotel was open 24 hours. But alas. I lied. It closed at 11:00.
So I convinced him that deli sandwiches would be a better choice, and now that’s he’s finished with his chicken sandwich, I think he agrees.
Now it’s time for a shower, and to do it all again tomorrow.
The best part of being on vacation is getting to sleep late. We typically have such late nights that we rarely start the day early. It felt nice at 8:30 to turn over and go back to sleep.
We finally got our day started at 11:30. We had a 1:00 lunch reservation so we needed to get up, to have time to stop for coffee and club soda. There is a Starbucks and a McDonald’s about 20 feet from our hotel. What more could a person want.
We got our morning libations and headed south in a cab to SOHO to have lunch at Balthazar. Balthazar is the restaurant Adam and I ever went to that wasn’t a diner in our neighborhood. One that first trip, we got chicken liver mousse, and steak tartare. Both are part of our restaurant favorites whenever we eat out. We also have them at home occasionally when Adam is feeling adventurous when he cooks. His version of both are great.
Balthazar is great, but the tables are SUPER close together. The kind where you have to pull your table out so that one of us can go in. I always sit on the outside, since I usually don’t fit in the tight space and I get super claustrophobic. We got lucky today, we were on the outside table, next to the window. However, it was still tight. Tight enough to admire the gentleman’s Rolex next to us. I love watches, and I have to admit, it was very pretty. And the table that replaced them one of the girls had an engagement ring the size of Texas. The tables were also so close that I felt like I was getting intimate with the super cute server, who kept reaching around me to pour water and wine.
Lunch consisted of chicken liver mousse, shrimp cocktail, frisée salad, and French onion soup for me. We then split a chicken club with fries for our entrée. I have to admit, that by the time the club came, I was stuffed so I picked at the fries and enjoyed the last of the wine.
After lunch we walked across to Hudson Street. It was a perfect day in NYC. Bright blue sky, and warm, but not hot. Not quite perhaps warm enough for shorts, but you definitely didn’t need a jacket.
We took our time walking as my right knee is in the throws of needing surgery. It’s not quite there yet, but the time is fast approaching. I have to take it slow, and not push it. I’d like to keep away from the doctor for at least another year.
When we got to Hudson, we hailed a cab and headed up town to the Whitney Museum of American Art. Neither Adam, nor myself had ever been and we thought it would be a great way to spend the afternoon. We started on the top floor with, as we were instructed to do, with a stop at the coffee shop, for a soda water. We grabbed a table outside on the patio to enjoy the view of the city scape.
We were sitting there, when we were approached to take a photo of a man with a very big, very expensive camera. I stood up to do and he kept speaking to me in a very thick German accent. I had no idea what he was saying. After he handed the camera back to me, he back to talk to us. I could only make out about every third word, but I did understand that before he retired he worked as a gas man installing pipes. He was concerned about the fact that NYC infrastructure is over 100 years old. He then perched his leg up on the railing so his crotch was somewhat in Adam’s face and begin to talk about how you need to have big hands if you want work with pipes.
I was sitting there watching the interaction Adam and the old man (probably in his mid 70’s) and I could see Adam getting more and more uncomfortable. I kind of found of funny, because Adam hates talking to strangers. When the man left to grab his glasses Adam turned to me and tersely said, “Save me.” I laughed and stood up. And we told the man to have a great afternoon and we started our tour of the museum.
It’s a wide variety of modern American Art, with Warhol, Jasper Johns, Edward Hopper, Basquiat, Georgia O’Keefe, moving to really modern art with artists who were born in the 50’s that I do not know. I have to admit that I like the older stuff more than the more modern stuff, but it was amazing to see the political overtones about race, war, etc. in the creation of the different pieces.
After the Whitney, we walked The High Line. For those of you not familiar, NYC took an old elevated railway line on the west side of the city and turned it a park, that wanders up the west side. It’s full of plants and art, and many times you are walking by buildings that you can see into. There are places to sit and in the summer, people sell wares and food etc along the way. It’s a great way to get from The Village north through Chelsea.
When we got to 23rd Street, we grabbed another cab to go up to Times Square.
In Times Square, we went to The View in the Marriot Marquis. It’s the revolving restaurant and bar on the top floor. We’ve been before and what it lacks in quality it makes up for in scenery.
We took the elevator up to the 47th floor and got seated at a nice table next to the window.
Do you remember how I mentioned that Adam doesn’t like to chat with strangers. Our server was a chatty Kathy. She asked about his tattoo. She asked where we were from. She would not stop talking. Even when we were ready to order.
Finally, we ordered, and she disappeared. Adam went to wash his hands and she delivered our drinks while he was gone. Thus began a conversation about our drink choices, whether he was a chef, and what brought us to New York. We also learned that she lived in California, Las Vegas, Boston, where she would drive up to Vermont.
Finally, we were on our own to enjoy the view and look at our phones. At which point I asked Adam if he would order a club soda, since she’d conveniently forgotten the one I ordered with my drink. He did and she brought it.
15 minutes later she reappeared to ask if we wanted another drink. We ordered and at which point she cleared our empty glasses. Including the soda water she’d brought that I’d take one sip from. I was soda waterless again.
It really makes me laugh when the soda water shenanigans start.
We finally paid our check, said thank you and left to go thte theater.
Tonight was Titanique. An amazing show about Celine Dion actually being on the Titanic when it sank. It’s a laugh riot. We saw it Off Broadway three or four years ago, and it’s bigger and better on Broadway. Once again, the audience was involved right from the beginning and they never stopped laughing or engaging till curtain call.
After the show, we grabbed a cab, headed back to our hotel and now Adam is watching TV and looking at his phone and I’m about to post this and take a shower.
We slept very late. Almost till 1:00. We were tired from the previous 2 days and the late night last night.
The day started with a text from a friend from Atlanta who was in town. She was on her way home about the same time we were starting our day. It would have been great to see her as we only see each other every so often.
Next up was bagels, at The Bagel Bar down the street. They were delicious.
Then we rushed up town to see Dog Day Afternoon. The reviews had been mediocre at best, and it was one of the last shows we plotted for our trip. We didn’t have high hopes, but we were pleasantly surprised. We enjoyed it a lot. The performances were great and the design was amazing. It’s been years since I’ve seen the movie so I’m anxious to get home and give it a watch to see if it’s as funny as the show today was. We were both very happy to have included it in our list.
We had dinner at Gallagher’s. A must when we come to NYC. We always get the crab cake and the carpaccio. Tonight, we shared entrees and had a small bottle of wine. It was a great way to spend a couple of hours before we moved on to our evening show. (However, for the first time ever, Stu the bartender was not tending bar. We see him every time we go).
Of course, we had to walk from 52nd street to 41st street, so we couldn’t walk by The Rum House without stopping in for a pre-dinner cocktail and to see our friend John. We disappointed to learn after many years he has moved on. We had great service, but it was not the same. And he always remembered us.
We finished the evening with Schmigadoon. It’s the stage version of the TV show from years ago. I actually had to push to get Adam to put it on the list because he was convinced it would be meh. I was excited because it is based on the big dance shows of the 40’s and 50’s and I LOVE a musical with big dance numbers. I turned out to be right. The show is a must see if you like musicals. The performances were great. The design is great. And the songs are toe tapping good. And if you happen to be a musical theater fan there are so many throw backs to all of the shows of yesteryear. Samples of melodies. Jokes that harken back to the shows. And characters that play on the characters from these musicals. Billy Bigelow. Gertie Cummins. The Barroness from the Sound of Music. The audience might have been the best part of the show. They were on board the minute the show started and stayed right there till the last chord of music. It was so good.
We are batting a 1,000 so far with our selections.
We called it an evening early. I’m sitting in my underwear, drinking a soda water, typing while Adam is in the shower. We are going to watch some TV and read the Facebook so we can do Day 3 tomorrow.
It’s the last week of April, which could only mean one thing. Adam and I are in New York. We actually left early and drove to Wallingford, Connecticut. It’s about 3 hours into the drive. We stayed at the Hilton Garden Inn there.
This caused the first argument of the drive because, when Adam got sleepy while driving, we traded places and he hooked up my phone to the car. I, however, had only put in Wallingford, to see how long it took to get there, NOT the actual address of the hotel. We figured this out when we didn’t get to the hotel with the directions. It was only a couple of miles out of the way, but it was late.
We got up early this a.m. and drove the rest of the way, making great time. We were in NYC a few blocks from our hotel by 11:30.
But.
Fun fact. You could not drive east on any cross street south of 34th street today. They were all blocked off. So, we could not in fact drive to our hotel. We finally managed to get close on 6th Avenue, and we parked illegally, while Adam took our bags in and checked us in early. Then we parked the car, and finished getting the rest of our things in our hotel.
Once again, we are staying at the Hilton Garden Inn. Not fancy, but we don’t spend a lot of time in the room. But it is clean, but small, and the a/c works which is always great.
On the way back down to the lobby, we were joined in the elevator by two 20ish guys. They are hucking it up about whether a girl becomes your girlfriend if you spend the night at her house. They were being loud and we were trying to ignore them, when one of them says, Hey. Let’s ask these guys. So he says, “if this dude here spent the night last night at a girl’s house, does that make her his girlfriend.” Without a beat, I said, only if you are a lesbian. They cackled and wouldn’t let it drop. The friend said, I told you. She’s your girlfriend now. As we got out of the elevator I said, let us know where you register for the wedding and we’ll buy you some China. And they started laughing again.
And we were off.
It was raining as we left, so we hustled to the subway. Uptown to Times Square for a snack.
At least once during our NYC trips we stop at Los Tacos No. 1. The line is long but moves fast. The food is delicious. And you can be in and out in no time.
Then we headed around the corner to our first show of the week.
Becky Shaw.
I had no idea what it was about. All I knew was that Jeanine from Handmaid’s Tale was in it. The show was excellent. So funny. And the set had lots of surprises.
The show came down at 4:30 and we ran in the rain to up the street to see Every Brilliant Thing. It was so moving. And sweet. And how they pull off the logistics of audience participation is amazing. I have to admit that I had tears in my eyes for the last 20 minutes of the show. It is a one man show, and Daniel Radcliffe commanded the stage even before the show opened. The audience participants were amazing when being put on the spot.
The 10,000th brilliant thing is “waking up late, with someone you love.”
And then, we had to move it back to the subway to get downtown for our next show.
First though, Adam needed a snack so we stopped for pizza at Two Boots. I hadn’t eaten at Two Boots in at least 25 years. It was perfect for what we needed.
Adam had suggested that since we had about 50 minutes before the show we should stop in Ty’s, a gay bar for a drink. I had not been in Ty’s since the early 2000’s. It has not changed much except that they take credit cards now. The clientele has not changed either. The same men who were going there in the 20’s are now going there in their 60’s. Adam was by far the youngest man in the bar.
Neither of us are “bar” people. At one point Adam leans over and says that he’d forgotten that at bars people just walk up and talk to you. This is after we met a very nice lady named Candy. She moved on, and someone asked if they could stand and share our table. We said of course. We were one and done, and so Adam ran to the restroom while I waited and while Adam was gone the man who had joined us asked, “Are you all going to the Eagle tonight?” I said, I don’t think so, and he replied, well that’s too bad I’d have like to have seen you both naked later.
I thanked him for the compliment and said that we had tickets to the Ken Rex across the street and had to go.
Adam commented that it was the second time I’d been hit on in the past two weeks.
Ken Rex is a one man show, about a true crime in Kansas in the early 80’s. It is a play with live music accompaniment and is very tech heavy. And I thought it was great.
I have to admit that I didn’t know much about any of the play we saw before seeing them today, but so far, we are 3 out of 3 for winners.
The night ended with dinner at a French Restaurant across town called L’Express. It is open late and worked great for having dinner after our show. We were seated next to a couple, who was soon joined by friends, because they’d just flown home from Paris where they had gotten engaged. The ring was a brick.
Now we are home and Adam is in the shower.
Today at the first show, the woman sitting next to us had the best cat shirt on with big black cats all over it. Adam complimented her.
At Ken Rex, the woman in front of us had the best purse and Adam asked if he could take a photo of it for someone at work. I’m glad he did, because while he was using the restroom at intermission, she pulled a burrito out of the purse and ate dinner.
Oh. The times they are a changing.
PS. Today is the one year anniversary of Adam giving me a pre-engagement, engagement ring.
It’s April 21st. The temperature today was in the low 40’s. I just checked and at 7:55 p.m. the current temp is 38*. It’s still fucking cold and we are approaching May 1st. We are ready to turn the off the furnace and pull out the shorts and t-shirts.
When we said we were moving to Maine, AND when we tell people we live in Maine, everyone, and I do mean everyone, mentions the winters. I have to admit that when Adam and I discussed moving here, we never considered the winters. We just wanted to live near our friends and be out of the city.
Next month will mark 14 years since we moved here. Seriously. How did that happen?
And, after 14 winters in Maine, I can honestly say, they aren’t that bad. Yes. They are long. We still have the heat on. Most people are still wearing coats. We had real snow in the west yesterday, and flurries here in Portland. And let me remind you once again, that’s it’s late April.
What I can say, is that Portland winters don’t even come close to comparing to mid-western winters. In 2007, I took a job teaching at Grinnell College in Iowa. It’s in the middle of the state, halfway between Iowa City and Des Moines. For my NYC friends, to get to Iowa, you cross the George Washington Bridge, which is where I-80 begins and drive west for about 17 hours and you’ll find yourself in Grinnell.
First and foremost, my experience in Grinnell was wonderful. Some of the best theater folk I’ve ever worked with. Hands down one of the best TDs. And my first design there, to this day is one of my top 3 shows. It was such a wonderful experience, and was so successful that I aspire every show to be as amazing.
But.
Iowa in the winter is fucking cold.
I lived about a mile from the school. I did not have a car. I would bundle myself up in my heavy winter coat, gloves, scarf, and hat and trek to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My path to school took me past a classic bank building with a digital clock and temperature sign. When I first got there, it was just kind of cold. 32*. 24*. 19*
Then winter hit.
First, there was an ice storm. I never lost power on my side of the street, but across the street they didn’t have power for about three days.
Then the temperature dropped. For more than a week it was -20*. I know this, because I would walk by the bank with the sign and it would say, -19*. -21*. -20*.
Two fucking straight weeks.
On those days there was no hope of staying warm. You just held your breath and marched head first into the storm.
Meanwhile, in Maine.
It gets cold, but hardly ever below 0*. It snows, but the state knows how to deal with it. If it snowed a foot tonight, and stopped at 6:00 a.m. By noon, the streets would be cleared. Like, it never snowed at all cleared. My little side street, would have been plowed a dozen times, and the main roads would be completely clear.
So yes, Maine winters are long. But given the choice of wintering in Portland or wintering in Iowa, I’d choose Portland every single time.
Of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that it’s 60* in Grinnell tonight.
Adam and I went to Boston yesterday to see a play. Not a musical. But a play. Miracle of miracles. We went down early, had dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, which we had not done in years, then walked from The Prudential Center, the Four Seasons, where we had a drink in the lobby.
It’s fun to go to places that focus so much energy on hospitality. The doors were held open for us when we entered. The front desk agent walked us to the bar. The host walked us to the table. The server was warm and friends and brought our drinks which were delicious. The host checked back in on us. We paid, and were thanked by at least six people as we exited.
We then made our way to Huntington Stage, which was about a 10 minute walk away. We arrived early, took our seats and took in the room. It was closing night for When Playwrights Kill, and there was a buzz in the room. There almost always is on closing nights as often there are a large number of friends and colleagues in the room.
We did see Laura Bell Bundy during intermission who I assume was there to see here Legally Blonde co-star Marissa. The show was a lot of fun, loosely based on the experience the playwright had years ago when he wrote a show staring a well-known movie actress. The show had lots of inside theater jokes, the cast was insanely good and the audience had a great time.
Now to the meat of the story.
I am a man of a certain age. We’ll call me old. There was a time when I was not old, much thinner, and much more mobile when I might turn a head or two, but those days are long past.
So imagine my surprise, when I’m outside the restroom, during intermission, waiting for Adam, when I look up the stairs to see a man gazing at me. I think to myself, he must be looking at someone behind me and turn, but nope. He’s looking at me. I divert my eyes and pretend not to have noticed. When I look back, he’s looking at his phone, and for a moment, I think he’s with the kids in front of him. But nope. He sees me looking and gazes at me again.
I divert my eyes again. I think to myself, WOW, this hasn’t happened in a long time. I don’t even know how to respond. It actually makes me self-conscious and nervous more than anything.
I look again, and he’s still gazing at me. Perhaps he thinks I’m someone he knows, but I swear I’ve never seen him before. This time I smile, and he smiles back. Now I’m even more nervous.
Finally, the line he is in moves down the stairs and he’s past me. However, he keeps looking over his shoulder at me.
Then Adam arrives.
He grabs my hand, and say, “Don’t look, but I think my next boyfriend is line for the restroom.” He looks behind him and sees the guy who finally has his back to me.
Adam goes, he’s cute. And he was. Probably late 30’s early 40’s. Nice building. Sandy blonde hair. Blue eyes. He’s also about 6’ tall.
Adam and I head back upstairs and watch the room. There once again is energy in the room. Lots of people moving about from group to group.
We take our seats. The second act starts. We love it.
The show ends, gets a rousing standing ovation. (What show doesn’t these days?”).
We have a two-hour drive in front of us so we make our way back down to the restrooms. I finish first, I always do, and am waiting at the bottom of the stairs once again for Adam. It’s still kind of crowded when I notice an older gay man waiting across the room. And what would you know, my new boyfriend comes out and greets him.
Fifteen seconds later, Adam walks out, has to maneuver between them and grabs my hand. I say to Adam, “My new boyfriend has a type.” And wants to know what that means and I reply, “Take a look, his boyfriend looks just like me only shorter.”
And he did. He was older, with a bigger build and bright blue eyes. Only shorter. We were even dressed a like.
Before anyone panics, I’m not looking for a new boyfriend. But I do have to say, that it made my heart patter, to know someone, other than Adam might find me attractive. It has been a long while since this has happened.
As we exited the building, joining the crowd on the sidewalk, Adam grabbed my hand and we started toward our car back at the Prudential Center. We waited the appropriate 500 feet before we really started to discussing the show.
I learned of this hymn when I played Simon Stimson in Thorton Wilder’s Our Town in high school.
I think back on all the plays that I made my parents sit through. Oklahoma. Twice. Midsummer’s Night Dream. The Oresteia. The Nutcracker. Romeo and Juliet. Carmen with scaffolding.
I also think back to how many of these shows were two plus hours longer than they needed to be. I can’t imagine anything more painful, than watching high schoolers perform Our Town in a cafetorium.
I can say, however, that all the kids involved had a blast. I formed one of my closest high school friendships with the girl who played Mrs. Webb, who’d never been in a play before. In fact, the following year she wrecked my car, while we were on our way to the midnight showing of Rocky Horror. For only $1.
Good or bad, I always enjoyed being a part of the process. Theater builds friendships and relationships, unlike anything else I’ve ever participated in. It requires you to reveal parts of yourself that might otherwise go unnoticed. Or you might not otherwise want shared. I think it’s why so many LGBTQ kids end up joining the drama club. Even as a designer, you make relationships that are strong and weird. I believe the only thing that comes close to matching these relationships are restaurant relationships, which also might explain why theater people end up waiting tables. Teching a show is akin to working Sunday brunch hungover.
Back to Simon Stimson.
He was the choir director and organist at the local Grover’s Corner Congregational Church. He was also a troubled alcoholic. And it’s thought that he might be a closeted homosexual. He ends up in Act 3 because he committed suicide, becoming a resident of the cemetery.
I can assure you that we did NOT discuss any of this in my high school production. I was taught how to conduct in 4/4 time. I was told to stumble across the stage as if I was drunk. I’d never been drunk so I mimicked Otis Campbell from Andy Griffith. I don’t think they were the same kind of drunk, and definitely not for the same reasons.
I also remember being terrible bored in the third act. I had six lines and then I was supposed to be interested in the rest of the action. I remember getting sleepy. Whoops. I might have stayed awake if I’d known I was a tormented homosexual, who could play the organ. HEHE.
As I type this, I realize it’s not the only time I was forced to “act” in a cemetery. I was also in a college production of Spoon River Anthology, a play with music. I sat on a stump. I had five or six monologues. I don’t think I was gay in any of them. I do know that by then I was a serious “actor” so I didn’t get sleepy. Instead, I focused on my next lines. I remember one night not being able to remember the Latin phrase at the end of one of my monologues. I got up and said the lines, and wouldn’t you know, it slipped out, just like I had rehearsed it. Crisis averted. Although I didn’t get sleepy in this performance, I’m sure my parents counted the minutes till curtain call.
The last play that my mother saw that I worked on was Twilight of the Golds. I designed this show in San Diego, a week before I graduated from UCSD with my MFA in lighting design. It was playing when my mother and my brother flew out for my graduation. I had dinner with my friends who were there, and then I’d bought tickets for 12 of us to see the show. I didn’t really think about the subject matter until I was sitting in my chair waiting for the show to start.
I have no idea what my mother thought about this show. In 2006, I had not told her I was gay. I was 41. I’m sure she knew. But I had never discussed it with her. The show started. The drama happened. The show came down. The design of the show was nice. And I was proud to have my friends see it. At least it wasn’t in a cafetorium.
I have no idea where I’m going with this story. I just got off the phone with one my bestest friends from Kentucky, Trish Clark, who I did a million shows with. Which sent me down memory lane. She’s definitely one of those relationships that changed my life because we did theater together.
I have many of these friends. These friendships are those that you pick right up with, when you haven’t spoken in 20 years. There are so too many to count. They are the foundation of who I am at 61. In so many different segments of my life. High School. Grad School at UK. Grad School at CCM. Teaching at SCPA. Grad School at UCSD. Freelance at LOOK, City Theater, KOTH, and in NYC.
I really count myself lucky that I have had so many lifetimes. Once again too many too count. What’s really awesome is that my new job, would allow me to do theater in the off season. I’m really excited about the thought of designing a show next winter locally. Who knows, I may ask my local friends to come see a three hour production of King Lear, in a community production.
And you better show up.
Blest be the tides that bind.
The official hymn of theater folk.
My prompt was necktie. I may have gone a little off track.
I’d like to speak to the manager!!!
Blest be the tie that binds.
Our hearts in Christian love.
I learned of this hymn when I played Simon Stimson in Thorton Wilder’s Our Town in high school.
I think back on all the plays that I made my parents sit through. Oklahoma. Twice. Midsummer’s Night Dream. The Oresteia. The Nutcracker. Romeo and Juliet. Carmen with scaffolding.
I also think back to how many of these shows were two plus hours longer than they needed to be. I can’t imagine anything more painful, than watching high schoolers perform Our Town in a cafetorium.
I can say, however, that all the kids involved had a blast. I formed one of my closest high school friendships with the girl who played Mrs. Webb, who’d never been in a play before. In fact, the following year she wrecked my car, while we were on our way to the midnight showing of Rocky Horror. For only $1.
Good or bad, I always enjoyed being a part of the process. Theater builds friendships and relationships, unlike anything else I’ve ever participated in. It requires you to reveal parts of yourself that might otherwise go unnoticed. Or you might not otherwise want shared. I think it’s why so many LGBTQ kids end up joining the drama club. Even as a designer, you make relationships that are strong and weird. I believe the only thing that comes close to matching these relationships are restaurant relationships, which also might explain why theater people end up waiting tables. Teching a show is akin to working Sunday brunch hungover.
Back to Simon Stimson.
He was the choir director and organist at the local Grover’s Corner Congregational Church. He was also a troubled alcoholic. And it’s thought that he might be a closeted homosexual. He ends up in Act 3 because he committed suicide, becoming a resident of the cemetery.
I can assure you that we did NOT discuss any of this in my high school production. I was taught how to conduct in 4/4 time. I was told to stumble across the stage as if I was drunk. I’d never been drunk so I mimicked Otis Campbell from Andy Griffith. I don’t think they were the same kind of drunk, and definitely not for the same reasons.
I also remember being terrible bored in the third act. I had six lines and then I was supposed to be interested in the rest of the action. I remember getting sleepy. Whoops. I might have stayed awake if I’d known I was a tormented homosexual, who could play the organ. HEHE.
As I type this, I realize it’s not the only time I was forced to “act” in a cemetery. I was also in a college production of Spoon River Anthology, a play with music. I sat on a stump. I had five or six monologues. I don’t think I was gay in any of them. I do know that by then I was a serious “actor” so I didn’t get sleepy. Instead, I focused on my next lines. I remember one night not being able to remember the Latin phrase at the end of one of my monologues. I got up and said the lines, and wouldn’t you know, it slipped out, just like I had rehearsed it. Crisis averted. Although I didn’t get sleepy in this performance, I’m sure my parents counted the minutes till curtain call.
The last play that my mother saw that I worked on was Twilight of the Golds. I designed this show in San Diego, a week before I graduated from UCSD with my MFA in lighting design. It was playing when my mother and my brother flew out for my graduation. I had dinner with my friends who were there, and then I’d bought tickets for 12 of us to see the show. I didn’t really think about the subject matter until I was sitting in my chair waiting for the show to start.
I have no idea what my mother thought about this show. In 2006, I had not told her I was gay. I was 41. I’m sure she knew. But I had never discussed it with her. The show started. The drama happened. The show came down. The design of the show was nice. And I was proud to have my friends see it. At least it wasn’t in a cafetorium.
I have no idea where I’m going with this story. I just got off the phone with one my bestest friends from Kentucky, Trish Clark, who I did a million shows with. Which sent me down memory lane. She’s definitely one of those relationships that changed my life because we did theater together.
I have many of these friends. These friendships are those that you pick right up with, when you haven’t spoken in 20 years. There are so too many to count. They are the foundation of who I am at 61. In so many different segments of my life. High School. Grad School at UK. Grad School at CCM. Teaching at SCPA. Grad School at UCSD. Freelance at LOOK, City Theater, KOTH, and in NYC.
I really count myself lucky that I have had so many lifetimes. Once again too many too count. What’s really awesome is that my new job, would allow me to do theater in the off season. I’m really excited about the thought of designing a show next winter locally. Who knows, I may ask my local friends to come see a three hour production of King Lear, in a community production.
And you better show up.
Blest be the tides that bind.
The official hymn of theater folk.
My prompt was necktie. I may have gone a little off track.
For anyone who cares, it’s only 362 days till my birthday. Be sure to mark your calendar. You’ll want to shop early. My favorite color is blue. And books are always a nice surprise.
If you are paying attention, that means my birthday was three days ago. Marking another year around the sun. I’ve made a lot of these trips in my very short life. And the remaining portion of my life is even shorter. I’m well on my way on the downward slope of the eventual outcome.
It’s funny. The older I get, the less afraid of death I become. It’s inevitable. It’s a part of life, like learning to walk, or learning to read. I watch TV now, seeing actors from shows in the 80’s and 90’s who are no longer with us, like The Golden Girls. I often wonder what their take on their inevitable demise was.
Before you get started, I’m not depressed. I’m actually in a very good mood tonight. Work has been going well. My schedule with my new job has allowed Adam and I to spend a lot of time together. And best of all, I’ve been able to see friends that normally I wouldn’t see at all, because of my restaurant schedule.
However.
I AM getting older. And while I don’t fear death, I’m horribly afraid of losing my memory.
I’ve always had great a long-term memory. There are so many events from my past that are seared into my mind. Learning to ride a bike. Getting spanked by Miss Sarah for jumping on her bed, when she babysat me and my brother. My grandma telling me to get back in the bathroom and wash my hands, because if I had washed them, they wouldn’t be dry. Memories of building stilts out of two by fours at vacation bible school, and then walking on them in my backyard.
I could go on and on. So many stories to share.
What’s scary is that my short-term memory seems to be shot.
I get to the grocery store and know that Adam asked me to pick up three things, but I can only remember two of them. They all started with the letter “C.”
Today at work, I was asked what my favorite bourbon drink was. I replied a Boulevardier. And was asked if that wasn’t based on another drink. I could remember that that drink was made from gin, but I struggled for a good 60 seconds to remember the word for Negroni. I see Laura Benanti on TV all the time, and I can never remember her name. Never. I know her Broadway shows. I know she plays Melania on Stephen Colbert. But I can never remember her name.
I truly fear losing my mind. It scares me that I’m going to wake up one day and have forgotten everything. Forgotten my memories.
But even more frightening is forgetting who Adam is.
I know there are a few things I can do. But mostly, I have to wait and see what genetics have given me. I take after the women in my family as I’ve mentioned before. They all lived to their late 70’s and none of them suffered from memory loss. I pray that I got the same genetic makeup that gave me my “big boned” build.
I think sometimes this is why I write the stories that I do. There is a part of me, that wants to look back at where I’ve been. My life has not been perfect, but it has been an adventure. And I hope that by documenting my stories, when I am in my senior years, my friends, and much younger boyfriend can remind me of these stories.
Meanwhile, I plod along. Reminded daily, that life is short. That tomorrow is not promised. However, I do hope that if I have another 20 or 30 years in me that my memory also has another 20 or 30 years. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to be a vegetable. I don’t want to be sequestered to a home, where Adam visits out of obligation.
And if that is what is in store for me. I’ve told him that I want him to tap me on the shoulder on a lucid day, and say, “Today is the day.” Then he’ll go have drinks with friends, maybe even dinner, and when he gets home, his memories of me will live forever.
I'd Like to Speak to the Manager!!! 