writing

I spoke to the manager!

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I spoke to the manager!!!

Yes. I did. I actually asked to speak to the manager!!!

Adam and I had a reservation at 5:30 for dinner tonight. The only reason Adam wanted to go there, was because last year, when we dined there the mashed potatoes, and chocolate cake were some of the best he’d ever had. He wanted to relive that.

However, the rest of the meal last year was less than stellar. The service was weird. It started fine, but at some point, the server got annoyed with us, and basically treated us like crap from then on. The timing of the food was weird. Our second course came before we were ready for it, then we waited almost 30 minutes for our main course. When it did arrive the mashed potatoes were cold. Not like they had been plated 15 minutes early. Cold as in, they’d been in the walk-in and just pulled out. When we finally got the warm potatoes, as I said, they were great. But the meal was just weird.

So tonight.

We arrived and were seated at 5:20 for our 5:30 reservation.

We get situated and start looking over the menu. A server assistant comes by and offers water, and we ask for tap. Then after a longer time than it should have been our server arrives. Guess who. The same server we had last year. And it’s awkward from the word go. It’s like we were being waited on by a high school student. She’s asking us about our show, but asking kind of weird questions. It’s clear she knows nothing about the theater world, which is fine, but she keeps asking more and more questions, then responding with no idea what she’s talking about.

At this point, we discuss leaving. This is not the experience we want to have, and it’s not going to be cheap. However, we don’t want to be those people, and really, once we’ve ordered it will be fine.

Finally, she asks if she can take our drink order. And we ask for two minutes. This was a mistake because it’s another five or so minutes before she comes back. When she comes back she asks for our drink order. Adam orders a Kettle One martini, dirty with regular olives. He specifies regular olives. I order a Bulliet Rye Manhattan, not the one on the menu, but a regular Manhattan. We also order our meal. Shrimp cocktail to start. Two apps to share after that. And we’ll split an entrée. She walks away and by now we have decided it will be fine.

Then at least seven or eight minutes go by and she reappears to say that they don’t have Bulliet Rye, and gives me other choices. I choose Michter’s. She disappears again. 90 seconds later our shrimp cocktail lands on the tables.

No sign of the drinks.

And we wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, a runner appears with our drinks. My Manhattan doesn’t look like a Manhattan, but I’ll make it work. BUT. There are three blue cheese olives in Adam’s martini. Neither Adam nor myself like blue cheese. In fact, we both kind of hate it. So he asks for the martini to be remade.

Did I mention that the shrimp cocktail is on the table. We are waiting for our drinks before we eat.

And we wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

During this wait we are discussing whether we want to stay. As I mentioned its going to be an expensive meal. It hasn’t started well. And we’ve been there for a bit and we still don’t have our drinks.

It’s about this time the martini arrives and I look at my watch. It’s 6:05. We’ve been in the restaurant for 45 minutes and we’ve just gotten our drinks.

I look at him and say let’s go. We don’t want to make a seen, but we’ve decided we’ll walk down the street, have a cheeseburger, then get a drink at The Rum House before the show. He wants to pay for what we’ve gotten even though we haven’t eaten or drunk anything. I push back but I’m over ruled. The server comes by and he explains that we are going to call it a night and would like our check for the things we’ve gotten.

The server walks away.

And we wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, I’ve had enough. I go to the host stand and ask if we can please pay our check. The host looks at me like I’m crazy. Then the server appears and hands me the check. I give her my card and she goes away. At which point I turn to the host and ask him if he can tell me what time I was sat. He looks at me and smirks and says, “You were seated when you arrived and requested to be seated.” I’m not having that so I say, “Yes, and you have a machine at your finger tips, that will tell you exactly what time we were seated at said table.”

He pushes a lot of buttons, and I can assure you, it takes not one button pushing. The counter is on your name; it will tell you. He says you were seated at 5:20. And I say, yes, it’s been 45 minutes and we’ve just gotten our drinks. And NOW, I would like to speak to a manager!!!

I wasn’t angry during any of this. Just annoyed.

But get this.

We wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, she appears, just as the server arrives back with my credit card.

I explain that we are leaving, why were are leaving, and she says, I’ll give you my card next time you want to come in let me know and I’ll make sure you have a different experience. I say, we don’t live here and she say’s well let me get a card for you anyway.

By now Adam has arrived, and we wait, and wait, and wait.

Fun fact: Carry your cards on you.

She brings the card. We leave.

We paid 100 bucks for food we didn’t eat or drink. The manager was nice, but if it had been me, I’d have insisted that the guest not pay anything. I’d have immediately cancelled the charge. And I would have made a bigger effort to apologize.

Then we walked to Joe Allen. Got right in, and 15 minutes from the time we left the first restaurant, we had drinks in hand, and our appetizer had just been delivered.

We really didn’t want to be those people, but it was clear we were not going to get the experience we wanted and sitting there was just going to annoy us even more. So we left.

On Broadway!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Adam and I attended church today. There is no other way to explain what we experienced. We were moved beyond anything we experienced this week or probably ever.

I won’t speak for him, but the show I saw today at 2:00, is single-handedly the best piece of the theater I have ever seen.

Death of a Salesman.

I’ll give you the back story. I’ve never seen this show.

And fun fact. I’ve never read it.

I was supposed to read it back in 1989, when I was a TA at the University of Kentucky. But. My friend Marie Henderson taught my class Death of a Salesman and I taught her class For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enough.

I knew what the play was about. I knew how it ended. But I didn’t know any of the gritty details. And today, I’m glad to say that that is true. I got to experience the show, without knowing what was coming next and it was stunning.

First of all, script is a work of art. It’s truly brilliant. The way we move from present to past, not always knowing why and when is a amazing. You add to that the performances from today and you get something amazing. I’ve attended lots of serious shows before, but I’ve never sat in an audience where the actors hold the audience in their hands as much as today. There was no noise. No shuffling. No coughing. Complete silence as we watched Nathan Lane and Laurie Metcalf unfold the story we were watching.

When intermission arrived, I felt like I’d been beaten up emotionally. It got worse in act 2.

Adam and I were discussing the choice to have some characters dressed in more modern garb as well as have some props that were modern. I thought it brought home that the play that was written in 1949, is more relative today than ever. We are just wheels in a machine. No matter how much energy and effort we put into our careers, at the end of the day we are all replaceable. Promises made, promises broken. We watch today, as employees are replaced by AI, or let go by DOGE, or their jobs are sent overseas and then we wonder why we are all full of anxiety and depression. You spend 25 years paying on a mortgage, just in time to watch your kids move on and leave the house empty.

By the time we got to the end of Act 2, I was devastated. I couldn’t keep my eyes from welling up as he got closer to the choice he was going to make. I wanted to stop him, but I could also relate to where he was coming from. I wanted to help his boys understand him, but also wanted to punch them in the face and tell them to grow up. The one innocent in all of it was Linda, who did her best.

The design was as terrific as the performances. Not the traditional Death of a Salesman set. It was more abstract, with a red Chevy on stage from almost the beginning. The lighting was evocative and helped tell the story.

When curtain call was over, we walked out of the theater silently. We’d just witnessed something special. It was a good 10 minutes outside, before we really started to discuss the show.

If you can get to NYC, I really suggest you make the effort. Performances like this are once in a lifetime, and I’m so glad I got to experience it

Let’s do the Time Warp again!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 7:

Today was the best day of all the days we’ve had so far. Truly.

It started early, meeting Adam’s dear friend Ellen Goldin for breakfast at 10:00 a.m. at The Waverly Diner. Adam and I try to eat there once each trip. It harkens back to before we were together, stopping for a cheeseburger at 3:00 in the morning on the way home from the bars. I think they close at 10:00 p.m. now.

It was great catching up with Ellen, who we haven’t seen in a couple of trips. We caught up on our personal lives, then commiserated about the state of the world. She’s a nice voice of reason in the insanity that we are all living in. Plus, I got to order an egg sandwich, which I only get in NYC.

During breakfast, Ellen told us about a great world market that had just opened across the street, so we strolled over after. It was so much fun. The produce was far better than what we get in Portland, the meat was far cheaper than what we pay in Porltand, and it was the best prepared food selection I’ve seen since before I left NYC. Adam had a blast walking around. If I’ve not said it before a food store (grocery store) is his favorite place in the world.

After lunch, we subwayed up to Lincoln Center to see a movie. I have not seen a movie on opening day since perhaps when Gone With the Wind opened in 1939. Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I saw a movie on opening day. Adam and I barely, ever, go to the movies in Maine. However, he’d suggested we see The Devil Wears Prada 2 while we were in NYC, since we needed to do something this afternoon, and it’s fun to see movies in NYC where the theaters have more than 20 seats.

It was the largest movie theater I’ve been in in forever. We saw Blue Moon last November but the theater resembled a Portland theater. Today the theater had a balcony and the main level easily had 200 seats. It was also almost sold out.

We also go to indulge in some things we never indulge in. Fried Cheese. And. Popcorn. I love movie theater popcorn. Adam won’t share with me because I don’t get butter. I like movie theater butter, I just don’t like it on my hands so I never get it. He won’t eat it without it. However, I was happy to indulge in his fried cheese and the ranch dressing he paid extra for.

We both enjoyed the movie a lot. It was a thoughtless way to spend the afternoon, and it allowed us to revisit some old friends that we hadn’t seen in 20 years. It also allowed us to see all the characters in a new light. AND. It was nice to see a movie where the male characters were minor to everyone else. Who knew two strong women could command your attention for two hours.

After the movie we walked to Central Park and sat for about an hour. It was a beautiful day, and since we’ll probably get snow in Maine this weekend, we thought it would be nice to enjoy the fresh air. We both did some phone chores we needed to do, and watched cute boys jog by. It’s one of the best reasons to go to Central Park.

Around 4:30 we taxied over to Park Avenue for dinner. We were early for our reservation so Adam walked around the corner for a coffee and I sat by the fountain and texted with a few people. When he got back, we wandered down the street to our dinner reservation.

Tonight was our fancy dinner. It was at The Grill Room. It’s a restaurant that opened in the 60’s, and the whole space reminds of you of Madmen. It’s a midcentury interior and is beautiful. The Four Seasons ran it forever, then it closed in the mid-teens. It reopened a few years later with the current owners.

The meal was wonderful. We started with caviar and bubbles, which we hardly ever get. We followed that up with crab cakes and steak tartare and a Manhattan and a Vesper. We never say no to any of those. Then. Adam got the sole and I got the table side prime rib. We also shared a nice bottle of wine suggested by the sommelier. And to wrap it up we got a lemon chiffon cake and a baked Alaska. The assistant general manager had come by when we first got sat and discovered that we were both in the business, so she sent out an additional dessert, which I don’t remember what it was but it was our favorite.

Now comes the best part of the evening.

One of the reasons we planned this trip, was because Rocky Horror was being revived this spring. Adam has fond memories of the last revival, which I saw and loved.

But for me Rocky Horror, harkens back to high school. In the early 80’s in Lexington, KY, on Saturday nights. Rocky Horror played at the Chevy Chase theater, and then the Kentucky theater for $1. My theater friends and I would drive from Georgetown to see it. We would drive thru the liquor (In Kentucky, I think you can still drive thru the liquor store) store on the north side of town, buy a bottle of vodka, then stop for orange juice. We’d park for the movie, and drink screwdrivers in the car. Then we’d go in for the movie. (A pint doesn’t get four people very drunk, and we’d be sober enough to drive home two hours later).

I can still remember the first time I saw the movie. I was a virgin in Rocky Horror speak. I was obsessed. There were queer men. There were unspeakables on the screen. And everyone was having a blast. The summers of my junior and then senior year, I saw the film over 50 times. I learned every word of the call backs. I learned every lyric of the songs. It was me being able to be myself, without confessing to anyone.

In the late 80’s, early 90’s, Actor’s Guild of Lexington produced the live show. And I made the local paper, because I called out all the call backs during the show. I’m still not sure if they wanted that, or expected that. I do remember that it was a great production and I was so happy to see it live. I’m pretty sure Vic Chaney directed and @ I know Chase Clark played Rocky.

To say I was giddy with enthusiasm, tonight, would be an understatement. I was told by Adam that I couldn’t yell out anything, although a few people did. But that didn’t keep me from whispering the call backs to him for my favorite lines.

And my favorite call back is when Frankenfurter says, “There’s no crime in giving yourself over to pleasure” and the audience responds, “There is in Kentucky!”

My favorite part of the show tonight was watching the audience. The average age was 40+. There were people my age and older, singing along with every word. Bouncing and dancing in their seats. And then I look down into the orchestra and in the fifth row, house right, there is a 12 year old boy, singing along as well, with his parents. It made me so happy.

The show is a glorious chaotic mess. And it’s wonderful. There is glitter. And confetti. And fog. And sex. And hot women. And hot men. And real trans folk. And real queer people. And the lights are flashy and fun. And the set is flashy and fun. And the sound is flashy and fun. And the band is spot on. And I wish that I could see it 12 more times before we head home.

But alas that it not in the cards.

In the meantime, I’ll do the time warp back to 1949 and see Death of a Salesman tomorrow.

You are the wind beneath my wings.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 6:

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.  

Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 3:

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.  

Tomorrow is another two show day.  

Another Openin’ Another Show!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

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.

I put a little more mascara on!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

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.  

Blest be the tie that binds.  Our hearts in Christian love.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

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. 

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. 

Like a flower, as the dawn is breaking, the memory is fading

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

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.

Today’s prompt is Forgotten.

He loves me so, that funny honey of mine!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

This morning about six minutes after I got up, Adam’s alarm went off.  He’d snoozed it when it sounded at 8:30.   Both of our alarms go off at 8:30.  We both have I-phones, but his alarm sounds about 15 seconds before mine does, I have no idea why.  

I digress.  

I was getting ready to get in the shower, when I realized he had not shut his alarm off.  I waited.  And waited.  Finally, I went in and said Babe?  Babe?  He didn’t answer.  I then said, Adam?  Adam?  A little louder.  He still didn’t budge.  Adam is not a super hard sleeper, so I was surprised he didn’t respond.  I have to admit, for about 1/16th of a second I thought he might be dead.  Then I tapped him on the shoulder and he awoke with a start.  It’s one of the reasons I started out quietly; he is easily startled when he’s asleep. 

He had not heard the alarm at all.  He was surprised that it was going off, and he was surprised that I had to wake him. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and then went back to take a shower. 

As I was trying to wake up in the shower, I realized that calling Adam by his given name was not something I do often.  We hardly ever use each other’s names.  We both use “BABE” as a term of endearment.  In fact, he called me at work today and I said, “Hello, Babe” and my boss referred to him as Babe 30 seconds later.  

It always feels awkward when I say Adam, when speaking to Adam.  I say his name all the time at work.  They probably get sick of hearing about the meals he cooks for me, or the things he did for my birthday.  But to say, “Hey Adam, what’s for dinner?, just doesn’t flow.  

The only thing worse than using his name to address him is him calling me Jeff.  It’s like nails on a chalkboard. He does it so seldomly that I always think I must be in trouble, or something must be wrong.  Neither is usually true.  

Which brings me to the point of this story. 

When we first started dating, and it became clear that we were going to be something more than just a casual fling, he started calling me “Honey Bear.”  I don’t know why?  I don’t know where it came from.  I, however, loved it from the start.  At some point, we moved past Honey Bear to Babe.  He does usually write cards to me addressed as Honey Bear.  And it makes my heart grow three sizes.  It makes me smile. 

I’ve only ever called him Babe, that I remember.   

Which brings me to the question:  What do you call your significant other?  Your spouse?  Your boyfriend?  Your girlfriend?  Your lover? 

I have to go now, because a voice from the kitchen just said, “Babe, dinner will be ready in 5!”

The prompt today was honey.