2014. APRIL10-17 BOSTON. APRIL17-27 NYC
TRIP: APRIL 10-27. BOSTON & NYC
 |
Once again barred from first class |
THURSDAY, APRIL 10"Did you pack my sweater?" "Should we take our rain jackets?" "Where are my shoes?" Much scurrying about from wake-up at ghastly 5 am until 6 when the taxi lad (I thought he was a girl on the phone announcing his arrival) arrives to lose his way at the airport. Wrong terminal. We decide from now on to check that our taxi drivers' licenses are not learners permits.
"Small electronic devices must be in airplane mode." Bye bye for now. Once airborne, reading a book of short stories purchased before boarding, Tenth of December by George Saunders and which proves rewarding.
Six bucks gets you a microscopic egg scramble and wood-taste potatoes. This ain't Singapore Air. No way. And besides they have a couple of fat flight assistants who girth-bump a person as they saunter down the aisle. On the other hand, is it not to the credit of
The later offering, a $7 cheese, fruit and crackers plate, is an improvement.
One of Saunder's short stories is about a man who decides to write a diary; gets me to thinking about the vanity in my project, The Blog of Blogs. (But that bad-think won't stop me!) The character’s diary reveals more about him than he thinks. -- Hmm.
Landing is fairly smooth. At least a half hour ahead of schedule. "One down," I say. I don't doubt we're all in mind of the missing  |
| View from our window |
 |
Lobby at 113 Beacon St. |
 |
Pick-up on Newbury |
Here comes the confession: It's cold and at least one of us wonders why he's here now. The other's not saying. We are in search of a DeLucca's market which has nothing to do with  |
| Butterfield wine, same plonk we served at our PS restaurant, Butterfield's |
Surprised that someone’s there at 8 pm who after some telephonic trouble-shooting says she'll be over in 45 minutes. So far impressed with this management co. If we ever decide to do some vacation rentals in San Diego , we should be so good. Ha. Try to stay awake until she arrives. What time is it anyway?
Finally Jessica arrives (we started drinking our wine anyway) at 9:15.
She, jolly efficient; it was a wire unplugged. Not me. Yea. We can watch MSNBC. So what else is
Finally Jessica arrives (we started drinking our wine anyway) at 9:15.
She, jolly efficient; it was a wire unplugged. Not me. Yea. We can watch MSNBC. So what else is
new? Well placed focus on LBJ and the civil rights movement. We digest with delighted befuddlement the news (along with a Stouffer’s pizza bread) that the comic genius Stephen Colbert will be the new David Letterman. And then to see what sleep is like in this new bed in this strange place. |
Getting romantic |
FRIDAY, APRIL 11 Damn. It's 4 o'clock and I can't believe I just erased this day's notes up til now. Not the first time I've done that either. And I know there were perceptions that needed to be enshrined forever in memory--well maybe not all. At least these recollection attempts will likely be more abbreviated than the original.
I recall getting up at 6 am to the sound of noisy travelers in the hall trying to fit their luggage into the tiny (but oh so cute) elevator. Other flaws in this otherwise paradisiacal apartment, hard bed--I like it, Bob, still snoozing, less so. And it does creak outrageously, nastily mimicking its old occupants I guess. Fab new kitchen faucet requires an owner’s manual. And the place is stuffy until we--it takes two of us--pry the windows open and stick pots in the openings to keep them open. But since I'm caviling, grrr, about the lost notes, Bob mentions that the slippery shower is lacking a mat and a support bar. Apparently we'll need to pack such items when we travel in the guise of old people.
We spend what seems an eternity lounging around the apartment before heading out because we don't know where to head, this after I apply my expertise to the toasting of bagels--see photo of the molten remains. Consultation and research is apparently required. Take walking tours? They hardly exist in April. Note: do more planning before heading to dimly remembered cities. At least this self-imposed exile permits the watching from start to finish of Morning Joe, now at human hours in the morning, with no gym or trainer beckoning. We again hear that my favorite tv character whom I typically watch on the elliptical machine, Steven Colbert, will be the new Letterman. The man's a comic genius. But will his "real" persona work?
Bob looks out at the roof gardens seen from our living room window. They are unpopulated. People must be at work he surmises. Besides it's probably cold out. I say that if I had such a roof garden I’d be out on it constantly, then remember that I had one when we lived inChelsea in New York . It too was closed off half the year to accommodate snow and chill while my scores of roof plants kept me company and breathed my air inside.
Bob looks out at the roof gardens seen from our living room window. They are unpopulated. People must be at work he surmises. Besides it's probably cold out. I say that if I had such a roof garden I’d be out on it constantly, then remember that I had one when we lived in
I tell Bob that I have so few memories of New York and need him to remember for me. “Pathetic”, he answers. I suppose that's why I write all these travel notes with such rage. Energy? Intricacy? Now as I age that at least this continuing present won't in some measure be lost to me.
We make reservations at Mooo, one of the recommended hot new restaurants and decide to hit some local sights in that direction toward downtown and onBeacon Hill . The delays continue, however, when once on the street where the weather is surprisingly balmy, Bob must return to get his pocket comb. (His kingdom for a comb?). It's now a quarter to 12 and the minutes roll on. Where is he? I head back up to no doubt find his prostrate body on the hallway floor (traveling makes a person jumpy), but finally he makes an appearance offering something about an elevator delay. We've found our easy fit-all culprit it seems. (Later in the evening, he will scrape his finger on the elevator gate and bleed profusely. The damn thing is malevolent.)
Skirting thePublic Garden on the way to Trinity Church
We make reservations at Mooo, one of the recommended hot new restaurants and decide to hit some local sights in that direction toward downtown and on
 |
| TRINITY CHURCH, COPLEY SQUARE |
 |
| NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM GALLERY/CLUB; 1ST BAPTIST IN REAR |
 |
| JOHN HANCOCK BLDG., TRINITY CHURCH REAR |
Skirting the
 |
| JOHN SINGLETON COPLEY HIMSELF |
 |
| REUEL IN WONDERLAND |
Other sights for old eyes include (aw see the photos - what am I a diary?). Bob, who knows this period fills me in. Of Trinity, H. H. Richardson built it in the Romanesque Revival style. It is a wonder, especially in strange contrast to the mirroring John Hancock skyscraper bully hovering above it.
 |
| ARF ARF |
I tell l Bob as he goes on that he could be lying to me. “Ok, I'll never lie to you.” We both laugh when I say, “Don't say that,” knowing that I need his lies. I do say that he could be a tour guide. We remember Anil our tour manager in  |
| "MUGGING" AT CHEERS |
 |
| BACK BAY VISTA |
 |
| STATE HOUSE |
 |
| KING'S CHAPEL |
We, walking along  |
| LUNCH CALL |
 |
| COW ABSTRACTIONS ON WALLS |
Bob suggests we walk through On our way I tell Bob that I must reluctantly say that one or both of us did not do sufficient research before coming to this ill-remembered city. He says, “That means you must be happy because we can discover it together.” Good save! I say that I wasn't before but maybe now I am because that's a great way to look at this enterprise of traveling-- Play it as it lays.
 |
| BEACON HILL WALK |
 |
| HARRISON GRAY OTIS HOUSE |
 |
| LOOKING FOR THE KERRYS ON POSH LOUISBURG SQUARE |
 |
| MAGNIFICENT FENESTRATION |
 |
| A BULLFINCH ENTRY |
As
to the lights with the insistent false red hands, I say they make a mockery of street crossing. We see the natives blithely defying them. He says that if we lived here we’d change that. I say he'd be chair of the traffic committee and would be a firebrand. He replies “I don't and I won't”.
 |
| SUMPTUOUSLY DETAILED ARTS AND CRAFTS HOUSE |
 |
| CHURCH OF THE ADVENT |
 |
| HOME AGAIN JIGITY JIG |
 |
| WORLD'S TINIEST LIFT |
 |
| IST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH |
 |
| COPLEY SQUARE |
Then we find the Provisions Mecca, Shaw’s Market, in the
It's a
genuine super duper market with a mezzanine devoted to wine and spirits. As we peruse the vodka, a sales guy of a certain age gives us tastes of a vodka (Old Amsterdam) which, as it's cheap, potable and palatable, we buy. He chats with us, “Where you from?” He too migrated from CA, coming here for school and staying for a “person.” Long look. We get it. How long here. We'll let me tell you. Long look. He's sizing us up. Obviously we're unworthy of whatever he was going to suggest. An invitation? A special gay bar? Instead he says “See the library. Great artwork.” (Later I will be annoyed that we were passed over in that instant. Strange my response.) And what a strange place this Shaw’s is. The workers, especially at the cash registers, seem dispirited. I whisper that it's like the night of the living dead in here.
That atmosphere is abetted by a genuine jazz duo playing mournfully; Bob drops cash into their basket. A jazz duo in a supermarket? That's cool though. Is that a Home, having toted our goods the long way through the rain that greeted us when we leave the store.
We can now have cheese appetizers and some of the delicious salad we put together at Shaw’s.
In deep night as we cuddle, we go into a comic riff on religiosity. Original sin. ( and unoriginal sin) and it goes on and we think we’re hilarious until one of us doesn't. G'night.
SATURDAY, APRIL 12
"Why are you still in bed?" "Because I've nothing else to do." Not literally true but there's no gym or personal trainer who requires our presence, so why not relax. I know there are still notes I must recall from yesterday's inadvertent deletion. And there's breakfast and the sun is streaming into our aviary bedroom but still why not a lazy morning in bed as the clock approaches nine.
Up, we enjoy our toasted bagel breakfast, I buy some more NY tickets through TDF, Velocity of Autumn, 50 Shades the Musical and Bridges of Madison County--we're up to 7 shows so far.
And we're out at shockingly 11:30. Slackers this lovely day.
Walking down Commonwealth Mall which runs through Commonwealth Avenue . Its trees are bare of foliage, offering views of lovely buildings on both sides.
We discover that the 1/2 price TKTS (Bostix.org) booth is closed because its internet is down. Drat.
So we try Trinity Church
"Conceived as an integrated work of art," the tour pamphlet says. Then asks how it makes you feel. Inspired? Gloomy? I'd say Peaceful. A bit in awe.
Then the tix booth still not operating, we cross Copley Square again to try the library. Gorgeous murals on all 3 floors. The great John Singer Sargent gallery.
Still no Tkts we gravitate to theFairmont Copley Plaza
Gorgeous lobby but the hamburgers are $25 in the restaurant--which isn't special anyway. So thus begins the famous "wander" in search of food.
One place has a 25 minute wait. Finally we find immediate seating downstairs (the upstairs outdoors is full) where there's only one other seated table at the Vlora Mediterranean Bar and Grill. Discover it's actually a Greek restaurant. Bloody Mary's (world class) and for moi, spaghetti and meatballs. (Ok. Can't finish.) Bob has something called Pizza Mama Rosa (she's no doubt crafting it in the kitchen) which is quite good--I get 2 slices--Greek style with caramelized onions, kalamata olives and tomatoes.
Two middle aged couples. One guy going on about the neighborhood types when they were all growing up, an extended South Jersey Lake Woebegone essay. High School, the gym teachers, the guys who would beat him up, the families. Colorful. We all have memories of neighborhood characters after all. We both get caught up in the conversation. No extra charge. And it's 2 pm.
It’s a gorgeous day so we determine to walk downtown after getting our play tickets.Delightful Public Garden
Old City Hall, a Second Empire pile, home of Ruth’s Chris steaks, on the way to Faneuil Hall, Quincy Market, then the Harbor at Columbus Park where we find a bench to rest our wearies.
Naps, cocktails, the drill. And out 7:15 for the show Rich Girl purchased at the 1/2 price booth when it finally surmounted its problems.
Damn, we're watching this Will Smith rooting interest movie and he's about as low as he can be and we have to leave for the play.
RICH GIRL. By VICTORIA STEWART. @ LYRIC STAGE COMPANY. Actually in a former YWCA, now an hotel. The play we're told is an updated and feminized version of The Heiress, based on the Henry James' novella, Washington Square with its famous movie version starring Olivia DeHaviland and Montgomery Clift. The set to represent wealth is necessarily simple. Cute 3/4 round theatre, maybe 300 seats. I'd give an arm to have been able to afford such a space. Oh well. Next life.
The gay guy who does the pre-show speech--what I've done so many times in the past--announces they're doing Sondheim next. Exciting company.
Across the lobby at intermission there's a murder mystery dinner theatre going on. As the patrons exit, I say it doesn't look like a classy audience. Snob. And then of our audience, there's the like of what I've dubbed little Annie Fannie, A 65 year old woman with blonde ringlets and of course a diamond the size of New Jersey. So why not? must say she.
"Why are you still in bed?" "Because I've nothing else to do." Not literally true but there's no gym or personal trainer who requires our presence, so why not relax. I know there are still notes I must recall from yesterday's inadvertent deletion. And there's breakfast and the sun is streaming into our aviary bedroom but still why not a lazy morning in bed as the clock approaches nine.
Up, we enjoy our toasted bagel breakfast, I buy some more NY tickets through TDF, Velocity of Autumn, 50 Shades the Musical and Bridges of Madison County--we're up to 7 shows so far.
We watch the guys planting their roof garden across the way. Spring is in the air!
Walking down Commonwealth Mall which runs through We discover that the 1/2 price TKTS (Bostix.org) booth is closed because its internet is down. Drat.
So we try  |
| MAGNIFICENT TRINITY CHURCH INTERIORS |
"Conceived as an integrated work of art," the tour pamphlet says. Then asks how it makes you feel. Inspired? Gloomy? I'd say Peaceful. A bit in awe.
 |
| PUBLIC LIBE AHEAD |
 |
| J.S. SARGENTS EVERYWHERE |
 |
| ARTHURIAN LEGEND |
 |
| LIBRARY INNER COURTYARD |
Still no Tkts we gravitate to the
 |
| THE FAIRMONT! |
 |
| A HOTTIE WILL GIVE YOU A LIFT |
It’s a gorgeous day so we determine to walk downtown after getting our play tickets.
 |
| PUBLIC GARDEN'S PRETTY POND AND PRETTY BOYZ |
 |
| THERE'S A GORILLA IN THE . . . PARK |
Old City Hall, a Second Empire pile, home of Ruth’s Chris steaks, on the way to Faneuil Hall, Quincy Market, then the Harbor at Columbus Park where we find a bench to rest our wearies.
 |
| PARK STREET CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH |
 |
| OLD CITY HALL |
 |
| OLD STATE HOUSE |
 |
| TEENS INVADE FANEUIL HALL |
 |
| GUESS WHERE? |
 |
| NOT BEFORE SOME OF US WERE BORN |
 |
| FUN AT DICK'S LAST RESORT (WOULD BE OUR LAST RESORT) |
Naps, cocktails, the drill. And out 7:15 for the show Rich Girl purchased at the 1/2 price booth when it finally surmounted its problems.
 |
| FREE ON THE FREEDOM TRAIL |
Damn, we're watching this Will Smith rooting interest movie and he's about as low as he can be and we have to leave for the play.
 |
| PROVISIONS |
 |
| COMMONWEALTH MALL AT DUSK |
 |
| 1ST BAPTIST AGAIN |
 |
| REFLECTIONS |
RICH GIRL. By VICTORIA STEWART. @ LYRIC STAGE COMPANY. Actually in a former YWCA, now an hotel. The play we're told is an updated and feminized version of The Heiress, based on the Henry James' novella, Washington Square with its famous movie version starring Olivia DeHaviland and Montgomery Clift. The set to represent wealth is necessarily simple. Cute 3/4 round theatre, maybe 300 seats. I'd give an arm to have been able to afford such a space. Oh well. Next life.
The gay guy who does the pre-show speech--what I've done so many times in the past--announces they're doing Sondheim next. Exciting company.
Across the lobby at intermission there's a murder mystery dinner theatre going on. As the patrons exit, I say it doesn't look like a classy audience. Snob. And then of our audience, there's the like of what I've dubbed little Annie Fannie, A 65 year old woman with blonde ringlets and of course a diamond the size of New Jersey. So why not? must say she.
 |
| LITTLE ANNIE FANNY |
 |
| TRINITY AT NIGHT |
SUNDAY APRIL 13. BOSTON Is it the Boston air that gets us sleeping half the day, getting up at 9 in the morning? That’s well after the herd of elephants upstairs in the penthouse leave for Boston 's Serengeti.
Because our refrigerator holds such bounty, I assemble a "pre-breakfast" (our daily real breakfast is a toasted bagel with cream cheese) plate which Bob assures me is "peculiar": Sushi and fruit rocks! I'm eating too much, at least for the start of a trip.
Then while watching MSNBC’s Saturday am’s host Steve Kornacki, the necessity of the Opening the Window (takes two weightlifting types). Ritual is clear wherein we shove a pot above the sill to keep the window open (to let the cool air into the stuffy room). And the air is cool today.
It's a return to our apt after purchasing our 1/2 price Tkts (a misnomer considering the fees) for this afternoon's concert because it's plainly too cold out for our spring jackets. Bring on the leathers.
In King’s Chapel, oldest church building inBoston , 1749. Oldest pulpit. Puritans were pissed that the Anglicans built it on their burial ground.
Next door to that is a graveyard with the usual skinny stones and death head carvings. "Seen one seen ‘em all, " says Bob.
BOSTON CLASSICAL ORCHESTRA AT FANEUIL HALL. CLAUDI ARIMANI PLAYS MOZART. "Many things happened here," Bob says of the hall where the concert will take place. We choose our seats ($7.50 a ticket ) on the side which is good because there's a big rake (risers) that the fancier shmancier orchestra seating is deprived of.
A varied program indeed in this hallowed place, heavy on flute solos for Mr. Arimani and Alan Weiss, consisting of a Brahms Rhapsodie, and Vivaldi, Mozart and Doppler Concertos. I count 22 musicians in the orchestra under the baton of Steven Lipsitt whose Google bio indicates he's quite distinguished. "He's as distinguished as the audience is aged," says Bob. Very distinguished then.
When the conductor introduces each piece he does so without milking as the orators in their day did not need it. This is a lovely concert, 1st class orchestra, this beingBoston , home to great music schools. Soloist Arimani is brilliant, great facile arpeggios, but our toushies on these hard seats take a beating. We note at intermission that there are two lines, one for the bathroom the other for subscriptions. What if they get confused, I ponder.
The now balmier weather permits us to wander--it's after 5--back and to take a detour along Charles St. with its shops and restaurants.
We select some wines at a neat wine store, Charles Wines, and meander back for our in-home cocktail hour, me with accompanying sushi and Bob cheese. Delighted to discover Beth and Nancy (our lovely nieces) have been upgraded to balconies for our mutual fabulous Sept. North Europe and transatlantic cruise on the new Princess Royal. Well played ladies.
 |
| MASTER CHEF |
 |
| MODERN AMENITY |
Then while watching MSNBC’s Saturday am’s host Steve Kornacki, the necessity of the Opening the Window (takes two weightlifting types). Ritual is clear wherein we shove a pot above the sill to keep the window open (to let the cool air into the stuffy room). And the air is cool today.It's a return to our apt after purchasing our 1/2 price Tkts (a misnomer considering the fees) for this afternoon's concert because it's plainly too cold out for our spring jackets. Bring on the leathers.
 |
| WEE PERSON |
 |
| CITY HALL - NEW BRUTALISM STYLE |
 |
| GOT HIS NUMBER |
 |
| STILL THE OLD CITY HALL |
 |
| ARCHITECTUAL HODGE PODGE WORKS |
 |
| PEDESTRIAN PASS TO THE CHARLES RIVER ESPLANADE |
 |
| POPS BAND SHELL IN DISTANCE |
Bob admits he vastly overestimated the time to get to Faneuil Hall, site of the 3 o’clock concert, so here we are at the Old Granary Burial Ground where a guy at the entrance hands us his homemade guide to the cemetery. Ben Franklin’s parents tomb. John Hancock. We see lots of Death's Heads carvings on the gravestones. So many people died young-- not Paul Revere at 84 who visited the graveyard to see his "old friends".
In King’s Chapel, oldest church building in
Next door to that is a graveyard with the usual skinny stones and death head carvings. "Seen one seen ‘em all, " says Bob.
A varied program indeed in this hallowed place, heavy on flute solos for Mr. Arimani and Alan Weiss, consisting of a Brahms Rhapsodie, and Vivaldi, Mozart and Doppler Concertos. I count 22 musicians in the orchestra under the baton of Steven Lipsitt whose Google bio indicates he's quite distinguished. "He's as distinguished as the audience is aged," says Bob. Very distinguished then.
When the conductor introduces each piece he does so without milking as the orators in their day did not need it. This is a lovely concert, 1st class orchestra, this being
 |
| TIFFANY GLASS STYLE SHOP |
We select some wines at a neat wine store, Charles Wines, and meander back for our in-home cocktail hour, me with accompanying sushi and Bob cheese. Delighted to discover Beth and Nancy (our lovely nieces) have been upgraded to balconies for our mutual fabulous Sept. North Europe and transatlantic cruise on the new Princess Royal. Well played ladies.
On the news. Anti-Semitic shootings in Kansas . We need to educate--or eliminate--the ignorant assholes.
We decide that today is to be a museum day.
On our way I take a photo of what must be the only flowering tree inBoston . Spring is slow in coming.
Here it is, our first time here at a subway station. Thank god it's unthreatening. How many years had it been for us on subways and we former habitués. Nice, smiling subway worker (a janitor) sensing our angst, "it's ok"-takes us thru our paces--complicated--with heavy Greek accent--but gets us through it--are we in Boston or Thessalonica?Fens .
Soon we are above ground on our train. Past Northeastern U. Across the street from our destination are the
Fens.
Neither of us is of course named Isabella (a requirement for free access) so we need to pay admission. Here we are in the museum's Cafe G (Gardner , don't you know) looking over the "flower-infused" menu while we sip our Chardonnay. We need to rest from our tussle with the audio guide. After several consultations with assistants, we figure it out and depart the art-filled courtyard (immediately clear Mrs. Gardner had eclectic tastes) for the cafe.
I decide we've been invited to one of Isabella's fabulous parties and are browsing her collection. Bob doesn't like that idea because he says it's noon time and she wouldn't have a party at noon. I'm going anyway.
Bob says that this is the site of a infamous art heist about 40 years ago when he was last here. (Later we see the empty spaces on the exhibition walls where the purloined paintings hung.)
At Cafe G, here's my halibut (very good) and Bob’s penne pasta (also). I enjoy dining in museum restaurants--we like NY's MoMA's and the Met's for example.
Actually once we've mastered the audio thing, it proves quite helpful, mostly adds flavor rather than info, third graders responding to a piece of art for example. Most impressive or rather impressing is the curatorship of the great lady who apparently insisted nothing be touched or moved, so her juxtapositions are fascinating. Most impressive are the Sargent portraits, one of a Spanish dancer, another of Herself, considered shocking at the time because Sargent has fashioned a kind of halo around her head.Boston society was abuzz.
The new wing's exhibit is closed but we glance into the theatre/concert space--quite nice.
And now a pleasant sit on the park near theGardner and across from the Fen (R "what's a Fen?" B. "It's a swamp.") before we venture to the North End.
As we wait for our train, I'm aware that the weather here is very mercurial, not unlikeSan Francisco . Before balmy, now blustery. The leaves start blowing up energetically from the tracks.
More restaurants than in Italy it would seem along the Brick Freedom trail in the North End. th century Old North Church
As we enter the 18
We're tired so a bench in what we dubPaul Revere Park
We find the Paul Revere house but it looks closed. Next time. Maybe. There's aBoston timeline from 1600 (first windmill) to 1955 when Tony DeMartino becomes welterweight champion (he's a big deal here. Got a street named for him and a statue).
MONDAY, APRIL 14. BOSTON
So I've had 10 or 11 hours of sleep, Bob almost as much. What's going on here? Is that a good thing? Still in time to catch Morning Joe.We decide that today is to be a museum day.
On our way I take a photo of what must be the only flowering tree in
Here it is, our first time here at a subway station. Thank god it's unthreatening. How many years had it been for us on subways and we former habitués. Nice, smiling subway worker (a janitor) sensing our angst, "it's ok"-takes us thru our paces--complicated--with heavy Greek accent--but gets us through it--are we in Boston or Thessalonica?
Fens.
 |
| BOSTON MUSEUM OF FINE ARTS |
 |
| THE GARDNER'S NEW WING |
Neither of us is of course named Isabella (a requirement for free access) so we need to pay admission. Here we are in the museum's Cafe G (
I decide we've been invited to one of Isabella's fabulous parties and are browsing her collection. Bob doesn't like that idea because he says it's noon time and she wouldn't have a party at noon. I'm going anyway.
Bob says that this is the site of a infamous art heist about 40 years ago when he was last here. (Later we see the empty spaces on the exhibition walls where the purloined paintings hung.)At Cafe G, here's my halibut (very good) and Bob’s penne pasta (also). I enjoy dining in museum restaurants--we like NY's MoMA's and the Met's for example.
Actually once we've mastered the audio thing, it proves quite helpful, mostly adds flavor rather than info, third graders responding to a piece of art for example. Most impressive or rather impressing is the curatorship of the great lady who apparently insisted nothing be touched or moved, so her juxtapositions are fascinating. Most impressive are the Sargent portraits, one of a Spanish dancer, another of Herself, considered shocking at the time because Sargent has fashioned a kind of halo around her head.
 |
| ECLECTIC GARDENS |
The new wing's exhibit is closed but we glance into the theatre/concert space--quite nice.
And now a pleasant sit on the park near the
 |
| BIG DOINGS ACROSS FROM THE GARDNER |
As we wait for our train, I'm aware that the weather here is very mercurial, not unlike
 |
| NORTH END IS ABOUT FOOD - WITH NEW BFF |
 |
| OLD NORTH CHURCH |
As we enter the 18
We pop into the Hull St. Burial Ground, 2nd oldest. Nice view over the Charles.
We're tired so a bench in what we dub
We find the Paul Revere house but it looks closed. Next time. Maybe. There's a
 |
| HIS HOUSE |
 |
| FATHER TIME |
As the Unitarians serenade us (carillon) from one of those steepled churches, we walk through the Common. “I'm tired,” says Bob. I was tired a while back. We covered a lot of ground. Earlier he said, “I like Boston ”. I said it’s like an American version of London .
Ahh. Home. We can take off our shoes, rub our pinched feet and settle back to cocktails, then a supper of chicken breast Italiano and salad at our actual dining table with red wine. Bob offers a cookie dessert. What to do? Succumb.
 |
| DOG BABY |
Ahh. Home. We can take off our shoes, rub our pinched feet and settle back to cocktails, then a supper of chicken breast Italiano and salad at our actual dining table with red wine. Bob offers a cookie dessert. What to do? Succumb.
 |
| JUST LOVE THAT VIEW |
TUESDAY, APRIL. 15. BOSTON
Today is the 1st anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing. The day will show how the city commemorates it, if there are municipal closings for example. There it is, Joe Scarborough talking about the bombing, what it meant and that in the end the city prevailed, to be "Boston Strong", an early retrospective this rainy day.
"Tribute event: On Tuesday, exactly one year after the bombs exploded on Boylston Street, hundreds of survivors, first responders and other officials, including Vice President Biden, will honor those affected by the events that killed three and injured more than 260.”
“The event will take place at theHynes Convention Center Boston will toll their bells."
We'll listen for them.
News:Russia moving into Ukraine . The expert's wisdom is that Obama needs to be more aggressive and do it now with sanctions, especially against the two big Russian gas cos. and help Ukraine with light arms. Frustrating.
We wait out the rain and alight into the fresh air (refreshing for shut-ins like us) to discover that the trees are flowering--might as well be spring. I mention this to Bob who says there may be snow tonight. We explore the alley behind our building which our apartment faces and see the two story penthouse window above us. Looks like quite a place. Perhaps the girls would like it for Nancy ’s birthday.
Suddenly great gusting winds almost lift us off as we pass through Copley Square where massive tv trucks are set up for the memorial ceremony.
Today is the 1st anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing. The day will show how the city commemorates it, if there are municipal closings for example. There it is, Joe Scarborough talking about the bombing, what it meant and that in the end the city prevailed, to be "Boston Strong", an early retrospective this rainy day.
"Tribute event: On Tuesday, exactly one year after the bombs exploded on Boylston Street, hundreds of survivors, first responders and other officials, including Vice President Biden, will honor those affected by the events that killed three and injured more than 260.”
“The event will take place at the
We'll listen for them.
News:
 |
| MEMORIAL PREPARATIONS |
Now for a topographical/historical overview. Here we are on the Skywalk of the Prudential building, with audio guide from which I take notes, viewing as we revolve, Copley Sq and Trinity and the first free Libe there. The Square is mid 19th c. The marathon finish line is there.
The Hancock tower next to Trinity is the tallest building in
 |
| BUCK ROGERS LIVES HERE |
Of
Looking out at the harbor, the JFK Libe is there.
Christian Science Center with its huge reflecting pool 3 football fields long. Bostonians dip their feet in it in the hot summer. (Is there a hot summer?)
South End is the largest Victorian neighborhood. It's architecturally and culturally diverse, a jazz
Beyond the Christian Science compound is Symphony Hall with its legendary acoustics. Beethoven is the only composer their Board could agree on to be depicted above the stage.
Museum of Fine Arts, 1870, is a must see. Oops.
The
Fenway is the oldest ballpark. Last red seat commemorates Ted Williams' home run.
MIT and Harvard we see across the
All the founding fathers went there, except Benjamin Franklin, a high school dropout.
Back Bay was modeled after
The Charles regatta is the world’s largest.
Paul Revere’s ride. Salt and Pepper bridge -- Longfellow.
Estuary, turn of the century, is 3 miles long and there’s the Boston Pops shell, there since 1885.
The
Right of Sachem’s bridge is the
Boston Common, oldest in
Freedom Trail. 2 1/2 mile walk. 16 sites, including site of the Boston Massacre, home of Paul Revere, and the
Prudential. Great we did this tour. Real sense of where and what makes
And two floors up we're dining at the Top of the Hub. 52nd floor. With its pano views.
The rain is rolling in (good place to be). We wonder if the memorial will be dry.
Impressive wine list but Bob chooses the house cab and I the martini (surprise). The prix fixe has our name on it at $24. We choose the soup du jour which is a chicken soup with veggies (better than it sounds, could have been warmer). Zagat (thank god for iPhones) gives the food a 22. But atmosphere is rightfully over the top. My salmon is actually quite good, crisped, fine presentation and accompaniments like Brussel spouts, potatoes and those essentialBoston beans. Bob's flank steak is good, he thinks done with charcoal and topped by wonderful caramelized onions. His tater tots "slathered with truffles" are wonderful,
Bob says he'd like to drive aroundNew England . I suggest that there are tours and that I'd like a tour of the western national parks (these are called negotiations).
We're looking out at the Hancock building looming over the city. From one “loomer” to another. Unfolding at a table next to us is a non-stop David Mamet script--guy railing against his bosses and strategic plans with silent other, but it's not a spoiler for us, rather a kind of musical undercurrent.
Caramel crème brûlée for moi (brilliant--not kidding); Bob espresso and chocolate mousse with chocolate sauce (good).
We miss the moment of silence and bells at 2:50 by minutes as we exit and rush through the rain into Shaw's next door for final provisions such as more of the newly discovered New Amsterdam vodka at $13.95 (probably $130 for the week) and then to brave the considerable wind an rain as we pass through Copley Square (of finish line commemoration) to arrive by 3:30 home. Bob advises me to change into my "dance trousers" for the evening--our plan to try the local gay bar for cocktails seemingly distant in this weather as he heads downstairs to do our free laundry.
Cocktails will need to be in-house.
Weather station says up to 58 miles per hour gusts inBoston . I believe.
We're obviously in for the night but I taunt Bob that it looks like it's not raining so we can go the bar for drinks. Of course it is raining.
Recourse to TV so must watch Joan Rivers say "her dress is so busy it's like John Travolta's hand watching men's water polo." Funny. (It just doesn’t pay to be in theHollywood closet anymore.)
WEDNESDAY, APRIL16.BOSTON
Call prospective tenant, call Don. We'll see. Bitterly (for us) cold out (in the 40's) as we descend to the green train, the change to the red on our way to Harvard.
We wander through the campus. Bob says, “Everyone you see will be distinguished. Or post-distinguished.”
Enter through the back side of theHarvard Memorial Church
Rutgers quad is prettier. So there!
Toscano just offHarvard Square seems just right for lunch since there are "old people" sitting in the window. We get a banquette corner table.
For wine, the Chianti Classico Rocca seller Macie 2010. $34. Not bad at all and served in good glassware. Bob very much enjoys his minestrone soup. I taste and agree. Of his secundi. “The best rigatoni I've ever had.”
We wonder if the blonde Umbrian angel who is our busboy is a Harvard student or a townie. That he doesn't have aNew England accent clinches it.
Over wine we compose an email to the troublesome, unhappy tenant.
We lucked into this place. It was a fortuitous respite from the c o l d. Our gelato desserts (my vanilla is great, taste of vanilla bean, as are the pistachio and the chocolate) are just the right finalito. So much so we decide we can take naps on our banquette.
Further down the road we happen upon the Longfellow house which excites Bob because he'd studied it at the U. It's closed for the season but we get to walk around. A beauty.
"The Harvard intellectuals lived well" in many such beauties.
Bob admits that he's indeed pensive because "I remember things kind of." (He had a summer fellowship at Brandeis when I first met him.) And he kind of remembers the Episcopal Christ Church (Peter Harrison). We are greeted by a woman, the parish administrator, Bob guesses, who enthusiastically shows us a bullet hole from the 18th century, tells us that the Washingtons worshipped here and Teddy Roosevelt taught Sunday School here as she waves a dismissive and embarrassed hand at a parishioner (?) sleeping one off in a rear pew.
We tour the Coops, the one with the books and the one with the million overpriced Harvard t-shirts. Nah. Ok to buyOxford ones cause I went but nah. I’d never attend an institution that wouldn't have me.
Then we manage to cheat the city of Boston by both running through the auto turnstile on our one Remaining electro-ticket. Good because we probably can't figure out how to buy another one without the help of our Greek friend.
THURSDAY APRIL 17.BOSTON
Travel professionals! Really impressed that we were able to hoist our ginormous luggage into the overheads of our Acela Express train car.
The cab got us to South Station an hour ahead of time (that's us) and the morning departure preparations were without much tribulation. Still pondering how to effect the transfer of tenancy for that apartment the original tenants don't want to honor the lease for.
Train leaves promptly at 9:15. Let's see if I can send emails while on board. There's an electrical outlet so that I'm charging my phone--good sign. Turns out this is a business class train (we're not special) costing us $256 for the ride so you can imagine the price of the one first class car.
Never met an Amtrak conductor who wasn't a wag. This one has a joke for everyone delivered with that now familiarBoston accent. To us after checking out reservations: "You can stay here." It really is a business car, big boss (one of his minions came by and called him sir). He keeps up a phone conversation which displays his agility as a negotiator. I get caught up in the drama of his one-sided dialogue. Later he calls a colleague to explain his sense of the conversation and his characterization of his interlocutor.
Occasional blips of conversations erupting here and there.
"New Haven next stop". We already stopped at. Providence , RI , glimpsed the statehouse, passed through New London , Connecticut
We passBridgeport and the bucolic Westport . Stanford Connecticut coming up. 40 minutes to New York .
Nothing's (ever) perfect. The usual line to get our cab from Penn Station to 51st St. Sam Dai, the landlady’s husband, isn't there; he actually was but he's not entirely present. He takes our luggage and waits for us to enter because it will be a trial. We are in fact stopped and questioned by the doorman who makes us fill out forms in detail. Soon Sam comes in with our bags and stands watchfully and no doubt nervously to the rear. The manager emerges, eyes flashing, ready for war. It's clear she's had enough with the Dais. You, she says, are committing crimes. I say dutifully that we are unpaid guests of the Dais. She is enraged. Yells. Of Diana Dai. She keeps doing this. She's a criminal. I keep calling the city about her. Dai tells her she may have her rules but she should not be rude, should be civil. To me, she screeches, “What did you say? That you paid too much money?” I say no, that we will bear this in mind. We are shaken as we proceed to the elevator. Clearly Dai must see that I'm enraged at this humiliation. He does apologize as he explains the blandishments of the apartment. I find myself calming down. Bob later explains that he was not as taken aback as I by the incident at the desk.
The rain is rolling in (good place to be). We wonder if the memorial will be dry.
Impressive wine list but Bob chooses the house cab and I the martini (surprise). The prix fixe has our name on it at $24. We choose the soup du jour which is a chicken soup with veggies (better than it sounds, could have been warmer). Zagat (thank god for iPhones) gives the food a 22. But atmosphere is rightfully over the top. My salmon is actually quite good, crisped, fine presentation and accompaniments like Brussel spouts, potatoes and those essential
Bob says he'd like to drive around
We're looking out at the Hancock building looming over the city. From one “loomer” to another. Unfolding at a table next to us is a non-stop David Mamet script--guy railing against his bosses and strategic plans with silent other, but it's not a spoiler for us, rather a kind of musical undercurrent.
Caramel crème brûlée for moi (brilliant--not kidding); Bob espresso and chocolate mousse with chocolate sauce (good).
 |
| THE FINISH LINE |
 |
| NOT HAPPY |
 |
| STILL NOT HAPPY |
 |
| HAPPY |
 |
| AT REST AT LAST |
Cocktails will need to be in-house.
Weather station says up to 58 miles per hour gusts in
We're obviously in for the night but I taunt Bob that it looks like it's not raining so we can go the bar for drinks. Of course it is raining.
Recourse to TV so must watch Joan Rivers say "her dress is so busy it's like John Travolta's hand watching men's water polo." Funny. (It just doesn’t pay to be in the
WEDNESDAY, APRIL16.
 |
| BEAU BRUMMEL LIVES |
 |
| THE 1970'S |
We wander through the campus. Bob says, “Everyone you see will be distinguished. Or post-distinguished.”
 |
| HI JOHN (HARVARD) |
 |
| WIDENER LIBRARY |
 |
| MEMORIAL CHURCH |
Enter through the back side of the
Toscano just off
For wine, the Chianti Classico Rocca seller Macie 2010. $34. Not bad at all and served in good glassware. Bob very much enjoys his minestrone soup. I taste and agree. Of his secundi. “The best rigatoni I've ever had.”
We wonder if the blonde Umbrian angel who is our busboy is a Harvard student or a townie. That he doesn't have a
Over wine we compose an email to the troublesome, unhappy tenant.
We lucked into this place. It was a fortuitous respite from the c o l d. Our gelato desserts (my vanilla is great, taste of vanilla bean, as are the pistachio and the chocolate) are just the right finalito. So much so we decide we can take naps on our banquette.
Further down the road we happen upon the Longfellow house which excites Bob because he'd studied it at the U. It's closed for the season but we get to walk around. A beauty.
"The Harvard intellectuals lived well" in many such beauties.
 |
| PROOF OF CLIMATE CHANGE |
 |
| BRATTLE STREET VISTA |
Bob admits that he's indeed pensive because "I remember things kind of." (He had a summer fellowship at Brandeis when I first met him.) And he kind of remembers the Episcopal Christ Church (Peter Harrison). We are greeted by a woman, the parish administrator, Bob guesses, who enthusiastically shows us a bullet hole from the 18th century, tells us that the Washingtons worshipped here and Teddy Roosevelt taught Sunday School here as she waves a dismissive and embarrassed hand at a parishioner (?) sleeping one off in a rear pew.
 |
| CHRIST CHURCH CAMBRIDGE |
We tour the Coops, the one with the books and the one with the million overpriced Harvard t-shirts. Nah. Ok to buy
THURSDAY APRIL 17.
 |
| THE RITUAL |
 |
| ALL ABOARD |
The cab got us to South Station an hour ahead of time (that's us) and the morning departure preparations were without much tribulation. Still pondering how to effect the transfer of tenancy for that apartment the original tenants don't want to honor the lease for.
Train leaves promptly at 9:15. Let's see if I can send emails while on board. There's an electrical outlet so that I'm charging my phone--good sign. Turns out this is a business class train (we're not special) costing us $256 for the ride so you can imagine the price of the one first class car.
Never met an Amtrak conductor who wasn't a wag. This one has a joke for everyone delivered with that now familiar
 |
| TICKETS |
"
 |
| PROVIDENCE RI STATE HOUSE |
We pass
 |
| WELCOME TO MANHATTAN |
 |
| POST OFFICE ACROSS FROM PENN STATION |
 |
| HALLWAY TO NOWHERE |
 |
| TRAFFIC JAM |
The apartment is serviceable. The living room is small and the kitchen sits on one wall. The bedroom also with an operating tv is pleasant and has a huge walk in closet. The laminate floors throughout clearly newly laid in their new "renovation" are gleaming. We could do a great deal worse but I know the welcome incident will not evaporate even when we head downstairs to catch lunch and the doorman is apologetic and says he will not bother us again; they need to know who is in the building.
 |
| LOOK AT THOSE FLOORS |
As property managers, we’re sympathetic. The management company feels it's being robbed of revenue and we've been thinking about converting some 
Thalia restaurant is an old favorite. And there's the 2-course luncheon special and fabulous oysters (missed them in 
 |
This is one of those days. Sooo. Bob goes back to the digs for its bathroom amenity while I wait on line for TKTS tickets. All The Way sold out. Realistic Joneses sold out. But London Walk is available. When I get back to our apt., I find that I've only one ticket. It is ironic that a woman before me had the same plaint. I rush back and the ticket teller takes ten minutes to void my one ticket for two and I head back to
Bob says I'm too old to go out alone. I readily agree and insist he must always accompany me. But now that I'm afraid to leave the apartment and am a frozen Popsicle of a person, Bob kindly volunteers to find a liquor store and my vodka.
At (first) intermission see photos of plays this group mounts; they restore old chestnuts. And judging from this evening’s performance, they do it brilliantly.At 2nd intermission, Bob "It's a bit creaky." I: "but I'm enjoying it because it's so well directed and acted. I see it as a very well mounted museum piece. They're evoking an era and a sensibility." The clear delineations of character--each actor has the mannerisms and personality down, the timing and pacing all a tribute to an ensemble of fine actors and a director who knows his stuff.
 |
| PERIOD EVERYTHING |
Bob asks "Is this a comedy or a tragedy?" "It's a comedramady,” I improvise." Actually it's about the staff of a law office and highlights in particular the inequality of the female workers. In that way it's the Mad Men of the 1930's. Here we get women who need men for their salvation and those who learn they don't. Yes,  |
| PROVISIONS INCLUDING VODKA AND OLIVES |
 |
| ESPY THOSE PIES |
FRIDAY APRIL 18.
 |
| CHUCK CLOSE WOULD APPROVE |
We see Amazing 21st century works from sculpture and furniture to fashion showing the wonders made possible by advanced methods of production known as digital fabrication.We see people being imaged on a turntable . Will there be a figure made from this imaging?
There is much laughter when I speak quietly into the microphone that creates shapes on a screen. I'm encouraged to speak louder and I shout "to be or not to be" and the shape jumps up. "You became," says a woman.
 |
| MORE TRADITIONAL EXHIBIT |
At our favorite shopping mall, the Time Warner Center across the street, we ascend to Bouchon Bakery and spend our fifteen minute wait for a table at H&M (for young people--poo) across the way where we find sweaters marked down to $10. Don't say we're not big spenders.
 |
| OUCH |
 |
| BOUTERO'S BIG BOYO |
 |
| WELL-RUBBED |
 |
| AND LADY-FRIEND |
A little exploration of the Center, a visit to see Porter House's menu (same ) and then to Whole Foods downstairs for some Wholefoodie things and the pleasure of their cashier line where you listen for your number but only NewYorkers know who goes to what register and when. Guess we're no longer New Yorkers.
Home to discover that the new tenants have paid and will move in tomorrow. Assistant Don gets kudos. Maybe we can just continue traveling on and on sans souci.
A little nap. Could it hurt? And then a little martini. Could it hurt?
 |
| LIBRARY WHERE REUEL LIVED |
ACT ONE.
At intermission. B. How do you like it? R. It's a bit formulaic. B. I'm enjoying it immensely. R. So am I.
In final analysis, the play is disappointing. We wonder at the critical accolades it received considering the book needs editing, more concision. We are treated to the snippets of a play we don't know that is within a play as the protagonists struggle to make it better and of course succeed as the playwrights take their bows.
Buy TDF tickets for Wed. Matinee of
Bob’s out of the shower. Gotta get ready for a trip to whatever is at
spoke too soon about our aplomb. We wind up at
 |
| FREEDOM TOWER |
 |
| BILLION DOLLAR PATH STATION |
 |
| HUDSON RIVER ESPLANADE |
Of course we get there, make the long trek to the site only to discover it's ticket holders only and they're at capacity.
In search of a restaurant we head into labyrinths that promise us PJ Clarke on the
This will go to
After a while the A train takes us to
 |
| GREAT CAST IRON STRUCTURE |
We're both very happy with our dishes and our 1/2 carafe of wine. (But $31 for a 1/2 carafe?) At about 1:40 the restaurant empties. We guess this must be the
Matinee crowd. Bob says it's an old fashioned kind of place, nothing chic about it. But I note the ceiling with its rows of wine bottles for decoration. Kind of a deco effect.
 |
 |
| RESTAURANT ROW - 46TH ST. |
3 PM. FIFTY SHADES THE MUSICAL. A parody of the enormously popular bodice ripper which neither of us read since it's imperative that we finish War and Peace first. No importante that. Wonderfully staged, very talented young cast. Premise: ladies book club reading the book and swooning over the sex in it. Heroine is young naive virgin seduced by evil sexy billionaire who in this heavy and hilarious satire of the genre is a fat slob. He sings that he has a dark secret, " I fuck", promising to "fuck all of you" in the audience. I am roaring with laughter, Bob is smiling. Well we appreciate things differently. At intermission I pose with a campy cardboard cutout and after the show I ask Bob how he liked the show. I enjoyed it he replies without much enthusiasm. I loved it I say. He, "I know. I haven't heard you laugh so hard in a very long time." I guess it was the kind of off Broadway lack of glossiness that contributed to my enjoyment as differentiated from that vapid plasticity that is the hallmark of so much of Broadway.
 |
| THEATRICAL MULTI-TASKING |
 |
| OO-LA-LA |
8PM. MOTHERS AND SONS GOLDEN THEATRE. By TERRANCE MCNALLY. TYNE DALY. Basic story. Mother visits lover of her son who died of age decades ago. He's got lover and son. That's all I know. Let's see. Verdict: worthwhile.
Back. What could be better than wine and cheese and Joan Rivers? Her reality show with her daughter as censorious of Joan’s over the top jokester persona. I say, it's like us. I get a look. I mean the comic bits we do for people where I act out and make jokes and Bob is disapproving. “For people?” is the look.
EASTER SUNDAY APRIL 20.
 |
| ON THE AVENUE, FIFTH AVENUE THE PHOTOGRAPHER WILL SNAP IT |
Easy transition--We wonder about the perks of sainthood. Limos? Villas? Etc. I consider that they must be the heavenly equivalent of billionaires here on earth. Oligarchs?
Eggs again (Bob warns that we'll not be able to dine out on Easter) and an even murkier than usual Steve Kornacki Up show. Talk about thrashing about in the weeds of politics when he tries to explicate the dynamics in the Governor Christie imbroglio.
We agree that Melissa Harris-Perry's show is so much more dynamic than Kornacki's. I decide to do a pro and con on our apartment. Discover that just before we arrived visitors yelped on the rental web site about the same humiliation we encountered when we arrived here. Should we also complain publicly and destroy these people? But we too are in the biz.
On the Avenue
 |
| GAY BY DESIGN |
 |
| SENIOR POWER |
 |
| THE ADDAMS FAMILY |
 |
| DICKENS ANYONE? |
 |
| THOSE FAB FIFTIES |
The joy of
 |
| PERUVIAN MINSTRELS |
 |
| FAMILY OF BUSKERS AT BETHESDA--REALLY GOOD |
 |
| BETHESDA PANO |
The buskers, musicians, Bethesda fountain where I spent so many hours when I first came to the city as a resident, the lakes, the Rambles where I . . .
A Jew to the end, I get spooked when I'm really happy. I feel spooked.
We exit at
 |
| POSTERIORS AT COLUMBUS CIRCLE |
 |
| WHAT'S THIS ABOUT. WW III? |
How clever to take our lunch--red wine, a chicken, brie and pear sandwich on dark rye with potato chips--back at the condo. 1. Gives us a rest before the play 2. Saves us $100.
And we get to watch some of Meet the Press and recharge the iPhone which is somewhat exhausted after all of those fabulous frenetic Easter images it was required to capture.
THE VELOCITY OF AUTUMN. Booth Theatre. By Eric Coble. With Estelle Parsons and Steven Spinella.
"You know you're old when you can hear your body creak." "He thought your being gay tasted like Gorgonzola cheese."
Premise: old woman threatens to blow up her brownstone if her children who want her to move to a rest home don't leave her alone. Renegade wandering, artistic, middle aged gay son comes to persuade her otherwise.
 |
| ENTER ESTELLE PARSONS AND STEPHEN SPINELLA |
After show, writer and producer do a talk. We hear audiences' experiences on this subject. The playwright tells of an old woman he knew in similar situation. Thought she had the upper hand, staying in her house. Asked if he had any other endings in mind. Realized that at this moment they can save each other. She had to understand she'd lost and had to make the final decision. He was relieved at that ending.
"With Estelle and Steven it's like a jazz performance, different every night."
Producer--Real challenge to launch a small play on Broadway.
 |
| POST-PLAY DISCUSSION WITH PRODUCER AND PLAYWRIGHT |
As always a good discussion aids in raising the estimation of the play.
Bob--it's uneven but has some really good parts.
I say I'm sure it won't run as long as Abie’s Irish Rose.
Premise is a little mechanical. I can appreciate empathy from older women in the audience about a woman loving her children but wanting to have time away from them, that ambivalence. And in general about the difficulties of getting older, although I think that item was overplayed, the Parson's character seemed whining at times. As to the acting, I think the producers lucked out with these two great actors--that proverbial master class in acting was decidedly in evidence here.
 |
| GREAT OLD 45TH ST. THEATRES |
Stopping at our local, the wonderful Food Emporium, for our next provisions. Home with martinis, cheese and crackers and shrimp appetizers. Picking up Meet the Press. The pope, Easter-style, wishes for peace in
News: as to the Korean Ferry sinking. Conclusion. Be careful in choosing your ship captains.
Off to the theatre again. I have a coupon for Pergola des Artistes where we had pre-- theatre dinners years ago. You can't go home again, says Bob. But you can visit, say I.
CASA VALENTINA. By Harvey Fierstein. Manhattan Theatre Club.
As we climb to the very top row, our neighbors say welcome to an “exclusive club”. “We're the best,” I reply. I tell a skeptical Bob that I find last rows liberating.
 |
| THEY HAD CEILINGS THEN |
Lots of gay men in the audience. Don't they know this is about straight men who happen to dress in women's clothes?
We wonder if this will be any good. Playwright Harvey Fierstein, brilliant, but can be overly sentimental and polemical. Cast has great credentials. Names one recognizes, e.g., John Cullum, Larry Pine, Mare Winningham. We'll see.
"Time: June 1962. Place: main house [at bungalow] colony in New York State 's Catskills Mountains
The special interest for us, I suppose, is that 35 years ago, we found the Catskills an enchanting escape from the City, stayed at Belle Supnik’s motel, and looked for an abandoned Jewish motel to inaugurate a gay hotel and a theatre in the casino. Almost happened. (There was a redneck trailer camp across the way that dampened our dreams. If we’d bought it, however, it would have meant no undertaking The Villa Resort in Palm Springs so many years later. Um. . . .)
Lots of witty lines but we can hear the audience's interest flagging as the transvestites argue the politics of their position. To come out of their closets as a legit organization, caveat--throw gays under the bus, or . . .
Intermission and there’s a reversal; ordinarily the ladies room has the line. Not here.
Excited after the show to see at the stage door Tony Shalhoub. His show Act One must be dark. And Harvey Fierstein ushering friends in.
We discuss the play. I say it's fascinating. Bob says he didn't like it. Too many themes, tries to say too much. He thinks it started out as a defense of homosexuality and that finally it's about transvestites, their duality. I think it deals with a complicated subject, unique in the theatre, that it was written with passion, Fierstein is getting close to imperative themes for him.
As I pour the wine for our ham sandwiches, I say, with seriousness, “Perhaps I was meant to be a transvestite. I don't know.” Bob. "I don't think you want to be a transvestite, just a flamboyant homosexual."
And then, TV joy, a Saturday Night Live potpourri of the women comediennes of SNL doing parodies of real wives shows, NPR, Tina Fey as Palin, Amy Poeller as Hilary Clinton.
MONDAY APRIL 21 NYC
Note: next year, rent closer to the warmer end of April just before Tony nominees are announced, a condo where there's no one checking whether you're renting for a month or a week. Therefore choose tax required accommodations; reserve very early and budget more for the rental; bring the knit caps that we purchased years ago on the chilly streets of Chelsea; bring a scarf, maybe not as nice a one as Bob's; refuse to pay full price for any show (think rush if need be. We could have gotten TDF cheapies for Act One and Lady Day and saved $250 for example, but they are limited runs, so who knew?). And everything should be perfect (poo poo never is).
Today is family day. I'm excited and nervous because we are responsible for coordinating and hosting it. Though we're up early, me rather earlier than Bob, we are out and shiny to meet sister-in-law Dorothy, niece Nancy, Dorothy 's son and daughter-in- law Joseph (who looks great having lost weight despite dining in restaurants throughout their recent trip) and Jasmine, in front of the Time Warner building. t 1:45. Fortunately it's a lovely sunny day for our impending adventure.
Intermission and there’s a reversal; ordinarily the ladies room has the line. Not here.
Excited after the show to see at the stage door Tony Shalhoub. His show Act One must be dark. And Harvey Fierstein ushering friends in.
 |
| HARVEY HIMSELF |
We discuss the play. I say it's fascinating. Bob says he didn't like it. Too many themes, tries to say too much. He thinks it started out as a defense of homosexuality and that finally it's about transvestites, their duality. I think it deals with a complicated subject, unique in the theatre, that it was written with passion, Fierstein is getting close to imperative themes for him.
As I pour the wine for our ham sandwiches, I say, with seriousness, “Perhaps I was meant to be a transvestite. I don't know.” Bob. "I don't think you want to be a transvestite, just a flamboyant homosexual."
And then, TV joy, a Saturday Night Live potpourri of the women comediennes of SNL doing parodies of real wives shows, NPR, Tina Fey as Palin, Amy Poeller as Hilary Clinton.
MONDAY APRIL 21 NYC
Note: next year, rent closer to the warmer end of April just before Tony nominees are announced, a condo where there's no one checking whether you're renting for a month or a week. Therefore choose tax required accommodations; reserve very early and budget more for the rental; bring the knit caps that we purchased years ago on the chilly streets of Chelsea; bring a scarf, maybe not as nice a one as Bob's; refuse to pay full price for any show (think rush if need be. We could have gotten TDF cheapies for Act One and Lady Day and saved $250 for example, but they are limited runs, so who knew?). And everything should be perfect (poo poo never is).
Today is family day. I'm excited and nervous because we are responsible for coordinating and hosting it. Though we're up early, me rather earlier than Bob, we are out and shiny to meet sister-in-law Dorothy, niece Nancy, Dorothy 's son and daughter-in- law Joseph (who looks great having lost weight despite dining in restaurants throughout their recent trip) and Jasmine, in front of the Time Warner building. t 1:45. Fortunately it's a lovely sunny day for our impending adventure.
 |
| THE CLAN |
Surfaces can only be scratched in the time we have together, so much terrain to traverse in so few hours.
My and Joseph’s tuna tartare--sauce strong. Bob's asparagus lovely. My black bass again too heavily sauced.
Something about Joseph not being able to observe Passover dietary laws; not sure what that's about. The ice cream is quite good and the chocolate cake is rich.
 |
| JEAN GEORGES IN CHEF WHITES |
Because of the too-leisurely pace of the meal, we need to take transportation to get to the Minskoff in time for the show. It adds to my nervousness that J&J decide to take the subway. Nevertheless they are there when I've collected our six tickets for the topmost row of this 1600 seat theatre.
28TH ANNUAL EASTER BONNET COMPETITION.
 |
| MINSKOFF, HOME OF THE LION KING |
Drinks at the Marquis Hotel’s cocktail lounge (a favorite of ours when we arrive in the city) overlooking and revolving around the city at that perfect time at night when the sun starts to set.
 |
| HAPPY 50TH NANCY |
TUESDAY APRIL 22. NYC
“I'm unhappy with myself". Masha lives.
 |
| ABE AND FRIEND |
Walking along
But for now post-lunch up 72nd St. and along Broadway, past the familiar sights and the black guys doing their gymnastics at Columbus Circle . And... a lot of walking today. Now home and some remembering while Bob tired from all our walking takes a nap and I try recollecting.
I remember awaking during the night to the beep, beep of trucks backing up. It's no longer the weekend and the discordant music of the city seeps in--reigniting memories of long ago living here, the sounds of construction, horns.
The usual lollygagging (is that a word) around as the clock ticks and as I remind Bob -- who knew anyway -- that this is our time for a non- theatrical activity since it's a non-Matinee day. The other dark afternoons are Thursday, Hugh for lunch, and Friday, the Philharmonic atLincoln Center
He surprises me with the suggestion that we go to the New-York Historical
Society. Ok. The route is planned. We're to walk up Broadway past Lincoln Center and then we're to grace Amsterdam Avenue with our presence since we'd walked back along Columbus Ave after exiting the park on Easter Sunday (it's a regular West Side Jamboree).
As we passTrump Tower
First thing at the museum, we catch the 12:00 clock film, New York Story. It's just that, and it's a terrific pictorial overview of the tumultuous history of the city from its beginnings, the settlement by the Dutch, the annexation by the British, the fight for independence, leading to the inauguration here of Washington as president, the rise of New York as a world center for commerce, a rise in the contentiousness of politics here, the swelling of the population through immigration (and that's how both Bob and I came to grow up on the east coast of America), the disparity between the rich and the poor (a familiar note that one). And then to modern times, the 9/11 disaster and the characterization ofNew York and its citizens as indomitable.
There are some great exhibits as we wend our way down from the top floor. Bob Remembers 40 years ago how different it was, the paintings arrayed on the walls (likeSt. Petersburg 's Hermitage Museum
A free audio set is helpful for the top floor. There's the decorated carriage of the prominent Beekman family, which they wisely hid during the revolutionary war. There's the enormous punch bowl detailingLafayette 's much heralded visit here. I love the Snake Jug of 1871, in homage to Thomas Nast's muckraking cartoons which here depict as snakes boss Tweed of Tammany Hall time and his corrupt cronies. There's a large collection of the early 19th century Hudson River school paintings. Depictions of nature, often along the Hudson River , offered an expression of the national spirit of renewal.
We love the featured new installation, photographer Bill Cunningham's Facades. Here he dressed Etta Sherman, the ancient Duchess of Carnegie Hall, in vintage (thrift store bought) fashions consistent with the epochs of the architecture she's posed against.
A quick viewing of an amazing installation of Audubon’s bird prints and we, hungry at 2, settle into the museum's restaurant, Cafe Storico. We winnow down Bob's choices to a rigatoni. Why have chicken salad when you're dining in an award winning Italian restaurant? Or the gnocchi which we determine neither of us really likes. My spaghetti and meatballs--so sue me--are a natural choice. Both are delicious with our glasses of wine. Bob says Olyve Oyle is serving us and, true, she does look like the iconic character.
I say if we'd lived here, we'd dine here frequently. Except we wouldn't live here because you have to be rich to live here. Not necessary anyway because we're here once a year. So there. We share a cookie plate. Delicious. I want to live here.
Nothing for Don in the museum store so we depart down76th St to appreciate the brownstones and walk along beautiful Riverside Drive where I erased the notes now more or less recollected.
Our craniums are safe as we traverse the now rainy streets toward the theatre in our hoody rain jackets -- Bob says we look dangerous--the same look that took us through the Amazonian jungles.
Ah civilization. It's a B'way show. And great seats row E. Bless you TDF.
7;30 PM. AFTER MIDNIGHT.
Absolutely brilliant • what dancing! From tap to hip hop (one young little guy exuded star time personality) If this is whatHarlem entertainment was like in the twenties, I can understand their popularity with white folks. Dule Hall of West Wing fame is the master of ceremonies. Who knew he could dance? If Vanessa Williams is the weakest link in the show, you know how strong the performances are (and she's good--just doesn't have the soul gravitas for Stormy Weather). We expect Audra McDonald will kill it when we see her on Thursday. On stage, being moved downstage and up as necessary, is the Lincoln Center
On the way along 8th Ave. as usual stop into the Emporium for a wrap and chips to be devoured with wine and a good night.
I remember awaking during the night to the beep, beep of trucks backing up. It's no longer the weekend and the discordant music of the city seeps in--reigniting memories of long ago living here, the sounds of construction, horns.
The usual lollygagging (is that a word) around as the clock ticks and as I remind Bob -- who knew anyway -- that this is our time for a non- theatrical activity since it's a non-Matinee day. The other dark afternoons are Thursday, Hugh for lunch, and Friday, the Philharmonic at
He surprises me with the suggestion that we go to the New-York Historical
Society. Ok. The route is planned. We're to walk up Broadway past Lincoln Center and then we're to grace Amsterdam Avenue with our presence since we'd walked back along Columbus Ave after exiting the park on Easter Sunday (it's a regular West Side Jamboree).
As we pass
First thing at the museum, we catch the 12:00 clock film, New York Story. It's just that, and it's a terrific pictorial overview of the tumultuous history of the city from its beginnings, the settlement by the Dutch, the annexation by the British, the fight for independence, leading to the inauguration here of Washington as president, the rise of New York as a world center for commerce, a rise in the contentiousness of politics here, the swelling of the population through immigration (and that's how both Bob and I came to grow up on the east coast of America), the disparity between the rich and the poor (a familiar note that one). And then to modern times, the 9/11 disaster and the characterization of
 |
| ARE REUEL'S PARENTS IN THE PICTURE? |
There are some great exhibits as we wend our way down from the top floor. Bob Remembers 40 years ago how different it was, the paintings arrayed on the walls (like
 |
| BEEKMAN FAMILY CARRIAGE |
 |
| PUNCHBOWL HONORING LAFAYETTE |
 |
| TIFFANY GLASS |
 |
| CHINESE GAMBLING WHEEL |
A free audio set is helpful for the top floor. There's the decorated carriage of the prominent Beekman family, which they wisely hid during the revolutionary war. There's the enormous punch bowl detailing
We love the featured new installation, photographer Bill Cunningham's Facades. Here he dressed Etta Sherman, the ancient Duchess of Carnegie Hall, in vintage (thrift store bought) fashions consistent with the epochs of the architecture she's posed against.
A quick viewing of an amazing installation of Audubon’s bird prints and we, hungry at 2, settle into the museum's restaurant, Cafe Storico. We winnow down Bob's choices to a rigatoni. Why have chicken salad when you're dining in an award winning Italian restaurant? Or the gnocchi which we determine neither of us really likes. My spaghetti and meatballs--so sue me--are a natural choice. Both are delicious with our glasses of wine. Bob says Olyve Oyle is serving us and, true, she does look like the iconic character.
I say if we'd lived here, we'd dine here frequently. Except we wouldn't live here because you have to be rich to live here. Not necessary anyway because we're here once a year. So there. We share a cookie plate. Delicious. I want to live here.
Nothing for Don in the museum store so we depart down
 |
| WEST END AVENUE |
 |
| RIVERSIDE DRIVE |
Our craniums are safe as we traverse the now rainy streets toward the theatre in our hoody rain jackets -- Bob says we look dangerous--the same look that took us through the Amazonian jungles.
Ah civilization. It's a B'way show. And great seats row E. Bless you TDF.
7;30 PM. AFTER MIDNIGHT.
Absolutely brilliant • what dancing! From tap to hip hop (one young little guy exuded star time personality) If this is what
 |
| JOSHUA MALINA VISITING WEST WING CO-STAR DULLE (IN THE SHOW) |
On the way along 8th Ave. as usual stop into the Emporium for a wrap and chips to be devoured with wine and a good night.
 |
| YES, WE'RE STAYING AT THE ONE-TIME TAFT |
WEDNESDAY APRIL 23. NYC
My egg this morning: in addition to the usual half and half (pronounced Haaf and hoff) and hot salsa, I cut up shrimp and add some cheese and then quinoa. Delicious with peanut butter coated whole wheat English Muffins and the requisite lump of cottage cheese. Jean Georges you are getting the flip (see it?).
Bob and I sit on the sofa without talking, intent on our iPhones. "How did we ever live without iPhones," says Bob rising. "We didn't. Our lives were mere shams, shadows of ours now," I reply without looking up from my work.
Out at 11:45. Pleasant. Bob overhears the conversation of two young guys. I say that doesn't sound like yuppies. "They don't call themselves that any more." "What, millennials? Post millennials? "What are we, ‘traditionals’? I like that". Bob: "We're either traditionals or deceased."
Rockefeller Center plaza is festooned with Easter symbols, rows of yellow tulips, hundreds of giant decorated Easter eggs, some pretty, some clever, some pretty clever. “Signed by” and “hidden by” [corporate sponsors].
I note some beaded purses in a window and reminded of Fierstein's play about cross dressers, I say wearing dresses might make me feel good. [Not absolutely serious folks.] Bob says it wouldn't but we remember when one Halloween we dressed in thrift ship clothes and looked like our mothers. I recall that one guy was putting the moves on me. "That wasn't because you looked like a woman," says Bob.
Argument. I'm busily typing as we walk toward the library on42nd street and Bob says “Stop. I might as well be alone.” I feel threatened, hurt, and respond in kind. We argue, though it should be noted that the afterburn of our disagreements lasts from two minutes to an hour. This one is about ten minutes until we get involved in the amazing interiors of the library.
This was a merger of the Astor (philanthropists funded the library system in its early days) and theLennox . Took 12 years to construct. Debut in 1911. Ends with the Importance of the Internet which we'll see as we enter the reading room. But what happened to the card catalogues? They are now rows of laptops.
 |
| MORNING IN MANHATTAN |
 |
| REUEL'S LIGHT BREAKFAST |
Bob and I sit on the sofa without talking, intent on our iPhones. "How did we ever live without iPhones," says Bob rising. "We didn't. Our lives were mere shams, shadows of ours now," I reply without looking up from my work.
 |
| LOOK AT THEM GAMS |
 |
| DANCING WITH THE STARS |
Out at 11:45. Pleasant. Bob overhears the conversation of two young guys. I say that doesn't sound like yuppies. "They don't call themselves that any more." "What, millennials? Post millennials? "What are we, ‘traditionals’? I like that". Bob: "We're either traditionals or deceased."
Rockefeller Center plaza is festooned with Easter symbols, rows of yellow tulips, hundreds of giant decorated Easter eggs, some pretty, some clever, some pretty clever. “Signed by” and “hidden by” [corporate sponsors].
I note some beaded purses in a window and reminded of Fierstein's play about cross dressers, I say wearing dresses might make me feel good. [Not absolutely serious folks.] Bob says it wouldn't but we remember when one Halloween we dressed in thrift ship clothes and looked like our mothers. I recall that one guy was putting the moves on me. "That wasn't because you looked like a woman," says Bob.
Argument. I'm busily typing as we walk toward the library on
NY Public Library. We're just in time for the 12:30 film -we're the only audience for it -- on the library, how to use the library, its history.
 |
| HERE AN ASTOR, THERE AN ASTOR |
This was a merger of the Astor (philanthropists funded the library system in its early days) and the
Then there's a room dedicated to portraits of worthies, lots of Astors. The NYPL has glorious spaces.
In Bryant park. A Young man in black recites, really declaims, some obscure Shakespeare soliloquy before the startled folks seated at tables. Then “Exit stage right” he takes his leave. That'sNew York . Was it an acting class assignment? Or part if the library's Shakespeare program? Or a self-promotion defying all the abundant implacability?
People are clearly enjoying these urban spaces under the wings of the great library, playing Bocci ball, for example.
I say that on a pleasant day it might be nice to buy a sandwich at a kiosk here and, of necessity, bring a hip flask.
There's a billboard announcing some sort of Rosemary's Baby TV thing. We wonder about the viability of a Rosemary's Baby musical. I'm enthusiastic. Imagine the coven dance sequence around the devil baby.
How42nd street has changed. No longer the porn shops, drug dealers and pimps of my innocent youth though the port authority bus terminal is as grimy as ever as we approach theatre row, the collection of small theatres, one of which houses our matinee play.
ANNAPURNA . ACORN THEATRE & THEATRE ROW. By Sharr White. Starring Megan Mullally and Nick Offerman. We agree that the play is not much. This playgoing jaunt certainly illustrates the idea that a play can be built on one or at most two sentences of concept; and encourages me as later I discuss with Bob to get back into doing my daily work on playwriting with that in mind.
The idea here, couple estranged for 20 years; he dying in eccentric poverty; she returning because son discovers that his father's letters were kept from him all these years. In the course of her visit they reveal and learn stuff and bond. A familiar trope says Bob. Offerman, Mullaly's husband, is a really fine actor. I kept seeing bits of Mullaly's Karen (from Will and Grace) in her otherwise muted performance . Didn't believe in the play finally. So we understand that it's a great two character vehicle for this married Lunt and Fontaine. Not bad. But definitely wouldn't recommend.
We're determined to head home for cocktails and appetizers. And succeed.
It's Beastly cold with the wind whipping up. Nevertheless we press on to46th St. for the next event.
BRIDGES: OFMADISON COUNTY
I think a lot of strange people are attending this show. Professionals, says Bob. Back orchestra aisle. Not bad but as Bob says people used to be shorter. Everybody seems to know everybody. Like at one of the earlier performances, the conversation between a guy and a girl. She asks how much were the tickets. He says I'm a Theatre Development member. I'm not allowed to tell. Save. I expect an announcement that this performance is presented by the Temple Emanuel Sisterhood.
"This is one of the most boring shows I've ever seen--it's static. And the score despite what the critics say is not sumptuous." That from Bob at intermission. I think it's a serious try at presenting the Bridges we saw in the movie. The songs are reminiscent of Adam Guettel's Light In The Piazza which also starred the luscious-voiced Kelli O'Hara, here as the Italian transplant farm housewife who has a love affair with a hunky visiting photographer, Steven Pasquale. The orchestration serves the simple melodies well. The question of choices in life that the play poses is a valid one. Too bad the enterprise is rather stilted.
Once out of the theatre, cold winds pelt us. This is not a California-style unkindness.
We stop off at the liquor store to stock up onChampagne for our guest tomorrow and then to home. They don't bother to bother us at the entry desk. That first traumatic welcome must have exhausted our antagonist guardians
In Bryant park. A Young man in black recites, really declaims, some obscure Shakespeare soliloquy before the startled folks seated at tables. Then “Exit stage right” he takes his leave. That's
 |
| WHAT AIR RIGHTS CAN DO |
 |
| BOB AND GERT |
 |
| TO BE OR NOT TO BE |
People are clearly enjoying these urban spaces under the wings of the great library, playing Bocci ball, for example.
I say that on a pleasant day it might be nice to buy a sandwich at a kiosk here and, of necessity, bring a hip flask.
There's a billboard announcing some sort of Rosemary's Baby TV thing. We wonder about the viability of a Rosemary's Baby musical. I'm enthusiastic. Imagine the coven dance sequence around the devil baby.
How
 |
 |
| LUNT AND FONTANNE. NOT. |
The idea here, couple estranged for 20 years; he dying in eccentric poverty; she returning because son discovers that his father's letters were kept from him all these years. In the course of her visit they reveal and learn stuff and bond. A familiar trope says Bob. Offerman, Mullaly's husband, is a really fine actor. I kept seeing bits of Mullaly's Karen (from Will and Grace) in her otherwise muted performance . Didn't believe in the play finally. So we understand that it's a great two character vehicle for this married Lunt and Fontaine. Not bad. But definitely wouldn't recommend.
We're determined to head home for cocktails and appetizers. And succeed.
It's Beastly cold with the wind whipping up. Nevertheless we press on to
BRIDGES: OF
I think a lot of strange people are attending this show. Professionals, says Bob. Back orchestra aisle. Not bad but as Bob says people used to be shorter. Everybody seems to know everybody. Like at one of the earlier performances, the conversation between a guy and a girl. She asks how much were the tickets. He says I'm a Theatre Development member. I'm not allowed to tell. Save. I expect an announcement that this performance is presented by the Temple Emanuel Sisterhood.
"This is one of the most boring shows I've ever seen--it's static. And the score despite what the critics say is not sumptuous." That from Bob at intermission. I think it's a serious try at presenting the Bridges we saw in the movie. The songs are reminiscent of Adam Guettel's Light In The Piazza which also starred the luscious-voiced Kelli O'Hara, here as the Italian transplant farm housewife who has a love affair with a hunky visiting photographer, Steven Pasquale. The orchestration serves the simple melodies well. The question of choices in life that the play poses is a valid one. Too bad the enterprise is rather stilted.
Once out of the theatre, cold winds pelt us. This is not a California-style unkindness.
We stop off at the liquor store to stock up on
THURSDAY APRIL 24. NYC
It's Hugh day or at least afternoon. We’re getting to meet him at noon on the corner of 51st and 7th. We'll see if we get through the minefield of the condo lobby with our guest.
Always a delight to see Hugh and as we settle in for champagne, quite good Gloria Ferrer actually. Hugh regales us with tales--were all high energy. Our first discussion is about the airbnb controversy, emerging organically from our contretemps with the front desk, and then about our experiences, reminiscences, a privilege that only old folks can truly have.
It’s Porter House, the Time Warner steak house, where we dined last year with Hugh. We have a sassy waitress, a Rosy O'Donnell type. All have chicken vegetable soup. Hearty and ample. Steaks nicey nicey. Hugh and I have the excellent cheese cake. Bob's Chocolate cake lovely.
When we ask about his travels, we learn that he visited theDominican Republic in February to install his papers about Toussaint L'Overture in their national library which will name the collection after him.
Then napping is in order back at the condo.
LADY DAY AT EMERSON'S BAR AND GRILL. AUDRA MCDONALD.
Full price seats top row (wormwood--it is now on two-fers) but not bad, directly in front of the glassed-in control booth (the control booth lady waves at me). Orchestra seating is Cabaret tables, bar and bartenders (who are the wrong color for Emerson's, notes Bob) pouring what we guess is bottled water; great little jazz trio plays ten minutes before curtain, though no curtain in evidence.
Wow. What a performance. McDonald suppresses her glorious voice and inhabits Billy Holiday. We see her disintegrating as she weaves the tale of her sad life, rape, addiction, prison, being shunned and denied basic civilities and opportunities for her color and sings expressively her songs.
And after a run to our favorite market, at least the one on the way, Food Emporium, for bagels, Bob tempts me with flat champagne. What could be more perfect?
FRIDAY APRIL 25 NYC Nice toasted bagel, one slice with cheese; the other slathered with peanut butter and honey. I hum the ‘60’s “I like peanut butter , I like toast and jam” song, the one with the falsetto. Who Cares? you ask. Understood. (I guess I do. But That's the point. The devil’s in the details.) More to the point--Getting FAT.
My poor right knee goes funny (technical term) as we walk toLincoln Center San Diego . (Arguably this is a more valuable note than the breakfast bagel inclusion.)
With such gloomy thoughts, we wait on the big-will call line, a woman ahead of us picking up 112 tickets. We see later that the tickets belong to high school students. I'm reminded once again of Bob and my excursions with college freshman to NY theatre. Oy.
Long time, 50 years, since been in the Avery Fisher. Good for TDF again which provided fine seats in the orchestra. The huge 2600 seat hall is almost full. Thank goodness for old people, says Bob.
NEW YORK
First work (of three) Julian Anderson, “The Discovery of Heaven” (US Premiere). As orchestra tunes up, a wag says “That's the first piece”.
I think I like it. The composer is very unorthodox; using all instruments he clashes cacophony with lyricism. Moods of big city vs hymnal sustanutos.
Frank. Variations Symphoniques for Piano (Marc Andre Hamelin) and Orchestra. (Late 18th c work.) Wonderful.
I remember that when Fisher Hall first opened there was much ballyhoo about the acoustics, which are now wonderful thanks to all kinds of architectural add-ons to the ceilings.
I notice that the string section is almost all women except for the bass cellos (likely because they are heavy to tote around).
Bob says that this is a much better orchestra than theSan Diego . Not sure I like such seditious talk even though it's very true. We have more men in our string section. Maybe that's the problem. This one and LA are constantly dueling for position, Bob reminds me.
Prokofiev. Selections from Romeo and Juliet
Absolutely marvelous from the first very familiar movement, the Montagues and the Capulets, to the last selection, Tybalt's death--you can envision that fatal dance--. Perfectly rendered.
After the concert on the balcony of Fisher Hall I ask what restaurant now. The choice Bob presents is lunch out for $100 or an in-house repast. ET go home! That is, Reuel and Bob get thee some tasty sandwiches. To the fab Emporium for an Italian wrap and chips for lunch with glasses of Domaine la Tuiliete red waiting for us at home (beginning to have warmer thoughts about this temporary domicile).
B says this has been a particularly salubrious trip; we've seen a variety of things, music, plays, museums, the weather and everybody has been agreeable. Of Boston . “It was great. Delighted with Back Bay and the apartment, one of the best we stayed in in years."
This last said as we sit in the Round Table Room (or what they're now calling the lobby bar and restaurant) of the Algonquin Hotel on44th St. , former home of the great American wits--you can order a (candy is dandy) Dorothy Parker cocktail but we have Stoli martinis.
It's Hugh day or at least afternoon. We’re getting to meet him at noon on the corner of 51st and 7th. We'll see if we get through the minefield of the condo lobby with our guest.
Always a delight to see Hugh and as we settle in for champagne, quite good Gloria Ferrer actually. Hugh regales us with tales--were all high energy. Our first discussion is about the airbnb controversy, emerging organically from our contretemps with the front desk, and then about our experiences, reminiscences, a privilege that only old folks can truly have.
It’s Porter House, the Time Warner steak house, where we dined last year with Hugh. We have a sassy waitress, a Rosy O'Donnell type. All have chicken vegetable soup. Hearty and ample. Steaks nicey nicey. Hugh and I have the excellent cheese cake. Bob's Chocolate cake lovely.
 |
| OLD FRIENDS |
We hear the story of Hugh's professional life transitioning from a Columbia PhD in Philosophy to computers, discovering that he's more comfortable as a retiree (we empathize) having never felt that he fit in the corporate world; he did fit in as an veteran who used his GI Bill to study after he worked as a crack reporter for the Kansas City Star and later became a gay activist in New York. (That's when I met him--at the Gay Academic Union--exciting times).
When we ask about his travels, we learn that he visited the
Then napping is in order back at the condo.
LADY DAY AT EMERSON'S BAR AND GRILL. AUDRA MCDONALD.
Full price seats top row (wormwood--it is now on two-fers) but not bad, directly in front of the glassed-in control booth (the control booth lady waves at me). Orchestra seating is Cabaret tables, bar and bartenders (who are the wrong color for Emerson's, notes Bob) pouring what we guess is bottled water; great little jazz trio plays ten minutes before curtain, though no curtain in evidence.
 |
| THE STAR - AUDRA MCDONALD |
And after a run to our favorite market, at least the one on the way, Food Emporium, for bagels, Bob tempts me with flat champagne. What could be more perfect?
FRIDAY APRIL 25 NYC Nice toasted bagel, one slice with cheese; the other slathered with peanut butter and honey. I hum the ‘60’s “I like peanut butter , I like toast and jam” song, the one with the falsetto. Who Cares? you ask. Understood. (I guess I do. But That's the point. The devil’s in the details.) More to the point--Getting FAT.
My poor right knee goes funny (technical term) as we walk to
Long time, 50 years, since been in the Avery Fisher. Good for TDF again which provided fine seats in the orchestra. The huge 2600 seat hall is almost full. Thank goodness for old people, says Bob.
 |
| VIEW TOWARD THE BEAUMONT |
First work (of three) Julian Anderson, “The Discovery of Heaven” (US Premiere). As orchestra tunes up, a wag says “That's the first piece”.
I think I like it. The composer is very unorthodox; using all instruments he clashes cacophony with lyricism. Moods of big city vs hymnal sustanutos.
Frank. Variations Symphoniques for Piano (Marc Andre Hamelin) and Orchestra. (Late 18th c work.) Wonderful.
I remember that when Fisher Hall first opened there was much ballyhoo about the acoustics, which are now wonderful thanks to all kinds of architectural add-ons to the ceilings.
I notice that the string section is almost all women except for the bass cellos (likely because they are heavy to tote around).
Bob says that this is a much better orchestra than the
Prokofiev. Selections from Romeo and Juliet
Absolutely marvelous from the first very familiar movement, the Montagues and the Capulets, to the last selection, Tybalt's death--you can envision that fatal dance--. Perfectly rendered.
After the concert on the balcony of Fisher Hall I ask what restaurant now. The choice Bob presents is lunch out for $100 or an in-house repast. ET go home! That is, Reuel and Bob get thee some tasty sandwiches. To the fab Emporium for an Italian wrap and chips for lunch with glasses of Domaine la Tuiliete red waiting for us at home (beginning to have warmer thoughts about this temporary domicile). |
| WHERE IN THE WORLD? TRUMP HOTEL, COLUMBUS CIRCLE |
 |
| THE HEARST BUILDING |
 |
| OUR LOBBY |
This last said as we sit in the Round Table Room (or what they're now calling the lobby bar and restaurant) of the Algonquin Hotel on
I say anywhere else you spend 50 bucks for drinks you'd get drunk.
Make that $100 bucks though I can't guarantee sobriety as we order another round. We discover that there is an NYU/Princeton alumni club. Since we are both NYU alumni (me Ph.D, Bob MA there) we could go and pretend we're from
.
We choose the Algonquin for our um extra libations and recall times of particular non-abstemiousness in this very lobby. Very pleasant here. Bob sees through the fogged windows the helter skelter crowds trying to get to the subway or back to New Jersey. They are decidedly not here
Bob. "What a nice way of killing an afternoon instead of going to a museum".
Bob says what a day. “The Philharmonic”. I hear instead “do you feel harmonic”? And am about to assent though it seems peculiar phraseology. And then, he continues, martinis at the Algonquin. Yeah. Yeah.
We wonder where Dorothy Parker and George S Kaufman et al are? Fled, I say. None of their ilk in evidence.
Bob explains that he (2 martinis) is prepared for All The Way. So that explains it. The drinks plural. I think that clearly this play is a concession to me
Bob. "I like it the way it used to be and never will be again."Me. "I'm not so sure I like it the way it used to be." Well.
It's 7 pm and we've napped and napped. We had plenty of nap elixir.
ALL THE WAY.Neil Simon Theatre
This one on TKTS two-fers, rather 40% off, which means $180 something. A bargain? We're row W (that's far) but center. The play is doing well and they've added extra chairs.
At the condo Bob said he'd leave after Act I if he's bored. I said we can just nap through the rest. Woman on the condo elevator said “Me too”. (Imperfectly remembered but she was cool).
This is a well crafted play that turns a light on that moment in history when Johnson and Martin Luther King made the Civil Rights Act possible. It allows a truly great performance by Bryan Cranston who I, mesmerized, watched every second of in Breaking Bad. He inhabits vitally Lyndon Johnson, here portrayed as a driven man who defeats his enemies at every turn with guile and strong arm tactics. On the street Bob says Johnson was a real shit. I agree and a woman walking in front of me turns to say "but he did the right thing in the end.” I say it's a good thing he was on the side of the right thing because he played to win. Bob is incredulous that thisNew York public dialogue is going on--and we laugh.
In our cocoon there's wine and cheese to be had. We watch Letterman and Fallon late night because we never do and like any strange meal we want at least to taste to see if we'll want to taste it ever again. Not especially.
G'night at 2 am. Like being a big boy.
SATURDAY APRIL 26. NYC My bad. We have three possible plays, Inishmaan, Realistic Joneses, and Violet for just two available time slots and If I hadn't purchased tickets for the ho humAnnapurna , we'd have three. What's a theatre-goer to do?
It does look like we're heading for close to a record. We’ve seen 13 performances (I include, with some controversy, the Philharmonic concert) so far.
It's 9:20. Here I am at the TKTS play line, leaving bath-robed and bebageled Bob to have a more leisurely morning. There are only three of us in the play line, whereas the line is already teeming and snaking around for the musicals. We decided I'd not line up for rush tickets to Cabaret (seen it and seen it) so we'll see.
The play lady comes by and sparks a conversation among us pioneers after she leaves as to what we've seen.
We endure a cold wait and no Realistic Joneses so (after telephonically consulting with Bob, it must be said) Inishmaan it is for our matinee. I was looking forward to Realistic Joneses because it is supposed to be uniquely quirky playwriting and I wanted that in my head before I get back to taxing my atrophying creative muscles at home.
Out by the MoMA building, I see a commotion around an eccentric looking man. A woman asks if I know him, says he's Charles Steadman (or something) who has done the art for Hunter Thompson's “Fear and Loathing”. I've taken a photo so I'm covered. [Later I discover that it’s Ralph Steadman as my Entertainment weekly says is “the British illustrator famous for his gonzo collaborations with Hunter S. Thompson and the subject of a new documentary, 'For No Good Reason' with Johnny Depp, out yesterday, April 25.” I feel stupid.]
Not much of a line in MoMA but we opt out--for an $18 senior ticket there's not much time to do the place any justice. However we've time for the wonderful MoMA Design store across the street and we’re delighted that the Eileen Gray chrome-plated tubular-steel table we have at home is priced at $1200. Doubt we spent anything like that for ours.
We find a very happening and smart place, the Eatery, on9th Ave and 53rd and we get here just in time (noon) for a table. "Gay, straight and Asian, mainly millennials, having brunch'" estimates Bob. Drum beat background contributes to the sense of excitement. We'll try it next time during the week for the $10.95 specials but today it's a too conventional martini and burger (nice) for me and chardonnay and chicken salad (likes, with good cheese and olives) for Bob (big deal, he gets diet credits. I don't).
Bob says that since the TKTS opens at 3 for the evening shows, I should run out there at intermission. I confess that I would if it made any sense.
Future reference Tout Va Bien on 51st off 8th has a $15 prix fixe.
 |
| WAITING FOR MRS. PARKER |
Bob. "What a nice way of killing an afternoon instead of going to a museum".
Bob says what a day. “The Philharmonic”. I hear instead “do you feel harmonic”? And am about to assent though it seems peculiar phraseology. And then, he continues, martinis at the Algonquin. Yeah. Yeah.
We wonder where Dorothy Parker and George S Kaufman et al are? Fled, I say. None of their ilk in evidence.
Bob explains that he (2 martinis) is prepared for All The Way. So that explains it. The drinks plural. I think that clearly this play is a concession to me
Bob. "I like it the way it used to be and never will be again."
It's 7 pm and we've napped and napped. We had plenty of nap elixir.
 |
| NEW NOVOTEL |
 |
| GALLAGHER'S STEAK HOUSE |
ALL THE WAY.
At the condo Bob said he'd leave after Act I if he's bored. I said we can just nap through the rest. Woman on the condo elevator said “Me too”. (Imperfectly remembered but she was cool).
This is a well crafted play that turns a light on that moment in history when Johnson and Martin Luther King made the Civil Rights Act possible. It allows a truly great performance by Bryan Cranston who I, mesmerized, watched every second of in Breaking Bad. He inhabits vitally Lyndon Johnson, here portrayed as a driven man who defeats his enemies at every turn with guile and strong arm tactics. On the street Bob says Johnson was a real shit. I agree and a woman walking in front of me turns to say "but he did the right thing in the end.” I say it's a good thing he was on the side of the right thing because he played to win. Bob is incredulous that this
In our cocoon there's wine and cheese to be had. We watch Letterman and Fallon late night because we never do and like any strange meal we want at least to taste to see if we'll want to taste it ever again. Not especially.
G'night at 2 am. Like being a big boy.
SATURDAY APRIL 26. NYC My bad. We have three possible plays, Inishmaan, Realistic Joneses, and Violet for just two available time slots and If I hadn't purchased tickets for the ho hum
 |
| STILL CHILLY IN NEW YORK |
It does look like we're heading for close to a record. We’ve seen 13 performances (I include, with some controversy, the Philharmonic concert) so far.
It's 9:20. Here I am at the TKTS play line, leaving bath-robed and bebageled Bob to have a more leisurely morning. There are only three of us in the play line, whereas the line is already teeming and snaking around for the musicals. We decided I'd not line up for rush tickets to Cabaret (seen it and seen it) so we'll see.
The play lady comes by and sparks a conversation among us pioneers after she leaves as to what we've seen.
We endure a cold wait and no Realistic Joneses so (after telephonically consulting with Bob, it must be said) Inishmaan it is for our matinee. I was looking forward to Realistic Joneses because it is supposed to be uniquely quirky playwriting and I wanted that in my head before I get back to taxing my atrophying creative muscles at home.
Out by the MoMA building, I see a commotion around an eccentric looking man. A woman asks if I know him, says he's Charles Steadman (or something) who has done the art for Hunter Thompson's “Fear and Loathing”. I've taken a photo so I'm covered. [Later I discover that it’s Ralph Steadman as my Entertainment weekly says is “the British illustrator famous for his gonzo collaborations with Hunter S. Thompson and the subject of a new documentary, 'For No Good Reason' with Johnny Depp, out yesterday, April 25.” I feel stupid.]
 |
| FAMOUS GUY |
 |
| WHAT A DEAL -- AN EILEEN GRAY TABLE |
Not much of a line in MoMA but we opt out--for an $18 senior ticket there's not much time to do the place any justice. However we've time for the wonderful MoMA Design store across the street and we’re delighted that the Eileen Gray chrome-plated tubular-steel table we have at home is priced at $1200. Doubt we spent anything like that for ours.
We find a very happening and smart place, the Eatery, on
Bob says that since the TKTS opens at 3 for the evening shows, I should run out there at intermission. I confess that I would if it made any sense.
Future reference Tout Va Bien on 51st off 8th has a $15 prix fixe.
Don in response to my query about his watching Midsummer Murders on our gigantic TV swears he's seen the series only once. In the three glorious weeks when we are in Puerto Vallarta in June he should be able to see it all, even in slow motion.
The lure of commercialism is irresistible so we succumb to a bizarrely catch-all store across from our domicile, one that specializes, their sign proclaims, in "hand made" oriental carpets, chandeliers, cameras, computers, and souvenirs, the latter of which tempts us in the form of the inevitable snow globes and t-shirts (I heart NY most definitely) for us and friends.
THE CRIPPLE OF INISHMAAN.
Woman. “OMG the ladies room, 3 stalls. It's criminal!”
And the play is indeed riotous in the afternoon. Essentially a series if skits centering around small town Irish villagers who gossip and are either unsentimental or downright mean to one another with the exception of the innocent at the center, the Radcliffe character--a cripple of the title (who is more sinned against than sinning). After his parents die, he is raised by spinster storekeeper aunts and he tries to escape the village by running away with a movie company to
Bravo. We achieved a new personal best. 15 performances in 10 days! How? We saw a show the evening we arrived. We saw shows every day and twice every matinee day plus a concert on a non-matinee day. It will be later for an overview evaluation because now we are back from our TKTS run, dry (it's a rainy evening), drinking our martinis and biting our cheese, soon-ish to brave whatever weather confronts us for a descent to 42nd St.
 |
| THOSE PIES AGAIN |
 |
| 42ND STREET IN THE RAIN |
“Ziggy, it's a once in a lifetime thing." This on the street. Bob explains that this, I suspect Jewish, woman is referring to the coming canonization of the popes.
VIOLET. PRESENTED BY ROUNDABOUT.
Bob is glad to have seen this charming musical, thought the score was lovely, a good evening in the theatre though sad it doesn't have a market, can’t find its audience. Maybe it’s in the wrong place. 42nd St. Who wants to be accosted by teenagers? Sutton Foster was remarkable as was the woman who played her younger self. All of the players excellent. I was less transported, though agree about Sutton Foster. Predict she'll get another Tony nomination as will Henry, for a supporting performance.
Rain greets us and42nd street is a little scary. I find that strangely comforting, reminiscent of the old less antiseptic days, preferable to the hordes of whitewashed tourists who populate the higher number streets.
"We've cleaned out the refrigerator," says chef Bob presenting a quiche topped with hot salsa (my egg sauce) accompanied by the last of the quinoa and a bottle of Prosecco. Add a chocolate cookie and ice cream as we await the elevation to sainthood of these popes who countenanced priestly abuse of children.
SUNDAY APRIL 27. NYC-SAN DIEGO Last day for a while inNew York means for Bob much packing. He's become an expert. Reuel feeding his face. Discover the great 39 Steps on TV and Meet the Press as we wait to go out for a repast before leaving. Alas no Priority Pass lounge listed for JetBlue’s Terminal 5 so no reason to leave early (our flight's at 4:30) and I've gotten permission to extend our exit from the landlady, who, clearly besieged, asks us to pledge that the staff didn't harass us after that first day (they didn't). But lady your rental days are numbered if the reception we received continues.
Since this waiting thing seems senseless, we change plans and walk to and through the park which is always a good idea. A lot of visual stimulation. People, visitors and residents, are as usual in a good mood and on good behavior.
Boy that was easy. A large cab is waiting for us as soon as we exit theExecutive Plaza Newark .
Here we sit in Aero Nuova, the Italian restaurant in Terminal 5 with a bottle of Terrarossa Chianti. (This time I got the TSA pre check fast track and it's Bob who gets stuck in a long line: who can figure?). This accompanies our Heroes, mine a meatball, Bob's chicken parm (both excellent, hitting the spot). Added plus, Fellini's La Dolce Vita is playing on the TV's. And it is! la dolce vita! A movie so important to me because it suggested--and this was the 60's--another life. Our waiter Kenneth says it plays here 24 hours a day. He never understood the fish thing. The sting ray. I say no one does (if you overlook the religious symbolism).
Bob. “Really good trip everything went well. Nothing I didn't like except Bridges of Madison County."
We saw 5 great Broadway divas doing their diva thing.Tyne Daly, Estelle Parsons, Sutton Foster, Kelli O’Hara, Audra McDonald. Deluxe! We achieved attendance at a record 15 performances in New York plus two in Boston . These performances included two fine concerts, one the Boston Chamber Orchestra in Faneuil Hall, the other the Philharmonic at Avery Fisher hall at Lincoln Center Boston , its library, and the Design museum in New York and its library. We walked a lot, to historic sites in Boston , including the Freedom Trail, and in New York to theatres and Central Park .
Our accommodations were both very conveniently located next to attractions we wanted to go to and offered well-equipped kitchens for our at-home meals and separate bedrooms unlike comparably priced hotels. You Go, travel agent amateur superieur.
As to sociability (an overrated art), we spoke more frequently and at greater length with strangers; inNew York we spent a day with family and then reminisced with our old friend Hugh.
The airport affords myriad opportunities to buy and we do, chocolates for Don and a Grisham novel for me.
And there's a lounge we have access to on our platinum cards. Free admission and $10 off per person on drinks. Not much in the way of snacks unless you want to overdose on raisins. I am able to plug in my iPhone and relax in a comfortable armchair so that’s something.
We receive an email about a barking dog in our property. We're inSan Diego before we are.
Of course aboard I'm seated next to a drunken or deranged or both woman who seems anxious to engage me in conversation. Be genial but aloof Olin. She looks like a quasi-homeless type but is seated next to a well dressed guy who appears on further investigation to be her protector or husband who tells her to put a lid on it when she yells “Shut the fuck up!” (which wakes Bob up) at two women chatting incessantly in Spanish in the seats ahead. I think my seatmates are rather suspicious characters. He tells her she'll get them arrested. I suspect they've been there. How semi-exciting. Later I come to the conclusion that they are druggies; they have a couple of drinks each but that's not the clue. She is wizened, has jerky impatient movements and wears dark sunglasses in this dimly lighted plane. As time moves on she becomes increasingly restless and even leans against me. She searches restlessly in her purse. During all this the hubby is out cold.
Not only druggies, but traffickers, since I come to the conclusion that she, expensive handbag, and he, leather jacket, have money. What fun. I wait for her to ask me "what the fuck are you writing?" (Is there a one-act play in this?)
Our genial driver at the San Diego airport says "Vacation trip over? Now it’s back to reality." I say “No”.
Rain greets us and
"We've cleaned out the refrigerator," says chef Bob presenting a quiche topped with hot salsa (my egg sauce) accompanied by the last of the quinoa and a bottle of Prosecco. Add a chocolate cookie and ice cream as we await the elevation to sainthood of these popes who countenanced priestly abuse of children.
SUNDAY APRIL 27. NYC-SAN DIEGO Last day for a while in
 |
| TRAVEL-READY DUO |
Boy that was easy. A large cab is waiting for us as soon as we exit the
Here we sit in Aero Nuova, the Italian restaurant in Terminal 5 with a bottle of Terrarossa Chianti. (This time I got the TSA pre check fast track and it's Bob who gets stuck in a long line: who can figure?). This accompanies our Heroes, mine a meatball, Bob's chicken parm (both excellent, hitting the spot). Added plus, Fellini's La Dolce Vita is playing on the TV's. And it is! la dolce vita! A movie so important to me because it suggested--and this was the 60's--another life. Our waiter Kenneth says it plays here 24 hours a day. He never understood the fish thing. The sting ray. I say no one does (if you overlook the religious symbolism).
 |
| IT IS LA DOLCE VITA |
Bob. “Really good trip everything went well. Nothing I didn't like except Bridges of Madison County."
We saw 5 great Broadway divas doing their diva thing.
Our accommodations were both very conveniently located next to attractions we wanted to go to and offered well-equipped kitchens for our at-home meals and separate bedrooms unlike comparably priced hotels. You Go, travel agent amateur superieur.
As to sociability (an overrated art), we spoke more frequently and at greater length with strangers; in
The airport affords myriad opportunities to buy and we do, chocolates for Don and a Grisham novel for me.
And there's a lounge we have access to on our platinum cards. Free admission and $10 off per person on drinks. Not much in the way of snacks unless you want to overdose on raisins. I am able to plug in my iPhone and relax in a comfortable armchair so that’s something.
We receive an email about a barking dog in our property. We're in
 |
| DRESSED TO THE NINES AND NINETEEN |
Of course aboard I'm seated next to a drunken or deranged or both woman who seems anxious to engage me in conversation. Be genial but aloof Olin. She looks like a quasi-homeless type but is seated next to a well dressed guy who appears on further investigation to be her protector or husband who tells her to put a lid on it when she yells “Shut the fuck up!” (which wakes Bob up) at two women chatting incessantly in Spanish in the seats ahead. I think my seatmates are rather suspicious characters. He tells her she'll get them arrested. I suspect they've been there. How semi-exciting. Later I come to the conclusion that they are druggies; they have a couple of drinks each but that's not the clue. She is wizened, has jerky impatient movements and wears dark sunglasses in this dimly lighted plane. As time moves on she becomes increasingly restless and even leans against me. She searches restlessly in her purse. During all this the hubby is out cold.
Not only druggies, but traffickers, since I come to the conclusion that she, expensive handbag, and he, leather jacket, have money. What fun. I wait for her to ask me "what the fuck are you writing?" (Is there a one-act play in this?)
Our genial driver at the San Diego airport says "Vacation trip over? Now it’s back to reality." I say “No”.
 |
| THAT SAYS IT ALL |
Comments
Post a Comment