SUPPORT THE ARTS!
Last week I participated in the grand re-opening of the arts in New York by attending a Broadway show, a concert at Hammerstein Ballroom, and the first movie in a theater I had frequented in more months than I can count. Truth be told, I had sworn off movie theaters long before Covid. I don’t know if it was the disgusting way my shoes stuck to the filthy floors, news reports about seats infested with lice and bedbugs, or maybe just the rodents, but for whatever reason, city movie theaters had not been my thing in a long time. Yet there I was, ticket in hand, ready to take in the grandeur of the silver screen. Seems though that so much time away made me forget some basic movie theater etiquette. Only after the fact did I realize that an open-mouthed kiss was not the way to greet my ticket stub-taker who seemed super weirded-out — teenagers! — but maybe that’s just because I had forgotten my mask. Similarly, I guess that watching Netflix in the quiet sanctity of my own bedroom made me a tad intolerant of distraction because when the lights went down and the woman behind me coughed, I instinctively turned around and punched her in the face. Still, movies are back, New Yorkers, and there is no greater joy than seeing them on a big screen, even if you are escorted out by security during the opening credits and your head has been itching for four days.
The concert featured one of my faves, the Counting Crows! Who doesn’t love singing Counting Crows songs? Well, I’ll tell you who: Adam Duritz, the actual front man of the Counting Crows, who looked like someone woke him from a nap in a cave to come to Hammerstein to sing. Duritz had all the rock star charisma of someone in a pharmaceutical commercial. And is sitting down after singing every song a thing? While it was likely difficult for Duritz to accept just how old the crowd was and more difficult still to see so many of them working on the Sunday Times crossword puzzle during the concert – at least they were standing! Rule #1 of rock star club? Rock stars don’t sit! You know who sings and sits? My Uncle Mort. Mort has a prostate issue and thrombosis…he’d be happy to tell you about it, believe me. I was so undone by Adam Duritz’s lack of enthusiasm that I was rendered incapable of handling the overly exuberant dancer next to me wearing a giant backpack I can only assume was full of bricks, bruising me with every move. I learned the hard way that the solution was not to set his backpack on fire with the lighter I’d been holding aloft while shrieking, “I WILL MURDER YOU!!!!” I mean, does no one get the joke? MURDER, CROWS…? Yeah, security didn’t get it either.
But I saved the best for last. Broadway! It’s back: no more bar to entry. [And by that, I mean there is no longer a bar in the entryway, so pack a roadie!] Nevertheless, the theater was crackling with the electricity of a full audience, awestruck and respectful. That is, except for my seatmate who decided that being 400+ pounds entitled him not just to his seat, but to mine. I mean, his arms hung over my side of the armrest even when they were folded across his belly. Well, as they say in the theater, fuck that shit. It took my utmost concentration to make sure my arms rigidly protected my God-given armrest territory and I concentrated on keeping my legs firmly planted, as to not cede an inch to his relentless manspreading. So hard did I have to focus on this seat safeguarding that sadly, I did miss the entire play. But luckily, I knew I could look forward to a post-theater dinner recap with my theater friends. We went to a trattoria just down the street. A trattoria you’d bet your life would have bread. Didn’t all restaurants used to have bread? Did we really brave a pandemic only to come out on the other side and find out the other side has no bread? I guess so because even after asking more than a dozen times, no bread came our way. No drinks at theater, no bread at dinner… I mean, can you imagine the stress I was under? And perhaps that is why I grabbed the waiter so forcefully, reminiscent of Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment, and demanded, “Give us the bread. Please. We’ve been waiting for the bread. PLEASE. WE CAN’T WAIT FOR THE BREAD. GIVE US THE BREAD!!!!!” Alas. Did you know that trattorias have security? Seems to me their money would be best put into other resources – LIKE BREAD – but I don’t think I need to tell you what happened next. Cold, hungry, and alone on the streets of Times Square, except for a seriously creepy giant Elmo, I found myself still elated by the artistic opportunities in my own backyard. And my own backyard is where I’ve been remanded for the next few months, but I look forward to entertainment opportunities that lie ahead. Next time out, I’ll be more cautious and go where I know what to expect. Knicks game, anyone?
