Now, I don't want to give you the wrong impression of me. Like, that I'm a pervert or something. However, I really can't say that I'm not. I have a hearty interest in sexuality and erotica and seeing people naked (well, that is, the people you'd want to see naked). So was it wrong of me to spend most of my time in the hotel room gazing out the window at the back side of an all-glass, high-rise apartment building, scrutinizing the occupants and hoping for glimpses of hot guys; some of whom might be willing to put on a show; as they say that many of the denizens of Manhattan are wont to do for one another? I say, NO!
I mean, it wasn't just to get a glimpse of somebody naked. There was also my interest in sociology at work. And also my cinematic eye. I mean, it was like a total Rear Window sitch. The building (seen below) was even bathed in the extremely cinematic red glow of the hotel's neon sign. The only thing it didn't do out of a movie, was flash on and off.
Anyways, after we'd eaten and I was waiting for my husband to return from the rest room; I got to chatting with her. I complimented her on her hostessing skills and (already knowing the answer) asked her if she was an actress. Yes, of course she was; but also a singer, a performer and a writer. Her name is Erin McMillen. We exchanged information. We both have websites (find her at erin mcmillen.com). Here she is:
So here's another bizarre coincidence. When we were looking at the menu in the window, I decided on a chicken sandwhich; not realizing I was looking at the lunch menu; not the dinner menu. So I had my heart set on that. When the waiter was taking our orders, I didn't see said sandwich. "Was there not a chicken sandwich on the menu?" I asked. "Only at lunch..." Not wanting to peruse the menu any longer, my eyes randomly landed on "Chicken Pot Pie" which is what I ordered. Apparently, it's one of the place's specialities. How could I have known this? I couldn't. But it was delish!!! Here it is:
So anyways...my husband and I were exploring Lincoln Center, which neither of us had ever seen before, and there was a show going on in one of its theaters: The Old Man and the Pool. It's star, Mike Birbiglia, who I'd never heard of up until I saw a bit of his interview on Late Night with Seth Meyers, was talking about his battle with bladder cancer. I was only paying half attention; but I was intrigued. I was explaining this to my husband. I also told him how, as a child, I received the Metropolitan Opera's Gift Shop Catalogue from about 10 years old until well into college. As to how I got on their mailing list; I couldn't tell you. I mean, at least, I can't remember. And now, here I was, some forty plus years later, at last in the actual gift shop itself. We bought a Christmas ornament.
It gets weirder.
In any event, my thinking was: "How odd is that? That the Met just did Peter Grimes when I happened to go into the gift shop for the first time? And was selling a hand-made "Peter Grimes" jacket for $500.00. But really....where would you wear that?
I talk a lot about "messages from the Universe" and "synchronicity" in these blogs. Fine; call me corny...but why did all these Peter Grimes references all pile up one night in NYC? Or that The Hours is now an opera and it's a work that I make fun of with not one; but two of my good friends, who don't know each other?
"Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself..."
I'm sorry; but that movie is simply off the scale pretentious. It's like a parody of itself. And don't even get me started on Nicole Kidman's nose. Or Meryl Streep's hair. Or that Michael Cunningham makes you stand ten feet back while he signs your copy of his book.
That line about the flowers. WTF? Why are they being so portentous about it? She's gonna buy the fuckin' flowers herself. So? Who gives a shit? Buy the fuckin' flowers already. Stop talking about it. Remember how hard everyone creamed over that movie? Sure, when was the last time you watched it? Fuck off The Hours.
So let's shake that off!
Back to NYC...
We went to see Kinky Boots.
So, while we were there, I was thinking: wouldn't it be interesting if we ran into Greg and his husband. We didn't. But when we got home, Greg had been posting on Facebook. These are from like the night we were wandering around Lincoln Center. The caption: "Great night for chicken pot pies from P________'s"
So don't go tellin' me there ain't no such a thing as synchronicity...or messages from the Universe. 'Cuz that's proof right there.