Even More NYC Synchronicities...

So, I was recently in NYC with the hubs for a two-day, let's see a play jaunt.  We stayed at the Empire Hotel in Lincoln Square.  Very tiny; but very cool; but would it kill them to put a mini-fridge and a coffee maker in the room?  No it wouldn't. 
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.

So, we went to dinner at a restaurant near the hotel.  It was extremely busy.  Every place in the vicinity was extremely busy, which makes sense, at the height of the dinner hour in NYC.  So I talked to the hostess and she put us on the wait list.  She was a petite blonde, young, attractive, gregarious.  She was juggling her duties seating people and taking reservations and was the very picture of grace under pressure.
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:

Any of you Hollywood types out there reading this...get busy.  This woman is not going to be a star.  She already is a STAR.  Here she is, nailing The National Anthem; arguably one of the hardest songs to sing; let alone sing well.

So that's Erin...and I can say..."I knew you when..."
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, I have this friend, Greg, who is a dyed in the wool New Yorker.  He and his husband go to see EVERYTHING on Broadway, Off-Broadway, Off-Off Broadway...however "off" it is; if it's still on the island of Manhattan, they go to see it.  Maybe in New Jersey even.
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.

So, Peter Grimes is an opera, in the English language, by Benjamin Britten.  I would hazard a guess that it's rather an obscure work for most humans; even though it is well known by opera lovers.  The only reason I know what it is, is because when I did my first play in high school, Peter Grimes figured into the plot of the play.  The play was by Peter Shaffer: The Private Ear.  The Private Ear is about a shy young man who can't seem to get a date with a woman.  His suave friend fixes him up with a working girl but the dinner date proves to be a disaster and our hero is left high and dry by his date, who goes off with his friend.  The young man retreats further into his insular world of music.  His favorite opera is Peter Grimes, which he tries to explain to the girl as to why.  He empathizes with Peter, you see, because both he and Peter are outsiders. Why does he empathize with Peter Grimes, an outcast fisherman who may be responsible for the death of two young men?  Well, the subtext is that both Peter and the hero of The Private Ear are more than likely homosexuals; their outsider status being a fairly straightforward metaphor for being gay in an unaccepting world.  Although, both the characters seem unaware or in denial about the true nature of their sexual identities.  Pretty loaded play to put on at all boys school.  Of course, I was something of a Peter Grimes at my school which the teacher, a gay man himself and also a Peter Grimes must've recognized; for he literally begged me to be in the show.  I remember going into a record store in Cambridge with him to get the soundtrack for the opera.
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.

A great time was had by all!
​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"

Greg and friend.

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.

CFR 11/15/22