Day 42:
Thursday, March 30
It was a
beautiful day, cold and clear, so I was prepared for my journey, which would
involve a bit of walking through unknown neighborhoods.
I’d been to
Houdini’s grave once before, but it was a completely different route, so this
was all going to be new. I walked over the L and took it east. This is where it
got confusing. The Machpelah Cemetery, which is Houdini’s resting place is
supposed to be in Queens, but the train went (as far as I know) to Brooklyn.
Regardless, I got off at the appointed stop and found myself in a neighborhood
that was a combination of pre-war residences, car-repair shops, and cemeteries.
It was only
about a mile-and-a-1/2, but was constantly changing from block to block, like
the planners couldn’t quite decide what kind of businesses or houses they
wanted to put next to each other. It wasn’t an unpleasant walk, by any means;
the residential neighborhoods were mostly cheerful and well-kept-up; it was
just disorienting.
I finally
arrived at the Machpelah and, since I knew where I was going and the
Weiss/Houdini (Houdini’s real name was Erich Weiss; he’s buried there with his
mother, father, grandmother, brothers, and sister) plot is so prominent (right
in front), I was soon there.
It was nicer
than the last time I was there, but the whole situation is confusing. As far as
I can tell, there’s really not a lot of maintenance at the cemetery itself. I
believe it’s almost out of money, so it feels run down. The last time I was
there, there was an abandoned administration building that was one of the
saddest, spookiest-looking structures I’ve ever seen. It was right in front of
Houdini, so it really threw a pall on the grave. It was torn down a couple of
years ago, though, so it’s a little more pleasant. The Weiss plot is
well-maintained, thanks to the people at the Houdini Museum, who have done
yeoman’s work in keeping it in good repair, and is actually kind of pleasant.
I paid my
respects, put a stone on the grave (as have many, many others; there was also a
key, the remnants of some playing cards, and a couple of liquor bottles, which
was odd, since Houdini was a famous teetotaler), then sat and reflected on the
idea that I was only a few feet from his earthly remains. I mean, he was right
down there! I went up to the monument that frames the plot and noticed that there’s
a carving that indicates he was the president of the Society of American
Magicians from 1917-1927, but that the “7” in 1927 is painted over a “6.” I sat
at one of the two granite benches in the plot and wrote John Cox, who runs a
marvelous site called Wild About Houdini, and asked him if he knew what was
going on. (He soon answered and told me that the original carving reflected his
being elected to a term in 1926-27, but when the monument was renovated,
someone changed it to 1926 to reflect his death date.)
While I was
sending my email, though, I saw that I
‘d gotten a message asking me, in short, to keep checking my punctuation and
pauses, as they were still apparently not up to snuff. I was a little taken
aback by this, not just because I thought I’d been pretty successful at making
the changes on Wednesday, but also because I really felt like it was going to
affect my performance. Not that what I’m doing is perfect, but I honestly do
feel like there are places where Sam has to pause and reflect for a beat,
rather than to reply immediately. And I acknowledge that those beats tend to
add up and that those mental adjustments can be made quicker than I was playing
them, it’s just that I was going to have to re-think a lot of stuff on the fly.
With that in
mind, I left the cemetery, walked back to the train, got on the wrong one
(heading further into Brooklyn), got off, went back to the apartment to start
taking a closer look at my script, and fell asleep. Fortunately, I’d set my
alarm, so I wasn’t going to be late getting to the theatre.
Being that the
weather was iffy, I took the train, walked to the theatre, and finished going
over the script. I felt okay (at least as far as the punctuation was
concerned), and got ready to do the show.
It was a
smallish house (it turned out to be bigger than I thought it was; I can’t
really see them until, literally, the end of the show, when they’re illuminated
by the lights on stage), but they reacted well enough. I was in and out,
though. The first four scenes were okay, but I was so intent on keeping the pace
up and paying attention to the punctuation in Scene 5, though, that I wasn’t
really happy with what I was doing. It wasn’t bad (I don’t think; Leah was
there and complimented me after), but wasn’t what I wanted to do. I assume it
was just getting adjusted to the new normal. I expect Friday’s show, with one
under my belt, will go much better.
Afterward,
since I felt like I’d had “one of those shows,” I needed a drink; I just didn’t
know where to go. I didn’t want to go too far, but the only options I could
come up with were either too upscale for the way I was dressed, too expensive,
or too crowded.
I remembered,
though, a couple of the restaurants I’d passed the night before, and decided to
head to one of them. I took the train back to SoHo, and walked down second. My
choices were fried chicken (when is fried chicken not a choice?) and barbecue. I settled on the latter, and ended up
at Mighty Quinn’s Barbeque.
There are times
when I walk into a place and know it’s just the right place. This was one of
them. Everything reeked of “these people know what they’re doing.” I went to
the meat counter and was torn between regular brisket and burnt ends. I asked
the guy which to get. He looked in the container and said “burnt ends.” I said
“sold.” I added mac and cheese, cole slaw (“You want mayonnaise cole slaw or
vinegar cole slaw?” “Which do you recommend” “Vinegar.” “Done!”), and a beer.
Unlike most places, Mighty Quinn’s takes a metal tray, puts a paper liner on
it, then slaps the food right on the paper; no plates (although the mac and
cheese came in a cup—as did the beer). It’s a little messy, but efficient and
works well.
"God, that's good!"
The food itself
was as good as the pizza; just the perfect combination of smokiness and
sweetness, and whatever cheese they use with the mac is unique and really,
really tasty. Once again, though, I felt the need for ice cream, and was on my
way back to Van Leeuwen’s when I decided to see it there was another place.
There was the appropriately-named Davey’s Ice Cream.
Again, I was preceded
by tasters, but made it to the counter and got reasonable-sized scoops of
vanilla and cookies ‘n’ cream. One thing I like about Davey’s is that they
offer a two-scoop option that is basically two half-scoops, making one bigger
scoop of mixed flavors. While it was very very good, it wasn’t quite up to Van
Leeuwen’s, so if I feel the need for more ice cream tonight, I know where I’ll
be going.
Too many choices!
After that, it
wasn’t too far to get home, so I settled in (it was still not even 11:00),
watched some television, then fell asleep on the world’s hardest bed.
