An Apple a day ...

Days 12 and 13: Monday, February 27 and Tuesday, February 28

As mentioned, my phone was acting up, so even though it’s two years old (which means it’s headed for the scrap heap, technology-wise), I decided I really can’t do without it while I’m here, so I made an appointment at the so-called Genius Bar at the Apple Store.

My original plan consisted of rehearsing, taking the phone in, and doing laundry, so you can see what a rich, full, metropolitan lifestyle I’m leading here in the Big Apple.

We were scheduled to work at a new rehearsal venue, an Irish pub on the Upper East Side (that the UES for you less-gentrified folks), but circumstances intervened and we had to return to 29^th Street. This actually worked out well, since the Apple Store I’d chosen is on 14^th Street, so getting there wouldn’t be too difficult. (“Famous last words.”)

This was the day we were really going to start blocking in earnest. We’d done the table work we’d never gotten the chance to do in San Francisco, and now it was time to put everything back together and up on its feet. Things actually went pretty well pretty quickly. The scenes we worked on involve Becket driving Andre to school, so we really don’t move a lot in them, so we didn’t need too much space.

We broke at 5:00, and I decided to head down 8^th Avenue from 29^th to 14^th on a night with freezing cold wind. Normally, the walk would have taken about 15 minutes (and probably did, actually), but felt like hours because of the cold. 

Trust me; this staircase is terrifying to walk down

I finally arrived at the store, chilled to the marrow, and proceeded to my appointment. I explained my situation (apps not loading; generally unresponsive) to the Genius and he was pretty much as baffled as I. I mentioned that I had tried to back up the phone that morning (thinking that a total, download-destroying, reboot might be necessary), but had been unable to get my phone to communicate with my laptop. For a genius—excuse me, Genius—to be so baffled by a PC was surprising (but not unexpected), and after a few minutes, he more or less threw up his hands and said, in so many words, that he really didn’t know how to repair it, but would put me back in the queue, in the hopes that one of his colleagues might have an idea.

After a few more minutes, another Genius came over and began to work with me. She had a little more familiarity with PCs, but the overall problem was still an enigma wrapped in a mystery. After more than a few minutes—she really seemed committed to figuring this out—she kind of reached the limits of her knowledge and, once again, put me in the queue in the hopes that someone else could save me. (She came back a couple of times to check on me, but really had no more suggestions to offer.)

A third Genius appeared. He had some more concrete ideas to try, but finally—and almost accidentally—checked to see the storage on the phone. While it was still nearly 1 GB, he realized that it just wasn’t enough for what I was running. I deleted a number of podcasts, and lo and behold!, functionality was restored. This seemed like such an obvious solution, I didn’t know why someone hadn’t previously suggested it, but then the ways of the Genius are beyond those of mere mortals.

Even though it was pretty late by this time, I took the subway back to the apartment (I was going only from 9^th Avenue to 1^st and would normally have walked, but there was no way I was going to face that cold again …), gathered up the laundry, and went downstairs to the combination dry cleaner and laundromat (which, like Spinal Tap’s speakers, is open to 11). I briefly considered leaving it all to the professionals, but considering even that laundering of one shirt would be at least $2.50, I opted for self-reliance and spent an veritable army of quarters on two loads of wash.

The washing part of it was fine; it was the drying that took forever. The whites went fine; I could use a hot setting in the dryer, but the colors? I used a low setting and just kept feeding coins into the machine like a grandmother desperate to hit a Vegas slot jackpot before I decided to risk the warmer Permanent Press setting. Things went much faster from that point—but not as fast as the guy I observed who had all his lighter-colored things—including whites like towels, underwear, and socks—in one dryer on high and all his darker-colored things in another. I just shook my head and mentally told him “Dude, you have no idea of how to do laundry.”

After that, it was upstairs to organize everything and plan for the next day, when we’d move to a new rehearsal venue.

The excitement was palpable.

I got up early enough to make sure I could reach the bar in time for rehearsal. I have to admit that coordinating the morning bathroom schedules of three people isn’t the easiest thing in the world—especially when two of them have to ultimately be at the same place at the same time—but we managed.

Fortunately, the bar is pretty much subway-adjacent, thanks to the newish Second Avenue line, so getting there wasn’t too problematic. I must say, the stations on the new line are models of combining cleanliness and sterility (despite the Chuck Close tilework), as well as providing vertiginous escalators. I (or, rather, my newly-healthy phone) calculated the angle at 30 degrees, which doesn’t seem like a lot, but when I’m on something that steep and look up at the top, it almost feels like I’m going almost straight up.

 Public art

Arriving at the bar, I learned two things: the first was that I was the first company member there. The second was that, rather than working until our scheduled 5:00, we’d have to stop at 4:00 because the bar had an event in its upstairs space. (And I must applaud the management of the bar for leaving multiple bottles of liquor unguarded in the presence of actors. While I don’t think any of us is a big boozer—or, I hasten to add anything but honest—it still struck me as unusually trustworthy.)

(I realized in starting this paragraph that a bit of background knowledge was needed, so I’m providing that here. For quite some time now, I’ve been a fan of jazz guitarist John Pizzarelli, and while I wouldn’t be so bold as to say we’re “friends,” we are well-acquainted and always have pleasant chats after I see him perform. About 18 months ago, John’s father, Bucky Pizzarelli [another—and one of the all-time great—jazz guitarists] had a stroke, and was, for a while, in the condition one might expect when a man in his late 80s has an episode like that. He made a remarkable recovery, though, and is back to playing gigs—at 91.)

Okay, now that you know that, during rehearsal, John’s wife, Jessica Molaskey, had posted on Facebook that John, who was playing at the Birdland jazz club—and for whose Friday shows I had a ticket—would be joined by Bucky that night, and that it promised to be special. Even though I already had that Friday reservation, I decided that this was something I couldn’t—and shouldn’t—miss, so I made a new reservation and decided to head over to the club after rehearsal.

Rehearsal itself went well. The space was bigger and allowed us to move approximately where we were going to be in the real theatre, and things actually ended pretty well. Since we ended early, I was able to make it back to the apartment to change clothes for the club. I got there, was gifted with a terrible seat—all the way over, extreme house left—but the music was all I could have hoped for. Bucky had a little trouble getting up to the stage, but once there, he was in prime condition, playing better than guys half his age, and just sounding fabulous.

 Bad photo. Great show.

Since the second show wasn’t full, management graciously allowed patrons to stay, waiving the admission charge—although not the cover. And since my section was being closed out, I got to move to a much better table. Bucky didn’t play the second set, but John and his trio sounded great, and, in talking to both him and Jessica after the shows, I made sure to plug the show and give them both postcards. I have no idea if they’ll show, but I’m hopeful.

The second set went very long—90 minutes—ending at about 12:30, so it was well after 1:00 before I got home, where I pretty much went to bed in order to be bright-eyed and bushy tailed for Wednesday’s rehearsal, when we’d tackle Scene 5, which is almost half the play.

This is what is known as foreshadowing. More to come.