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Day 34: Wednesday, March 22

Wednesday and Thursday were, in a way, mirror images of one another. More on the latter presently, but let’s deal with the former first.

I spent most of the morning feeling very depressed and down on myself. It was all pretty much show-related. Even though we’ve gotten good—not great, but good—reviews, they haven’t been (for the most part) the very good ones I’d hoped for. This is kind of ironic in that I don’t normally care about reviews—and, to be honest—I haven’t really cared about these big picture. I enjoy reading them, but always have the perspective that it’s one person’s opinion. That said, our latest “professional” review just hated the show; hated the script, hated the idea, hated everything—but he especially hated me. It actually didn’t bother me. When it came out, I eagerly quoted it to Pidge and even re-read it the next morning and found it kind of funny how much he hated me.

But, regardless, there was a cloud hanging over my head and I didn’t know how to dispel it. I thought briefly about Vaguebooking about it (“Feeling bad today and could use positive thoughts”), but I would have found that self-indulgent and would either make Pidge think something had happened or that I’d have to explain it and turn on the self-pity. I was just wondering if all the effort had been for naught. I mean, I've loved the experience, but it's been taxing financially, psychologically, and physically. I wrote Pidge an email explaining where my head was at, and that actually helped things—just getting it all down in pixels and out of my head.

Mid-afternoon, the psychological clouds parted, though, and my attitude did a 180 and I went into a “fuck the critics” mode; that I’m going to do what I want to do; that I’m going to stay relaxed and focused in the show and do what feels right and appropriate in the moment—and that’s all I can do. If people like it (and I think they will—not because of me, but because of the play), great; if not, well, I did all I could to tell the story.

It was cold—really cold—Wednesday, so rather than walk, I decided to take the subway. Since it was Wednesday, though, I had to stop at the comic store to see what had come in. A lot had, but nothing I had to have immediately (my subscription is still ongoing in Mountain View), so I headed to Union Square (where, blessedly, that horrible blues band wasn’t playing) and went north.

I chilled in the dressing room, worked with my hair—which I got into decent shape (so much so that I did the same thing Thursday and probably will the rest of the run)—then Brendan and I ran Scene 5, and we waited.

The show, for whatever reason, went like dynamite. We were both on and focused and having fun and the audience enjoyed it from beginning to end (and, as always, the laughter at his entrance was the key). We came off, pumped at how well it had gone, even though I really didn’t have a clue as to the specifics of what I’d done, other than to be in the moment. I hoped I could use my knowledge and revised attitude to repeat things on Thursday.

I was, of course, hungry after the show, and debated what to do. I still have a lot of sandwich fixings and leftovers at home, but I thought that a cold spring evening (and the wind chill was, like 18 degrees) would be the perfect time to finally hit Katz’s Delicatessen. I try to hit Katz’s when I’m in town, and even though the last time was disappointing (and the sandwich itself is inferior to the one at Langer’s in Los Angeles; all sandwiches suffer in comparison to the Langer’s #19), I still need my fix.

I walked against the cold winds to 63^rd, where I caught the F train to the Lower East Side, walked the block to the restaurant, and was indeed rewarded with a slow night. There were many people there, but nowhere near like the lunch crowds I’d seen earlier there. I marched right up to the counter, ordered my sandwich, tipped the guy, got a beer, and settled in at a good table. The sandwich was very good, much better than last time, but still wildly overpriced (the tab came to over $30). 

 Good. Not thirty bucks good, but good.

I walked up 1^st to the apartment, had dessert (a mini cheesecake I’d bought at Veneiro’s last week), then went up to bed.