Happy birthday to me!

Day 30: Saturday, March 18

As mentioned, my birthday just doesn’t feel all that special anymore. Oh, sure, I appreciate getting birthday wishes and cards, but I tend not to “do anything.” Usually, Pidge will pick a surprise restaurant and we’ll go out to eat. Fun, but nothing terrifically exciting.
This year, of course, was different. Obviously, I’ve had rehearsals and performances on my birthday (and even the mumps one year … ), but never two in one day—or, especially, in New York.

I decided to take the subway to work and was met in the Union Square station by what is possibly the worst band in the city. Brass, reeds, and drums playing loudly to no effect other than to annoy the beejeezus out of me. I don’t know how the MTA approves its buskers, but I’ve yet to hear more than the barest handful that are even competent. (There’s one fiddle player in the bowels of the 14^th Street L station that drives Pidge to absolute distraction.) This band was no exception and somehow worse than the band in the Irish pub.

The matinee was a matinee. The audience was smallish and quiet, and we dropped a couple of things; nothing major, but enough. (As usual, it was stuff only we’d notice.) The biggest problem remains that, when it is a quiet crowd, it’s hard for the show to get momentum. It really becomes a run-through with people watching. They seemed appreciative, though.

The thing most on my mind, though, was that my family was coming in from California to see the show. I don’t know if I realized it, but they were flying in that afternoon. I got a text that they’d landed at 3:30, so they were probably going to be able to make the evening performance. I just had no idea what the plans for after the show were. I knew we’d be going out for a birthday drink; I just had no idea if they’d made plans or if I was supposed to have done. Texts to both my sister and niece went unanswered.

After the matinee, Brendan and I talked about what we were going to do between shows. We each had plans to go into the theatre and use the wifi to watch some television on our phones. We talked about how uncomfortable the room is for such purposes, and he mentioned he was going to get the Equity cot, bring it in, and use that. I said I’d probably lie on the floor the way I had the week before. He insisted that, it being my birthday, I take the cot. I did, reluctantly, but it wasn’t that much more comfortable and I felt guilty over taking it from him, so after about an hour or answering birthday greeting on Facebook, I decided to go to Starbucks for a tea and leave the cot to him.

As I left the theatre, I was once again reminded of something that always occurs to me—and is something I don’t want to lose sight of: when I’m in the theatre, it’s like any other theatre. The walls, the lights, the seats, the front of house; it could be anywhere. I step out of the door, though, and it’s fucking New York City. Skyscrapers. Traffic. Snow drifts. Manhattanites. It’s just overwhelming sometimes. On those occasions when I walk back from the show, I walk by Lever House, the Seagram’s Building, and have Grand Central and the Met Life/Pan Am building in front of me.

I stayed at Starbucks for a while, drinking in the New Yorkness of it all, then went back to the theatre. We ran some stuff, then waited for the show.

I have to admit I was a little leery going into the performance. My sister has a quality I envy in that, she’s so open and friendly that, within seconds of meeting someone, she’s their best friend for life. She’s a big and loud personality, and I was afraid she might overwhelm things. (I was especially afraid she might talk back to the person doing the pre-show announcement.) She didn’t, so I was grateful. What she was, though, was a great catalyst to getting the audience revved up.

We had a great show—doubtless our best so far—with our being to hit everything and have it land the way it should. The show is invariably fun to do, but shows like that are special joys.

After the show, I met up with my family, including a cousin I hadn’t seen in close to 40 years, and we tried to figure out where to go. My niece’s husband picked a place at random that was close and seemed reasonable. We walked the couple of blocks and went into the back to order drinks. The drink menu was extensive, and I picked what I thought was an Irish whiskey (it wasn’t, but was still good). The waiter brought it and told me that the man at the next table had paid for it. I thought it might be someone who had seen the show, so I turned to thank him, and it was Gino, our playwright. (Who had had more than a few himself … ) Of all the people in the all the bars in all the world …

We had a great time; I debriefed the show, Pidge came from the show she’d seen (Groundhog Day, which I’ll be seeing next week on her recommendation), the drinks were good, and we spent about an hour or so discussing my time in New York and other stuff. They gave me my birthday present, which was a diorama of the show, complete with Sam and Dede figures in urns and a much nicer truck than Sam actually had. I was stunned and touched that they’d gone to so much trouble.

 A poor photograph of an incredible gift

Eventually, I had a second whiskey (which was a bit of a mistake, since I never have more than one) and got, well, as drunk as I’ve ever been while still being able to stand; so much so that I agreed to take a cab home, which is something I almost always frown on. We walked (or staggered) to Park Avenue, hailed cabs for all our parties, and came home. We got back relatively quickly. I managed to make it up all three flights of stairs, tumbled into bed, and was asleep pretty quickly. I had a matinee the next day.