They Say the Neon Lights Are Bright

Elaine has thrown down the gauntlet, so I kind of have to update.

But I don't know that I have much to write about! I've spent the entire day in my apartment, except for a short trip to the mailbox downstairs, which was empty. I did some editing, cooked and ate some food, practiced the ukulele a bit, and sent out two more job applications that probably won't be replied to.

Whee.

So instead, here's a report from this past October, adapted from an e-mail I wrote at the time.



Back in late summer, My Sister the Graphic Designer and I found that while we'd seen Matilda on Broadway last year, we both wanted to see it again. She checked with the rest of the family, and ended up with a plan for six people to go to the show: the two of us, two more sisters, one sister-in-law, and one 13-year-old niece. (The niece was the only one of the bunch who didn't actually know the plan, only that the gang was going to Manhattan for unspecified reasons.) That was the plan.

I left the office at my seasonal job and walked the thirteen blocks to meet them, and found that—for unexpected logistical reasons—my sister-in-law had brought her one-year-old son. She did so in the endearingly naive belief that you can take a one-year-old to a Broadway show, and simply take him out if he starts acting up.

Turns out? You cannot!

After some failed bargaining and a hurried sideline consultation, it was decided that I and My Sister the Graphic Designer would take the baby and sit the show out, while the other four would go ahead and see it. After all, the two of us had both already seen the show once, and we were the two in the best position to see it again some other day. (The sister-in-law in question lives in Toronto.)

The box office gave us a letter to the effect of "this is your fault; we don't have to do anything for you; but out of the goodness of our hearts, we may let you use your tickets on a later date. Call us the day of the show, and pray that we have open seats available." And someday we will try to use it, but the opportunity has not yet arisen.

With two and a half hours to kill, we ended up going to the bowling alley across the street. I bowled something like an 80. I wasn't really keeping track; we were mostly concerned with keeping the baby happy. We definitely had more fun in the second game, when we realized we could turn the bumpers on.

(Don't ask what it costs to bowl in the heart of Broadway / Times Square. You really don't want to know.)

After that, we went two doors down to the Guitar Center that had recently opened there. It had good air conditioning. I confirmed that they had no banjoleles in stock, and then my brother (father of the child) showed up to assist, upon which we wandered around the area for about 40 minutes until the show got out.

On the whole, it was not the night I'd envisioned, but it wasn't a terrible one either.



I'm up to 1975 on Music Advent, and I'm going to go with what seems the obvious choice: "Bohemian Rhapsody," a song that manages to work despite being thoroughly ridiculous. It's also a song that ought to be banned from all karaoke venues, because it's six minutes long, it includes multiple interminable instrumental solos, and you're not Freddie Mercury. (I will allow an exemption for large groups.)

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This page contains a single entry by Shmuel published on December 3, 2014 9:53 PM.

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