Two shows, one week.
Last night, Nee took me to see Rancho Viejo, which was opening at Playwrights Horizons. The play did not feel as though it were 3 hours long. I struggle to describe it even now, but I can tell you the experience was memorable. Nee and I were partnered with her co-star from "A Life", Marinda, and Marinda's beau (with whom I would discover I shared an eerily similar destiny). The playwright for the play both Nee and Marinda had starred in was a few rows ahead of us, on an edge-seat. The row we occupied seemed to have been reserved specifically for the cast of that play I'd twice seen and which had closed on Sunday.
Before the play, Nee had scooped me up at a nearby Starbucks and we'd proceeded to the venue where someone official commandeered us for several photos before the Opening Night backdrop. After the play, Nee flitted through the crowds both upstairs and in the downstairs lobby, flashing what a pensioner last Sunday had, with no small amount of admiration, told me was her mega-watt smile, and talking about the play we'd just seen and the play she'd just finished starring in. I met several actors who I would not be surprised to wind up collaborating with at some point in the future.
Across the street was a private party held for the show and after we divested ourselves of our bags and Ms. Mega-watt Smile had already been accosted by several admirers, we sought out a table of familiars, landing finally at one where sat a few of her castmates as well as the playwright.
The evening, keyed to a glorious pitch by animated conversation (me and Adam Bock about writing novels and writing plays, me and my similarly situated partner admiring the tableau we were witnessing, Adam and his cast members rejoicing over their write-up in the New York Times), seems even more dream-like when put up next to the night before, which saw me, over sushi and carafes of hot green tea, having what could potentially be one of the most important conversations of my life in a scene straight out of an episode of House of Cards.
On the train ride in, I'd worked on a piece I somehow had managed to pitch successfully to a magazine I've wanted to be in for a number of years now. A number of years.
Today, if I can get my phone working, I'll be meeting up with an old college friend now staffed at The New Yorker, and on Friday, I may very well be in the audience of the cinema while Taraji P. Henson, Janelle Monaé, and Octavia Spencer from the movie Hidden Figures charm us to death from the stage.
"Blessed" doesn't even come close to describing it.
Before the play, Nee had scooped me up at a nearby Starbucks and we'd proceeded to the venue where someone official commandeered us for several photos before the Opening Night backdrop. After the play, Nee flitted through the crowds both upstairs and in the downstairs lobby, flashing what a pensioner last Sunday had, with no small amount of admiration, told me was her mega-watt smile, and talking about the play we'd just seen and the play she'd just finished starring in. I met several actors who I would not be surprised to wind up collaborating with at some point in the future.
Across the street was a private party held for the show and after we divested ourselves of our bags and Ms. Mega-watt Smile had already been accosted by several admirers, we sought out a table of familiars, landing finally at one where sat a few of her castmates as well as the playwright.
The evening, keyed to a glorious pitch by animated conversation (me and Adam Bock about writing novels and writing plays, me and my similarly situated partner admiring the tableau we were witnessing, Adam and his cast members rejoicing over their write-up in the New York Times), seems even more dream-like when put up next to the night before, which saw me, over sushi and carafes of hot green tea, having what could potentially be one of the most important conversations of my life in a scene straight out of an episode of House of Cards.
On the train ride in, I'd worked on a piece I somehow had managed to pitch successfully to a magazine I've wanted to be in for a number of years now. A number of years.
Today, if I can get my phone working, I'll be meeting up with an old college friend now staffed at The New Yorker, and on Friday, I may very well be in the audience of the cinema while Taraji P. Henson, Janelle Monaé, and Octavia Spencer from the movie Hidden Figures charm us to death from the stage.
"Blessed" doesn't even come close to describing it.