Dazed, Not Confused
I'm in a bit of a daze today. It was that kind of weekend.
Tim and I met up at my apartment on Friday evening. Both of us seemed to have had the day from hell, and to top it off we had theatre tickets. The tickets were a Christmas gift from Meral, who knows how much I like Jennifer Jason Leigh. I'd never seen her on stage and here she was in "Abigail's Party". Meral and I also share an admiration for Mike Leigh, so it really was a great gift. I just wasn't in the mood that particular moment to sit in a darkened room for several hours watching actors emote.
I don't know about you, but it's been so difficult to find a pre-theatre restaurant I really like. I don't mind Becco, but I wanted something a bit more simple. We wound up at the Film Center Cafe, a place I used to like very much. It was alright...I told Tim they made excellent Manhattans and in fact they still. We had one and did our best to shed the last remnants of our rotten days. Two Manhattans would have been so much nicer, but I didn't want to fall asleep during the play. Dinner was passable, marred by a radio speaker literally blasting Z100 right over our heads. Not exactly dinner music.
We made our way over to the theatre, found our excellent seats and really enjoyed the play. It takes place in the mid-70's in England, and it's about the party from hell. Fitting! The cast was uniformly excellent. As an added bonus I got to enjoy the audience of older theatre-goers, fingers firmly in their ears as the Sex Pistols were blasted out not once but twice. All these years later, and that album still makes people recoil.
After the play, we walked up 9th Avenue, checking out shops and restaurants. We had a drink at Posh, and then Tim suggested that since we were the oldest people there, we might as well go someplace where we would be the youngest. Yep. We headed off to the Townhouse.
I know it's fashionable to bash the bar, but we've never had a bad time here. Tony's right in describing it as a "bubbly wake". Tim and I had a good laugh about this and mis-spent a few minutes deciding where we would want to lay out the body. Between the friendly staff (Hi handsome greek bartender who is not in any way, shape or form related to the gentleman who contacted me about this post!) and the Dugout boys in their coats and ties, we had a great time. Tim was popular to the point where I almost had to sandblast a couple of his admirers off him. I was, as I always am, popular with the working boys. I wonder if the highlight of my life will be a freebie from a Townhouse hustler. After four drinks, I shocked Tim by suggesting we leave. I'd had enough. He's never heard me say that before.
Of course Saturday was a very low-key day. We slept in, had a big Polish lunch and wandered through the rain down Avenue B on our way to the Lower East Side. I'd received a glossy postcard in the mail from a real-estate broker, announcing that he had broken the record for neighborhood sales at 85 Stanton Street. When Tim first became a friar in 1979, he taught school for a time at Our Lady of Sorrows at Pitt and Stanton Streets. We both wanted to see the luxurious building that was commanding so much money. Of course, it turned out to be a typical LES tenement. The changes in that neighborhood are scary. Is the market that big for crowded cafes, t-shirt shops and hipster bars? Do people really want to pay $32.00 for an entree on Clinton Street? I suppose they do. I guess I'm as much at fault by purchasing a $24.00 t-shirt at Supreme not minutes later.
We headed home to crash, had a couple of cocktails, listened to an old Fred Astaire album, and talked about my old, long departed friend, Hubbell Pierce. Hubbell taught me how to drink Martinis many, many years ago. I'll write about him sometime. Feeling nostalgic as all hell, we went downstairs and had a drink at Dick's. Sitting at the bar, we chatted with Dwight, who had pumped the jukebox full of rock and roll. Dwight was sweet, with that very attractive affect of axe murderer about him. After a nightcap at the Phoenix, it was time to call it a night.
I crawled to the gym on Sunday, then hit the Dugout, meeting up with Aaron and Joe. Somehow, I wound up consuming way too many shots of Wild Turkey. Unfortunately, I also inspired Joe to have a shot. I've never seen anyone turn quite so green, even under the pink and amber lights. Very colorful. Aaron did better. Suffice to say, I fell asleep on my sofa when I got home.