September 23 – Day 17: Nothing Happens. Twice.


(I take my title today from a famous description of Waiting for Godot. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.)

Sunday was much the same as Saturday at the beginning. Late call (1:30) and nothing to do in the morning. Despite the slim pickins at the farmers’ market Saturday, I thought, since I had a little extra time to wait in a bread line, I might try it again, but much to my surprise, there were no stalls.

Since I’d stopped at the Starbucks on 26th for a tea the day before, I decided to try it again, but adding a bagel this time. When I arrived at the store, though, the tea was waiting, but not the food. I told the barista, and he got right on it, but it’s something that’s happened more than once here, especially with the store at 9th Street and Avenue A. I’m guessing that maybe New Yorkers have a felonious streak and tend to help themselves to the mobile orders of others, so the employees have learned to fill the orders once the customer is there. This tends to defeat the concept of advance ordering, but having to wait a bit for the order is better than not getting it at all, I suppose.

From there, it was up to the studio, where the plan was to work some of the physical movements the ensemble will be using. This doesn’t really affect me as much as some of the others, simply because I’m not in some of the stuff they’re doing, so there was more sitting around than usual. The irony was that, even in spite of getting eight hours of sleep, I was really tired and drowsy, so I think eight hours may actually be too much. The thing I most enjoyed about rehearsal was the view from the room. They're building something next door (on 30th), but until it goes up, there's a nice view of generations of New York history, especially one building with a very fancy 19th-century roofline that I keep having to remind myself wasn't built to replicate something like that (like you'd see at Disneyland), it is something like that.

 
 
It's that white building in the middle there.

There was one section that took up the most of my time, though. I won’t spoil it for those who are going to see the show, but it’s something that was a little problematic in San Francisco. The intention is to have some coordinated movement that breaks down, but it got too busy and really uncoordinated in the first production, to the point where we just pared it down into a tableau. (I actually think it was more effective, but that’s me.) After about an hour (and numerous iterations), we finally got it into workable shape, but we’ll see if it’s any more effective and workable this time than the last.

We had our movement coordinator for only the weekend, so by the end, we were a little rushed, but we got almost everything in that we needed to. We broke at 6:00, and my plans for the rest of the evening were light: visit the Strand Book Store for a special mission, grab a drink someplace, and hit Rizzo’s Pizza, which is basically down the block from the apartment (on the other side of Houston). It’s another one of the places I went to last time that I wanted to hit again.

The first part turned out to be a bust, since the part of the store I needed to visit closed at 6:15, but the other two were winners.

In all my time here so far, when I walk down St. Marks, I’ve been passing the William Barnacle Tavern, which is a genuine speakeasy (every article I’ve come across mentions it was the favorite drinking spot of the New York City Council and was habituated by Al Capone [he of the unfair tax conviction …]). I’ve been wanting to stop every time, but have either already had a drink or it’s been too crowded (nothing worse than a crowded speak). 

 It wasn't even this well-illuminated.

Sunday night, though, it was pretty much empty. I went in, soaked in the utter lack of atmosphere (seriously; it’s half of the original bar, a huge mirror, bottles on some planks nailed to the wall, and plaster walls. There’s no attempt to phony it up to make it look period; for all that, it’s actually quite nice and refreshing in its authenticity). The thing it’s most noted for nowadays is that they serve absinthe in a traditional way. I ordered a whiskey and sat drinking, talking to the Irish bartender, and listening to her explain the whole absinthe process to three women who ordered it. (It’s quite elaborate.)

I finished, though I plan to go back, then moved on to Rizzo’s (stopping at a supermarket to stock up on some stuff). The bartender/waiter was a little unctuous and overly friendly (to the point where I wondered how sincere it was), but there was no attitude, so it was acceptable. I ordered a personal Sicilian pie and a glass of Chianti, and polished both of them off gleefully. I wanted a little dessert, and when I saw cannolis on the menu, figured I had to have one. The guy mentioned that they came six to the plate, and I made a face, so he said “Let me see what I can do,” and came back with the smallest cannoli I’ve ever seen (about the size of a cocktail weenie). I ate it in pretty much one bite, paid the check (which didn’t include a charge for the cannoli), and came home to, you guessed it, catch up on the blog and watch some TV. Since Monday was our day off, I knew I could stay up late, which I did (later than I figured). Since all I really had planned was to do laundry, it wasn’t a big deal, though.

 No, it didn't come with a bite take out of it; 

I couldn't resist before I took the picture.

Sometime during the evening, I decided to I wanted to see Lifespan of a Fact, which is a new play with Daniel Radcliffe, Cherry Jones, and Bobby Cannavale. There was a pretty decent seat available, so I tried to buy it, but kept getting error messages, which turned into an adventure.

But since the bulk of this story takes place on Monday, I’ll deal with it then.

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