62 Days

Since Saturday’s World Series game had gone nowhere near as long as the previous nights’, I was able to get a reasonable amount of sleep. I’d gotten a message from John on Friday about whether he could change the linens on Sunday, and I told him that I’d be gone between noon and 6:00, so any time in there was fine. As it was, I was running a little behind and didn’t get to leave until 12:20, which was just when he showed up. He knocked, I let him in, put on my jacket, and left. While I was on the train, there was an email to the cast from GG saying he had an extra ticket to that night’s performance of Thom Pain (based on nothing) with Michael C. Hall at Playwright’s Horizons, so I took him up on it. I wasn’t especially looking forward to it (a little bit of the playwright, Will Eno, goes a long, long way for me), but it was a chance to hang out.  I don't get the title, either. Got to the theatre, and Andi had brought banana bread (which was very good), so we all chowed

Because of the excitement of the game, I wasn’t able to get to sleep before 5:00. I’d planned on getting up at 11:00, which would get me to the theatre at 12:30, but decided I could use the extra sleep and postponed my alarm until 11:30. I was still kind of hung over (not alcoholically) when I got up, but persevered and went through the usual routine. (I will say that, while I’ll miss the whole living-in-New-York experience, the first thing I’m going to do when I get home is take a real shower. This one is really for the birds.) In spite of getting to the theatre “late,” I was still the first one there. There wasn’t really a lot unusual going on once everyone else got there; just the usual talk and prep. The show went well. We’ve kind of settled into a routine now. The audiences are generally pretty full, they react some (maybe some laughter, but certainly chuckles and grunts of recognition), we find new stuff, and roll along. The thing that startles me the most is how fast it al

As I figured, Friday was crummy enough that my best option was to stay in and rest up. This whatever I’ve got keeps running an odd course. At times, I feel perfectly fine, with no congestion and a decent voice. At others, I’m a snot factory with some chest congestion and a raspy voice. It just won’t resolve itself in one way or another. I had a lot of television stacked up, so I had enough to do to keep me occupied while I caught up on my writing. I thought about taking a nap, but kept putting it off until about 4:45, when I realized I really had to at least try to close my eyes for a few minutes. I napped until just after 5:00, then woke up and got myself together to leave for the show. I bundled up, stopped at Starbucks, and went on my walk down St. Marks to the 6. Just after I crossed 1 st Avenue, though, I saw something I’d somehow been missing for the last few weeks. The St. Marks Taqueria (which I had noticed; just not the important part) was absolutely plastered with