Come On, Irene

What a weekend. Damn you, Irene! I mean, water everywhere. First, it came in through the bathroom and, frankly, I have no idea why Paul McCartney sang about that. I was cursing non-stop. Then it somehow soaked into the bathroom ceiling which immediately started to buckle then collapse. Sure I was warned about this and I thought I was prepared until the raw sewage joined the flooding. No one talks about that. Well, I shouldn’t say no one. Bennett knows a couple web sites where they talk exclusively about it but I had no time to consult the inter web. I was busy running around putting pots under the leaks. Pot actually, I only have the one. On the bright side I finally learned the difference between a pot and a colander.

It was a hell of an afternoon but eventually it passed and things went back to normal. Now, of course, comes the clean up. They say New Yorkers are all about pitching in in these situations. We’ll see. The first one I’m going to go to is my upstairs neighbor. I mean this is her fault. Damn you Irene! Every one knows you take the sleeping pills after the bath not before and certainly not before you finish filling the tub. Don’t ask me how the sewage got involved. I made the mistake of asking her and now she’s dead to me as a sexual fantasy and I wouldn’t want that to happen to you guys with me.

So, like I said, a hell of a weekend. I think there was a hurricane too. I wish I could’ve gone out and enjoyed it. I probably wouldn't have gotten as wet.

Well, when you live in New York, you have to take the good with the bad. You learn to put up with buildings with 19th century plumbing (the bad) in order to live in a ten by ten studio for $2200 a month (the good)”...I know what you’re thinking and yes you also learn to master the art of self delusion when you live here.

My Friend Bennett

I had to go in to set up the theater bars tonight. Since the show is about to start previews, I knew they’d be rehearsing all day so the chances of me running into Miss Ex were pretty good. Today was the day I’ve been dreading.
Because of the costumes and make-up I couldn’t pick her out of the bouncy little chorus right away, but as luck would have it (my luck anyway) I was with my best friend Bennett (not his real name. I had to change it so he wouldn’t sue me. Did I mention he was my best friend?) Anyway, he had no trouble picking out Miss Ex. It felt like my heart stopped and I was floating towards a bright white light. Turns out it wasn’t because I saw Miss Ex but because Bennett was hugging me so tightly he was cutting off the oxygen to my brain.
Bennett loves Miss Ex. She’s the woman he always thought he’d grow up to be so our breakup has been especially tough on him. How can it not be tough when your best friend and your best hag break up? Two separate Thanksgivings, Christmases, two separate Tony parties...so I tried to be understanding when he kept pointing out how happy Miss Ex looked. It did kind of help that he said it with as much resentment as I felt.
I don’t know what I’d do without Bennett’s envy and bitterness. He has worked hard at it and earned every bit of it. He came to New York at 22 to take Broadway by storm and now, ten years later at the age of...as he says...”none of your damn business...stop looking at my hairline!”, he’d settle for taking Broadway by a light mist.
So, I guess, in a weird way Bennett and I are in the same boat...then again weird is probably the only way you could be alone in a boat with Bennett.

Sweety

I heard some interesting words of wisdom today. I was told that women are a lot like Broadway shows, when one leaves another one shows up right behind it...in a few months...if your financing is in order.
Normally I would file that away along with other post break-up pearls like “you’re better off without her”, “there are plenty fish in the sea”, and “now that she dumped you would you mind if I took a shot at her?”(that one was from my uncle), but this gem was different because it came from the chief usher at my theater. I’ll call her Sweety because she’s a sweetheart AND because it’s the pseudonym she approved...and you really don’t want to cross Sweety. She is the queen bee of the Broadway usher family, and it is literally a family. Virtually all the ushers on Broadway are related somehow, siblings, cousins, spouses...sometimes all of the above...KIDDING, I’M JUST KIDDING!. They are all related, but that last bit about “all of the above” was a joke...ha...ha...See, this family also has had very close ties to the Westies, which is THE Hell’s Kitchen gang. Think “Sharks” from “West Side Story” just with less dancing and more killing.
Anyway, this family has been seating people at shows since the first time a cave man danced around a fire. Sweety says she was there making sure no one made any cave paintings of what they saw (apparently Neanderthals had very strict copyright laws).
I really appreciate her concern for me, post Miss Ex. She thinks it’s time for me to move on, and if she’s right about women and Broadway shows I’m half-way home. My finances are already in good order. Every night I pile up all my nickels, dimes and quarters in stacks of ten (if I had a good day at work). Now I just have to sit back and wait a couple months.

Let's Talk About Dick

Had our first front of house meeting with the house manager, Dick (Dick’s not his real name but that’s what everybody calls him so...). Dick’s not a big one for meetings...he once had a meeting to tell us that without appreciating the irony at all. That tells you all you need to know about him.

Like most of us, Dick would rather be somewhere else. Bennett wants to be on stage, I want to be on Miss Ex (and to be a playwright...both would be nice). Dick wants to be a rock star and he’s actually a pretty talented musician it’s just that...well, the poor bastard plays the flute so, I guess, until a wave of Jethro Tull nostalgia sweeps the nation he’s focusing on his theatre management career which was what the meeting was really about.

Dick told us that if we don’t screw up too much he might be able to get out of this “hell hole” theater and get promoted to one of the nicer, more prestigious theaters. That’s pretty much verbatim.

As far as pep talks go it wasn’t exactly “Braveheart”, but then again Dick isn’t exactly Mel Gibson. I mean Dick does not hold the Jews responsible for all the wars in the world. He does, however, hold the Jews responsible for that awful Tom Cruise re-make of “War of the Worlds”. In fact I think he had a meeting about that a couple years ago.

A Sure Thing

When I got in to work today Sweety was telling another usher about a sure thing she had. Not unusual. Sweety’s always talking about horses, numbers, football spreads, coin tosses you name it. She tried to get me to go in with her on a bet that Eliot Spitzer would resign because of hookers. Like an idiot I passed (Sweety knows hookers, in theory and in person).
As she limped towards me (sure things make her gout flare up) I decided I was going to say yes to anything she suggested.
She thinks it’s time I moved on from Miss Ex and she told me she has a sure thing for me at our local dive tomorrow night. I assume she told a lovely young woman what a handsome, successful, funny, kind, brilliant guy I am and now she can’t wait to meet me and start a meaningful long term relationship (that’s for you, mom). For all the rest of you, she got me a hooker(remember, she knows hookers).
Now I appreciate the thought but I think I may pass. I mean a guy has to have a little self respect. Like when I was voted honorable mention “most likely to succeed” in high school and have resolutely refused to succeed ever since. Besides I’ve only been single for a few weeks. I’m still in the late night Cinemax phase. There’s still the strip club and the sex doll phases before hookers.
Well, enough whining. My choice is a simple one. A sure thing versus a little self respect...OK, done. Tomorrow I get a case of condoms and a tub of Purell. Self respect is highly over rated. I’ll let you know how it goes.