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shame at Lincoln Center
Friday, March 2 2018
I've thought of sleeping in a shark cage at night just to keep Oscar the Cat from testing the load-bearing abilities of temples, Adam's apple, and liver. But I don't actually need a shark cage; I can just go into a room and shut the door. This was my approach last night, and it had a benefit beyond those afforded by a shark cage: the door kept him far enough away that I was awaken by his lawnmowerlike purring. At some point late in the morning Ramona the Dog figured out where I was and wanted to join me, so I got up to let her in. She's a much better bed partner.
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The plan today, after taking care of some work responsibilities, was to drive into Manhattan and attend a performance of La Bohème at Lincoln Center. There would, of course, also be a nice dinner at a prestige vegan restaurant (in this case, at Blossom on Columbus). The only problem with these plans was the weather. A nor'easter had come through the region. So far, mostly all it had produced was a little snow followed by a lot of rain, though there had been enough winds for large parts of Ulster County to lose power, mostly from damaged transmission lines into the area (as opposed to damaged distribution lines such as the one coming up Dug Hill Road). So far we'd yet to lose our power, and if the storm was mostly just producing rain, there didn't seem to be a problem with driving in it. The only real problem initially was our late start, putting us on the road at 3:30pm. This meant we might encounter rush hour traffic as we neared Manhattan.
We stopped at our credit union on Hurley Avenue only to discover it was in a blackout and the only thing working was the ATM machine (which must've been on batteries). There were people standing around seemingly bewildered, as if an apocalypse had happened. Adding to the apocalyptic scene were a couple evidently dead buses we kept seeing, first in Kingston and then out on the Thruway.
Somewhere south of New Paltz, the weather worsened as the temperature dipped to exactly freezing. Snow was falling and accumulating on all parts of the roadway that people hadn't driven on in a few minutes. This made surface somewhat tricky, particularly when changing lanes, which forced one to drive across as much as an inch of accumulated snow. Every so often, savage gusts of wind would try to push the car in unexpected directions. After seeing the results of a car that had run into a guard rail, we wondered if this trip really made any sense. True; Gretchen had bought the tickets months ago and it would've been a waste not to attend the performance. But if we were injured or killed or our Prius was damaged, the price would be a lot higher. Gretchen checked the weather in the city, and it seemed modestly warmer there, meaning this pocket of bad weather would eventually relent as we got closer to the city. So we continued on. Gretchen was doing all the driving so I could carry out work tasks on my phone, but the drive itself was so anxiety-inducing that it was hard not to do anything but stare out the window at all the danger.
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The great thing about driving into Manhattan when the weather is shitty is that there never actually ends up being a rush hour. Unfortunately, most of the cars on the road with you are a self-selected collection of risk-takers and douchebags (perhaps with a few desperate people unwilling to squander tickets to performances). I kept noticing that a disproportionate number of cars were all banged up and tended to behave like bigger assholes than normal (the opposite of what really should be happening in bad weather). In any case, we made it to the Upper West Side with a solid hour to spend on dinner at Blossom. We even found parking on the street rather close to it.
It was understood that this adventure was all for Gretchen, and I didn't expect to like much about it other than Gretchen's company. Blossom is too precious of a place for my phillistine tastes. Still, I enjoyed my old fashioned and the things we ordered, dainty though they were. The ravioli was a bit of a disappointment, though I loved the bourekas so much that Gretchen gave me her portion (I used leftover truffle-infused oil from the ravioli as a dipping sauce). My seitan steak was really exciting, especially when I found it crowned with three black morels in a savory black pepper sauce, though once I'd eaten all the other delicious things off it, I found the steak itself to have almost no flavor. Clearly, the intention had been that I would eat it with everything else.
We found great free parking near Lincoln Center and picked up our will-call tickets. Last time we'd been to the opera (to see La Bohème), we'd dressed up. This time, mostly all we'd done was put on some clean pants and jackets that hadn't been nested in recently by a cat, so we were mostly under-dressed for the occasion. I've never been as financially secure as I am right now, so I went to a bar and ordered a $14 merlot, which was presented in a small plastic cup. I drank the whole thing and then we went to our seats, about six rows back from the edge of our balcony, which was either the first or second above the main floor of the hall. As with the meal at Blossom, I wasn't really at Lincoln Center with the expectation of enjoying the opera. My father loved opera and I was exposed to it as a kid, though I never really understood it or had any interest in knowing anything much about it. Gretchen, by contrasts, was raised in a deeply opera-loving family, all of whom actually performed in productions at Kennedy Center (mostly as extras, though Gretchen's gig in the children's chorus meant that Ronald Reagan attended one of her performances, giving her Boothian thoughts even at the tender age of ten). All that being said, it was hard not to be in awe of the set design, which was so well done that it was impossible to draw a line between where the three-dimensional set ended and the painted set began. During the boisterous second act, there were easily 100 people on stage, including (at various points) a carriage drawn by an actual horse and a wagon drawn by a pony.
During the intermission (after Act II), I got a second $14 "glass" of merlot and then Gretchen and I went out on the balcony to where the smokers were. The weather had been cold and clammy and cursed by a penetrating wind, but something about the balcony sheltered us from all that. Gretchen bummed a cigarette from a gentleman, and he happily handed one over (even though cigarettes are very expensive these days). It turned out to be a menthol, though that's what happens when you bum cigarettes. Gretchen has always smoked the occasional bummed cigarette, though I don't know that I'd seen her smoke one in ten years. I took a drag from hers and it was as if I'd just brushed my teeth (along with parts of my lungs).
For some reason there was a second intermission after Act III and Gretchen suspected it had been placed in the schedule only to sell more booze. We didn't take the bait, choosing to stay on our balcony. We did, however, walk out to its edge to look down and have a sense of the grand space beneath us. Gretchen made some inquiries and learned that two seats at the very edge of the balcony were empty, so she decided we should occupy these for Act IV. As we sat there and I read parts of a juicy Slate article about the deep shit Jared Kushner finds himself in, At this point, some random woman behind us inquired if we were just there to take pictures of if we would be staying. When we said that we would be staying, she accused us of blocking her view, which is what would've also happened had a person been assigned to sit in these seats. It made no sense, but it was the point she decided to work with. Had Gretchen known this would be her argument, she might've insisted that we'd been driving for hours in the snow and only just got here for Act IV. She might've also said something about tomorrow being the day she starts chemotherapy for inoperable brain cancer. The woman ended her strange confrontation by saying something about wanting us to take her into consideration. At this, Gretchen said something to the effect that this was us taking her into consideration, and she then turned away and we continued whatever we'd been doing. Several minutes passed and then an usher came over wanting to see our tickets. We'd been busted, and it was clear what had happened. That bitch had escalated the matter to authorities! As we got up to return to our assigned seats, Gretchen called the woman a "twat" who is probably also a "Trump supporter." Apparently the woman agreed to this part of what Gretchen said, provoking Gretchen's fury. She pulled out her phone and began taking pictures and (at least in the version of the story I would tell later) shouting "Shame!" like in that famous scene in Game of Thrones. Luckily I had presence of mind to pull out my phone and get some pictures of Gretchen shaming that horrible woman. The strategy was absolutely effective, mortifying the woman for much longer than she expected and likely ruining her enjoyment of Act IV. Her humiliation meant that I (at least) got my satisfaction from the altercation and was emotionally unburdened sufficient to enjoy the final act. Gretchen's little performance there with her phone was definitely the highlight of my week.
We got out of Lincoln Center before the rush, and at our car we briefly considered perhaps driving to Brooklyn to get some late-night vegan junk food at Champs (that vegan diner we love). But the timing was a bit wrong. It would take us 30 minutes to drive there, and we would arrive only 20 minutes before closing time, and perhaps not get seated. In the end, we decided not to drive to Brooklyn but to instead hit the Two Boots on Broadway up near 96th Street. There we both got slices of the "V is for Vegan," which is the best expression of a New York-style pizza in vegan form that I can think of. The cheese is amazing, and it's topped only with things that both Gretchen and I like on our pizzas.
The drive back to Hurley was about as good as such drives can be. The weather had cleared out, and there wasn't even much wind. And, because of all the bad weather that had passed through, there were few cars on the road with us. As for snow, most of the accumulation had happened well south of Newburgh and was not more than three or four inches tops. In our area, there was none at all.
At the bottom of Dug Hill Road, we saw a place where a tree (it looked like a maple) had fallen across the power line and severed it. The tree had been cut up and the road cleared, but the electrical wires hadn't been fixed, meaning that when we got home, our house was in a blackout.
Gretchen and me at Blossom on Columbus, just before dinner.
Gretchen shames a stranger.
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