I promised myself not to create any agendas for our trip to New York. After all, we had decided to be spontaneous and carefree. We didn’t want to be encumbered by plans that had to be realized, boxes that had to be checked off, and meals that had to be digested. From past experiences, I have learned that “winging it” is the best way to travel. That way, you avoid disappointments and welcome pleasant surprises. Well, it’s all good in theory, but the anal retentive part of me did not want to give up so easily. It kept yelling, “But what about theater?! At least plan a theater performance!” And so I did.
I checked out every play that was being performed the weekend of our getaway. And, by “checked out,” I mean – eliminated everything that fell into the “musical” category. This needed to be done partly because E. likes musicals almost as much as I like climbing onto partially built tree houses. (What panic attack?!) This process left me with few options, one of which was a performance by
New York Neo-Futurists at the Kraine Theater called ‘Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind’. After I read the title and the description (30 plays in 60 minutes. You decide the order.), I was intrigued, to say the least. So, I printed the performance details and hid the paper in my purse.
As we were driving to NY, I casually introduced the possibility of seeing the show. To sell the idea, I mentioned that it was hailed as kooky and weird and funny and eccentric. I may have brought up the fact that The New York Times described it as “An ideal entertainment for an audience with eclectic taste.” My pitch had enough non-conformism and rebellion in it for E. to agree to an outing.
The plan (!) was to get to the area ahead of time, so that we could find a place to eat before going to the show. Of course, as soon as we got there, we discovered that dinner was not meant to be. A line began forming at the theater’s steps, and someone had to stand in it. I tried buying tickets, but was told that Neo-Futurists have their own payment method. A sweet young man gave me two little rubber lizards, told me to get in line and use the lizards as my guarantee for a spot in the audience. The lizards were not as good as the coins (we got there too late to receive the latter), but better than empty hands.
Apparently, the show was more popular than either one of us had realized. So, I got some bagels at a nearby shop and found a place in line, excitedly anticipating the bread and circus. As I stood there chewing (E. was too
lazy cool to stand; he ate his food on the steps), I thought to myself that now would be the perfect opportunity to recreate the famous (?) toilet-paper scene from
Moscow on the Hudson. Hey, this is New York City. A woman can do whatever she wants!
Everyone kept walking by and staring at the line of people. Finally, a young couple came up to me and asked what we were waiting for. I looked at them incredulously and said in a meaningful whisper, “I heard they were selling toilet paper”. They gawked at me, then at each other and remained dumbfounded. I decided to end their misery and said, “We’re just waiting to see a theater performance”. The couple sighed and asked if they could buy tickets inside. Their friend was one of the performers, and they decided to surprise him, but were not familiar with the theater’s modus operandi.
So, I felt it was only fair that I explain to them how things work, now that I have completely confused them. I took the lizards out of my pocket and told them that they needed to get themselves these plastic animals at the door and get back in line. Then, when the theater people will start letting everyone in, they’ll have priority to enter, but not as much priority as the people in line who have coins. To get the coins, you had to get there even earlier.
They just kept staring at me. Then, as if he were watching an annoying commercial, the man decided to change the channel. He asked, “How much are the tickets?” I launched into another explanation. I said that no one knows the price, which will be determined at the entrance. Every one of us will have to roll the dice. We will have to add $10 to whatever number the dice lands on, and that will be the price of admission.
By now, the woman had already placed me in a mental institution, and attempted to bypass me by tapping the shoulder of the man in front of all of us. Trying to avoid looking my way, she asked the man if he had any lizards or knew how much the tickets were. As luck would have it, it was the guy’s first time at the Kraine Theater as well. He said, “Lizards?! I don’t have any lizards!” and raised his eyebrows. The woman finally realized that she needed to go to the source to get any straight answers. She said guiltily, “No offence, but I don’t trust you … after the toilet-paper comment,” and marched off to the ticket window. Her companion shrugged his shoulders and meekly followed her. I laughed.
When we finally walked into the theater (E. rolled one, and I rolled three, so we kind of robbed the place), we were greeted by an enthusiastic “And what’s your name?!” from an actor sitting on the steps. He had stickers and a Sharpie. I started to spell my name only to notice that he wrote, “Leather” on my name tag (I was wearing a leather jacket – what did you think?!), which I was supposed to stick on my chest. In addition, he gave us long pieces of plain paper with some duck tape on top in the middle. He said we were to stick the papers onto our shoulders after we took our jackets off. I noticed that E.’s name tag said, “Secret Style” and had another good laugh.
The third sheet of paper we received was a list of plays to be performed. It included: “List of things the rat took from me” (written on wrapped cheese slices and tossed into audience after being read), “Kindly Consider Fucking Yourself, Anne Geddes” (self-explanatory, involved flower crowns), “Would you still love me if I was a Supercomputer?” (she would). My favorite mini play was one titled, “The Complete and Condensed Stage Directions of Eugene O’Neil Vol. 1: Long Day’s Journey into Night,
Act Two Scene 1.” It was truly hysterical, considering the fact that all dialogue was eliminated and only the stage directions were read aloud while the actors followed them. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard.
The performance was periodically interrupted by Pac-Man music. As soon as it would play, one of the actors would put on a Pac-Man suit and pretend to “eat” as many papers that were attached to our shoulders as he could. He did that by walking on top of the chairs and ripping quickly. We cheered him on wildly.
Other memorable moments included male nudity, a visit from an actress’ dog, a reenactment of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ video, a marriage proposal and some free advice. The actors managed to get through 29 out of 30 plays (the audience chose the order by yelling out the numbers every time they said, “Curtain”), so I guess I will never know what #4 was (“Untitled play with phones and tiny wigs”). At the end, an audience member rolled the dice on the stage to determine how many new plays the actors will write for their upcoming show to replace some old ones (the “menu” changes every weekend). After the final curtain, we were asked to hang out with the actors and eat some pizza that was ordered in the beginning of the show (we chose the toppings). Oh, and we got free stickers. I think we’re going to come back McSoon!
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Back in Belarus, we were fortunate to live in a tall apartment building that stood next to a lilac tree. The tree stood next to a ramshackle bench. The bench stood the weight of lonely matrons who liked to eat sunflower seeds, perk up their ears and polish their glasses to avoid missing any sign of life around them. Sometimes, the matrons needed to clean their houses, cook their dinners and set up their telescopes. At the end of the day, they would compare their notes (“Yes, it was definitely a different man from the one she brought home last week”), brush the stray sunflower husks off their laps, and give up the sweet spot under the tree. ![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_t4-P2Xc17KhbIColWlFql6i7RwKP6MdnUY_3O4hq_aKMHCHUy1v51-glIoxoB5ynFkLSA3eb2LI52tZbX-nL9MZUzVbAgd4YJOnG7eKEVOEWaqLRZdo81-_xK1VyWhAMBIjHdLwJlfiet1LDrhvpUC=s0-d)
Caught in the act. She usually eats healthy. Except for when she doesn't.
"Yea, my hubby's a chef. So? Nothing comes between me and my onion rings."
Put some peppers on top of chicken and stick into oven. Pretty.
Some NY bagels. Jewish style, of course.
Mmmm. I miss those croissants. E. ate them. I had that salad.
Yummy box lunch. Thai food to thai for. (Yes, I know that was bad. Who cares, it looks good.)
If you put cheese on fried veggies, does the meal still count as "healthy"?
Manhattan's Anthropologie store. So cool. Please send me some freebies!
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