My first night in New York proved to me a number of things:
(1) I can still stay out late, just like I used to when I was younger.
(B) My systemic mortality kicks in the morning after.
(iii) The West Village is waaayyyyy more fun than the East Village.
(4) Self-absorbed Queens are the same all over the world.
I met my friend and his wonderful partner at a restaurant in Times Square - the Blue FIn, on Broadway at 47th. (Oh, and as for the 15 block walk to Times Square, the only thing I have to say is this: people are lemmings.) The restaurant was apparently designed by a Canadian. Of course it was! It was small and unassuming from the outside, but astoundingly large and stunning on the inside. Nice! I had a fantastic spinach salad and, for the first time in my life, I ate tuna tartar. Tuna tartar!!! This is a truly remarkable thing for a Newfoundlander. You see, we usually batter our fish, and deep fry the bejeezuz out of it in a big vat of oil. So, to actually enjoy seasoned raw tuna on a delicate crisp was something of which I am pretty proud.
We headed to the show for the evening: "Promises, Promises" at the Broadway Theatre. (Yes, there really is a theatre called "The Broadway Theatre" on Broadway. Why complicate things, right?) The show is based on Neil Simon's book and Billy Wilder's movie "The Apartment". It stars Sean Hayes ("Jack McFarland" from "Will and Grace") and Kristin Chenoweth (the original "Glinda" in "Wicked"). Sean Hayes is a modern day Jerry Lewis. While he did throw in a couple of "Jack-isms", his physical comedy was pretty hilarious!
As for Kristin Chenoweth, there are certain "should-dos" in life. One should watch a sunrise ... one should sit in respectful awe as elders talk about days gone by, especially when those stories are about war-time (war-time trumps almost everything) ... and one should, nay, must see Kristin Chenoweth on Broadway. I think I kinda fell in love with her on that stage. She acted wonderfully - nothing too over-the-top, and absolutely real! Her singing was great, and she actually had a Carol Burnett moment: she broke up on stage. It was appropriate for her to do so, in the scene, but I just loved that she allowed herself to do it. (And who wouldn't? Sean Hayes was hilarious!)
My only complaint was with the degree of vibrato in Sean's voice. He sang well enough to support the songs (all of which were written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David), but his vibrato sounded as if someone implanted a cell phone in his neck and left it on "vibrate". It seems there was a call every time Sean opened his mouth to sing.
Following the show, my two handsome dates decided they were going to take me out on the town, with two specific stops in mind. Our first stop was a place called the "Assman's Club", or something similar. (I tried to Google the name to ensure accuracy, but you'd be amazed at the sites you find when you enter "Assman" and "New York" in the search bar!) This place was funky. Thanks to some pretty fancy design engineering, the walls created the effect of a sort of "eternal forest". (Picture "Blair Witch Project" but with a trendier cast and a better wardrobe department.) It ddn't have the friendliest of vibes, so we left.
From here, we hopped in a cab and headed to the West Village to a piano bar called "The Duplex". OK, so this place is interesting. It's a little bit camp, and a whole lotta kitsch. There was an in-house piano player who hosted the evening and welcomed various people to join him in song. He was a self-absorbed, ego-maniacal, attitude-driven Queen who is almost as good as he thinks he is. He was good enough to fool the kids from Iowa who moved here to make it on Broadway. However, while I was singing with him, I couldn't help but notice that his solo ended eleven bars early. Fortunately, I was ready for anything that night! (See? I can be a bit of a Queen, too!)
I sang "At Last" and made sure to hold just enough notes for just long enough to appeal to the masses. It seemed to work, as I was approached by a few people following the performance, including a lovely British chap (I've always wanted to use that phrase) who wanted to sing a duet with me. In order to do this, he wanted to go to a karaoke bar. We hopped in another cab and headed to the East Village. (Note: The West Village, which is a little more gay - and I don't mean "happy" - is far more appealing than the East Village, which seems to host a whole lot of "Jersey Shore" rejects.) Well, it turns out, British-John only visits New York for business once every few months. It also turns out that businesses in New York can change pretty quickly. We arrived to find the karaoke bar had become a dance bar. Upon realizing that I was old enough to have birthed most of the clientele, I decided to hop in a cab and head back to the hotel, much to John's disappointment. (He wanted to go back to The Duplex and ask the piano player if he knew how to play "Up Where We Belong". I politely declined.)
I was proud of myself at the thought that I was ending the evening early. Then I looked at my watch: 2:45 am.
<yawn>
I'm too old for this!
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