Thursday, January 13
There was this beautiful snowstorm the other night which started just as we were all arriving at the theatre. Everyone arrived in the green room, breathless and excited about what was sure to be an impending blizzard. At least that’s what all the news outlets were saying. We chattered excitedly about the storm and people’s plans to hole up, take a personal day from their day job, and generally just enjoy being stuck inside, and whether we’d have a tiny audience Wednesday if it got really bad. It didn’t get going in earnest until after the show, though, (and after our now-obligatory post-show, green room, cast shot of whiskey) when some friends of mine and I trekked through the flakes to Coppersmith’s, a pub near the theatre, to discuss the show and the storm. One of them works at BAM and she laughed about the “emergency meetings” they’d had all day about whether they’d have to cancel the show because of Manhattan-based actors having transportation trouble. “It’s New York! We’re supposed to be ready for snow!’ she declared with an eye-roll. We drank beer and ate tuna melts and mini caesar salads while the snow slanted down diagonally outside the wide glass windows. They loved the show, Danny’s play in particular, and we discussed the intricacies of acting in a role for more than a few nights. The other friend, an actor, is more used to short runs. He liked that the last play provoked him to thought. “I wasn’t expecting to come tonight and see something I didn’t understand,” he said of The Room and A Richard, “I loved it!”
Arriving in Brooklyn later that night, I ducked my head and sloshed my boots through the white stuff. The doormen were having an impromptu party as they were all required to stay there overnight. Chips, salsa and an ongoing weather news feed punctuated their banter as I complimented them on their stellar salting of the sidewalk in front of the building. Upstairs, I expected my boyfriend to be asleep but he was up-peering excitedly out the window-as a snow day meant a day off work for him in the public schools. We stayed up too late, eating sorbet and talking, and he was grumpy when the alarm went off at five and he had to drive up to the Bronx. Only 80 of the school’s 400 students actually made it to class.
So no snow day. But a pretty perfect evening of theatre, conversation and beauty. And sorbet.