Journey's End

I went to the theater last night with my friend Martin and his parents. It was Martin's birthday- we celebrated with a feast of Roman proportions at an Argentine steakhouse called Churrascaria Plataforma. I think when cows have nightmares this is what they see- the meat roams around the room on giant skewers wielded by men who should be the picadors in Barcelona- not an ugly one in the bunch, and may I say- all that walking around does wonders for their (ahem) legs.

It was noisy, the band played samba, sorta- it was hard to tell over the din of the diners, it might've been a polka. The focus of the evening was meat and lots of it. They tried to distract you with the salad bar - great stuff there like salt cod and scalloped potatoes and even sushi. But the sushi was odd- I think someone might mention that fresh pineapple is not a traditional item to lay on top of sticky rice wrapped in nori. And beyond the salad bar were the side dishes- fried plantains, onion rings, steamed broccoli (who even LOOKS at a vegetable here) little round cheese bread balls and 2 dishes which contains the Brazilian version of steak sauce (Martin asked for A-1, the waiter, I believe, pretended he was deaf- or that he heard his mom calling from Sao Paolo- Martin's request went unheeded) a vinaigrette which had sliced bits of tomato and scallion in it and another dish of yucca flour crumbs and (yikes) bacon. But the vinaigrette cut the richness of the meat and the crumbs soaked up some of the beef fat- however you ate it, it was yum. My head spun as I ate more meat than I eat in a year at one sitting (I figured out if you said "yes" the waiters stay longer... the view was too good to waste) Sausage, roasted chicken, loin of pork, beef ribs, top sirloin, flank steak and turkey wrapped in bacon, tenderloin wrapped in bacon- actually I think piglets might be told stories of this place to keep them from overindulging at the trough. The dessert cart was ...painful to look at and heavy on coconut- I gave it a pass (sort of- I had a spoon of everyone elses...)

And we ran to the theater. Actually ran might be a slight exaggeration- Martin's mom and dad are in their 70's and 80's and Martin and I were extremely stuffed but we managed a cab and CRAWLED across 44th Street. I have to say as much as I hated being late to the theater (I have a history with working backstage and have serious respect for the folks mounting 8 shows a week- I always dress up, arrive on time and unwrap my candy before the lights go off- and NEVER check my cel phone during the show- people who do that make me nuts- I always want to ask- Hey LADY you look like HELL in that blue light and if Commissioner Gordon wants you he'll send up the BAT signal. sheesh) I love looking at the glow of Times Square- all the theaters lit up- the St James, The Helen Hayes, marquees blazing. I feel so lucky this is home- and so native New York as I watch it all go by from the back of a yellow cab.

We slid into the theater and my TDF tickets yielded 10th row in the orchestra- great view and the Belasco is a magnificent theater, all smoky old paintings and stained glass set into the ceiling. The play had already begun, "Journey's End". A revival of a play set in WW1 starring Boyd Gaines and a wonderful cast of basically Broadway debuts. Its an extraordinary story told in the conversations between officers waiting for a battle to begin. As I sat there I admired how beautifully the story was wrought- in the midst of a horrible situation the men talked of building rockeries and growing lobelia, recited the walrus and the carpenter and commiserated over the purser's extreme ignorance of cooking or basic hygeine. In between filtered the horrors of war- the idea that men would go to war and be able to strip themselves of their humanity to do unthinkable things- the toll on them, and ultimately on the world. The technology has changed, and the uniforms too, but eliminate the English accents and the funny helmets and candles and the tragedy of a dead 19 year old who was told he was doing a good thing and believed it- is that ever any different? The play features very real sounding (to me) bombs dropping and gunfire and after awhile each sound made me jump. If I was against war in principal before this- I realized it was just an IDEA before- that we as basic creatures could do this one to the other for any reason- it shook me - WW1 was almost 100 years ago and we have learned nothing. When he was 6 my brother proposed an end to war- he said just don't give them any uniforms- they will not know who to shoot. My sister (an innovator) piped in that if the soldiers never showed up there wouldn't be a war at all.

When we walked out of the theater it had begun to rain and there were no cabs to be had so we walked. Martin is from Connecticut and his parents from New Jersey. But Charlotte and Al are very much New Yorkers making regular sojourns to the 92nd Street Y and Zabar's and occasionally dropping below 14th Street to Russ and Daughters for smoked fish and to Katz's for something to tide them over for the trip back home. The streets were mobbed and as we walked Schubert Alley I worried for them- Charlotte walks rather slowly and there was not a free inch on the sidewalk. I watched them from behind and tried to look out for Martin who seemed to have been swallowed up in a vortex of Spring Breakers. I loved watching Charlotte and Al. Everything around them- people pushing, shouting- the rain, cars pulling up out of subterranean garages, didn't matter. They held onto each other's hands and as long as they each knew where the other was- it was all right and they'd get through. I recognize that at this stage there is more life behind them than ahead. But I think the message is as long as you hold hands, it doesn't matter where the journey ends. It will all be good as long as you are there to hold my hand. Happy Birthday Martian. Charlotte and Al, thank you. Thank you.

:) X