Showerless in Manhattan

Things happen in this city--crazy, wonderful things that could never happen anywhere else. You brush shoulders in a crowd with Sutton Foster (Anything Goes, The Drowsy Chaperone, Thoroughly Modern Millie), you're moved to tears by the simple beauty of an honest story, a toothless man from Alabama takes your picture, and then, suddenly, you're sitting feet away from Andrew Lippa (composer of The Addams Family, You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown) and Lynn Ahrens (Anastasia, Once on This Island, Ragtime).

Only in New York!

I woke up yesterday morning with a jolt--not because my alarm had gone off, but because it hadn't. Light was already streaming through the windows of my temporary third story home on 96th street! I looked at my watch. (Yes, I still wear a watch; I'm old-fashioned like that.)

8:30!

I'd been planning to take my place in the early rush line for the new musical Once around 7:30 or 8:00, and I wasn't going to miss my chance to grab a cheap ticket! There was no time to shower, so I threw a hat over my hair (secret: I wear this hat way too often--especially when I haven't had time to wash my hair!), and I dashed out the door.

Luck was a lady that morning, because I made it to the line just before 20 or 30 others descended, and I was the last person to get a rush ticket. Hurrah! (My apologies to everyone standing in line behind me.) After strolling through Central Park, perusing 5th Avenue--they gave me free chocolate in the Lindt store!--and ogling the displays in 57th street's Steinway store, I headed back to the theater for the matinee performance of Once.

It had just started to rain, so the entire audience was huddled under the theater awning. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice, "Where are we supposed to be? Do you see the box office?" I turned to the woman standing next to me, looked away, and then did a double take. It was Sutton Foster!!! Or was it? I snuck another glance, trying not to be too obvious. Yup! Her hair was down and she wasn't wearing any make-up, but it was Sutton Foster alright. We jostled shoulders as she and her friend disappeared into the crowd. (Maybe just a liiiiiiiittle bit of her talent rubbed off on me in the process. Maybe???)

As the usher lead me to my seat, I realized that I was sitting in one of the private boxes, and I felt a rush of girlish excitement. The box was draped with--yes!--red velvet curtains, and I had a great view of the stage. The show began before any of us really knew it had started. As the audience filtered in, the cast members--every one of whom plays an instrument!--mingled with the audience members while dancing, playing, and singing Irish folktunes. Then, suddenly, the lights were down and one of the tunes became the opening number of the show.

The first scene was riveting: Guy (a discouraged Irish musician) comes face to face with Girl (a solemn, starry-eyed Czech immigrant whose English is charming and whose Czech is close enough to Russian that I understood bits and pieces). The dialogue was clever and unpredictable, and the music--although not traditionally jazzy or hummable--wove an atmosphere of sweet melancholy. I loved the fact that I genuinely admired and respected the female protagonist and that, even in the end, she remained true to her morals. The love story was subtle and understated (more about the love of music, in some ways, than about human relationships), and I was grateful that it refused to be cookie-cutter. The ending was perfect (happier, at least in my eyes, than any other ending would have been), but it still left me in tears.

NOTE: Before I tell you what happened next, let me emphasize the fact that my eyes were red and puffy from crying. Let me also remind you that I'd rushed out the door without taking a shower that morning. In short: I was gross. Got that? Okay.

So as I walked across the street after the show, an old, toothless man stopped me and asked, "Hey, Miss, kin ah take yer picture?" When I asked him why, he said, "I'm frum Alabama, and I'm collectin' pictures of all the purdy socialites in New York City." I shrugged in a bemused way, and he zoomed in within inches of my nose before snapping the shot. "Thank yeh!"

???

A few minutes later, as I was ordering food from the Shake Shack to share with my friend, Stephen, the cashier said, "Ordering a lot of food today, are we?" "It's not just for me," I explained. "Oh, I always encourage models like you to eat more," he said. "You're on vacation from modeling school, aren't you?"

Wha. . .?!?

Lessons learned here: 1) Shower less. 2) Cry more often. Beauty is a mysterious thing.

After those bizarre encounters, I met up with Stephen at the Gershwin Theater to enter the Wicked lottery. . .for the 15th time! (When I'd told my mom earlier that I was meeting up with Stephen to try for lottery tickets, she started laughing. "Stephen Schwartz?!?" Ha! If only.) Long story short: I didn't win the tickets. . .but it ended up being a good thing. I had a great talk with Stephen (one of my music buddies from the good, old ASU days), and then I headed to the ASCAP workshop to discover that two of my Broadway idols, Andrew Lippa and Liz Ahrens, were on the panel. Thank heaven I didn't miss that workshop to see a show!

Had I not gone to the workshop, I would also have been deprived of the chance to get to know a delightfully dazy woman from Arizona. When she saw me analyzing a Debussy piece and working on my Italian homework, she turned to the man sitting next to her and said, "We've got a smartie sitting next to us! Look at her--writing her guitar chords and practicing her Spanish!"

?!?!?!

"Speaking of smarties," she went on, "my husband's a cardiologist. I'm drawn to men--and women too, of course--because of their minds. But you know what usually happens to people like that!" I shook my head. Her face got serious. "They just, you know, SNAP. They snap! My husband's crazy." She looked thoughtful. "But he's still a nice man." Later, I asked this woman if I could borrow a pen to take notes with. "Oh, sure!" she said, "But I'll need it back. This is a Japanese pen from my hotel. I can't stay with my daughter in Harlem anymore because she's married. You know how that goes. Are you married? No? Have you ever been to one of those Asian hotels? They're so strange! They give you these free little slippers, but they won't give you free pens. Crazy, right? I had to keep bugging the man at the front desk until he gave me this."

I accepted the pen a little nervously. . .and then forgot to give it back! Oops. I guess it's my souvenir: A hard-earned pen from a Japanese (?) hotel.

After watching an hour of a stirring musical called "The Cost of Living" (a show about the difficulties of living in New York as an Asian immigrant) and an hour of incredible feedback from Lippa and Ahrens, I headed to the Grand Stand in Times Square to meet a church friend from New York and a former missionary friend from Kiev. Sadly, my phone ran out of batteries, and after waiting forty-five minutes at the Grand Stand, I hadn't seen either of them.

Then it started to rain!

I was ready to admit defeat. But as I was heading back to the subway station, I just happened to bump into Allison--my friend from New York. (In the crowds on 42nd street, that is a bonafide miracle!) We grabbed s'more concretes at the Shake Shack--Shake Shack should start rewarding me for my recent patronage!!!--and then ended up wandering around the midtown/Central Park area for the next three hours, just catching up.

It was a full day from beginning to end. Who knows what today will hold? Anything can happen in New York--especially if you're brave enough to skip your morning shower. ;-)