A few weeks back my mother invited me to a play on Broadway, although it was more along the lines of ``I forgot your father was going tuna fishing that weekend, so you're coming.'' And I was honestly glad to go, since it's a chance to get into New York City and see presumably interesting things and avoid my natural tendency to not do stuff. My mother wanted to make a weekend of it, visiting one of her college friends who goes to every play on Broadway and would go to this too, and the plan was that I'd use the wonders of park-and-ride to take the bus up to Manhattan, meet my mother there, and ride back down with her.
I got into the city a little bit late, as there was a traffic jam outside the Lincoln Tunnel, but had no trouble finding the restaurant. Getting in to find my mother, well, I had to convince the person watching o'er the entrance that I was meeting someone already inside. She knew there was an incomplete party, but didn't recognize any of the names I offered since it turns out to have included more of my mother's friends than I expected. The first words: the strike's on, and there's no play. (For the moment my mother plans to try again next month, assuming the strike is over then.)
This isn't the Writers' Strike affecting Hollywood and Late Night with Conan O'Brien. It's a separate action among the stagehands, and just started up that morning. My mother figured it wasn't worth calling me because they hadn't figured what their alternate plans should be, and by the time they did I would be on the bus and therefore out of communication, so I might as well meet them at the restaurant and find out what to do from there. Also that they need to get me a cell phone, by which they mean, I need to get a cell phone for myself. Well, maybe, but how often do I actually need that, except for a week like this when I've spent more of my time missing the things I thought I was doing rather than actually doing them?
Trivia: Architect William Van Alen offered his first floor plans for the Chrysler Building's lowest floors as early as 12 November 1928, a week after being hired. Source: Higher: A Historic Race to the Sky and the Making of a City, Neal Bascomb.
Currently Reading: 11th Month, 11th Day, 11th Hour, Joseph E Persico.