Where I was last night was Manhattan, specifically, Broadway for a play. that makes a total of four plays I've seen on Broadway the past twelve months, which is a pretty good track record considering I don't really live near the place (it's about two hours in, more if there's delays at the Lincoln Tunnel, and there are always delays at the Lincoln Tunnel) and don't much like doing things. This is because my mother likes getting together with her rowdy college friends, and she likes inviting me or using me as substitute for my father. One of my mother's friends loves Broadway; she attended three plays the past week, and expects to make another one on Sunday. That's high for her, but she likes to see every play before the Tony Awards, and they're early this year plus the nineteen-day stagehands strike that threw her schedule off. This is the same friend who's trying hard to see all the countries out there, and the only thing slowing her is that she goes back to choice ones multiple times. Me, I'm still stuck on whether it's proper to call something a ``Broadway Play'' when the theater is not actually on Broadway, but rather as much as half a block off it. A literal mind can be a curse to communication.
Last night's play, which I'll get to talking about in time, was an evening show and so we had to drive up. Since my mother's still seeing halos she felt my father should drive, which my father did not want to do since my father doesn't like driving. He argued it was a Gridlock Alert Day, and it's insane to drive into Manhattan, and there's a train anyway. The train, Friday nights, runs once an hour, and we'd have need a station that's about 40 minutes away from home (mind, everything is 40 minutes away from home thanks to the weird geography of my parents' home), and my mother was not putting up with that. So he was forced to divided feelings by an hour's delay at the Lincoln Tunnel: on the one hand, see, he was right, it's impossible to drive into Manhattan on a Friday night! On the other hand, he was doing the driving. Driving home was faster, just an hour and a half and no major delays the entire way, but by that point it was well after midnight so the theme was my father wanting the car windows open to deal with their fogging up, and my wanting the windows closed and the heat on so I'm not cold. So it goes.
Trivia: Human skin is about 0.4 grams of phosphorus per kilogram. Source: The 13th Element: The Sordid Tale of Murder, Fire, and Phosphorus, John Emsley.
Currently Reading: Parting the Desert: The Creation of the Suez Canal, Zachary Karabell.