Random Observations About our Day in N.Y.C.

1.  eavesdropping on strangers, part 1: On the train ride in, a mother seated a couple of rows back from us got mad when she realized that her young son (not sure how old, but he was clearly younger than ten) was playing a first-person shooter game on his smart-phone.  I'm actually a big defender of violence in media, but even I agree that the kid was too young to play such a violent game.  She grabbed the phone from him and said that she would take it away again, permanently next time, if she ever found him playing another shooting game.  She then searched through his smart-phone and deleted all the shooting games (of which he had several, thanks to tips from his friends), and replaced them with educational games involving such topics as grammar, spelling, and something to do with the wildlife habits of giraffes.  Before you start feeling sorry for the kid, let me tell you, he really got into those educational games for the rest of the train ride.  Seriously, he honestly seemed to have a ton of fun, and learned some new vocabulary (and giraffe facts) to boot.  I feel like this particular parable has more than one moral.  Yay, strict mom!

2.  eavesdropping on strangers, part 2:  In line at one of the food stands in Grand Central.  A father repeatedly tells his young sons to stop grabbing magazines off the racks, and to stop running around like crazy.  Finally, he snaps -- not too harshly or unreasonably, I might add -- "I don't know why I have to tell you everything five times!"

Astoundingly, the mother (not the mother from the previous eavesdropping incident) comes to the brats' defense by haranguing her hapless husband:  "Can you please say something nice to them for a change?"

"I was just trying to get them to stop --"

"Just say something nice!"

"Honey, I --"

"Say something nice, dammit!"

He never got a chance to say anything nice, because every time he opened his mouth to say something, she interrupted him to tell him he wasn't nice.  I don't know, maybe there's a background to this story that explains why she jumped all over him, but it took quite an effort on my part to not turn around and say, "dude, I'll distract her, you run for your life!"  I am not joking.  I really wanted to do this.

3.  Ian McKellan, Patrick Stewart, and Billy Crudup in "No Man's Land"!  That's right, Magneto, Captain Picard, and the "priceless" American Express commercial narrator all right in front of me!  Awesome!

The play, unfortunately, was a bit of a . . . well, I don't want to say "disappointment," because it was entertaining.  But it was certainly flawed.  Far too "stagey" or "play-y" for my taste.  "Well, duh," you might say in response, "it's a stage performance.  Who goes to a play and complains that it's too much like a play?"

But I stand by my opinion.  "No Man's Land" plays out as one lengthy monologue after another, punctuated by the occasional one-liner.  It doesn't take long for a (what I strongly believe to be unintentional) sense of unreality to settle in.  The series of (admittedly eloquent and witty) monologues are supposed to pass for natural, casual conversation, but each one is so long, I couldn't help but shake the thought "who converses like this, with a group of four people taking turns giving lengthy speeches while the three others simply sit back and silently listen without any interjection or reaction?"  This kind of conversation takes place in one place, and one place only:  a theater stage.  In short, playwright Harold Pinter doesn't seem to have any grasp at all on group dynamics, and this is not a nick-pick, it really does hurt the play.

Furthermore, the first and second acts contradict each other quite jarringly.  The first act establishes that the two main characters met each other for the first time shortly before the play begins.  The second act establishes that they've known each other for decades.  The first act establishes that Crudup's character is Picard's son.  The second act establishes that he's merely Picard's employee.  And so on and so on.  Now, these contradictions are so obvious they can't possibly be dismissed as mistakes on Pinter's part, they are clearly deliberate, and in retrospect, we came up with a couple of plausible theories as to why Pinter did this.  But that's only in retrospect.  As you're watching it, you're just plain old confused.  Don't get me wrong, the play was performed well, and the monologues were well written.  But though the play surely has its defenders, I maintain that it's far from Pinter's best work, and an example of a playwright allowing his own sense of experimentation to get in the way of competent storytelling.  This is not a matter of me "not getting it."

4.  looking for a restaurant in New York City:  Yeah, restaurants are everywhere.  But the crowds, the crowds, the freakin' crowds, holy Jesus!  Some places we couldn't even get into, not because they were too busy, just because the crowds of people milling in front (not in line for the restaurant, mind you, just pedestrianizing on the street) couldn't let you through.  One place, which, mind you, didn't look either busy or upscale, told us that a table would be ready at 7 (this being told to us at 4:30).  Finally, we settled on Rothman's Steakhouse, because of the "set menus" in the window.

5.  Rothman's Steakhouse -- but when we sat down, the set menus were nowhere to be found.  Only unattractive-sounding options that perfectly illustrated the cliche of "New York prices."  Appetizers for one that start at $22, and so forth.  Where were the set menus advertised in the window?  Ah, you have to ask for them!

We were further discouraged by the oddly long wait time for coffee and the equally odd choice to serve our bread not with dipping oil, but with cocktail sauce.  That's right, cocktail sauce, like the kind that's normally served with shrimp.  What the hey?  I ordered an appetizer of calamari so we'd have an excuse to use the cocktail sauce, which, no surprise, didn't go with the bread very well.  The calamari was greasy enough to put a fast food joint to shame.

But the rest of the meal, oh my, what a treat!  The steak was sensational, and the cheesecake, divine.  So ultimately a surprisingly good meal, despite the discouraging start.

Oh, and speaking of the restaurant, that leads me to my final random observation of the evening:

6.  eavesdropping on strangers, part 3:  The older gentleman seated next to us used a lot of academic doublespeak to trick his wife into thinking that Beethoven wrote "Jingle Bell Rock."  I'm not sure she fell for it.  Her face depicted skepticism, but not nearly as much skepticism as the guy's wild claim warranted.  And let me tell you why:  Because although the guy's story was ludicrous, he used enough academic buzzwords, straight-faced declarations of admiration ("it really serves as an excellent illustration of his genius because . . ."), and specificity ("yeah, it was the third-to-last thing he ever composed") to almost sell this crazy idea.  The guy's sense of humor was sort of jerky; she wasn't in on it, and he was clearly trying to actually convince her.  I gotta feel sorry for her if she ever humiliates herself by bringing this up at a cocktail party ("by the way, here's a bit of trivia, did you know that 'Jingle Bell Rock' was actually written by Beethoven?").  On the other hand, I gotta admire this guy's creativity and storytelling ability.  Some might say, if you're gonna lie for no reason, make it a whopper.