personal

A day in the theatre

I spent most of the afternoon in Manhattan, joining my parents for a Broadway matinee and dinner out to celebrate their anniversary. We went to see A Life in the Theatre, which, despite the opportunity to see Patrick Stewart on stage, I really can’t at all recommend. I thought both he and T.R. Knight did the best they could with some very thin material, but I have to agree with Ben Brantley’s take on it:

At least as damaging is our impression that the relationship between the two men doesn’t evolve. A counterpoint between the irritable wistfulness of Robert — eager to impart his skill to his younger confrère — and the impatient heedlessness of John is established in the beginning, and any variation on that dichotomy is sparse. And in the scenes that find the actors in costume, in plays, they are as cartoonish as figures from Broadway satires in old television variety shows.

The show is kind of atypical of David Mamet, although there are a couple of c-words tossed in near the beginning, unfortunately, just to remind you whose play you’re watching.

And would somebody tell me, when did standing ovations become something audiences did at the end of shows just as a matter of course, regardless of the show?

Then we had dinner at Keens Steakhouse, which was okay.

Now I’m home and watching episodes of Fringe — seriously, when did this show get good? — and trying to finish the Sunday crossword puzzle. I think I’m going to be more successful at the former than the latter.

A scanner darkly

I woke up dark and early this morning to do that thing everybody loves to do on their weekend: go get an lower lumbar MRI. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been having some increased discomfort and referring pain that might be a result of my herniated disc, but before we do anything else we need to take a look at a new scan and see if that really does look to be the cause.

So I woke up, showered, and drove over to the radiology place five minutes away. The one good thing about going out before 7 a.m. on a Saturday is that there’s practically no traffic. I was the first patient of the day, and I actually had to ring the buzzer to be let in.

The scan itself went smoothly. I didn’t luck out with an open MRI, but this is a different place than where I went before, and the machine was a little more comfortable. I’m not especially claustrophobic, though the MRI does seem designed to take you right up to that edge. Both times before, I’ve found that my arms get pinned a little uncomfortably, the chute down the middle being a little too narrow for them to rest comfortably at my side. That wasn’t so much an issue today, thankfully, and the scans themselves were a lot quicker. I’m not entirely sure why that is — a different machine, more specific prescription, better operator? — but I’m hoping whatever they show will suggest our next course of action.

I think I’d prefer it to be the disc, just since that’s a known quantity, and the alternatives that leap immediately to mind are a lot less appealing, but we’ll see what the doctor says on Tuesday. I have a CD of the scans to bring with me, since they weren’t going to make it to him if sent by mail. (I’m glad I asked on my way out.)

I came home and watched a little television, then caught up on a little sleeping. I tried to do some writing today, too — for most of the day, actually — but this particular story I’m working on has me kind of in the weeds, trying to figure it out. I like it, although it still feels kind of directionless, and I’m not really sure how to end it. The submission deadline is in a little over a week; I could probably rework it for something else if I miss that deadline, but I’d really like to try it there first. We’ll see. More writing this week, I expect.

Then this evening, I watched Temple Grandin, which I missed when it was on HBO. It really is a terrific movie, most of all for Claire Danes’ astounding performance. I have no great familiarity with autism, although I’ve read many raves from people who do — including my sister, who works with autistic children all the time. All I know is, Danes is captivating, and her performance never feels like a cheap gimmick, like “hey look at me! I’m playing disabled!” It’s an inspiring story, and Danes’ portrait of Grandin is fearless.

America’s radio sweetheart

Today was pretty similar to yesterday, except the live radio show I went to see was The Sound of Young America, not The Prairie Home Companion. (Given host Jesse Thorn’s noted dislike of PHC, hinted at in a couple of polite jokes at its expense at the top of the show, I find this scheduling coincidence quite amusing.) And instead of meeting my parents for dinner beforehand, I wound up briefly visiting New York’s High Line Park — I still like it, but I think the thrill of its newness is gone — and managing not to have any dinner at all. In fact, I’m writing this while on the train ride home, and I’ve managed to have nothing to eat or drink for about four or five hours. (I passed on the free wine and beer available at the show.) That wasn’t at all my original plan, but when your plan is basically “wander downtown and see what happens,” sometimes that’s what happens.

The show itself was a lot of fun, with guests like Judah Frielander, Amy Sedaris, and John Hodgman, plus pretty much exactly the sort of audience you’d expect at a live public radio show featuring those people. And live comedy and music. There was going to be a meet-up after, at a nearby bar, but I have an MRI at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning. And I’ve had nothing to eat since an apple after lunch, so a beer or two might not be exactly the right thing for me now anyway.

If I had to pick, I’d say I probably enjoyed last night’s show a little more, even if that hurts Jesse Thorn’s feelings or loses me public radio indie cred with the heavily Brooklynite audience tonight. But it’s a narrow margin, and this time I was actually there, not watching on a movie screen.

Now I’m just actually glad to be going home, and have something to eat.

Update: Just after I’d written that — or, rather, written up to the “going home, and…” part — my train arrived at the station, where my father was waiting to pick me up. I had a left-over turkey burger and some mac’n’cheese, and now I’m going to get myself ready for bed. I don’t expect to have a lot to do tomorrow morning, since the MRI mostly entails lying very still and trying to concentrate on anything other than the fact that my arms are kind of pinched at my side*. But it is at the unconscionable hour of 7 a.m. on a Saturday.

* I did request an open MRI, but I also told the woman who made my appointment that it wasn’t a deal-breaker, not if I could get in sooner with a closed one. She said she understood, but she didn’t say if my appointment was either one or the other. I’m hoping it won’t matter, and they’ll have an open one available. Also that it reveals exactly what’s wrong, isn’t serious, outlines a plan of action, and gets me some relief. Oh, and is full of rainbows and magic beams and gumdrops, but I think that much goes without saying, right?

That’s the news from Lake Wobegon

No sign of ghost burglars in the middle of last night, which is good, though I did have to run in order to make the train. The only times the LIRR seems to be running on time is when I’m running late. And, of course, we then crept along at a crawl between mine and the next station. Oh well, such is the stuff of Thursday mornings.

This evening, after work, I joined my parents for dinner out (Japanese hibachi) and a live simulcast of A Prairie Home Companion at our local multiplex. We only just got back. As it happens, I’m going to another live radio show tomorrow night…though I won’t be staying in the city too late, since I do have that MRI scheduled first thing Saturday morning.

In fact, I think I’m going to go to bed now.

Next up: sleep-blogging

I didn’t oversleep this morning, even though I did wake up in the middle of the night to discover that the lamp on my desk was still on. Or rather, back on, since I’m convinced I turned it off before I went to bed. It lights up the entire room, so I sort of have to turn it off, and I didn’t fall asleep in my clothes or anything. So either I’m mistaken, or I turned it on myself while I was still sleeping. I was having a lot of strange dreams about burglars and securing the house, I think thanks in part to the helicopter that circled the neighborhood for about an hour yesterday evening — and still no word on what that was about — and I guess people have done weirder things when they’re asleep.

It’s either that or we have ghosts.

Otherwise, the day was pretty much indistinguishable from yesterday.