all the kinds of tape

What I saw: “The Beauty Queen of Leenane” at BAM on Fulton Street in Brooklyn, a venue that appears to be a crumbling relic but it turns out that’s ok because it’s a decorative choice.

Used to be called the Triboro Bridge

What I did beforehand: drove down from Bedhead Hills, ate at a Korean brasserie, because this was Brooklyn. Probably had too much rice wine, or dry riesling, or maybe it was whatever they brought us after dinner because they thought it was the Graduate’s birthday, even though the only reason he got a present from me was this wooden mallet had been backordered at Xmas.

Not my cocktail, tho

What I wore: gold hoop earrings from the 80s, black Doc Marten shoes from the 90s, James jeans, black tissue weight Proenza Schoule dotted tee, my mother’s bracelet, black summer-weight Eileen Fisher cardigan because climate change is real, a Marimekko scarf because Finland has a representative democracy with principles of parliamentarism, and the scowl of crushing despair that we fucking don’t.

Just in case you think I kid

Who went with me: the Bacon Provider

How I got tickets: online, in mid-December, when people were still able to pretend that maybe everything was gonna be ok somehow.

Why I saw this show: this ad. Their expressions.

Where I sat: Row G, Seat 2, next to a couple that was arguing.

Things that were sad: the play, like all plays (according to my cousin) was about loneliness. Also, just how crazy we are just under the surface.

I’d rather get a picture
of someone getting a picture

Things that were funny: quite a bit of funny business, including quips and gestures. Really, it was a master class in actors making exquisite choices for their physical expression. Surprises, weirdness, simultaneously natural and unnatural.

Theater may not be as decrepit as it appears

Things that were not funny: in this play, Chekhov’s gun is portrayed by a fire poker.

Something I ate: I think it was halibut. Or maybe flounder. One of those. It was white. Did I mention they brought these little shots at the end of dinner, because they thought it was the Graduate’s birthday? Also, carmel-popcorn on ice cream, which I have to now learn to make.

When you’re this Brooklyn,
it’s always your birthday

What it is: a disturbing, much-celebrated play, from the mid-90s. Set in the gritty sort-of-now-ish Ireland where everyone is poor and almost unintelligible to an American audience, and where everyone is fecking nuts.

Who should see it: theater lovers seeking the sort of two hour and fifteen minute escape that will not restore their faith in humanity in any way

Not fighting

What I saw on the way home: one couple that wasn’t fighting, and one that was.

Fighting

Space Tape

Electrical tape, masking tape.

Double-stick tape.

Duct tape. Adhesive tape. Clear tape. Packing tape. Strapping tape.

Marine grade vinyl tape. Self-adhesive tape.

Sandwich tape. Cake tape. Sushi tape. Flower tape. Rehab Tape.

Creepy Tape.

Hair Tape, that makes the up-do you envision stick together.

Stop Texting Me Tape.

Special treasure tape.

Endangered species tape.

Hard to articulate ideas tape.

Tape that holds people together.

Tape that keeps your pants up.

Tape that holds ideas together.

Tape that tells good jokes.

Tape that keeps the old dog from dying.

Tape that makes this easier to read.

Tape for re-sealing the yogurt container because you changed your mind.

Tape that changes the weather.

Tape that keeps pollutants out of the drinking water.

Second Chance Tape.

Tape that reminds people that Thomas Jefferson was a slave owner.

Tape that plays your favorite song when you really need to hear your favorite song.

Jewelry tape.

Resume tape (makes your random life experiences seem like there is a point!).

Tape for making outfits match even though they don’t really match.

Tape that inserts this story:

The next day, I gave the Bacon Provider a ride to his appointment, and went back to the closed fabric store for a second time.

They were closed again.

The sign said they should be open, but the door was locked, and the lights were off. I sat down on a bench on the corner and considered my options.

I heard a slight noise and a dark blur dashing into the store.

Rising and walking to the threshold, I peered in: dark with the door now wide open. The tiny fabric shop had shelves stuffed full of fabric bolts, and an uneven fence of upholstery fabrics, on rolls, all the way around the shop.

I stepped in hesitantly. One fluorescent light flickered to life, and then another. I kept my eyes in an active scan of the topmost shelves, where I saw a variety of charming modern cotton fabrics. There was barely room to snake through the store and see everything and turn around without toppling over the long bolts. I stumbled over a set of drawers containing buttons. Another bank of lights came on.

Behind the counter, a woman made a phone call, inquiring about the possibility of getting more indigo batiks. “We could sell a lot of those,” she said into the phone, repeating it a couple of times. “Everybody’s looking for indigo batiks.”

I considered; I would be interested in some indigo batiks. My mother really liked them, too.

The woman in the shop had long black hair, scattered with white threads of gray, and eyebrows, drawn on, in two straight lines. I busied myself at the sale shelf, beginning to fret about the duration of my paid parking out front. I found a Japanese import, navy with small gray rabbits, and a bolt end that was promising, and carried my armload to the cutting table.

I had her attention, and described the yardages I wanted.

Suddenly there was another woman, exactly the same as the first, the same black hair with white threads of gray. Same drawn on eyebrows, in two straight lines. Did she walk in behind me? Materialize behind the counter? Emerge from under the table? There were two of them, a matched set. They cut at the same time, with two pairs of matching, very-sharp scissors, half-way across the width of the bolt in a fluid motion ending with a snip, and then turning it over and repeating. Synchronized.

I left with a hand-written receipt. I don’t know which one wrote it.

Tape that gives stories a point.

Rage prevention Tape.

Tape that makes a person tell the truth.

Tape that settles debts.

Tape that makes amends.

Tape that keeps the tank full.

Tape that brings back the dead.

Tape that gives you credit for the work no one ever acknowledged.

Tape to tape the shimmy and groan out of the elevator.

Tape that fixes broken furniture.

Vacation plans tape.

Tape that reminds you of the better qualities of people.

Invincible tape.

Relationship tape.

Tape for easing the pain of betrayal.

Tape for putting ornaments on the Christmas tree.

Excessive cleavage tape.

Bathrobe tape.

Experimental tape.

Do-over tape.

Tape for regrets.

Better Decisions Tape.

Gerrymandering tape.

Subway fare tape.

Decorative tape for creating ironic ambiance.

Tape for droughts.

Tape that makes an argument make sense.

Tape tape.

Tag: all the kinds of tape

I saw “The Beauty Queen of Leenane"