What I saw: “Women of a Certain Age,” at the Public Theater, 425 Lafayette Street in New York City
What I did beforehand: I dreamed we were building a mews for our golden eagle and the snowy owl. I woke up to take the Bacon Provider to the train. The power went out while I was brushing my teeth.
Why do we say “the power went out?” Like power is alive, and it died. Or it left? The deranged thoughts run through me like electricity. As a female citizen in a country with a pussy-grabbing accused child-rapist as president-elect, the power has gone out. We’ll be chased down the street with clubs. The presidency is lost to the forces of female enslavement and they will own the house and senate come January and pack the Supreme Court with old white men bent on snatching back women’s bodily autonomy. And yet fully half the people who could have voted couldn’t be bothered to.
I drove my husband to the train. I got back in bed with my coat on and tried to check NYSEG’s website on my phone. I couldn’t get enough signal. The cat thought it was taking too long, and stretched out across my chest. I listened to our generator hum.
What I wore: favorite Fluevogs, black tights, navy eShakti dress that has birds on it, two jackets, eye makeup, look of resignation, unwashed and unbrushed hair.
Who went with me: the Bacon Provider
How I got tickets: as soon as they were available, online, for $40 each
Why I saw this show: I saw part 1 (which I still consider to be among the best plays I saw this year) and part 2.
Where I sat: row C, seat 14, behind the kitchen sink.
Things that were sad: the Gabriel family is facing some serious financial challenges after a death. This play is set Tuesday night of this week, and the characters all still believe that Hillary Rodham Clinton is about to be elected President of the United States.
Things that were funny: we arrived early enough to eat before the show, but The Library (a restaurant inside the Public Theater) had no available tables and the noisy bar was packed with happy hour patrons. So we used Yelp! even though I distrust it in New York, and were directed to two promising nearby restaurants, both of which turned out to be not open yet. A third, Bergen Hill, was around the corner, and inside we found a gorgeous little place with top notch wines by the glass, fancy cocktails, and a variety of small, shared plates (we tried and loved the oysters, hamachi, squid, burrata, and winter bitter greens salad) giving us one of the best spontaneous dining experiences we have had this year.
Things that were not funny: I want a fourth play about this family. I need to know what happens to them.
Something else I ate: candy I found in my purse.
What it is: a play, one hour and 45 minutes, performed without intermission. Highly recommended.
Who should not see it: anyone still too wounded from Tuesday, people hungry for shepherd’s pie.
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What I saw on the way home: the post-its in the Astor Place subway stop.
The power came back, of course, and the generator went back to sleep until its next automatic weekly test, on Monday. When we lose power I over-focus on the things I can’t do (use the internet, or bake), like I’m terribly inconvenienced by my momentary holiday from Twitter and being a #ragecook.
Almost Every Thursday 