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Those of you who’ve known us for years know how much we
enjoy live theater, especially on Broadway. Our relatively frequent trips to
Philadelphia and DC give us the chance to stop in NY when we have the extra
time and foresight to buy tickets.
This time we saw an outstanding performance of Death of a Salesman, starring Philip
Seymour Hoffman. The cast was well-balanced and more than capable of supporting
PSH’s commanding presence as Willy Loman. When PSH, as Willy, first trudged on
stage with his back bowed by the weight of his sample cases, it took him a full
two minutes to get to his front door and ultimately collapse in a chair at the
kitchen table. The dejection and despondency expressed by his footsteps
silently said more than any two minutes of dialogue could have done. Before anyone
had said a word I was already asking Bob for a Kleenex! Needless to say, the
rest of the performance, dialogue-rich and well-paced, lived up to the opening
scene.
New York is so fascinating to me. We generally go there to see a Broadway show or two, which means we tend to hang around the Times Square area. There is so much more, and we promise ourselves that next time we will get back to Soho, etc. Meanwhile, we realize that the "city that never sleeps" provides its visitors and denizens with its own clock. It's totally unnecessary to wear a watch or even check your cellphone.
We arrive around 2pm, and the streets are full of shoppers, preponderantly women, carrying their "Medium Brown Bags" from Bloomingdales and store-bags from FAO Swartz and other well-known merchants. Food carts on the corners are wafting their most delicious smells our way. We had a late breakfast and will be having an early dinner, yet it takes all our willpower not to pick up some falafel or sausage or just a hot, salty, fresh soft pretzel with mustard.
At our hotel, we can easily tell it's 3pm - check-in time - by the line of people wheeling their luggage to the checkout desk. Fortunately we were able to get in early.
We arrive around 2pm, and the streets are full of shoppers, preponderantly women, carrying their "Medium Brown Bags" from Bloomingdales and store-bags from FAO Swartz and other well-known merchants. Food carts on the corners are wafting their most delicious smells our way. We had a late breakfast and will be having an early dinner, yet it takes all our willpower not to pick up some falafel or sausage or just a hot, salty, fresh soft pretzel with mustard.
At our hotel, we can easily tell it's 3pm - check-in time - by the line of people wheeling their luggage to the checkout desk. Fortunately we were able to get in early.
It must be 5pm as there is a mass exodus of better-dressed people, including ourselves tonight (black slacks and top with scarf; ubiquitous navy blazer over blue shirt and khakis) headed toward restaurant row on W. 46th Street, trolling for a restaurant prior to a 7pm or 8 pm performance. The restaurants are well-trained for this, and food all but flies out of the kitchens.
There is also a parade of business people, heading home after a day of work, men with ties loosened and women wearing sneakers instead of their Blahniks, some ducking into the subway, some flagging down one of the multitude of cabs, and others fortunate enough to walk directly home.
At 630pm or 730pm, depending on the day and show time, the same people who had rushed toward the restaurants now line up at the theaters between 42nd St. and 52nd St. The queues are orderly and polite. As we walk to the theater we notice some of the street vendors closing up for the day, and others setting up to catch the post-theater crowd.
After the shows, between 10 and 11pm, the last of the street vendors push their wares and then finally close up for the night. All the coffee shops and bars are open and doing a bustling business. We make our way through and around piles of cardboard and garbage bags, waiting to be collected. We enjoy the obligatory nightcap of tea and Calvados, respectively, at the restaurant adjacent to our hotel before retiring to our room for the night.
It's about 530am, and neither of us is ready to wake up, but it's hard to ignore the garbage trucks picking up last night's mountains of deposits. Bob takes an early morning picture of dawn in the city. We look out the window to see the restaurant and business owners hosing down the now-cleared sidewalks. The street-sweepers drive by, readying the city for another day.
We go back to sleep, knowing that the early morning vendors and food carts are already setting up. By the time we get up, we can confirm that it is 7am by the parade of business people marching crisply, now toward their offices, ties tightened up again but Blahniks still in hand. Those with a free hand have stopped by one of the street carts now offering breakfast, and are sipping coffee, munching on a bagel, or holding one of those square cardboard carriers with food and drink to be eaten when they arrive.
At the same hour, the side streets are filled with delivery trucks. The sidewalks that just last night were heaped with garbage bags are now covered with equally high mountains of boxes. Crates of pineapples, lettuce, and oranges compete for space with boxes of napkins. It takes so much to supply this amazing city. It's stunningly organic: boxes of supplies in the morning, bags of garbage at night.
We leave around 10am, and there is a bit of a lull, but from previous visits we know it doesn't last long. The bagel carts, almost magically, become sausage and falafel carts once again, anticipating the noontime rush of customers. The cycle starts anew.
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There is also a parade of business people, heading home after a day of work, men with ties loosened and women wearing sneakers instead of their Blahniks, some ducking into the subway, some flagging down one of the multitude of cabs, and others fortunate enough to walk directly home.
At 630pm or 730pm, depending on the day and show time, the same people who had rushed toward the restaurants now line up at the theaters between 42nd St. and 52nd St. The queues are orderly and polite. As we walk to the theater we notice some of the street vendors closing up for the day, and others setting up to catch the post-theater crowd.
After the shows, between 10 and 11pm, the last of the street vendors push their wares and then finally close up for the night. All the coffee shops and bars are open and doing a bustling business. We make our way through and around piles of cardboard and garbage bags, waiting to be collected. We enjoy the obligatory nightcap of tea and Calvados, respectively, at the restaurant adjacent to our hotel before retiring to our room for the night.
It's about 530am, and neither of us is ready to wake up, but it's hard to ignore the garbage trucks picking up last night's mountains of deposits. Bob takes an early morning picture of dawn in the city. We look out the window to see the restaurant and business owners hosing down the now-cleared sidewalks. The street-sweepers drive by, readying the city for another day.
We go back to sleep, knowing that the early morning vendors and food carts are already setting up. By the time we get up, we can confirm that it is 7am by the parade of business people marching crisply, now toward their offices, ties tightened up again but Blahniks still in hand. Those with a free hand have stopped by one of the street carts now offering breakfast, and are sipping coffee, munching on a bagel, or holding one of those square cardboard carriers with food and drink to be eaten when they arrive.
At the same hour, the side streets are filled with delivery trucks. The sidewalks that just last night were heaped with garbage bags are now covered with equally high mountains of boxes. Crates of pineapples, lettuce, and oranges compete for space with boxes of napkins. It takes so much to supply this amazing city. It's stunningly organic: boxes of supplies in the morning, bags of garbage at night.
We leave around 10am, and there is a bit of a lull, but from previous visits we know it doesn't last long. The bagel carts, almost magically, become sausage and falafel carts once again, anticipating the noontime rush of customers. The cycle starts anew.
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