New York, New York

I arrived in New York a few days ago. In the van on the way to the hotel, an Austrian lady was talking about how she got stuck in Havana since her credit cards were from US banks. She said they ate breakfast rolls and drank wine, "We were starving!" and barely made it out of the Hotel Nacional, with just enough cash to pay the hotel incidentals and get to the airport. I told her I'd stayed at the same hotel and had that problem last March--for two days I ended up eating boiled eggs that I stuffed into my coat pocket from the breakfast buffet until things got resolved and I scurried off to the airport. Funny, staying at the historic Hotel Nacional and starving!

Last night I went to see Arthur Miller's, "All My Sons" on Broadway. John Lithgow was incredible, and Katie Holmes was pretty good.

I grabbed a $10 vodka on the rocks, downed it, and took my seat. The play started out OK, but soon got real intense, with line after line of great dialog. By the end of the first act I was completely drawn in and wiping some tears while my body overheated.

It got better and better and I began to get a little depressed. I thought, "How can I ever write that well?" Usually, when I read a book by a notable writer I think, "I could probably do that. " Maybe I'd even make some changes to make it better. What a pompous ass I am. But this script totally overwhelmed me. I was sitting in an aisle seat, about 20 rows back, next to two youngish women. I noticed the attractive girl next to me adjusting her position when I would sit up or cross the other leg. I would wipe my brow, trying to hide that I was wiping away tears, and she would wipe her brow too. So I felt there was some nonverbal communication there. It was almost like a date, but I couldn't bring myself to speak to her. I was mostly focused on the play.

I left during the ovation to hide my flowing eyes. What a script, what a performance.

At the bar upstairs at Sardi's, I ordered an Absolute martini, wet, and scanned the brimming crowd. Soon, a seat opened in the middle of the bar--so I grabbed it. I overheard some man say he was from New Orleans and that started a conversation, and his wife joined in. Then, it turned out the girl next to him was from New Orleans too! So there were four New Orleanians there on that particular night at that particular time. We talked and laughed and drank away.

A tall, 50-something blonde woman breezed in and ordered a martini. She has a restaurant in L.A. and also a place in NYC. We had a nice chat, but couldn't help but notice the fuzz growing on her neck. The light hit it just right.

I excused myself around midnight since I had to be in Jersey in the morning for business.