A First

So I’ve embraced Gandhi’s saying “Be the change you want to see in the world”, except the world is my own, and the change is nothing as righteous as fighting for equal rights. My change was a date.

It was my first. It was with myself. Gasp.

A couple of months ago, I decided that if I wanted to do certain things, I need to stop waiting for someone to ask me or do them with me, and just do them myself. To that end, I decided to go see a Broadway play. I think it was Broadway. It was near the street.

I left my home later than I had planned, as is my way. I bought lunch on the way there, a Quarter Pounder with cheese. Healthy? No. Delicious? Surprisingly, no. Wasted calories? No, because I learned that I can now live without that grease bomb and not crave it at all. Anyway, I ran up to the train tracks, hopped on a PATH train, and hoped like hell I got to Manhattan before 2. The play started at 3, but I had a number of blocks to walk to reach the theater since I wasn’t wasting money on a subway or cab to get there, and I have these lovely pieces of transportation called legs and feet that work. I figured I would allot 40 minutes to get to the theater, and be there for at least half hour. I wanted to sit and read. Yes, I brought a book along with me.

I keep my vices near and dear. No food, though. I was good in that way.

The train reached Manhattan at 2, and I wasn’t despondent. I had enough time to get to hightail it to the theater, be seated, and relax. Fire in my bum – it was NOT gas – I charged up Broadway, watching the street numbers change as I crossed them, remembering someone saying each block was 1/8 of a mile. I had 16 blocks to walk. Two miles. On a treadmill that takes me almost an hour. I didn’t have an hour so I was a woman on a mission.

Unfortunately, the people on the street didn’t get that memo. People were standing and strolling on the sidewalk like they. had. all. day. It was like driving on a freeway, constantly weaving around wide eyed tourists mesmerized by the large, blinking lights of the billboards across the street, listening to their zombielike oohs and ahs over the hypnotic words being flashed at them. I ignored. I had somewhere to be be! I dipped and dashed along with the rest of the undead keeping my final goal in mind, knowing I was late because I am always late. I just didn’t want to be late for this play.

I arrived at 2:15.

Um, ok, so I was early. It was so early, in fact, that we weren’t even being seated. We had the privilege of congregating outside and enjoying the large marquis and lighted billboards advertising the show we would see. People stood in front of the billboards (and that may not be their official name, but it is the one I’m using) posing, giddy with the excitement of seeing a Broadway play, it seemed, or just giddy to be out and about with others. Either way, giddy is good.

I wasn’t giddy. I was pleased with myself for my quick trek to the theater, and more so because I got myself out of the house for an activity that wasn’t about eating. However, I was also stressing about other things in my life that should not have been an issue at that moment. I couldn’t relate to the pure glee I saw on others’ faces.

I will work on that for the next time.

Eventually, we were seated in the cool (as in damn near cold) theater. I was in the mezzanine. I had a good view of the stage, but not of the audience below, which is just as well. The kid in me would have wanted to drop something on someone’s head, and since the fat outside of me makes me as effective a runner as most statues (because some statues do move faster than I do), it is better that I am not tempted as I could not get away anyway. Anyway. The theater wasn’t packed, as I assumed it wouldn’t be for a matinee, but a fair number of people showed up. We all read our playbills eagerly awaiting this show for which we paid more than enough, even those of us who bought it on discount as I did. It was still more than enough.

Which, I suppose, tells you what I thought of the play 2+ hours after I saw it. It wasn’t terrible. It was just . . . .ok. Some actors were very good. Most were adequate. The set was very minimal, the band being the focal point of the stage. More could have been done to improve the singing, and some of the dancing. The acting was good for most. Nothing mind shattering.

I didn’t mind though. I don’t regret going, spending the money, anything I did. The only regret I had was not having someone to converse with about their opinion of the play, but that is the nature of the self date. I did go over all of my opinions in my head as I made my way back to the PATH train station, and by the time I arrived, I had a comment for each actor in that play ready to fire off if asked. Of course, by the time I squeezed my way to a seat, every comment I had had squeezed its way out of my head and into the NYC atmosphere. My mind was on going home at that point. I was hungry, I was tired, and I wanted to crawl in my bed and sleep. After I logged my SP points, of course.

It wasn’t a bad first date. I look forward to taking myself out again.