October 21, 2007
I come up out of the subway at 47th Street in Times Square. I am disoriented, unable to remember which street I live on. Instinctively I head west. Eventually I come across a building that seems familiar. I enter the lobby and wait for the elevator, along with several other people.
“It’s on the sixth floor,” I say.
A man replies, “No, it’s on the tenth floor.”
We get in the elevator and are taken to the sixteenth floor.
“We’re both wrong,” the man says.
“Yes, but I had the six and you had the ten,” I tell him.
When we get off on the sixteenth floor I’m not home at all. Rather, I’m at a large banquet hall with several round tables set up for poker. I have arrived at a Poker & Pizza benefit for a Women’s History Museum.
I find my old roommate Bill waiting for me at one of the tables, then I go to the buffet line and get a large slice with pepperoni.
Before returning to my seat, I try to hang a portrait of Eleanor Roosevelt on the wall, but I’m having trouble with the nail. I look at picture frame and see that it contains two pictures, one of Eleanor and one of Gloria Steinem. They don’t fit well together and I decide it is too tacky to hang.
I go out on the window ledge to retrieve what I believe to be a superior portrait of Eleanor, climb back inside and hang it on the wall. Just as I finish hanging the portrait, I hear the crowd inside the hall scream with anticipation as the music begins for the evening’s entertainment.
As I hear the first few notes of Barbra Streisand’s disco hit “The Main Event,” I rush in to find my seat in the bleachers. The poker tables now gone, the entire room has been transformed from a banquet hall into a large indoor stadium.
I find Bill in the bleachers as the lights come up to reveal Barbra on stage. I criticize her performance of “The Main Event” for being decidedly behind the beat.
There is no floor space in the stadium. It’s all been taken up by the giant stage and enormous Art Deco sets that fly in and out, including one that looks like the lobby of a hotel with an ornate gold caged elevator.
Barbra next sings an emotional version of “People,” and I start to warm to her performance. She follows this with a tear drenched version of “I’ve Stayed Too Long At The Fair,” during which she climbs into the bleachers to sign autographs.
As Barbra returns to the stage, my entire section, in a swell of emotion that seems to say, “NO, no, you haven’t stayed too long at the fair,” rushes toward the lip of the stage. Knowing this would upset Barbra, I do not join them.
“What are you doing!” a security guard screams as he implores everyone back to their seats. “You can’t come at her like that. You know how skittish she is.”
The length of the stage now contains an ancient Roman bath with marble columns and jewel encrusted archways. Barbra swims across the water, emerging fully dressed in a lavish golden sheath.
A video screen flashes pictures from Barbra’s life and her many loves, including Warren Beatty.
To close her show, Barbra ascends once again into my bleacher section. Wearing a dark cloak, she is heavily made up, looking like a very old woman, or maybe even a witch. She stands directly in front of me, places her hand on my shoulders and looks me square in the eye as she sings.
I start to cry and think to myself, “This is the happiest moment of my entire life. It’s like seeing the face of God.”
I come up out of the subway at 47th Street in Times Square. I am disoriented, unable to remember which street I live on. Instinctively I head west. Eventually I come across a building that seems familiar. I enter the lobby and wait for the elevator, along with several other people.
“It’s on the sixth floor,” I say.
A man replies, “No, it’s on the tenth floor.”
We get in the elevator and are taken to the sixteenth floor.
“We’re both wrong,” the man says.
“Yes, but I had the six and you had the ten,” I tell him.
When we get off on the sixteenth floor I’m not home at all. Rather, I’m at a large banquet hall with several round tables set up for poker. I have arrived at a Poker & Pizza benefit for a Women’s History Museum.
I find my old roommate Bill waiting for me at one of the tables, then I go to the buffet line and get a large slice with pepperoni.
Before returning to my seat, I try to hang a portrait of Eleanor Roosevelt on the wall, but I’m having trouble with the nail. I look at picture frame and see that it contains two pictures, one of Eleanor and one of Gloria Steinem. They don’t fit well together and I decide it is too tacky to hang.
I go out on the window ledge to retrieve what I believe to be a superior portrait of Eleanor, climb back inside and hang it on the wall. Just as I finish hanging the portrait, I hear the crowd inside the hall scream with anticipation as the music begins for the evening’s entertainment.
As I hear the first few notes of Barbra Streisand’s disco hit “The Main Event,” I rush in to find my seat in the bleachers. The poker tables now gone, the entire room has been transformed from a banquet hall into a large indoor stadium.
I find Bill in the bleachers as the lights come up to reveal Barbra on stage. I criticize her performance of “The Main Event” for being decidedly behind the beat.
There is no floor space in the stadium. It’s all been taken up by the giant stage and enormous Art Deco sets that fly in and out, including one that looks like the lobby of a hotel with an ornate gold caged elevator.
Barbra next sings an emotional version of “People,” and I start to warm to her performance. She follows this with a tear drenched version of “I’ve Stayed Too Long At The Fair,” during which she climbs into the bleachers to sign autographs.
As Barbra returns to the stage, my entire section, in a swell of emotion that seems to say, “NO, no, you haven’t stayed too long at the fair,” rushes toward the lip of the stage. Knowing this would upset Barbra, I do not join them.
“What are you doing!” a security guard screams as he implores everyone back to their seats. “You can’t come at her like that. You know how skittish she is.”
The length of the stage now contains an ancient Roman bath with marble columns and jewel encrusted archways. Barbra swims across the water, emerging fully dressed in a lavish golden sheath.
A video screen flashes pictures from Barbra’s life and her many loves, including Warren Beatty.
To close her show, Barbra ascends once again into my bleacher section. Wearing a dark cloak, she is heavily made up, looking like a very old woman, or maybe even a witch. She stands directly in front of me, places her hand on my shoulders and looks me square in the eye as she sings.
I start to cry and think to myself, “This is the happiest moment of my entire life. It’s like seeing the face of God.”
No comments:
Post a Comment