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St. Patrick's Day 2014
Mar. 18th, 2014 07:05 pmSo Tim had his annual St. Patrick's Day party overlooking the parade on Monday. When the sun was out the weather was bearable but when it went behind the clouds it was pretty miserable on the rooftop. Chuck was calling the auction and when that happened, he went to the indoor section of the bar which was then PACKED. Truly uncomfortable for a claustrophobe like me, I had to decide if I want to stay there or freeze outside. Eventually I chose the latter.
As always it took me awhile to leave the apartment--between showering and posting on Facebook about how much I loved Dublin when I was there and then daydreaming on Facebook about planning an equestrian tour to Ireland, I didn't leave the apartment until 1:00. Took the 6 to 59th and was able to cross Fifth Avenue to the other side fairly easily--the weather had one benefit! As I made my way from 59th down to 55th (where the Peninsula is), I saw a group of protestors holding signs about the anti-gay policies. I caught the eye of one of them and gave them a "right on!" gesture. The guy asked if I wanted to hold one, I said sure but I said I couldn't do it for long, I had to go to a party. We chatted for a bit, and then two younger people, in their 20s, stopped by and chatted as well. They also approved. When I left I took a rainbow sticker and wore it on my Irish sweater.
Had a bad experience when I first got there. I got some coffee and moved out onto the rooftop (it was still sunny at that point). I started chatting with someone new and then an older guy (late 50s or 60s) came over and was awkwardly trying to take off the round green plastic derby I was wearing and exchange it for a green plastic boater hat. I was saying to him actually I prefer the derby and he jammed the derby on top of the other hat and gave it back to me. (This was all very friendly, nothing creepy or anything.) I looked up and noticed--the guy had little flecks of blood all over his lips. And his hands. I guess he had some kind of tooth problem. I tell you, it was all I could do not to vomit on the spot. I have an extraordinarily high gag reflex, one that has only gotten worse as I've gotten older. I've been known to vomit when I change the cat box. I had to drop my eyes so I didn't see his face which of course seems rude and I tried to excuse myself so I could run to the bathroom--I was that nauseated. But I couldn't even make it indoors--I had to stop by the trash and just GAG, over and over. I literally willed myself not to throw up on in front of everybody. Oh God, it was awful. I felt kind of sick for the rest of the afternoon--in fact even Tuesday I didn't feel that great.
Other than that, it was great! :) I sang Danny Boy and How Are Things in Glocca Morra? And I made sure Dermot, the singer, got himself plenty of tea and hot things for his voice. He is so nice.
After I left work I met Tim and a bunch of his friends downtown at Arte, an Italian restaurant where we used to go a lot. Tim knows the owner. We had a big table and sitting on my left were two girls, one Russian and one Ukrainian. I greeted the Russian girl по-русски and eventually struck up a conversation with the Ukrainian, who was sitting right next to me. I must say she did not impress me at first--I could overhear some of her conversation with the other girl and there seemed to be a ton of drama going on, hushed tense conversations and getting up and leaving a lot and making a show of not ordering anything. A little later we were talking about plays and shows (she says she's a singer, went to La Guardia High and said she knew Shakespeare). She asked me what my favorite Shakespeare play was--I said jeez, do I have to narrow it down to just one? I told her my favorite comedy was probably Midsummer and my favorite tragedy was the Scottish play. She had never heard the term so I explained to her that saying the name M****** out loud was bad luck and so people call it Macker, the Scottish play, etc. This is where she really irritated me. she hadn't heard of it--fine--but then she refused to believe it. She gave me this extremely skeptical look like--prove it. Raised eyebrows, pursed mouth, the works. And shook her head. Look little girl, you weren't even born here or in an English-speaking country. Whereas I not only studied English literature, but I grew up HEARING this constantly from my classically-trained grandmother! My first Shakespeare play was when I was 9 years old! And this is my career. What the hell? I wish you could've seen the *look* on her face, I wanted to slap her, hard. Instead I did the WASPy thing and politely turned away and just avoided conversation with her. SO RUDE.
She must've gotten the idea because when she next broached conversation with me, she was much more friendly. We ended up having a decent conversation although she was still quite prickly. Eg., anytime I expanded on a term or a concept (at one point I used the term riffing, which is when instead of hitting a note and staying on it, you improvise a run on the note. It's a pop term, Xtina Aguilera and Mariah Carey are known for it), she immediately cut me off "I know what that means." O-kay. I will say, when she found out how old I was she went bananas, absolutely flipping out over how young I looked. "Oh my GOD, I cannottt beleev it! You ahr so byewteefool!" (My awkward rendering of a slight Ukrainian accent, exaggerated for humor.) On and on!
As always it took me awhile to leave the apartment--between showering and posting on Facebook about how much I loved Dublin when I was there and then daydreaming on Facebook about planning an equestrian tour to Ireland, I didn't leave the apartment until 1:00. Took the 6 to 59th and was able to cross Fifth Avenue to the other side fairly easily--the weather had one benefit! As I made my way from 59th down to 55th (where the Peninsula is), I saw a group of protestors holding signs about the anti-gay policies. I caught the eye of one of them and gave them a "right on!" gesture. The guy asked if I wanted to hold one, I said sure but I said I couldn't do it for long, I had to go to a party. We chatted for a bit, and then two younger people, in their 20s, stopped by and chatted as well. They also approved. When I left I took a rainbow sticker and wore it on my Irish sweater.
Had a bad experience when I first got there. I got some coffee and moved out onto the rooftop (it was still sunny at that point). I started chatting with someone new and then an older guy (late 50s or 60s) came over and was awkwardly trying to take off the round green plastic derby I was wearing and exchange it for a green plastic boater hat. I was saying to him actually I prefer the derby and he jammed the derby on top of the other hat and gave it back to me. (This was all very friendly, nothing creepy or anything.) I looked up and noticed--the guy had little flecks of blood all over his lips. And his hands. I guess he had some kind of tooth problem. I tell you, it was all I could do not to vomit on the spot. I have an extraordinarily high gag reflex, one that has only gotten worse as I've gotten older. I've been known to vomit when I change the cat box. I had to drop my eyes so I didn't see his face which of course seems rude and I tried to excuse myself so I could run to the bathroom--I was that nauseated. But I couldn't even make it indoors--I had to stop by the trash and just GAG, over and over. I literally willed myself not to throw up on in front of everybody. Oh God, it was awful. I felt kind of sick for the rest of the afternoon--in fact even Tuesday I didn't feel that great.
Other than that, it was great! :) I sang Danny Boy and How Are Things in Glocca Morra? And I made sure Dermot, the singer, got himself plenty of tea and hot things for his voice. He is so nice.
After I left work I met Tim and a bunch of his friends downtown at Arte, an Italian restaurant where we used to go a lot. Tim knows the owner. We had a big table and sitting on my left were two girls, one Russian and one Ukrainian. I greeted the Russian girl по-русски and eventually struck up a conversation with the Ukrainian, who was sitting right next to me. I must say she did not impress me at first--I could overhear some of her conversation with the other girl and there seemed to be a ton of drama going on, hushed tense conversations and getting up and leaving a lot and making a show of not ordering anything. A little later we were talking about plays and shows (she says she's a singer, went to La Guardia High and said she knew Shakespeare). She asked me what my favorite Shakespeare play was--I said jeez, do I have to narrow it down to just one? I told her my favorite comedy was probably Midsummer and my favorite tragedy was the Scottish play. She had never heard the term so I explained to her that saying the name M****** out loud was bad luck and so people call it Macker, the Scottish play, etc. This is where she really irritated me. she hadn't heard of it--fine--but then she refused to believe it. She gave me this extremely skeptical look like--prove it. Raised eyebrows, pursed mouth, the works. And shook her head. Look little girl, you weren't even born here or in an English-speaking country. Whereas I not only studied English literature, but I grew up HEARING this constantly from my classically-trained grandmother! My first Shakespeare play was when I was 9 years old! And this is my career. What the hell? I wish you could've seen the *look* on her face, I wanted to slap her, hard. Instead I did the WASPy thing and politely turned away and just avoided conversation with her. SO RUDE.
She must've gotten the idea because when she next broached conversation with me, she was much more friendly. We ended up having a decent conversation although she was still quite prickly. Eg., anytime I expanded on a term or a concept (at one point I used the term riffing, which is when instead of hitting a note and staying on it, you improvise a run on the note. It's a pop term, Xtina Aguilera and Mariah Carey are known for it), she immediately cut me off "I know what that means." O-kay. I will say, when she found out how old I was she went bananas, absolutely flipping out over how young I looked. "Oh my GOD, I cannottt beleev it! You ahr so byewteefool!" (My awkward rendering of a slight Ukrainian accent, exaggerated for humor.) On and on!
