The Scottish Play
Saturday, February 10th, 2007
After two years of a wonderfully civilized marriage involving separate residences and no less than three full bathrooms, we launched the Insane Cohabitation Experiment. The Experiment is comprised of 650 square feet, and a single bathroom. Bathroom quantity shall be a significant contributing factor to the success of The Experiment. Because a toilet of one’s own helps maintain the extremely thin membrane of distinction between homo sapiens and monkeys.
Our relatively tiny new home required significant floor plan adjustments to accomodate two people who don’t want to get divorced. And so, the road to bathroom-sharing has been paved with months of demolition, negotiation, and big box store surrealism.
B: Didn’t we already buy these? L: Yes, and then I thought we had the wrong thing so I returned them but you were right the first time so now we’re buying them again. B: (walks as far away as possible to control stabby impulses) L: (shouts across store) Do you have enough caulk?Say that last sentence out loud and you’ll understand why I can never return to Home Depot. And so it seemed entirely reasonable that, the final week before the big move, I would have a business trip to New York, abandoning B to total chaos. I rationalized that my not being around would actually be less stressful for both of us, and I think that did turn out to be true. I can be a giant pain in the ass. Which leads me to New York. New York in the summer, swampy and overcast but thrilling and wonderful in the way that only New York or London or any other real city can be. Friday night I decided to take myself to see Macbeth at Shakespeare in the Park. I would have to wait in the standby line and probably not get a ticket, but it was free, it was Shakespeare, it was a finally a beautiful cool evening and spending a couple of hours reading a book in Central Park seemed like a lovely proposition, regardless of the outcome. I walked to the Delacorte Theater from Midtown and found myself at the end of a very, very long line. The line that came after the folks with standby numbers. Passed the first hour reading and chatting with line-mates. We shrugged and made jokes about praying for rain to drive away everyone ahead of us. I made friends with a tiny, chipper grandma in a Red Sox cap and bright orange jean jacket. About 10 minutes before curtain: It rained. And then it poured, buckets and gallons and firehoses. With every thunderclap, the weak-willed ran for shelter and the line contracted. We stood our ground with makeshift non-umbrellas of newspaper and plastic bags. An intrepid bagpiper in full Scottish garb serenaded us. He passed the hat and I bought a dollar’s worth of instant karma. We waited, and the rain stopped, and the show was set to start at 9:30. I got a cup of hot coffee and giant sweatshirt to replace my soaked tee, and settled into my hard-won seat: second row center, baby. Perfect New York evening.