Monday, January 17, 2005
I may love that dirty water, but...
May I take a moment to discuss the lamentable irony of the bar scene in Boston? Of course I can. This is my show.
I have been out a very night of this long weekend and for the record met some lovely people, caroused and carried-on with friends, drank, flirted, participated in a handful of vague indiscretions and ruined one or two unmentionable boors... so it is not as if this was a time bereft of fun. That being said, what in the name of lustful indulgent flesh mongering is wrong with this town? The most egregious example is Saturday night. Let me set the scene.
The Alley, Bear Night, a sea of bodies packed so tightly one might have mistaken it for a Who concert on Ellis Island had it not been for all the whiskers, flannel, pool tables and beer. The cast includes not only anyone who has ever appeared in Broadway cast, but every leading man, prima donna, understudy and script toting stage manager ever associated the traveling, community theatre or college productions mounted in the last five years. I, doing my utmost to balance my role delicately between gossip maven, gamine ingenue and salacious provocateur, moved through this sea of fur-bearing manhood much like and injured yet lovable harbor seal in search of an Animal Planet series contract. I caught many eyes, fielded many smiles and inquiries. There were blushings and gropings, exchanged drinks, lit cigarettes. There were bawdy allusions and suggestive banter.
And that's it.
After all this, with lines left dangling and a severe case of "which-way-did-he-go", I came home alone possessed of one email address and a condition best discussed with Doctor Ruth. And, to top it all off (no pun intended) at closing time the unprecedented crowd created a traffic jam within the parking garage. As I made my way up the ramp to the floor from which the elevator can be accessed (I am so calling the ADA people) I was treated to the entreaties of men who had flirted and then disappeared earlier in the evening... of course they were in line in cars full of their buddies. What was I to do, abandon my car and leap in across their laps? My Shirley MacLaine to their Vegas chorus boys? Where was all this enthusiasm earlier? Why is it that only in the context of a poorly staged clearance sale in a parking garage can anyone make a move? Oh, the pain, William. The pain.
I have been out a very night of this long weekend and for the record met some lovely people, caroused and carried-on with friends, drank, flirted, participated in a handful of vague indiscretions and ruined one or two unmentionable boors... so it is not as if this was a time bereft of fun. That being said, what in the name of lustful indulgent flesh mongering is wrong with this town? The most egregious example is Saturday night. Let me set the scene.
The Alley, Bear Night, a sea of bodies packed so tightly one might have mistaken it for a Who concert on Ellis Island had it not been for all the whiskers, flannel, pool tables and beer. The cast includes not only anyone who has ever appeared in Broadway cast, but every leading man, prima donna, understudy and script toting stage manager ever associated the traveling, community theatre or college productions mounted in the last five years. I, doing my utmost to balance my role delicately between gossip maven, gamine ingenue and salacious provocateur, moved through this sea of fur-bearing manhood much like and injured yet lovable harbor seal in search of an Animal Planet series contract. I caught many eyes, fielded many smiles and inquiries. There were blushings and gropings, exchanged drinks, lit cigarettes. There were bawdy allusions and suggestive banter.
And that's it.
After all this, with lines left dangling and a severe case of "which-way-did-he-go", I came home alone possessed of one email address and a condition best discussed with Doctor Ruth. And, to top it all off (no pun intended) at closing time the unprecedented crowd created a traffic jam within the parking garage. As I made my way up the ramp to the floor from which the elevator can be accessed (I am so calling the ADA people) I was treated to the entreaties of men who had flirted and then disappeared earlier in the evening... of course they were in line in cars full of their buddies. What was I to do, abandon my car and leap in across their laps? My Shirley MacLaine to their Vegas chorus boys? Where was all this enthusiasm earlier? Why is it that only in the context of a poorly staged clearance sale in a parking garage can anyone make a move? Oh, the pain, William. The pain.
