Producer quest

Michael and I met KMO, Lara, and baby Logan in the 21st-floor lobby of the Hilton Times Square, where they had wisely procured a room for $80/night through Priceline. Some deal! Lara craved deli so we walked up to Stage Deli and had a satisfying lunch. I tried the Joe DiMaggio this time, an obscene triple-decker of corned beef, pastrami, and chopped liver on rye that I ended up eating with a knife and fork after dumping a load of mustard on the insides. KMO actually finished his tuna melt. Seven-month-old Logan had the waitresses wrapped around his little finger and gummed a couple pickles to death.

After lunch KMO strapped Logan into his daddy hammock and we walked around in Central Park for a couple minutes before deciding it was time for a drink at the Oak Bar at the Plaza. Logan’s shrieks echoed mightily in the dark, overpriced room, but no one seemed to mind. Lara took a picture of the picture of Eloise ( http://www.gti.net/iksrog/eloise/elo..._the_plaza.htm ) and we walked back down Fifth Avenue trying to get a cab but ended up all the way back in Times Square before we could find one. It was nearing five o’clock, which is apparently a shift change for cabbies, so many of them had their off-duty signs illuminated.

Since we were in Times Square, we decided to go for a drink at the Marriott Marquis. The rotating bar was still closed as expected but we got a table in the atrium and got our drinks after a mix-up where the manager took our order and got everything wrong. KMO had ordered a blended margarita with salt and it arrived with the salt “blended” in. Yuck. While we were there RichG called and I told him to come on down so he did. We relaxed till about six, but then I broke up the party to begin my quest for Producers tickets.

I walked over to 44th St. and went right to the back of the cancellation line. It was 6:20, an hour and 40 minutes before curtain. As usual, several people who had been standing in line for longer than me gave up after they didn’t get tickets in the first dribble of cancellations. I saw quite a few people standing in line to get refunds because Nathan Lane wasn’t performing so I felt comfortable. A lady came by trying to get $150 for a single mezzanine seat but there were no takers. There were about a dozen people ahead of me when a man in an expensive shirt and blazer offered to sell a single, sixth row center, for $150. I decided a $50 premium over face value was a decent price to pay for certainty so I took him up on it. I went right in and ended up sitting next to the stunning 18-year-old brunette sister of his Spanish wife, who was back at the hotel with their new baby. I called Hunnybear to let her know the good news and she said she’d better keep her hands to herself when it got dark.

Superb ensemble acting and wonderful choreography brought this all-Mel Brooks creation to life, adding his surprising songwriting talents to the comedic brilliance of his classic 1968 movie. With neither singing nor subtlety required of either of the two leads in this farce, the audience hardly missed Nathan Lane and in fact gave a rousing ovation to understudy Brad Oscar, who normally played Franz, the Nazi. The new Franz was great too and I doubted even the people who paid $600 for scalped seats left too disappointed. I like comedy in my musical comedy and would see a show like this, even if it didn’t reach the heights of classics such as Kiss Me Kate and How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, any old time.

I was still stuffed from lunch so I walked back the W, checked the on-screen bill, found the usual overcharge for the minibar along with a courtesy $2 tip that had apparently been written in by the lounge waitress although I had left cash, and noticed the creeping occupancy tax was now up to $3 a night over and above the outrageous state and city sales taxes. I resolved to resolve these issues and more tomorrow—Independence Day!

[next installment tomorrow]