"Diva down!"
ups, downs, and a friend from out of town
One of my college film professors once recounted a story to our class about driving past O.J. Simpson’s house a year after the trial of the century.
It was a fantastic only-in-Los-Angeles story with unexpected twists. He told it slowly with emphasis in all the right places after years of practice. I can still hear the intonation of his voice as he recounted seeing O.J.’s face in a white bronco next to him on the road. I’ve tried to retell the tale several times, but I can never make it as captivating. Probably because it didn’t happen to me. My professor prefaced the whole thing by saying, “When your family visits town… you do things you wouldn’t normally do.”
I thought of that eternal wisdom a few weekends ago while riding the subway from Astoria to Ridgewood.
When a friend (who might as well be family) visits town, all bets are off. No train ride is too far. No club too loud. No meeting time too late.
Sure, I’ll see that musical again!
Yes, I’d love to try that restaurant.
Whatever the question, the answer is “I’ll be there!”
I don’t mean to sound like I’m complaining. I love being a yes-woman for out of towners. One of the greatest joys in my life is hosting: people, parties, activities. I’m love seeing friends have a good time in my city no matter how our itinerary may inconvenience me.
For those unfamiliar with New York geography, the train ride from Astoria to Ridgewood is over an hour. It was past 11 pm by the time I was making this commute by myself.
I like Brooklyn. I do.
I like it in the way you like your best friend’s new boyfriend. He’s fun. He introduces you to cool places. He’s nice, but his mere existence is also kind of frustrating. Your best friend is always working overtime to prove what a good guy he is. She’s asking over and over, “Isn’t this place great?” and it is, but it’s a lot further than the equally great bar you and your friend used to frequent in the East Village. The bar that took one train to reach instead of two and was the favorite before your friend ever fell in love with Brooklyn and he stole her away from you.
While on the train, I texted a fellow Manhattanite to complain that visiting friends always want to go to Brooklyn. Deep Brooklyn. I knew I had to get all my grumbling out before arriving at the bar.
My dear friend G was in town for the first time since New Years. G liked the sound of this place - part outdoor beer garden and part indoor rave - and I love G. As I stepped off the train, I promised myself I wouldn’t comment on the distance. I’d get a drink and give the place a real chance. I’d hit the dance floor with vigor, even if the music had no lyrics.
Then, less than a block from my destination, I face planted onto the pavement.
Long time readers will know I have a history of falling. Not in love, but down stairs, onto sidewalks, and over my own feet. It happened on my birthday this year and while I was vacationing in Venice. Unfortunately, as long as I keep tripping on the uneven concrete of this fair city, you’re going to keep hearing about it.
And this wasn’t just any fall. This was epic. This was Carrie Bradshaw sliding across the floor of Dior. I put one foot in a pothole and went flying through the crosswalk, with my knees and phone breaking the fall.
If I’d been in Manhattan, I might have called an Uber then and there, but I’d come so far. I hobbled the last block to the club and found my friends a few groups back in line. They hugged me and asked, “What the hell happened to you?!” As I recounted the story, G ‘awww’ed, while my other friend laughed hysterically.1
Some kind bouncers sourced Neosporin and band-aids. When I told them a pothole was to blame, I got a round of “NOOO”s and prompted a conversation about our New York tax dollars failing to be at work. The bouncers liked me, because I was sober. They let skip the line to use to the bathroom where I washed my scraped up hands and knees. But only after a $35 cover.
Although, I was limping through the club on a rolled ankle, I managed to have a pretty good time! I gabbed with my girls at the outdoor picnic tables and sipped a spiked lemonade. We laughed a lot - about the fall and one friend’s war stories from working as a waiter. I caught up with G a little. My perilous journey felt well worth it.
I briefly hit the dance floor, waving my arms around and swaying in place. I lasted maybe ten minutes on my ankle before the pain started to get to me.
It was time to go home.
I needed to crawl into bed and let my bruised and battered body be horizontal. I felt like a rag doll some kid had hit against the wall too many times. In the car home, I thought of one of my favorite quotes from the end of Great Expectations:
“I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into better shape.”
I cried when I first read it. Now, the sentiment seemed kind of stupid.
The next day, after icing the ankle and invoking the healing power of a lox bagel, I attended one of the most incredible Broadway events of my life: the opening night of Sunset Blvd.
I was anxious about seeing the show despite the glowing reviews, because the film Sunset Boulevard (1950) is so near and dear to my heart. I couldn’t imagine how a paired down version of the story with no costumes, props, or elaborate mansion set could compare. I was sure it wouldn’t be able to live up to the immense hype.
I’ve never been happier to be wrong.
Let me be the thousandth person to tell you this production is PHENOMENAL. There was such a clear understanding of what makes the film great in every aspect of the production. I loved seeing nods to the meta nature of the original film and the way the production leaned into both the noir elements of the story as well as its dark comedy. The direction and staging are inspired, unlike anything I’ve seen on Broadway before. I adored every second and want to see the show twelve more times.
Gloria Swanson’s Norma Desmond is one of the best cinematic performances in film history,2 AND YET Nicole Scherzinger manages to claim the role as her own. She received two standing ovations in the middle of the show. One for “With One Look” and another for “As if We’ve Never Said Goodbye.” My date and I kept looking over at each other with a “can you fucking believe this?!” expression until the curtain call.
After the show, I went to the Times Square office of the company that built the bad-ass LED wall and supervised the production. I was lucky enough to know a few of the people who’d worked on it. I got the inside scoop on how they get blood on Nicole3 and heard other tales from rehearsals. I was able to compliment former coworkers and friends with my full chest on making a musical that I found moving and extraordinary.
Next, my friend and I went to the after party. I nearly lost my mind, when I saw they were playing the movie on either side of the DJ. We went up the balcony for drinks, appetizers, and to play celebrity Where’s Waldo.
As I stood overlooking the scene, it wasn’t lost on me how special this moment was. One of those fabulous once in a lifetime openings of something I thought was truly great. The kind of glamorous New York event that makes you feel like somebody.
Now, I’m hunched over the bathroom floor in my pajamas on my hands and still bruised knees. G watches me from the living room and yells,
“DIVA DOWN!”
Two days after Sunset, I have food poisoning.
This is G and I’s only full day together while she’s in the city, but my illness has torpedoed our plans for touring her prospective medical schools, swimming at my local pool, and doing cute things in the neighborhood. Everything’s gone down the drain with last night’s dinner.
I’m too ill to be mortified about G seeing me at my lowest. I only hate that I’ve wasted our day throwing up Gatorade, sleeping, and watching the original Sunset Boulevard in twenty-minute intervals.
After the low of tripping on a pothole and the highest of highs attending Sunset Blvd., I’m back down. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Every time I have a great night out where the conversation is fantastic, the drinks are free, and my heels don’t hurt, I’m shocked the next morning when fate brings period cramps and my cat throwing up on the carpet. Life can’t always be glamorous, even for those of us who do our best to see glamour in the mundane. Fate still has ways of bringing a diva to her knees.
In between my being ill and G going out to look at schools, we found time to spend together. I watched her do her make up and listened to the unabridged history of her recent situationship. She let me complain about the same man no less than three times. We talked about friendship breakups, apartments, career hopes, and how great we think the other is. She surprised me with fancy ginger ale, and we listened to Supertramp on my record player.4
Although being sick is the worst possible time to have a guest over, there was also something nice about having a dear friend to help me through it. I wasn’t able to play host like I usually do. It reminded me of my days having roommates. The freedom to be ugly and messy in your safe space in front of other people. All the time I used to spend with those friends just being together without an activity, plan, or destination.
I apologized to G several times throughout the day for derailing our plans. At one point she replied by saying, “I’d be happy just to sit here and rot with you all day.” It was the kindest, most romantic thing she could have said to me. She might as well have suggested doing laundry and taxes.
The mid-twenties don’t exactly lend themselves to homeostasis. I’m thankful for the highs and resigned to the lows, but it’s the moments in the middle that have recently reminded me what’s important.
Laying in bed with ice cream next to my wonderful friend, who has just agreed to watch my favorite movie. It’s late at night, but “YOU HAVE TO SEE HER,” I emphatically tell G as Joe Gillis drives away from debt collectors. We can’t stop laughing. Five minutes later Norma Desmond appears to lay her chimpanzee to rest. Five minutes after that, we’re both asleep.
And that’s it. That’s the reason I’ll do anything for a friend who’s visiting town.
Silly Image of This Era:
Extra Detailed Recommendations to Distract You in This Era:
Sunset Boulevard (1950)
Sunset Blvd. on Broadway
Network TV
Iconique pop culture critic Ira Madison recently wrote about the best of Network TV in his substack, and I am jumping on the bandwagon. He recommends Elsbeth and Matlock which are both fun mysteries of the week with quirky female leads. Because I can never get enough of that premise, I’m also watching High Potential.
Doctor Odyssey on ABC (more network tv!)
Hear me out! At first, I thought my brain was melting, but then I realized this show is just The Love Boat with rare diseases. Either you love kitsch like that, or you don’t. On the most recent Halloween episode there was an explicit reference to the late great Captain Merrill Stubing, and now I’m hooked!
Legendary Gavin MacLeod as Captain Stubing. Revisiting The Pussycat Dolls discography!
Asking for help with home improvement projects instead of making yourself crazy.
Marlowe Granados’s “Bitch for a Week”
Here’s an incredible quote from it:
“The next day while trying to arrange my evening, a paramour was late on getting back to me. I texted him, “If you don’t confirm, you’ll have to get to the back of the line.” He hastily made a dinner reservation. The next morning, I vaguely remember the outlines of an argument. He reminded me, “Yes, you told me to leave my own apartment.” I commended him for taking it on the chin. A man who can’t intellectually tussle without getting mad isn’t worth his weight in salt.”
Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory by Raphael Bob-Waksberg
People have recommended this to me for years, and it did not disappoint. It took me several months to finish the audiobook, but dammit if I didn’t get choked up once or twice.
English Teacher on FX
I’m a little late to the party, but boy am I here!!! I adored this series and found it so hilarious and charming. Their music supervisor was really working overtime.
Christmas movies!
Saved! (2004)
I rewatched this on election night, and it felt like a warm hug. I want so badly to put a quote in here, but I don’t want to give anything away. I’ll just say it’s in the same vein as But I’m a Cheerleader and features a hilarious Mandy Moore performance.
As she should.
I’ll die on this hill. JUST LOOK AT THE THINGS SHE DOES WITH HER FACE.
The blood on the black slip that you’ve seen in gay Halloween costumes and the TikTok of her signing Playbills.
Breakfast in America of course.
So many things to talk to you about after reading this piece! But so little time! See you tomorrow . Thanks for the reading pleasure!