A DAY IN THE LIFE

Dear readers of whom there are several. Please accept my deepest apologies for letting languish my postings. I am on the horns of a dilemma regarding where this blog should be aimed. A dear friend suggested that I take the title in a new direction. What was once a catalogue of sorts, dealing with an Actor who by necessity Repairs, became in my mind, boring. I certainly am still repairing bathrooms and kitchens and the like, but there is little interest on my part in detailing this mundane day-to-day. It was much more interesting when it was my place and my design. Other people’s woes should be left alone. So this friends suggestion was, in equal measures, titillating and scary. Why not refocus on repairing oneself? I am not yet fully onboard with this notion but it is a sound idea. Self revelation is not at all what I am geared for, but the exercise might be worth it.

This is a preamble in order to warn you off of reading this site if you don’t want to follow the machinations of a fifty year old waxing poetic, and at times pathetic. It is also a chance for the few to respond via comments, “don’t do it! We don’t want to hear!” Weigh in if you feel compelled.

And so to my day.

I did a grown up thing and traded in my dying Volvo 850 for a 2006 Mitsubishi Raider with, get this, 18000 miles. I traded, I bargained, I test drove, I signed bunches of papers, and I drove home in a pristine double cab truck. Other people I’m sure have had this experience, but this is the first vehicle I’ve owned that actually has a warrantee. Amazing.





And then, to top it off, my dear friend secured me a ticket to Don Carlo at the Met.




As you can see, it’s a ridiculously priced ticket that only corporate America can afford. Met Life is the corporation in this scenario. Box seats! I mean, really! And a glorious opera. My only regret is that I was alone.

On the way from buying the truck in Connecticut, parking the mammoth thing on the streets of New York, having a meal at long last with my ticket-wielding friend, and heading downtown, I was confronted with a quintessential New York moment. A guy was at the 59th street station on the uptown #1 platform, singing opera accompanied by a boom box, and at the same time there was an inebriated fellow staggering about. When the train pulled up, he took the opportunity to urinate on the outside of the train accompanied by the sound of a full voiced baritone. I’m sorry, but you can’t get that breadth of humanity in many American cities.

And the opera was exquisite. And the blog might change. And life goes on. And it was a day.