lazy day, lazy night

travel and visit plans for April, May, even June with any luck, are in the works, so this was supposed to be the weekend when we traipse around the Little House Off the Expressway, make lists, move stuff around, see what survived the winter (us! not such a bad thing, either), what has to be replaced (pool liner), redone, thrown out (just because someone is economically deprived doesn't mean she should have to wear shoulder pads), refinished (floors, ugh), what can be put off another season ... .

A little of that goes a long way, and we decided to head further east, visit the wine merchant who has run a successful business for over 30 years selling French, Italian, German wines at fair prices in Long Island wine country. We don't hear from most of our relatives as often as we hear from him - cards, emails, the occasional newsletter. Also probably not such a bad thing, come to think of it. Business concluded to all parties' satisfaction, what to do next? Obviously.

Neither of us felt like a "real meal" -- we're in training for upcoming travel -- and this is the time of year when one can eat in relative comfort at most of the beloved local institutions. Relative comfort means that at the next table are normal people in old jeans, sometimes with kids, who came to eat, not to order repeated rounds of drinks and scream stock and real estate prices at one another. Beloved Local Institution means a place that is fine for out here, reopens early every spring, but would not survive more than a few weeks in a major city where there are other choices. There are expensive Beloved Local Institutions, celebrity-ridden Beloved Local Institutions, local-color-"it's in a glass already" Beloved Local Institutions, because-it's-here-and-so-are-we Beloved Local Institutions. See? Choices out here too.
We fell into World Pie of Bridgehampton. World Pie sells pizzas of the world, many of which are quite good, and others of which serve as conversation topics if things get too quiet while you're waiting for a neurotic to make up his mind. They also have nice salads, main dishes, daily specials...close-up of last night's list of specials:
so we ordered a sausage pizza and a bottle of merlot. Merlot good, pizza ok. Starter was something called AMEX salad, which is good, and I'll be making it this summer when tomatoes are really good. It's small-ish chunks of Avocado, toMato, pieces of Endive and eXtra bacon in a mild vinaigrette, with slivered red onion and finely chopped cilantro. Easy on the endive. Simple and satisfying.

Over dinner, we decided to go see a broadcast/tape/whatever of the National Theatre Company (London)'s production of Frankenstein. This was shown at the John Drew Theater in East Hampton,
a very nice venue for local theater, special appearances, concerts and the like. V. busy in summer. Was wearing the winter old faithful - white silk shirt with black & gray stripes, B&W tweed-ish vest, narrow black wool slacks, so was set for just about anything.

Now I adore the National Theatre, please understand, I'm still raving about Blood and Gifts, the National delights and thrills me year after year. So I was perfectly ready to see what was described as a tale of growth, development and rebirth from a feminist perspective. This production starts with an oiled-up naked man acting out what happens to an almost-born baby during labor and transition. Twists, turns, grunts, bends, stretches. For a very long 8 minutes. Seemed longer. OK, so this is the monster coming to life. Well, I felt about the stage labor pretty much the way I feel about real labor: you get the idea after a few minutes and are ready for the next scene. But no.
I looked around. Throughout the theatre, heads were drooping as men dozed off (including mine) and women were checking their purses and pockets that they hadn't forgotten keys, etc. Rest of the play: monster is born, frightens people, learns to survive, learns a few lines of Milton's Paradise Lost, tracks down his creator, requests a bride. At this point Himself suggested that the production needed Marty Feldman and a bunch of peasants in torches. But no. Monster scares a few more people, is killed.

OK, now I will find something good to say about the production. Right. If you go with a spouse/other and s/he falls asleep and snores, it is more likely than not that the noises will just be taken for dramatic sound effects, so you need not poke spouse/other or feel embarrassed.

And J.Crew-at-the-Beach of East Hampton has not one but two connected storefronts, with basically the same stock as the Southhampton store only more, especially men's and shoes.

1 comment:

  1. Southern Belle Ph.D.March 27, 2011 at 7:10 PM

    LOVE what you wore!!! Enjoy the "local institutions" at "our" beach as well.


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