Day One (pt 2) / Wed, Nov 4

I reach my gate and before I even set my bags down I see a familiar face. Two, actually. And what makes this an amazing anecdote, dear reader, is that one of the faces was in my dreams a couple of nights before my flight - an anxiety dream about flying on a plane-bus (a vehicle that, as far as I know, only exists in dreams) through the streets of an abstract LA-ish urban landscape on its way to New York City. The faces belong to Sean Murray and Bill Schmidt, Artistic and Executive Directors of Cygnet Theatre, my other theatre home, in San Diego.

In my dream I was sitting next to Bill on this plane-bus-machine. I was unprepared for my move. "I haven't packed. I'm not ready. What am I doing?" I exclaimed. And Bill, the hero of my dream, friendly reader, got up and stopped the flight - which was taking place on the streets of this urban landscape, because, as you may or may not know, plane-bus-machines fly-drive on street-level in dreams. Let me just do this-hyphen-thing one more time. Thanks.

Needless to say -  you know, that's an odd expression seeing as how it's always followed by something said. Need-ful to say, it was great to have Sean and Bill on the flight. They sat right in front of me, with Sean and I on aisle seats mere inches away. Interesting tidbit: (forgive me Sean, Bill) Bill books the flights for them both and, as Sean leaned over and confessed to me, he books Sean in an aisle seat and himself at the window and leaves the middle seat open hoping no one will book themselves in the not-so-pleasant in-between spot. We were at the very back of the plane. I watched them watching the on-coming passengers. Will someone sit? Ooh, the excitement. Actually, it was pretty exciting, not to mention - (see, wait, same thing here - "not to mention" but then you do mention. weird.) - not to mention somehow endearing, to watch these two grown men hold their breath as a seemingly endless flow of passengers made their way down the aisle. Their plan was successful - open middle seat!

I, myself,  (see, again. english is weird. why would I say "I' about someone else? whatever.) I myself  sat next to a kind Swiss gentleman who, because the flight attendant chose to waive the five-dollar fee for our whiskeys, and because he didn't understand english too goodly, thought I bought him a drink. In between conversations with Sean, this Swiss gentleman and I had a brilliant chat about god-knows-what.

One bad in-plane movie and an episode of 30 Rock later, we land. I hop in a taxi and head to my apartment in Astoria. It's all very surreal. Nighttime in New York - in unfamiliar Astoria, no less. I am greeted by Kristen, a San Diego actor now in New York whos (who's?) apartment I am subletting (thank you Jay and Julie Sarno for the introduction and lovely dinner). Her boyfriend Jonathan joins us and we walk through the brick-building-lined streets - am I facing North? East? Where the hell am I? - to a small pub, Dillinger's, for a beer and a bite. Then home. I like my apartment. It's a basement apartment, and it's going to get a little weird and lonely, but I like it. Shoes off. Comfy bed with a down blanket - score! - and soon enough I'm out. Day one, d-u-n done. Tomorrow I will wake up and start anew in New York city.