It's one of those days: I lost an earring somewhere between the hotel room and the theatre, and I seem to have picked up a bit of an intestinal bug. On the bright side, the play - Seminar with Alan Rickman, Lily Rabe and Jerry O'Connell – was wry and funny and viciously witty, and Alan Rickman of course was extremely sexy, even in a relatively unsexy role. That voice, that voice.

Prior to that, we had breakfast of sorts, a slice of pizza at Famous Original Ray's. We were just too exhausted after last night to get up in time for the breakfast buffet at the hotel. I didn't even have time to do yoga, so I was all sorts of out of sorts by the time we hit the theatre. If it had been a less than stellar production, I would have been devastated, but fortunately it was excellent. I also see that Paul Gross is on Broadway right now, doing Private Lives with Kim Cattrall. We may need to get back here earlier than springtime.

We had dinner at Hill Country Barbecue (I know – who goes to NYC and eats nothing but 'cue?) It's a little different from the average restaurant. You go in and they give you a meal ticket, which you take up to various stations where they serve you your meat or side dishes; drinks are served by an actual waitress. We shared ¾ lb of ribs, which were of Flintstonian proportions. Then we poked through a local gourmet grocer before catching a cab to the McKittrick for the evening. Getting a cab in NYC this visit has been tough! We've had the best luck catching them just as someone else is getting out. Flagging one down on the street is nigh-impossible.

New procedures at Sleep No More that I neglected to mention: the doormen now scan Ids, presumably to make sure they're real, and the entry cards are punched now, presumably so that less-than-ethical types can't reuse them.

Tonight, instead of Maximilian, there was last night's Malcolm, looming in the center of the room, posing, occasionally raising his drink in the direction of the bar. Eventually he got up onstage and invited the aces to make their way to the back of the room in a dreary, almost monotonous voice, very different from Max's cheery patter. Constance de Winter gave us the rules before summoning James the elevator attendant (who doubles as Mr. Bargarran, the taxidermist).

Wherein there is no more sleeping. Macbeth hath murdered sleep. )
Dinner at RUB was good, as usual. Post-show supper at New Venus was made even better by the presence of water and ginger ale. So thirsty. So very, very thirsty.

And now on with the show. Usual warning about spoilers applies. )

I think we are almost reaching saturation on Sleep No More. As we were enjoying our post-show breakfast-at-night, [personal profile] st_darwin suggested that perhaps next time we come to New York, it'll be in the spring, and if Sleep No More is still running, maybe we should only see it once. I, for one, am not ready to forgo it entirely, but I can definitely see how limiting it to one show per visit would enable us to do other things. My feet would definitely appreciate it.
The day began late, and we meandered out in search of food, forgoing the Starbucks breakfast vouchers in favour of some street souvlaki. Then it was off to Avenue Q, which turned out to be just as funny and enjoyable as I had hoped it would be. I was a little disturbed by how easily I could relate to it, some 20 years after that period of my life. In retrospect, I was a bit of a trainwreck in my early 20s. I suspect that most of us are. I blame it on the Bad Idea Bears.

We had a restaurant picked out for dinner following the play, but the hostess claimed they didn't have any tables available until 6:15 – which, given our Sleep No More entry time, was just not going to happen. So we headed back to the hotel to change, and ventured to the hot dog cart across the street for still more street food. Then it was off to the McKittrick for our 14th encounter with Sleep No More.

Blood will have blood. So if you're not into blood and spoilers, clicking is a bad plan. )

We tried a new place for our post-SNM meal. It wasn't bad, but I think I prefer the New Venus. And in spite of trying (ha!) to take it easy, I logged over five miles of walking today. My feet hurt, but my ovarian cyst is making only token protests, so... yay.
In spite of our GPS' best efforts to buffalo-jump us, we made it to New York City with only traffic-induced stress. We then proceeded to check in at the Waldorf Astoria.

I will not lie: it's a lovely hotel. They do not make them like this anymore. There are glorious mosaics on the floors, elegantly wood-paneled elevators and enough architectural details to take the sting out of an egregiously long wait at reception. It is, in most ways, the antithesis of my first New York City hotel, the beloved Chelsea. If the Chelsea is the spiritual home of disreputable writers and rockers, the Waldorf Astoria is the earthly home of travelling supermodels and tennis stars. The bathroom has a scale in it, presumably so the former can decide whether or not they get to eat on any given day; the latter was spotted during the aforementioned egregiously long wait at reception. The US Open is in town, apparently, and the key to spotting the tennis stars is to follow the swivelling of every female head in the room. I do not follow the tennis, so I can't say definitively who he was, but he was dark-haired and hot, so I suspect Roger Federer.

Our room is on the 25th floor. We have a fantastic view of St. Bartholomew's, and other buildings that range from the moderately interesting to the thoroughly mundane. Our room is, in a word, posh. The desk chair is cushy, and unlike the Chelsea all of the furniture matches. If the bathroom were to make a fashion statement, it would probably be something like, "I hope you like marble," because it is marblicious. This place is, to put it bluntly, a little too rich for my blood. As much as I would love to become accustomed to la vida Waldorf Astoria, I fear I am at heart a (Hotel) Chelsea girl.

We ventured forth to Chipotle to get enough food for me to be able to take my painkillers before we headed off for a fun-filled evening of Sleep No More, where I logged 2.61 miles. Yes, I was trying to take it easy.

Details of Sleep No More visit #13. Spoilers ahoy! )

And most importantly, what will I find tomorrow night that's different yet again?
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