Slow Train Crashing
It took me a while, but I finally deleted the Girl from the North Country entry from my calendar last week.
My family and I were supposed to see Conor McPherson’s fabulous play this afternoon, but after the coronavirus pulled the plug on Broadway, the show definitely wasn’t going on.
I knew for a long time that it wasn’t going to happen, but I still couldn’t bring myself to clear the date on my I-phone.
Maybe if I saved the date I could save the show.
Girl from the North Country takes place in a rundown boarding house in 1934 Duluth, Minnesota, the birthplace of Bob Dylan, and the show makes extensive use of Dylan’s songs.
That may sound strange—and it is—but it also works brilliantly.
I first saw the play at the Old Vic in London three years ago and I loved it so much that I saw it again with my sister and auntie when it came to the Public Theater.
And I was all set to see it again at the Belasco Theater until life as we know it came to an abrupt halt. The times, they have a-changed.
I had to settle for listening to the show’s soundtrack with songs like “Sing on the Window” and “Slow Train Coming.”
The signs on the windows are all saying “Closed Due to the Coronavirus” as this pandemic rolls over us like a slow train that keeps on coming no matter what we do.
St. Patrick’s Day came and went with no parade in New York City, which would’ve broken my father’s heart. I didn’t even bother wearing anything green that day, which would've pissed him off.
If St. Patrick could drive out the snakes, do you think he could chase out the coronavirus?
I’ve been working from home and, as a business writer, I have a front row seat to the daily debacle on Wall Street.
On Wednesday I was writing a story about Walt Disney Co.’s financial worries related to the virus while listening to Frank Sinatra on YouTube singing “How About You?”
The song celebrates all the little pleasant things in life that seemed mundane at the time.
You Ain’t A-Goin’ Nowhere
We can still do some of them, despite the pandemic. I like New York in June, especially if this plague has moved on by then, like some people are predicting.
I also like a Gershwin tune and I love a fireside when a storm is due.
Holding hands in the movie show when all the lights are low may not be new, but right now it’s impossible with all the theaters closed.
As I wrote the story about Disney I was stunned to see how this massive company was so uncertain about its future, now that so many of its revenue streams—movies, TV, theme parks, and cruises—had gone dry.
YouTube switched from Dean Martin just then and Dino started crooning his way through Bobby Goldsboro’s 1968 sob sister saga “Honey,” about a guy’s adorable young wife who suddenly dies.
From Bob Dylan to Bobby Goldsboro. Where’s St. Patrick when you need him?
The song is a nightmare, an audio shit show, that should only be played to cast out demons or irrigate your bowels.
Rolling Stone readers in a 2011 survey declared “Honey” the second-worst song of the 1960s, prompting the musical question, what in the holy, screaming Jesus was Number 1?
Wait a minute. On second thought, I don’t think I want to know.*
But this song, as awful as it is, does address the issue of sudden, unimaginable loss, which takes on a new meaning in these troubled times.
A few weeks ago, I ordered the TV show Lost from Netflix, as I’m probably the only person on earth who hasn’t seen this series, which debuted in 2004.
I keep waiting for them to send me Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, but it’s always listed as “short wait,” so now I’m slowly getting into a show about a group of plane crash survivors trapped on a seemingly deserted island and forced to survive.
I’m still having trouble getting my head around the new abnormal. I look at the photos in my phone, taken just a few weeks ago, and they seem as old and dated as 19th Century daguerreotypes.
One day last week Facebook replayed images and memes I had posted on the same day in previous years.
Just 12 months ago I took a photo of the sunrise after I stepped off the ferry at Wall Street. That night I snapped a shot of the moon shining over the Narrows.
I wonder what I did that day in between those pictures. Was I happy? Was I grateful? Or did I grumble about inconsequential nonsense, never knowing that just 12 months later I’d be stranded in my home, practicing something called “social distancing.”
It’s only been a short time and we have a long way to go but I’m fed up with this way of life, I hate having to wear gloves to pick up the mail, avoiding human contact and washing my hands more often than Lady MacBeth.
I’m tired of being afraid all the time, of being isolated, and being cut off from the people, places and things I love.
How about you?
*Yummy, Yummy, Yummy by Ohio Express
My family and I were supposed to see Conor McPherson’s fabulous play this afternoon, but after the coronavirus pulled the plug on Broadway, the show definitely wasn’t going on.
I knew for a long time that it wasn’t going to happen, but I still couldn’t bring myself to clear the date on my I-phone.
Maybe if I saved the date I could save the show.
Girl from the North Country takes place in a rundown boarding house in 1934 Duluth, Minnesota, the birthplace of Bob Dylan, and the show makes extensive use of Dylan’s songs.
That may sound strange—and it is—but it also works brilliantly.
I first saw the play at the Old Vic in London three years ago and I loved it so much that I saw it again with my sister and auntie when it came to the Public Theater.
And I was all set to see it again at the Belasco Theater until life as we know it came to an abrupt halt. The times, they have a-changed.
I had to settle for listening to the show’s soundtrack with songs like “Sing on the Window” and “Slow Train Coming.”
The signs on the windows are all saying “Closed Due to the Coronavirus” as this pandemic rolls over us like a slow train that keeps on coming no matter what we do.
St. Patrick’s Day came and went with no parade in New York City, which would’ve broken my father’s heart. I didn’t even bother wearing anything green that day, which would've pissed him off.
If St. Patrick could drive out the snakes, do you think he could chase out the coronavirus?
I’ve been working from home and, as a business writer, I have a front row seat to the daily debacle on Wall Street.
On Wednesday I was writing a story about Walt Disney Co.’s financial worries related to the virus while listening to Frank Sinatra on YouTube singing “How About You?”
The song celebrates all the little pleasant things in life that seemed mundane at the time.
You Ain’t A-Goin’ Nowhere
We can still do some of them, despite the pandemic. I like New York in June, especially if this plague has moved on by then, like some people are predicting.
I also like a Gershwin tune and I love a fireside when a storm is due.
Holding hands in the movie show when all the lights are low may not be new, but right now it’s impossible with all the theaters closed.
YouTube switched from Dean Martin just then and Dino started crooning his way through Bobby Goldsboro’s 1968 sob sister saga “Honey,” about a guy’s adorable young wife who suddenly dies.
From Bob Dylan to Bobby Goldsboro. Where’s St. Patrick when you need him?
The song is a nightmare, an audio shit show, that should only be played to cast out demons or irrigate your bowels.
Rolling Stone readers in a 2011 survey declared “Honey” the second-worst song of the 1960s, prompting the musical question, what in the holy, screaming Jesus was Number 1?
Wait a minute. On second thought, I don’t think I want to know.*
But this song, as awful as it is, does address the issue of sudden, unimaginable loss, which takes on a new meaning in these troubled times.
A few weeks ago, I ordered the TV show Lost from Netflix, as I’m probably the only person on earth who hasn’t seen this series, which debuted in 2004.
I keep waiting for them to send me Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, but it’s always listed as “short wait,” so now I’m slowly getting into a show about a group of plane crash survivors trapped on a seemingly deserted island and forced to survive.
I’m still having trouble getting my head around the new abnormal. I look at the photos in my phone, taken just a few weeks ago, and they seem as old and dated as 19th Century daguerreotypes.
One day last week Facebook replayed images and memes I had posted on the same day in previous years.
Just 12 months ago I took a photo of the sunrise after I stepped off the ferry at Wall Street. That night I snapped a shot of the moon shining over the Narrows.
I wonder what I did that day in between those pictures. Was I happy? Was I grateful? Or did I grumble about inconsequential nonsense, never knowing that just 12 months later I’d be stranded in my home, practicing something called “social distancing.”
It’s only been a short time and we have a long way to go but I’m fed up with this way of life, I hate having to wear gloves to pick up the mail, avoiding human contact and washing my hands more often than Lady MacBeth.
I’m tired of being afraid all the time, of being isolated, and being cut off from the people, places and things I love.
How about you?
*Yummy, Yummy, Yummy by Ohio Express
Comments
I've also had trouble crossing events off my calendar. Middle Child and I were looking forward Saturday to a bridal shower of our former next door neighbor who I remember being born. Now we're worried if her wedding will even happen in May. Sigh.
Hang in there, Rob. It has to be especially hard, living alone. I hope you can still get outside to walk, while maintaining social distance.
I've been keeping up with what's been happening in NYC because, well, let's face it, it's my very favorite city in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD, so I want to know what's going on. I spoke to a friend of mine who lives in Brooklyn, but was on vacation visiting her family in Texas when this whole virus epidemic hit NYC hard, so she's staying in Texas until things level out a bit.
I saw on the news that all the theaters closed, so I'm not surprise to hear about your play being cancelled. I saw a brief clip of what Times Square looks like now and it's mind-blowing because that area of Manhattan is always packed with people. It looks like a ghost town.
I watched the news this morning and listened to your Governor (who I really love, btw) talk about all sorts of things. He gave a very touching speech about some of the positive aspects of this epidemic and how we all need to focus on those things right now to move through this. And he's absolutely right. It was a very hopeful and powerful speech, that brought tears to my eyes.
I have such great admiration and love for New York City. And the reason for that is because it is (and will "always" be) a city of tremendous resilience. I mean, look at 9/11 and how that city bounced back. I truly believe that New York is magical.
I know things look bleak right now, but I know in the center of my being that we will survive this.
Have a super week, buddy!
I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support and concern as the city suffers through this crisis. You've been an absolute hero during this awful time and, you're right, we will survive this.
Gov. Cuomo has been amazing in his handling of the pandemic. I wasn't the biggest fan of his for the longest time, but those negative feelings have evaporated as he shows himself to be a true leader.
Unlike that imbecile in the White House.
You actually cried at "Honey"?!!? Dude, what the hell's wrong with you?! Seriously, you go ahead and weep. The world needs more sensitive, caring people.
Take care, buddy, stay well, and thanks ever so much!
I'm so sorry that the bridal shower was postponed. A play is one thing, but the cancelation of these personal events is really painful.
Weddings, anniversary dinners, baby showers--all these milestones have to be scrubbed for fear of spreading the virus. (Isn't it freaky that you remember your ex-neighbor's birth and now she's getting married?!)
Thank you so much for thoughtfulness, Bijoux, it means so much to me. I am getting out when weather permits (today is kind of crappy) and when this damn thing is finally over I want to meet you in the real world! Enough typing already!
"Honey" is a mistake on all levels. Dino's version is almost tolerable because of his voice, but it still needs to be buried in an unmarked grave and never spoken of again!
Take care, much love, and stay safe!