Being in New York only 7 weeks, I have been able to immerse myself in theater culture quickly. New Yorkers who go to the theater talk to each other and they all have opinions. In one of my recent chats with a fellow row mate, I have discovered the “two show day.” It is the practice of attending a matinee and turning around and going to a a different evening show. I recently became a member of the Theater Development Fund, so I am able to keep track of Off Broadway and Off Off Broadway more closely with discounted tickets. It can be hit or miss, but there is just so much to see, hear, and learn from - it is constant and a bit overwhelming. I have a thirst for theater that has gone unsatisfied for years compounded with COVID. As one of my fellow audience members in her 80s recently said, “What would we do without theater?” (She aims for three shows a week). 

The matinee this past Sunday was Michael McKeever’s Mr Parker (Review in New York Times) at Theater Row. At its core, it was a show about grieving (or the avoidance of grief). Terry, 56, has lost his famous artist husband in a car accident in New York City (Terry was driving). Terry gets thrown between two other relationships, dating a 28-year old bartender Justin, and his powerful sister-in-law, Cassandra. It was a mere snapshot of one loss, one specific queer process, and it hit home. The sound of humans crying through masks in a theater is unique. Towards the end of the play, I started to hear the sniffles, the deep breathes, the restlessness of human bodies in a confined space. Isn’t this the pathos that all playwrights write for? I am uniquely attuned to humans around me while in a theater. Next to me, I felt the man next to me flustered and seemingly quite uncomfortable. The theater seats 88 peoples and it was mostly full. The play ended. He was crying. The play was good and it was sad, but he was crying more deeply. I asked if he was going to be okay. And he turned to me and said, “I lost my husband seven months ago.” Gut punch. Art becomes life again. Reality is never too far away. I listened to him talk about his last days with his husband. They had been together 20 years. We walked out of the theater said our soft goodbyes through our masks and back into the streets of New York.

I would not be able to claim I am a big Kylie Minogue fan. But, by proxy, I have enjoyed her music at the club from time to time and dancing in the street from Palm Springs to Sydney. My interest was peaked when a friend invited me to Kim David Smith sings Kylie Minogue at Club Cumming in the Lower East Side. As he said himself, “the performance was his own indulgence.” What a pleasure to watch an artist immerse himself in his love. He sang the classic Kylie Minogue we knew, but in a way, he was presenting how the songs were familiar to him. It was like we were watching his teenage diary unfold in front of us, as if he wrote every day, “Dear Kylie, today I need your help on…” Kylie must be the patron saint of Australian gay men. I knew this in theory and from stories of other gay men I knew. But to witness, on stage - it was a love letter to his own queerness. What a beautiful way to celebrate Pride season. Love in spite of all the direct attacks, hatred, and disapproving gazes. Dressed to the nines with a leather tuxedo with full length armed gloves, tails, and a top hat to match. Smith commanded attention with a soft and steady voice with comedic interludes. I was happy to give my adoration. 

*Weekly drink & drawing event in Lower East at Club Cumming. 

*Coming to New York? Discount tickets available through the Theater Development Fund. Not in New York? Consider a donation. 

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