What I saw: Mike Birbiglia’s new movie, “Don’t Think Twice” at the Landmark Sunshine Theater, at 143 East Houston Street, between 1st and 2nd Avenues, which is technically in SoHo. Also, you should know that in NYC, “Houston” is pronounced differently from the city in Texas (like “HOW-stun,” not “HEW-stun”).
What I wore: black Puma sneakers, gray jeans; black v-neck t-shirt that I bought at Barney’s in Seattle, because the one in NYC is too terrifying to even attempt to go in, much less shop at; silver earrings that the Bacon Provider gave me; favorite gray rag & bone scarf; old Coach bag that I’m beginning to think is sad and not retro-cool.
What I did beforehand: had lunch with my friend W. and my other friend B., to whom I either gave incomplete directions or maybe no directions at all, so he arrived sweaty and flustered because it was like a bajillion and a half degrees. Fortunately, we declared beer o’clock, and had lunch. Also, B. is a good sport and told stories of the dentist and moving back to New York.
Who went with me: just W., and some other serious people in ironic glasses.
How I got tickets: after seeing Mike Birbiglia’s most recent show, followed by his appearance in White Rabbit, Red Rabbit the next week, I was prompted by my email to buy tickets to this. And I thought I did, and I put it on my calendar where it sat for a number of weeks. But when W. and I sat down in the lobby of my apartment building as I said “Hey, lemme check to make sure I have my email receipt I had none, so I bought the tickets for what seemed the second time.
Why I saw this show: Mike Birbiglia is great.
Where I sat: kind of in the middle.
Things that were sad: people behaving selfishly, people panicking and screwing up their own lives, people behaving selflessly, people getting their shit together.
Things that were funny: solid improv, what comedians wear, people who mature slowly.
Things that were not funny: the theater should have been full, and I should not have felt so conspicuous laughing.
What it is: more of a dramatic comedy than a comedic drama, this ensemble piece had a lot of deep, beautiful truth in it.
Who should see it: fans of Mike Birbiglia, improv enthusiasts, devotees of examining the human condition, people who like to say yes, groupies of the group dynamic, you.
What I saw on the way home: a cab on the West Side Highway with a funny ad on top with another, more-famous-but-less-funny comedian eating cotton candy and the cab driver inside the cab thought we were admiring him.