After drinking too much Thursday and Friday night, I decided to have a cultural night tonight by going to the Lincoln Center Festival opening event of The Bacchae, a modern adaptation of the classic Euripides play about Dionysus. I didn't have to drag Michelle, who loves its star Alan Cumming, and she didn't really have to drag me since I love anything that features a Greek chorus of girl group soul singers.
The show is weird but entertaining enough with an opening shot of Alan's bare butt, some shockingly hot pyrotechnics, and blood spillage that almost rivals The Lieutenant of Inishmore.
Afterwards, I was starving and thirsty so we found our way to the Time Warner Center outpost of Tribeca's Landmarc restaurant, which serves no wines by the glass but lots of French and French-inspired food. Michelle and I split some mozzarella and ricotta fritters with fried zucchini, plus a side of ratatouille. I devoured some foie gras on grilled country bread. And then we tried to order a Nutella eclair to split, but the bartender gave us the evil eye and brought us a huge strawberry-flavored cotton candy too.
Just as we were both tearing apart the cotton candy with our mouths and hands, ripping pieces off as prosthetic eyebrows and mustaches, we met the composer and music director from The Bacchae, who I recognized from the pit. Next thing I knew, he started twisting and bending forks for Michelle, who's probably as susceptible to magic tricks as I am.
Once the novelty of the forks wore off, he started to tell us about his kids and ask us about our lack of love lives. What do you tell someone who asks why you don't have a boyfriend? For me, it's easy enough to use my job in children's entertainment as an excuse, but the truth is, I never had a boyfriend before either.
So, full of liver and sugar, I had to decide whether to stay out with Michelle or to give up and go home and get a good night's sleep for once.
But even though the glasses are on and I'm in bed, I still haven't committed to staying home...