Frenchy Stuff, Bill Nighy, Bill Nighy, Bummer, and Bill (yes, Nighy) in Fantasy/Bummer

Friday in the big city.

Yes, curious readers, there is now tile on the bathroom walls.  No, no grout, so it's not done, but it looks purdy.  Further HGTV moments around the corner.

The day started with brunch.  In one of an amazing number of coincidences, there is a French bakery right across the street.  We ate there.  French bakery, remember.  It comes in handy momentarily.

So, we are about to leave from 52nd St to the World Trade Center Memorial and we discussed how to get there.

M: I never take the subway here, I only walk or take taxis.
S: I knew you were petty bourgeios.
M: And not afraid to admit it.
Pause
S: I don't do that Frenchy stuff.
Pause
K: Shhhhh...we are in a French restaurant.
S:  [sheepish over his Croque Madame]

Then S gets up to go to the bathroom and stops near the door saying "Oh, shit."

Sitting there, reading a Penguin Classic (the iconic black spine on the paperback was unmissable) was...yes, Bill Nighy.  No, not the science guy.  Yes, Davy Jones in Pirates in the Caribbean.  [note, he doesn't actually have the tentacles]

I stopped, said "hi," he said hi, I held out my hand and we shook and I said, "We're coming to see you tonight."  He said, "I hope you enjoy it." And I said, in my best Sheldon imitation, "I'm sure we will.  We love science."

Then, on the way out, we all said hi and he stood up and shook our hands & I admitted we had just seen his new movie, and he said something nice, and I said something about he seemed to be doing all right.  They drug me out at that point.

Of course I did Bill Nighy imitations (I think I'm in my own version of the *The Trip* & *The Trip to Italy*), which Michael kept telling me I didn't have down...I guess the hand gestures and the...the...hesitation...weren't enough.

We then spent the afternoon at the World Trade Center Memorial.  It's painful.  And a lot of stuff.  I mean, literally, they have pieces of paper from the buildings.  But the video...well, watching the plane hitting the buildings, again, and the people jumping, again, is rough.

Then to dinner.

We had Italian.  I had group approval before making the reservation, so don't judge me.  Many readers may have been here, across from Carnegie Hall (we got there by taxi...taxi...)

I tried to lure M into a bet on who would get there first.  They were coming from Battery Park, but started 20 minutes ahead, but we got there first.  And we were seated in a booth three from the door and M & B came walking in.  I was about to say to him "Bill! Bill! Imagine seeing you at dinner, too" but decided to say nothing.   He walked right by me.   B sat down with us, grinning after him as he checked with the maitre d'.  He came back and said (is this where Bill Engvall says "here's your sign?") "I didn't see you."

Here's their specialty, which Karen had and we all tasted and loved -- the 101 layer (yes, it says so on the menu) lasagna:

And dessert:

That's chocolate mousse with whipped cream.  And, now, because K said I couldn't actually eat that much mousse:

 It's good after 35 years I can still surprise her.  And thatI can do so by eating large quantities of chocolate.  Win-win. :)

Now, for Bill Nighy's play.  Bill was fine, though I told M that I wondered if Bill every played anything but Bill -- the hand gestures, the halting delivery, the twitchiness -- and this part seemed to allow for it all.

And Carey Mulligan, the female lead (I guess she's most famous for *An Education* and *Never Let Me Go*) , was pretty good.

But the play left us unsatisfied.  You see, after two hours of angst and back and forth, Bill just leaves. It may be turnabout, but it stinks.

Then there's the casting.  Mulligan is 30.  Nighy 65.  Eventhough his character isn't that old in the play, it's really, really, really hard to believe they had a 6 year love affair.  Yes, in someone's fantasy (a casting director's?), but not in our world.  And without believing that, even with my friend Bill twitching and hesitating and acting all vulnerable -- THERE'S JUST NO WAY!!!!

So, having solved the problems of the world, and having no idea what we see tomorrow (is it Jake Gyllenhall or Diane Lane?) we go to bed.   But not without my final piece of humorous propaganada that goes with the opening ancecdote on taxis and social class (found in the bathroom at the restaurant, take that as you will) --