I have seen the peen

[grrgoyl]

I have seen the peen

Just got back from New York yesterday. My trip was completely packed! I met the ultra-fun swankyfunk, who was everything I expected and more. We finally solved the mystery of how to pronounce her name (well, most of the confusion was on my end). We browsed the Virgin Megastore, where I experienced the very surreal moment of spotting one of her icons in the book Stuff on my Cat while standing beside the icon-maker herself. Then onto Barnes & Noble for a bathroom break and more browsing. From there we hooked up with my sister, and back to Madison Park to meet the stunning and stylishly-dressed minikitkatgirl for lunch at the Shake Shack -- which I enjoyed despite receiving the news from my bank that my debit card had been compromised and had to be cancelled immediately.

Then a quick stop at Forbidden Planet in Union Square (where I couldn't resist buying this extremely subversive Jesus magnet set) before heading to Broadway to try to settle on plans for dinner near the theater. We decided on an Italian place, where I had the pleasant surprise of meeting the mega-fabulous madam_o. Then in almost no time at all we were going to the play!

We waited on the sidewalk with the rest of the mob, where an older British woman overheard our conversation and interjected, "I just want to see Daniel's cock." We congratulated her on her honesty. Naughty naughty Meisje tried to snap an illicit photo of the stage set, which was impossible without the flash. I begged her not to get us kicked out and she relented. Our seats were really, really good (thanks to Amy!) and I was vibrating in my seat with excitement.

The set couldn't be starker or more minimalist: A circular platform with four chair-sized rectangular blocks. Around the platform, six gleaming chrome skeletal horse masks hung on the wall. Above the stage, two rows of seats for more audience, which the girl next to us informed us only cost $50, because they weren't as great as you would think; most of the action occurs with the actors' backs to them.

The lights went down, the fog came up, and the six horse-men regally marched on stage and slowly donned the masks. I got fucking chills.

The play was as I remembered it in college: Lots of ultimately wordy and time-consuming monologues by the psychiatrist about his job of excising individuality and passion from children so they will conform to society, interspersed with the much more interesting segments of Alan, his disturbed patient, acting out that passion.

It was pretty thrilling sitting only about twenty feet from Dan Radcliffe. I couldn't quite see the sweat on his lip, as my sister suggested, but mostly due to the dimness of the lighting. He was every bit as phenomenal as I thought he would be. Richard Griffiths was so good I forgot he was Uncle Vernon. Captain Janeway played the hospital magistrate. The nurse, Sandra Shipley, wasn't Marsha in Spaced but could easily play her in the movie.

But, as in the college version I saw, the most fascinating aspect of the play to me was the horses. My favorite part about watching plays instead of movies is seeing how the illusion of something that can't practically be portrayed is created. The actors had magnificent bodies, sleek and muscled like a horse. With only the masks, 6-inch chrome "hooves," and their body language, they conveyed the essence of the horse. The eyes in the mask glowed occasionally, and when the stage darkened and the fog rolled in and you looked at those creepy glowing eyes floating 7 feet above the stage, they became every inch Equus, the god-slave. Again, chills.

The end of Act I is, fittingly, Alan's orgasmic nocturnal horse ride. As he acts out his ritualistic preparation, stirrups descend from the ceiling attached to wires which Alan snaps onto Nugget's (the actor's) belt. Then Alan jumps into them, most of his weight supported by the wires. As Nugget trots and canters, the platform starts spinning, creating the illusion of movement. As the scene slowly builds in intensity and Alan spurs Nugget into a gallop, the wires lift the actor as well until his feet are actually leaving the floor. Alan's chant of worship as they ride through the sacred "Field of Ha Ha" rises and rises until he's spent, and the lights drop. It was awesome.

Field of Ha Ha

Act II is much shorter, because by now we realize we're getting closer to what we're all here for. Blah blah blah, the psychiatrist talks and talks. Alan is invited on a date with his fellow stable hand, Jill. She brings him back to the stables for an intimate tryst, a monumental mistake given his totally screwed-up muddling of religion and horses. Leading up to The Scene two things happened: Daniel started shaking visibly, and I wondered how much was genuine and how much method. Second, an usher suddenly sidled up along the wall beside us in the dark, doubtless ready to pounce should any recording device make an appearance in the first few rows -- or more likely overheated fangirls who suddenly decided they wanted to do more than look.

So, the question on everyone's minds: The Peen. Yes, the dink was shrinky. He does have the pendulous, saggy balls of a man twice his age, however. I hate to say it, but the peen proved to be too distracting from the most crucial scene of the show. I asked myself if the nudity was strictly necessary -- maybe, maybe not. Would a semi-nude Harry Potter have the same massive draw? Hard to say, but I rather doubt it.

Alan blinds the horses to hide his shame, and the horses go into a frenzy -- which turns into an almost balletic dance that real horses could never possibly execute and took me out of the moment even more.

The final scene is grim, sobering. The psychiatrist assures Alan he'll cure his passion, enable him to live a normal life. But this role of his has made the doctor a slave to the soulless system, with his own "chinkle-chankle" in his mouth that never comes out. The six chrome horse masks descend from the ceiling, surrounding him, imprisoning him. Lights fade.

Oh, the boy touching. I could watch Alan lovingly brush Nugget head to toe for hours...

...or hug him, a common pose

More than anything I want a reproduction of that mask.

Meisje pointed out after this experience, I'd never look at the Denver Mustang sculpture the same way again. She's right.

DIA Field of Ha Ha

After the show we made a token effort to wait at the stage door for Daniel, but the stage manager claimed he had already left, and frankly I had to pee so badly I was ready to use the alley. We were there long enough to apparently piss off Daniel's "#1 fan" when we stepped in front of her inadvertently -- I missed her outburst, but Meisje heard it. I would have pointed out that if she really was his #1 fan, she should be there every night so what was the problem? Then I would've peed on her shoes.

An older woman appeared on the sidewalk beside us and asked, "Did Danny make it tonight?" Evidently his grandmother had died a few days previously. Tery had been gleefully joking since the moment I bought my ticket that something was going to happen and I'd see his understudy. How close she came to being right.

We got friend!Amy to Port Authority, barely (her shoes had sworn revenge on her for some past misdeed), and Meisje got me to the subway and pointed me in the right direction back to Jason's -- where I met his other roommate, who loves Harry Potter, Alan Rickman and almost as many movies as me. We dished until 2 am. Before that, photos:

My favorite, even though her camera mischievously switched to B&W without permission

Slightly wackier one taken first. Meisje looks like she's being sucked into a vortex

Hugo Boss, in addition to having several displays featuring the presidential candidates, had this panel with Biden as Joe Six-Pack and Palin as a butch outdoorswoman

Friend!Amy and Sister!Amy. I'm starting a collection

Just starting my descent into true fangirliness

The subway was plastered with a clever ad campaign for my beloved Dexter, spoofing various magazine covers

I flew out Wed morning, after La Guardia's Dunkin Donuts kiosk failed to provide me with a Bavarian creme. Amy was right, they suck. And thus ended my magical, whirlwind New York "weekend" to see Equus (and meet practically half my f-list).

Except for Mrs. Thompson, the 80-something woman I got stuck sitting next to from Minnesota to Denver. She asked me where I was from. "Denver," I answered, "where are you from?" And then she proceeded to talk nonstop for the rest of the flight. Right up until the moment we stepped off the plane this woman told me practically her life story. I was too polite to turn away.

She was from Kansas City, Missouri. From her description, Kansas City, Missouri is a very dark, violent place. She had only lurid tales of babies dying after being forgotten in a car, of husbands being murdered for insurance money, of kids going to court for dropping a book on the teacher's foot (these were all among her close friends and relations). Mrs. Thompson had a firm, unshakeable idea of right and wrong, and it was all very black and white. She was kind of terrifying. I took secret pleasure in the fact she had no idea she was talking to a raging bisexual liberal who reads filthy, filthy slash fiction.

She was also diabetic. She ordered a Diet Pepsi from the beverage service, then got so engrossed in her storytelling she forgot she had it. I got alarmed when she saw them coming back around with the garbage bags and she started knocking it back like a shot of whiskey. "I'm sure they'll come around again," I cautioned her, "You don't have to..." Too late.

When we were finally in the airport, she reunited with her husband (they for some reason couldn't sit together on the plane). I stopped to say goodbye, and this adorable little man asked, "Did you sit next to her?" He reached over to gently cup my head, "Your poor ear!"

Now all I have to live for is Guitar Hero: World Tour and Rock Band 2. : (