Timothy Deer

Timopolitan Diary: Hello, Friend?

With a little luck and a lot of refreshing of the Shubert Theatre’s website, I had managed to score tickets – front row, center balcony – to the Saturday matinee on opening weekend of “Hello, Dolly!”, starring Bette Midler and Gavin Creel. They were still months away from winning their Tony awards, but it was already the hottest ticket in town.

The day of the show, my friend Jonathan and I queued up in the massive line, running into several acquaintances who were taking selfies with the marquee, buying merch, or sitting behind us.

After the curtain came down to thunderous applause, Jonathan and I meandered over to stage door. We considered waiting to see if anyone would come out. The Divine Miss M was unlikely to make an appearance, and we’d already been snubbed in the past by Gavin Creel at the She Loves Me stage door, but maybe Max Clayton would pop out to grab a salad for dinner.

As we debated whether it was worth the wait – it was April and not terribly warm – I spied a familiar face in a group of guys making their way right towards us.

“Hey, isn’t that your friend?” I asked Jonathan, a bit too loudly. The man gave us a puzzled look and then ducked into the stage door, which baffled me. How did a friend of Jonathan’s have backstage access? When I turned to ask him, Jonathan looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock.

“That wasn’t my friend,” Jonathan said. “That was Adam Kantor.”

We left immediately, Max Clayton and his salad be damned.

Proud of our seats, ashamed of my behavior

Timopolitan Diary: Just a Bite

I started writing tiny stories about my trips to NYC to try to get published in the New York Times, and guess what? I did.

You can read it here: Just a Bite.

Illustration by Agnes Lee for the New York Times

Timopolitan Diary: Brunch at the Plaza

Dear Diary,

The three of us used to live in the same city, but life had scattered us across the country, as life often does. All the same, my friends and I would meet once a year in NYC to relive our glory days.

During one such reunion, my friend splurged and booked us at the Plaza. It was just for a single night, but afterwards, we considered ourselves established guests. We stopped in or walked by anytime we were in the city, just to say hello.

On our most recent visit, we decided to pop in for Sunday tea and were horrified to find a long line of people waiting to be seated. When we finally reached the front of the line, the host informed us that it would be impossible to get a table without a reservation.

“This is ridiculous,” my friend announced to no one in particular. “He’s Liza Minnelli’s nephew!” (I’m not.)

The host gave us some serious side-eye. “I’ll give you seats at the bar.”

I consider it a win; I bet Eloise herself wouldn’t have been able to get a table that day.