When bad things happen to good people: Ptown Tour - Day 2

John and I begin the morning bright and early searching for our favorite café in Truro. Yes, please join me in trying to say that out loud. Truro. There's a squirrel in Truro. Boy, imagine Homestar Runner trying to say it:

Gwacie, thewe's a squiwwel in Twuwo.
Pause.
I have a pwoblem with my awe's.

Anyway, once again we set out without a map, trying to go by our "Braille" memory from last year. Once again, not such a good idea. An hour and a half later, we finally find it: The Village Cafe.


Here John & I work on the script for the show, enjoy flavored coffees (the Chocolate Raspberry just HITTING the spot for me) and devour flavorful egg sandwiches with linguica, a delicious portuguese sausage treat. The patio is just as awesome as we remember it, although I do recall that last year I attributed a lot of its awesome factor to the fact that I could smoke on it. Nevertheless, still a must-see destination this far out on the Cape.

By the time we get back to the room (after stopping to print out the new script) it's time to gather the materials and head over for our Load-In/Dress Rehearsal. But as we're checking through our stuff, disaster strikes. It seems that, though John has managed to load a book full of Madonna, Pet Shop Boys and Cher CDs, he has neglected to include the CDs that we use for the show. This wouldn't be so much of a problem if John didn't use tracks for FIVE of his songs (I play the other four). So, after much searching I finally convince John that the CDs are not in this corner of the Earth and that maybe the hotel has some blank ones. Why blank, you say? Because this is why I get paid the big bucks.

When John originally brought over the tracks CD, I did what any natural Mac geek would do: import it into iTunes. And when I was packing my stuff for the trip, I did what any natural tech geek would do: I took my damn laptop with me. And when I was packing my cables, I did what any natural cable hoarding geek would do: took extra ones and my converters for mini to 1/4 plugs and vice versa. But the unanswered question remained: would the iBook plug into my Roland amp? Hence the blank CDs back-up route. ALWAYS have a plan B - even if it's your last minute emergency plan.

Suffice it to say, because I am such a geek, we were able to do the show. Except we didn't do the show.

Because two people showed up.

And I had bothered to draw on my face with liquid liner.


I mean, what's the use?


So, you think that's the end of this post, do ya??? Well, you're dead wrong. There's a whole lot of adventure waiting in the night to follow.

In case you were keeping track, I've only mentioned John & I eating once so far. That's because we had only eaten once Day 2. We didn't have time before rehearsal, and we neglected to between rehearsal and our would-have-been performance (Friday's performance was scheduled for 7 PM). So, once we called it, we realized we were famished.

Now for those who have never been to Provincetown, I invite you to speculate on the odds of finding a nice place to eat (because we were depressed about our poor audience showing) on a Friday night at the end of August. Picture a street full of Balthazar's, Pastis' and an obnoxious club like APT thrown in for good measure. We couldn't get served anywhere. Anywhere that didn't deep-fry everything, that is (did I mention that we had macaroni balls on Thursday? What are they, you say? Breaded, deep-fried clumps of macaroni and cheese. Yup, you had to ask, didn't you.). In hindsight, we attributed this to several factors:

1) The maitre'd outside of Virelli's (and I mean, c'mon, a name like that in Ptown?) informed us that we had a "bumpy night ahead" as we careered past his "begging people to come in his restaurant" ass.

2) We passed the eVilinist (the seizure-inducing violinist from yesterday) who was mercilessly see-sawing like a drunken skateboarder across the pitiable strings of her instrument.

3) Just plain RUDENESS. At Bistro, John and I saw THREE empty tables. As John was inquiring about them, the following scene began:

A cool, breezy night in Provincetown. The wind gently caresses our heroes, as they saunter down the street in search of nourishment. They see empty tables at a nice restaurant. Surely, it beckons to them.

John: Hi, we'd like a table for two...we see these ones out here but if you have some in your garden, that'd be great, too.

Maitre'd: Oh, unfortunately there is a list for...

Rude motherfucking queen who thinks the sun rises, sets, nay, lives on him: Hi, I have a reservation...

John: I'm sorry, I thought he was helping ME...

Blatant lack of eye contact from anyone.

Maitre'd (to the RMQ): What is your name?

John (on exit): You have THE worst service I have ever seen...

Needless to say, we were steamed for a good 45 minutes after that. Finally, after practically traversing the length of Commercial Street, we found Enzo. Enzo's lovely hostess (who really looked more like the Earth Mother) told us it may be about 15 minutes. As I could see steam building up in John's ears, I realized that the man needed to be ushered away from the Maitre'd and into the bar, where he could buy me a drink before I killed him. 15 minutes, I can do. So, with a Manhattan in hand (can you tell I was feeling homesick), we finally began to relax.

I was two sips in when our table was ready. A really lovely two-top, on a balcony overlooking the patio, overlooking the street. Our waiter was affable, attentive and cute (although we couldn't figure out which one of us he was trying to flirt with...which is probably the best policy when confronted with a mixed couple in Ptown). We had antipasto. I had swordfish (with a purple basil pesto and pureed celery root and I'm only so specific because it was so fucking good). John had the seafood stew (because if you're on the Cape, you're not going to fucking order the duck (although, it did look good)). Ellie, the 73-years-young songstress with a cart serenaded us from the street. I had tawny port. John had espresso. We finally exhaled.

Thank God for Enzo.