So, we went back to lovely Carbondale, IL, this past weekend to throw a surprise 80th birthday party for Pidge's mom, Joan.

To get to Carbondale (which we worked out, by the way, was where Hooterville from "Green Acres" was set) from San Francisco, one flies into St. Louis Lambert Airport, then drives 120 miles southeast.

Because we didn't want to arrive in the middle of the night, we chose to leave in the middle of the night; that is to say, to take the 7:40 flight from SFO to STL, arriving at about 1:15, then arriving in Carbondale sometime before 5, meeting Pidge's brother and sister-in-law for dinner. (There are two other American Airlines flights from SF to StL daily, at something like noon and 3 pm.)

Well, even though we knew we needed to get up at about 4 to make it to the airport in time (including showering, driving, long-term parking, shuttle, and check-in time), we neither us of got to sleep much before 12:30.

But, in spite of our tiredness, things went well. In the terminal by 6 or so, breakfasted and on the plane a little past 7. Things went so efficiently, in fact, that we were going to leave a little early. Pidge and I were in a three-seat row, and since no one showed up to take the window seat, we spread out (Pidge with all her magazines in two seat-back pockets) and removed our shoes.

We assumed our place on the runway ("Second in line," the pilot assured us), and at the appropriate hour, began our taxi down the runway to take off. We're going great guns, and virtually in the air, when there's a loud BANG! and the plane slows down. Everyone wonders what the hell just happened, and the pilot immediately assures us that our right engine wasn't getting enough pressure, so we were going back to the terminal to let the engineers figure out if they could fix it or if they needed to take us all off of the plane. We make it back to the gate, and everyone sits there, trying to figure out if we're getting off or going on our way to the Midwest. After five or ten minutes, the pilot comes back on the intercom and informs us that we are indeed deplaning, and that we should see the agent at the gate to make substitute travel arrangements. When we get off, that agent asks everyone who is connecting in St. Louis to other cities to get in line, and everyone who is going only to the Gateway City to just wait.

Pidge, being the worrywart she is, gets on her cell to the airline and, after finding out it's okay to make the alternate arrangement (they have to get official word that the flight has been cancelled), books us on an 9:50 flight to Los Angeles, and an 11:35 flight from there to St. Louis, so we'll be late, but only by about three hours. It was darned fortunate she did this, since the two other SFO/STL flights and the all the LAX/STL flights were soon sold out. I would wager, though, that almost all of the original St. Louis-only passengers made it onto the LAX flight.

So, 9:30 comes and we all get on our second plane of the day. We again spread out and take our shoes off. The plane takes off a little late, but given that it's only a fifty-three minute flight, it shouldn't be a problem to make our connection.

The flight goes smoothly, and as we reach LA, I'm looking out the window at various landmarks, trying to figure out just where we are. One of the first things I notice is the Coliseum, which we slowly pass over from west to east. I start thinking that the airport is a good 15 miles west of the Coliseum, and I begin wondering we we're continuing so far east and away from the airport. Finally, somewhere over Orange County, we begin a long right turn and head back to LAX. I'm guessing that, coming in at that time of day, we're stuck in some kind of traffic holding pattern and our boarding time is drawing closer and closer. In the meantime, the flight attendant gives a rundown of which gates will be hosting which connecting flights. We hear where the St. Louis flight is connecting, but it doesn't really register. We figure we'll ask the person at the desk or check the monitors.

Finally -- just before 11 -- we land. However . . . I've been going to LAX for over 40 years, man and boy, and have never seen this particular part of the airport we landed at. We're -way- off to the west of the terminals (at least, I'm guessing that from how we taxi), and we taxi and taxi and taxi -- about ten minutes worth. All the time, I'm looking at my watch, and seeing our 11:05 boarding time come closer and rapidly fly away until we at last arrive at the terminal. We stop, everyone shoots out of their seats, and Pidge takes a few cuts (fortunately, we were near the front of the plane) by explaining we're rushing to make a connection. Everyone understands and lets us exit quickly.

We race to the monitors and see that our St. Louis flight is leaving fro mGate 48B -- the very same gate -- and plane -- we've just exited. Feeling like dopes, we look at the sign at the gate and see that the flight has been delayed from 11:30 to something like 11:55. Knowing we're okay, we sit and wait for the plane to empty and be serviced. Finally, we're ready to board, we get on, find our seats, spread out again, and wait for takeoff.

As we taxi down the runway, I notice an odor that smells like something burning. I'm alarmed for a second, but figure it's one of those airplane smells and ignore it.

I spend the first few minutes of the flight, just looking out the window at the amazing number of swimming pools in LA and trying to figure out where we are when, about ten minutes into the flight, the pilot comes over the intercom and mentions that we've had some mechanical problems and need to head back to LAX. We make another long slow turn and make our second landing of the day in Los Angeles. As we taxi back to the gate we'd just left, I notice a couple of fire engines tailing us. The pilot comes back on the com and tells us (again) that they're going to try to figure out what went wrong and if we'll need to deplane or continue on. I keep looking out the window and see a guy in a hazmat suit. Soon enough, the pilot comes back and tells us we need to get off. This time, though, there's nothing mentioned about alternate arrangements. Pidge tries calling the airline again, but since the flight still hasn't been officially cancelled, they can't rebook us.

As we get off, the woman at the desk makes the announcement to hang around the area until they figure out what they're going to do. A little after 12, they tell us that they have another plane and are going to put us all on it. They'll tell us where to go in a little while. A little after 12:30, they tell us they'll have an announcement by 1:15. Finally, about 1:10, they tell us that we all have to change gates, so we're moving down to gate 42. We get there and eventually the woman tells us that since the original flight has been cancelled, they're going to dragoon a plane that's due to leave to Mexico and put us all on it. But since the original flight has been cancelled, we'll all have to stand in line and get new boarding passes for the new flight -- the information about which will be forthcoming. All this time, the message baord in back of her is flashing contradictory information -- that our flight has been cancelled; that it hasn't; that it's leaving at 2, 2:15, or 2:30; that we should be at this gate; that we should be at another gate.

(Allow me to say here that the airline people we great; they kept us fully informed as best they could, even if the information they were getting from upstairs made no sense.)

After about 20 minutes in the new line, they tell us that the Mexico flight we were going to take over was going to proceed as planned, and that we were going to get a whole new plane. (Fortunately, we were at LAX, rather than some smaller airport that had fewer spare aircraft.) But we now all needed to go back to the original gate, although since it was the same kind of aircraft as the original one that had been pulled out of service (it turned out that it had an oil leak that seeped into the air conditioning -- hence the burning I smelled), we could keep our same boarding passes and seat assignments. The problem was that the plane we were getting wouldn't be in until about 2:15 and that, between cleaning and servicing it, we wouldn't take off until nearly 3. That was fine; just get us to St. Louis. (They also offered $10 meal vouchers, but we'd already eaten.)

Finally, the new plane comes in, they get everyone off, and the clock ticks closer to 2:45. The desk woman comes back on the loudpeaker and tells us that, because the flight crew is getting near the end of the time they can work, we have to have everyone on the aircraft, seated and belted up, and the door closed by 3:05, or they'll have to postpone they flight while they dig up another crew. That gets us all panicky, so we rush onto the plane. As we get on, the attendants make an announcement that some folks who were on the regularly scheduled 3:00 flight had snuck onto our plane (good security!) and had to get off -- NOW -- or else. We all do our best to hustle them off , and somehow we get it all done by 3, with five minutes to spare.

This time, we do not spread out, Pidge does not take out all her magazines, we do not take our shoes off. We get in the air, and we all hold our breaths, waiting to see what's going to happen this time.

Well, somehow, nothing does. We arrive at STL at 8:20, only seven hours late (which is actually remarkable, considering all we've been through), and as we head for baggage claim (and god only knows where our checked bags have been all this time), we can't help but notice that the St. Louis airport virtually rolls up its sidewalks early. At 8:30 on a Friday night, all the bars and shops and closed and locked (and, seeing the presence of janitors, seems that they have been closed for quite some time) and that there's virtually no one in the terminal.

We arrive at baggage claim, and after a very brief search, Pidge finds our bags, which had been put on the 12:00 SFO/STL flight. We picked them up, the woman at the desk checked out tags, and out we went to catch our Dollar rental car shuttle. The Dollar desk at the terminal was closed, so we called the number on the sign, told them we were there (we'd phoned earlier to push our car and hotel reservations back), and headed upstairs to the pickup area.

It was a cold and rainy night in St. Louis, but fortunately, the pick-up area was covered over. Fortunate in that after five, ten, fifteen minutes, the guy still wasn't there. Pidge called again to verify we were where we were supposed to be. Twenty minutes. Another couple shows up. Shuttles -- multiple shuttles -- from every other rental company pass us by and still nothing. Twenty-five minues. The guy from the other couple calls the company. "He's on his way." Finally, after a half an hour, the guy shows with some lame excuse about how traffic was backed up at the other terminal and how he just couldn't make it any faster. (We were dubious, but after seeing how things were this morning, it might have been true.) He takes us to the rentl facility, we are able to get the car -- a Dodge PT Cruiser -- and head off to Carbondale.

Of course, since we're both hungry, we stop at a Jack in the Box to get some snacks and something to drink. That holds us up a little more, and we finally get on the road about 9:50, in the pouring rain.

Unbelieveably, the drive itself is uneventful -- if tiring -- and we make it to the Carbondale Holiday Inn just after midmight -- eighteen hours after we got up in Pacifica.

Coming up next: The Noisiest Hotel in the World

So, we're in New York for Xmas, and of course, there's no chance of snow. Too warm and not enough precipitation. It's still pretty cold (given the wind chill), but not enough.

Anyway, we went to see Michael Feinstein's Christmas show at the Regency last night. I had just seen "The Drowsy Chaperone" for the fourth time, and on the cab ride to the hotel, I mentioned to Pidge that at spent a good part of the evening watching Bob Martin as "Man in Chair;" the show is amazingly tight after a year and his performance is amazing in that he's so focused.

So, anyway, we're in line at the Regency, and I'm quoting some line for Pidge and who should walk right past us to see the same show but Bob Martin and his wife, Janet Van de Graaf. I went mental. And then to top it off, they were seated right next to us. I waited until after the show (Feinstein introduced him from the stage and he was on his way backstage), but after he paid his bill (in cash), I leaned over, extended my hand, and told him that I had seen the show for the fourth time that night, and was a huge fan of him, the show, and "Slings and Arrows," the Canadian TV show about a Shakespeare festival that he co-created. That was the right note, in that he thanked me and said that he's always glad to hear that someone likes the show, as it's special to him. I mentioned that I couldn't wait for Season Three (which is true), and he told me it'd be available in a few months.

So, we left the club and headed for the bathrooms. I came out and, while waiting for Pidge, who should I see but Bucky Pizzarelli, who had just finished playing for Feinstein. I said, "Oh, my god, it's you," and extended my hand. I told him that I was a huge admirer of him, his sons, and his daughter in law and thanked him. We shook hands, and I left, walking on air, having met two people whom I admire greatly.

It's been a great trip so far. Good shows ("Room Service;" good lively production. "Mary Poppins;" a relentless entertainment machine, but incredibly well directed. "The Drowsy Chaperone;" I just love that show. "The Apple Tree;" quite entertaining, though it didn't feel as big as it did at Encores. "The Coast of Utopia: Shipwreck;" Not quite as good as the first part, but still one helluva show. Lots of food (too damn much; Junior's; Hell's Kitchen; Keen's Chophouse; Burger Joint), with more to come.

We went to Rockefeller Center after "The Apple Tree" to go to the observation deck. It was incredibly cold, but with great views. We went up Fifth Avenue afterwards, and it was just packed with people shopping and looking at Xmas decorations. Very hard to move, with Pidge vowing not to go back. We plan on on going ice skating at Bryant Park tomorrow after Katz's Delicatessen and "Company."

I have to tell someone:  I met Hal Prince today.  (For those not in the know; Hal Prince is probably the most important director of musicals in the 20th century, and certainly the most important producer of them:  Short list of his credits (in chronological order): The Pajama Game, Damn Yankees, West Side Story, Fiorello!, Tenderloin, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, She Loves Me, Fiddler on the Roof,  Cabaret, Zorba, Company, Follies, A Little Night Music, Pacific Overtures, On the Twentieth Century, Sweeney Todd, Merrily We Roll Along, Evita, The Phantom of the Opera, and Show Boat.)

Pidge and I had a weekend in NY (four shows:  Grey Gardens [good, not great]; Heartbreak House [brilliant]; The Drowsy Chaperone [3rd time; I love that show]; and Tom Stoppard's Coast of Utopia:  Part One [epic; amazing direction (Jack O'Brien) and deep, deep script]; not to mention two cabaret shows [saw Stritch at the Carlyle -- cost an arm and a leg, but worth it]).

Anyway, we were in the airport this morning, waiting for our flight from JFK to SFO (via Las Vegas).  I looked over to my left and saw an old guy sitting by himself.  I turned to Pidge and said (jokingly), "That guy looks like Hal Prince."  I looked again, and realized it was actually him.  He was making phone calls and texting messages, and impatiently waiting to get on the plane.  Finally, when I saw my chance, I went up to him and said, "Mr. Prince.  I'm a director and just want to thank you for your work.  You're an inspiration for all of us."  He shook my hand, thanked me, and said, "Well, that's a nice thing to hear first thing in the morning."  He asked if I lived in New York.  I told him, "No, San Francisco."  "Ah, that's where you live -- and work?"  I said yes.  He asked my name: I told him, and said, "I hope to meet you again."  I told him "likewise," shook hands again, and went back to Pidge, shaking from the adrenaline rush.

When we got on the plane (I assume he was going to Vegas to check up on Phantom), he was in the right aisle seat in the front row.  I smiled at him, he winked, and I just had to crack up.

I was so stoked; still am.

Well, been a while, hasn't it?

I so meant to do a day-by-day report of my trip to New York, but the connection problems in the hotel were so miserable (I never knew from night to night -- hell, from moment to moment -- whether I'd have a wireless connection) that it just wasn't worth it. 

Of course, why that's prevented me from writing anything for the three months since is a cosmic mystery.

Anyway, I'm going to Los Angeles tomorrow for a quick trip.   The Director's Lab Gold Medal Class of '04 is having a reunion, so my plan is to go down Friday afternoon, have dinner (I crave a Big Boy combo) and see a movie (probably "Idiocracy"), breakfast Saturday (brunch with Kathy), followed by a matinee of "Curtains," then the reunion, and straight to the airport from there.  I do tend to cram things in.  Strange trip, though; between the inability to take any liquids (or toiletries) on the plane and the whole leave-Friday-afternoon-return-Saturday-night aspect, it's damn odd.  I hate the idea of having to buy a stick of deodorant and a tube of toothpaste just to throw them out.  Makes me wonder if the whole London terrorism plot was a massive scheme of the part of the personal care cartel.

"Rosencrantz & Guildenstern" actually ended up going pretty well.  I was happy overall, and Pidge thought it was some of the best work I've done. so that's the only validation I really need.  (We'll see how that translates to "Mrs. Bob.")  The reviews were good, though, and we sold out the run, so that's the other important validation.  They're doing "Midsummer" next year, and I wouldn't mind being asked back at all.

Getting ready for "Mrs. Bob" auditions in a couple of weeks.  My perfect cast has thinned out some; two of my "sure things" opted out, and I have a feeling that two more may join them.  I probably won't have trouble filling their shoes, but can't vouch for the quality.  Not that the subs will be bad; it's just that they won't be my first choices.