Zach Zimmerman

My mom is a Southern belle who would choose The Beach over The City any day. When I asked her for three words to describe New York, she paused and said: “Little bit crazy.” Before we took off on a Norwegian Joy cruise from Pier 88, I had cobbled together a midtown sightseeing tour for her with almost no planning: pictures in Times Square, a visit to Margaritaville, a walk by Fox News (she wanted a picture), and a walk by The New York Times (I wanted to force her to take a picture). I even managed to cross some things off my own New York to-do list: the luxurious Bryant Park public restrooms and the New York Public Library’s original Winnie the Pooh (both pooh-related). We retreated to our hotel oasis in the chaos of midtown. With crisp sheets, so many pillows, and a tray of sweets including white chocolate in the shape of its signature guitar, the Hard Rock Hotel was surprisingly sophisticated given you might recognize the name from their kitschy Cafe. We dressed for dinner, and enjoyed snacks and sites at RT60, the Hard Rock Hotel’s chic rooftop bar, with views overlooking midtown. After seven years in New York, I was impressed by my pseudo-tour guide abilities. Of course, the easiest way to please a tourist in New York is to show them tall buildings. When we returned to our room, we realized we weren’t alone: on the wooden door that opened to the bathroom was a large black-and-white picture of The Boss. When we used the loo, Bruce watched, too.  Photograph: courtesy of Zac

The Gershwin Theatre was all grand and all green: bedazzled blazers, witches’ hats, extravagant black gowns and intricate all-green face paint. There was an actual, former Elphaba (out of costume) posted up at the branded step-and-repeat with the catchphrase “Everyone deserves the chance to fly.” It was the 20th anniversary “Green” performance of Wicked on Wicked Day, a holiday unobserved by our federal government,  celebrating 20 years on Broadway (a feat only ever accomplished by three other musicals: Phantom of the Opera, Chicago, and The Lion King). I chose the “Green” show over the “Pink” matinee due to scheduling, not out of any allegiance to Elphaba (though, upon reflecting, I am probably an Elphaba, Glinda rising: a stubborn, introverted nerd, with shades of a bratty, spotlight-craving diva.) Green-themed playbills with an action shot of Idina Menzel on the cover were distributed (the pink matinee had Kristen Chenoweth, the original Glinda), and green swag bags were waiting at our seats (pins, mascara, and a ghost-shaped Reese’s, oh my!). There was festivity in the theatre, a buzz in the room, anticipation, excitement. Five former Elphabas came on stage to introduce the show to an audience full of people I’m certain had already seen the show at least twice before. “I first saw it in fifth grade, we learned the music and everything” my date Ali told me. Don’t tell her, but she was the 14th person I asked. The declines came with a variety of excuses: booked, out of tow