There is something delightfully cozy about bad theatre

I took the boy to see a play about Meyer Lansky, because he likes the idea of Jewish gangsters. This was before the opening, which meant that we were the only people who had paid to see the performance. Everyone else was either

(1) writing notes on their copy of the script
(2) a geriatric on a field trip from the nearby temple.

Seriously it was like Palm Beach in there.

Lemme tell you, regarding point (1), ain't nothing gonna save that play. You could have set your watch to the predictable character arc, and the lead couldn't keep his stereotypical Jewish accents straight (Brooklyn thug? Polish immigrant? 80-year-old grandfather?). Anyway, "Lansky" kept talking about reubens and celery soda, so afterwards we ran over to Stage Deli, which is no Katz's mind you, but the waitress was really nice and gave us some freebies in our take-out bag.