Being Kicked Out of my IUPUI Apartment, Seeing the Final “Stomp,” and Purple Yam Soft Serve

Current mood: I want to punch everything.

But the day didn’t start out that way! Let me tell you how it got to this point.

It was another lovely day weather-wise in NYC (clearly Mother Nature hasn’t gotten the coronavirus memo). I took a stroll through Central Park, which was still full of people, unlike the NYC bars, restaurants, and theaters that will now all be officially closed (except for takeout and delivery at restaurants) as of 9 a.m. tomorrow. I walked by ice skaters gliding across the Central Park rink in mid-50-degree weather, ambled over the Gapstow Bridge, and just generally took in the soaring skyscrapers while trying to pretend everything was fine for a few minutes.

And then came the highlight of my day: I saw the final performance of “Stomp” (for the time being, at least) at the Orpheum Theatre in the East Village. The curtain time was 5:30 p.m., but by 5:42 p.m., only around 10 people had shown up. I bought a last-row seat yesterday morning, but the usher was obviously like “LOL you can move up.” The Orpheum Theatre seats 347, so 10 people in the audience — in a show that has a cast of eight — made the space feel cavernous.

If you aren’t familiar, “Stomp” is a dialogue-less performance in which the actors use anything and everything in the set, from trash-can lids to inner tubes to newspapers, to create an hour-and-45-minute symphony of found-object sound. I’d seen clips, but had never attended a live show — and, considering "Stomp" was one of the last live shows in the city still running (at reduced capacity, though that limit wasn't exactly necessary yesterday evening), now seemed like a great time to do so.

The show did a lot more with lighting and choreography than I expected. But while the using-found-objects-as-instruments gimmick is neat for the first half hour or so, the middle of the show drags, as there’s only so much you can do, after all, with trash-can lids and brooms. Strangely enough, it reminded me of attending a performance of a long classical piece by a symphony orchestra, where you go into deep-thought mode and the show becomes a soundtrack to your musings. But things picked back up in the big trash-can-lid finale that featured guys walking on trash cans as stilts and my favorite part, one actor doing the worm while keeping up a beat on the trash-can lids he's holding. I can’t even imagine the kind of physical skill it takes to do this show.

It also surprised me is that the show was divided into sequences, with the stage doing dark for a few moments between them — I’d thought it was all one long number. And there was also more characterization than I expected -- each of the “Stomp”ers has a distinct personality, and they feud with one another over who controls the rhythm. Another highlight: The neat number where all the actors hold lights that make clicking noises when they turn them on and off, and create a light and sound show simultaneously.

Being in this show would be a great outlet at the moment — no better way to let everything out than banging on trash-can lids and stomping your guts out for an audience, even one of only 10 people!

The actors got a standing ovation at the end of the show — and one man gave the lead male actor one after a particularly strong number. Given the circumstances, they definitely deserved it.

It must’ve been as surreal for them to play to a nearly empty theater. “Stomp” isn’t a cheap ticket, either — prime seats go for more than $100 apiece.

In any case, it was definitely a theatrical experience I’ll remember for the rest of my life — did I just see “Stomp” perform a show for its smallest audience ever?! Bonus: This setup was clearly social-distancing friendly. I had more space than I would out on the sidewalk.

After the show, I spotted a sign outside an ice-cream place called Soft Swerve advertising “Purple Yam” soft serve. Clearly, I had to try this.

I sampled both the black sesame and ube (purple yam) flavors, but the black sesame tasted nutty, and I’m not a nut person. The ube, on the other hand, tasted like Orange Leaf’s cheesecake frozen yogurt — count me in!

I also picked up double pork belly Chairman Baos from Baohaus a few streets away — because today clearly called for it.

While I was enjoying my ube, I got much less enjoyable news: IUPUI was moving all classes online for the remainder of the semester and extending spring break until the end of the month. But the kicker: The university was closing campus housing, and I’d have to be out of my apartment by Friday. I don’t get back to Indy until Wednesday night, so this will be fun (I emailed them to ask whether “out by Friday” means I can still move out *ON* Friday, because if not, this rapid-fire exit is about to get turbocharged and fueled by what will likely be no sleep). Also, how is forcing out people in single apartments, where they aren’t likely to infect anyone else, logical? I’m much more likely to spread the virus by moving home with my family.

The CDC also issued guidance today recommending against gatherings larger than 50 people for the next eight weeks — and, umm, I couldn’t help but notice that most flights have more than 50 people. So hoping there’s not a domestic travel ban before I can get home Wednesday evening!

I'll be moving back home with my parents for now, then I'll likely move into an off-campus apartment downtown until my New York Times fellowship starts in June -- although it’s hard to see how my fellowship start date won’t be affected, as fellows are coming from all over the world. But I know many others — like international students who don’t have parents to temporarily move in with — have it much worse. So although I want to punch everything at the moment, I’ve also been able to keep things in perspective.

And it helps to think about the things that no virus can take away: Writing. Small-scale adventures. Family. The assurance that this will all be over, one day.