The Golden Compass in <50

Gorgeous cinematography, interesting mythology, some likable characters, visual effects and CGI were quite impressive, but the parts were way better than the sum. I didn’t dislike it.

Who Says Caroling isn't Glamorous?

Andrew, Trish, Kelli and I spreading holiday cheer to the humble masses at the Newburgh Mall in Newburgh, NY. Hurray! Caroling season is officially over.

Bloody Good

In a word, bloody. If you are not comfortable watching someone’s throat sliced open and seeing blood spurting from the carotid artery with pulsating life-like accuracy, Sweeney may not be for you. I suggested seeing the movie on Christmas day with the family until my sister, Trish, prudently advised against it, citing mom’s delicate sensibilities. I thought it would be a nice way to spend the holiday with the family, seeing a big movie musical together. She was right, I was way wrong.

Tim Burton has created an incredible adaptation, successfully translating the operatic scope of the stage work to film. I was never jarred out of the moment by the singing nor did the singing ever feel forced or out of place - unlike in Dreamgirls where even I had to hold back some awkward laughter at that first sung dialogue sequence. Future movie musical directors (and current for that matter) take note - you must set up the musical “rules” at the onset in order to acclimatize the audience to the world you are creating. Mr. Condon, you should have known better after the success of Chicago. If the characters don’t sing dialogue until half way through the film, it is startling when all of a sudden they do.

Though typically Burton-esque, the sepia-toned cinematography and depressive gloom is tailor-made for Sweeney. The contrasting “By the Sea” sequence is an enlightened change of pace and much needed relief from the surrounding darkness.

Although I truly miss the booming baritone of a Hearn or Cariou, Depp acquits himself quite nicely and his nuanced acting, perfect for the big screen, makes up for his more pop-inflected vocal interpretation. It took me a bit longer to warm up to Bonham Carter’s Lovett. But once you let yourself stop comparing her to Lansbury or ever LuPone, you start warming up to her more sexily manipulative Lovett. Die-hard Angela fans will never be satisfied, but it is refreshing to see a new take on an iconic performance. My only complaint is that Carter’s light vocals made it very difficult to understand the clever Sondheim lyrics, often swallowed up by the gorgeous orchestrations. Many chat boards complained that Burton and his cohorts drained the comedy from the work, specifically citing "A Little Priest." I disagree, I think most of the comedy played very well and fit in stylistically with the generally more naturalistic acting throughout. Playing specifically for laughs wouldn’t have fit this version - it would have read too wink, wink, elbow, elbow - here’s the punch line, aren’t we funny.



















Borat - I mean, Sacha Baron Cohen - was hilarious, at least for the few moments I was able to pry my eyes from his bulging (prosthetically enhanced) nether regions. Anthony and Joanna were fine, nothing extraordinary. Although I understand the vocal choice for Joanna, it was still a disappointment to hear “Green Finch” sung with the same pale and anemic coloring as the actress portraying her. Anthony fared better vocally, but was a bit too wispy and androgynous for my taste. Conversely, Burton casting Toby as a young boy worked surprisingly well, heightening the relationship between Toby and Lovett. The mother-son dynamic truly humanizes Lovett. The stage Toby is more of a mentally challenged adult and Lovett’s pity reads less sympathetically. I’m willing to bet some theater companies will adopt this convention for the stage.

The musical cuts made complete sense, and only theater fans and Sondheim fanatics will miss hearing these sequences. I admit I missed them, but mainly for the loss to Sondheim neophytes in hearing the brilliant “Kiss Me” quartet and frightening “Ballad of Sweeney Todd.”

On a side note, we arrived half an hour early and the line wrapped around the theater lobby. When we exited, they had barricaded areas for the Sweeney crowds to wait. Seems like a hit - at least in musical-friendly NYC. Just the adrenaline boost we needed to continue Christmas shopping down at Macy's Herald Square, which is open 24 hours until Christmas Day!

"Why is the smart son always the gay son?" - William Finn

Last night Trish and I were fortunate enough to catch the William Finn revue, Make Me A Song. Unfortunately for you, it’s just posted its closing notice for December 30th. I highly recommend catching this entertaining and insightful retrospective of one of musical theater’s under appreciated composers/lyricists. I can understand if Mr. Finn’s music is not to everyone’s taste. His musical style is generally intimate and avoids the bombast of the “popera” genre and pseudo-rock that now passes for legit theater music. Unlike many current musical theater composer/lyricists, Mr. Finn writes songs that are situation specific, not just generic anthems or power ballads with empty sentiment and generalized lyrics. Thus, a simple road trip song (“Hitchhiking Across America”) becomes an ode to missed opportunity, and what could have been just another sentimental love song (“Unlikely Lovers”) instead illuminates the love/hate dynamic of a rocky long-term relationship. Lucky for the audience, this specificity lends itself to an even deeper connection to the performers - we feel like they are our best friends, divulging intimate personal details over drinks at a local bar. Hell, I got teary-eyed three or four times during the show’s short ninety minutes. But then again I’m a total pussy - although not as big a pussy as the gay boy sitting next to me who was bawling in mere anticipation of the tearful moments, i.e. continually looking to his companion, furrowing his eyebrows and forcing tears at least a stanza before the moment would actual occur! Get over it Mary, we all (meaning the gay musical theater cognoscenti) have every word of Falsettos memorized, too, we just don’t need to throw it up in everyone’s face. This is perhaps my number one audience pet peeve, somehow telegraphing to others around you - whether by singing along, exaggerated and/or early reaction - to show off how much smarter you are than the rest of the ignorant masses. I’m sure in my youth I was guilty of such theater snobbery, but I hope I’ve since grown out of these urges, or at least learned to suppress them - but enough ranting.

The four performers, Sandy Binion, D.B. Bonds, Adam Heller, Sally Wilfert and pianist Darren R. Cohen, are truly singing-actors. Call me old school, but I would much prefer a well acted, emotionally grounded interpretation to a string of kick-ass belted high-E’s backed by a vacant stare. What a pleasure to be treated to it all, minus the vacant stare. The evening’s surprise was D.B. Bonds whose voice the entire evening was like buttah’ and then out of nowhere starts riffing like a big black women on the “Fishing with My Dad” song. And on top of that he’s also tall and handsome. Damn you D.B.! Props as well to Mr. Heller for proving that being a character actor and having a beautiful voice are not mutually exclusive. His gorgeous head voice in “Unlikely Lovers” and almost operatic high notes on “Republican” were highlights. And lest you think I’ve forgotten the ladies, Ms. Wilfert’s rendition of “Anytime (I Am There)” left not a dry eye in the house. And Ms. Binion, whose lower range far exceeds most men’s voices, possessed a control and consistency over her powerful belt that the current generation of pop screamers should take note of and emulate.

Cast (clockwise from top left): D.B. Bonds, Sally Wilfert, Adam Heller and Sandy Binion

I Am Legend: Dr. Willy?

Trish and I braved the wind chill this evening to catch I Am Legend. Risking frostbite paid off and we were rewarded with an empty theater and choice seats. By the way, if you’ve never tried pretzel bites, do it! The “cheese” dip is so gross it’s good. I’m sure it’s all chemical, but who cares? It’s yummy. Anyway, I really enjoyed this movie, despite an almost too abrupt ending. Though I’d still recommend it, during the home bound subway analysis with Trish, some of the holes in the story's logic started to really annoy me. Don’t get me wrong, the special effects and post-apocalyptic New York City sets were stunning and the first two thirds of the movie definitely had my adrenaline pumping. Just don't expect anything too philosophically deep or intellectually stimulating. And why should you - or I, for that matter - as it's Will Smith, not Anthony Hopkins. The quasi-religious overtones thrown in at the end totally bogged down the plot and definitely seemed like an afterthought. I think they should have expanded on Dr. Neville’s day-to-day survival as well as creating more mutant confrontations. Yes, there were definitely some awesome nail-baiting moments, I have the gnarly cuticles to prove it, but I wanted more. I’m a vampire/zombie movie freak so I wanted to see more blood, damn it! Perhaps more survivors showing up so that we could lose a couple?

I was also prepared to be annoyed by Will Smith’s regular "everyman" shtick, but he gave a remarkably contained and nuanced performance until he got all “Will-y” in the last 20 minutes. He's also sportin' some major salt and pepper in the 'do. No matter, the gratuitious six-pack abs shot counterbalanced the gray quite nicely. Now for the problems -Spoiler alert - these are my few quibbles, which again, didn’t really affect my viewing pleasure but totally riled me up for the whole subway ride back to Astoria.

• Why did Dr. N have to chase deer? In all of NYC he couldn’t find a net or a trap in a deserted store? Why didn’t he set up a deer feeder (he was growing corn), lure them out and then just pick them off? There just seemed like an easier and safer way than speeding down Broadway in a car with a high-powered rifle.
  
  
• If the virus couldn’t survive the cold, then wouldn’t the areas in the far north and far south hemispheres be fine? What about winters in NYC? They’re pretty darn cold. I don’t understand how in three years a scouting plane from some unaffected territory hadn’t flown over “ground zero” to investigate.
  
  
• Dr. N as a scientist didn’t notice that the cold affected the mutants? Seems like it would be a pretty obvious observation to make.
  
  
• Could these zombies swim? Why didn’t he set out on a boat to avoid them?
  
  
• If all the bridges and tunnels into NYC were destroyed, how did Anna get into the city?
  
  
• Why did Dr. N have to sacrifice himself at the end? Couldn’t he have just waited for the very last minute, then pull the pin and jump behind the door? I mean, they make a big deal of Anna saying there’s plenty of room. They could’ve made it an itsy bitsy space that only held one person. At least then it would make more sense to sacrifice himself.
  
  
• If God told Anna to go to Vermont, did she just randomly drive around the state until she found the colony?
  
  
• If Dr. N knew how strong the mutants were, why didn’t he fortify the whole house and not just the windows and doors? Why didn’t he create other “secret hiding” areas in the floor, etc. for emergency cases? I mean, he had three years!
  
  
• Why are the mutants so hungry? There are herds of deer everywhere.

Again, I still recommend the movie and I was definitely never bored. But I wish they had at least tried to patch up some of the minor holes in the logic. At least they wrapped it up so that there couldn’t really be a sequel, at least not with Will Smith in it. In summary, cheap but fun thrills without substance, which is just fine for winter escapist fare. Now I just have to count the days until Sweeney!

Man With Van

Finally, the last vestiges of my former roommate have been expelled from my apartment. Don’t get me wrong, he was extremely polite, friendly and most importantly, paid the rent on time! But the hall closet has been bursting with his leftover stuff for the last three months while he’s been getting drunk all over Asia. He’s actually playing in the pit orchestra of 42nd Street on its Asian tour. But for pit musicians, tour is just an excuse to get wasted every night after the show since you’re low on responsibility and high on disposable income and free time. No disrespect to those musicians who act otherwise, but that has been my impression from the several years of touring I have endured. And I’m certainly not passing judgment on those who do, I’ve just had the unfortunate luck to have to appear shirtless on my last tour and any extra calories I allowed myself were certainly not wasted on alcohol. Now Ben & Jerry’s is another story. I’d gladly spend an extra two hours on the treadmill for a pint of Chunky Monkey - oh, or even better, a bacon cheeseburger, medium rare.

Anyway, back to my roommate. Hopefully, he’ll never read this. But we, (former roommate) Chris and I, had given him the nickname “Milky White” - the name of Jack’s cow from Into The Woods - because he’s blond and extremely pale. I know what you’re thinking, but it really just popped into our heads because when he first moved in with me, we couldn't think of his real name and all we could think about was how pale he was - nothing malicious intended. No, really. Anyway, Trish hasn't had a closet since she moved in this past September. Instead, she’s been using the next best thing, her bedroom floor, on the assumption that MW would be moving his belongings out upon returning from tour in October. He instead ended up extending his tour of duty until next March! So I graciously informed him that I’d be keeping his security deposit to pay for the extra months of storage and that I’d be moving his belongings into a lovely storage unit in Long Island City.

Since I’m just a paycheck shy of homeless and Trish has no income, we hit Craigslist for a “Man With Van” ad. Luckily, we found someone dirt cheap. But being extremely suspicious after 14 years of city living, I promptly hid every item of value in my closet in case this guy was looking to pocket some “extras.” Not that we really have anything of value to pocket, save my beloved flat screen TV, and I would have fought to the death to guarantee my continued viewing of Ugly Betty, Heroes and Lost in HD. Do not mess with my HD. Fortunately, the move went extremely well. The “man with van” and his hulking assistant were polite, efficient and best of all - cheap. Email me if you want a reference. Moral of story - cheap can be good (except perhaps in the case of prostitutes and maybe cheese).

Better Late Than Never!

I know the wedding was weeks ago. But here's the promised picture of the cake I created for the happy event!

Where are the Mer-men? And I Don't Mean Ethel...

After re-reading my Little Mermaid review, I realized that I may have been a bit negative about certain aspects of the show. In fairness, I guess I should be providing some suggestions to balance my criticisms. Since the show is in previews for the next couple of weeks, the Mermaid creative team will have plenty of time to implement my simple, yet inspired suggestions. Ms. Zambello and Mr. Schumacher, if you’re listening, and I’m sure you are, please note the following changes that will vastly improve your little show. In no particular order:

• Use Ursala's big shell piece to hold Triton captive, not those wimpy eels. Then when Ariel breaks the magic shell, have those tentacle things turn on Ursula, holding her captive and powerless. Then you’re also set up for the inevitable pointless sequel (High School Musical II - anyone?) where Ursala escapes and you rehash the exact same script with different songs.

• Someone needs to tell those eels to tone it down a notch. I’m no prude, but watching them interact made me feel dirty in a bad way. Are they supposed to be gay eels? Can eels even be gay?

• Why are there no mer-men besides Triton? There are references to them, but you never see one. Also, why is Triton’s tail all limp and dragging on the floor while the mermaids tails are all bouncy and upright?

• Axe the frog hand puppets in “Kiss the Girl.” They look like Sesame Street rejects.

• That whole "mermaids and humans together for one night" ending is just plain stupid. Have the wedding on the boat with the mermaids skating - er, swimming around it. Then utilize my vastly superior closing scene as follows:

Full Chorus: (sung) Now they can walk, now they can run, now they can play all day in the suuuuuuuuuuuuun!
(subito piano in orchestra) 

Ariel: (underscored) Will I ever see you again, dad?  

Triton: When you need me, sing and I'll answer you in the roar of the crashing waves. 

Ariel: I love you. 

Triton: (to Eric) Take care of my daughter. (Triton raises ugly pitchfork thingy, boat begins to floats up, Triton and Ariel extend arms to each other for final farewell gesture) 

Full Chorus: Out of the Seeeeaaaaa! 

Ariel, Triton, Eric: (continuing phrase) I'll finally beeeeee! Part of your woooorld! (Chorus underneath: ah, ah, ah)

And curtain.

Not a dry eye in the house.

Francesca, Thomas - if you have any questions, feel free to drop me an email. Love you, mean it!

Is That a Conk in Your Pocket, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

OK, I admit it, for months I’ve been obsessed with the bootlegs of Sierra Boggess singing the Little Mermaid on Youtube. I guess deep down I’m just a teenage girl with a Disney princess fantasy – but really, who doesn’t? So I’m only slightly embarrassed to say that I bought a ticket, actually two tickets (one for me and one for my sister), months ago – um, for her birthday. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Tonight we finally got to see the mermaid sing (and dance). The good news – the classic movie tunes still work remarkably well when transferred to the stage (Ariel’s simple ascending three note theme still makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up) and the newly written music, although not nearly of the same caliber, still surpasses in pure craftsmanship most of what’s been written in the past couple of years. Alan Menken simply knows how to write a singable, soaring melody. The bad news – the last twenty minutes is a big, hot mess! SPOILER ALERT, DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW SPECIFICS – but remember, this is Disney, folks! They don't utilize the fairy tale's original, tragic ending. Do you really think the House of Mouse is gonna’ have its perky heroine witness the man she loves marry another woman then throw herself into the ocean out of extreme grief? Not likely. This stage version utilizes the movie's "happily-ever-after" ending, which wouldn't bother me so much except that the artistic team has created some truly inane dialogue and pointless staging. Forthwith is the last scene of the musical. I will paraphrase since I’m going by memory, so please forgive me.

Grimsby: I’m honored to have your daughter marry the prince. Will we ever see
you again?
Triton ("standing" on land, is he amphibian?): That depends. According to you I’m only a silly legend.
Grimsby:  Can you stay for the wedding?
Triton: Well, for this occasion I will let our two worlds celebrate together for just one night. (He waves around lame Christmas-light covered pitchfork. Stage fills with smoke. Human gay boys prance onto stage, mermaid ladies glide in on skates. Are we on land or in the water?  Gay boys spin mermaids around real fast and they sing a reprise of “Part of Your World.”)

Curtain.

It just doesn't work. It's way too "nice" and generic. Even the audience seemed confused by the abrupt theme park-like ending. It reads like an afterthought; as though they got to the last hour of the last rehearsal before the first preview and the director said, "How the hell are we gonna' end this thing?"

Ursala's death is pretty lame as well. Maybe it works from the orchestra section, but it's painfully obvious from the mezzanine that Ursula's walking toward a trapdoor. I mean there are little red lights on it! I'm sure they’re there for safety reasons, but come on. That's all you could come up with? And FYI to the director, the big bad villainess shouldn’t be stepping away from Ariel, she should be going after her. Ursala is saying something to the effect of, “Give me back my shell you bitch!” yet she’s walking away from Ariel because the friggin' trap door is 8 feet to her left. Change the damn blocking already, it doesn’t make sense! And poor Norm Lewis as Triton is straddled with more bad direction. Example - after signing away his soul, his ugly pitchfork thingy lights up (it looks like a big plastic fork with Christmas lights on it), theme park lightning affects go off, he hands the scepter over to Ursula, lays down on floor and is held down by Flotsam. Or was it Jetsam? I'm not sure, but it doesn't really matter. We're supposed to believe a waif thin, gay eel is "holding down" super buff Norm Lewis? Even stripped of "magical powers" Norm/Triton could bitch slap that eel into next week.

I do have to give props to the cast, though. The performances in general were impressive. I found Sierra Boggess quite charming and her singing was darn near flawless. Damn, this girl has a huge range and looks gorgeous in shells and a tail. My only complaint is that it seems she was coached to put on a "Disney voice" at times which seemed a bit thin and anemic, though pretty, compared to her full-voiced singing elsewhere. Oh, and the scene where she gets her "land legs" was pretty bad, too. Her cartoonish miming and over-exaggerated hobbling was pretty awful. She needs some method work – tie some ropes around her thighs, let her legs fall asleep, and then let her try to walk. You’ll get some realistic hobbling then.

I enjoyed Sean Palmer's performance as well, although I wasn't fully convinced until his big song, "Her Voice" when he finally started acting like a real person and not a cartoon. Until then, he was playing the prince like a spoiled 16 year old rather than a man about to turn 25. His vocals also impressed, except for the last note of “Her Voice.” He did the old "straight tone into vibrato" technique and was incredibly flat until his vibrato kicked in. I know it’s the current trend, but it worked against him. Either 1) change the vowel to better accommodate the high placement 2) lower the note or 3) let him use vibrato. It totally ruined the whole song for me, which I was enjoying until that very last badly placed note. Audiences forgive anything if you end well. No matter how many perfect high C's you hit in the middle of the song, they will only remember the final clunker.

Titus will probably earn a supporting Tony nom for his turn as Sebastian. His vocal range is higher than most women I know. He was always sincere and committed and genuinely appeared to be having a good time. The sisters and flounder had a great production number in Act I that helped flesh out their thin characters a bit. Again, Norm Lewis is totally wasted. He’s the Fantine of this production, appearing intermittently in the first act and basically disappearing in the second. Oh well, a paycheck is a paycheck.

Despite complaints from earlier reports, the set and costume design didn't really bother me. I actually thought they were quite interesting in an impressionistic sort of way. No, it’s not a realistic reproduction of an undersea world, but that’s what your imagination is for. The stage did appear somewhat bare at times, specifically during Kiss the Girl and most of Ursula's scenes . I admit the two giant wine bottle openers on either side of the stage were rather odd, but pretty to look at. Perhaps the designer’s take on coral? My report card - performances: B+, physical production: C-

Why Does God Hate Trish?

Today was my first Caroling gig of the season at Woodbury Common Outlet mall. The gig itself was pretty uneventful, but the car trauma the night before was quite exciting. After Friday’s Holiday Concert fiasco, I decided to crash in Jersey for some well-deserved R & R before returning to NYC. After spending the day binge eating (Popeye’s chicken, chocolate, and McDonald’s dollar menu items), Trish and I packed up mom and dad’s van. If you’ve been keeping up, Trish’s car had a nervous breakdown on the way to Virginia last weekend so we exchanged it with the family van while her car goes into the shop for some mechanical therapy. Back to Saturday - we filled up the gas tank and got on the highway only to notice that none of the dials on the dashboard registered. Did I mention that we also had TDF tickets to Cymbeline that evening at Lincoln Center? So we pulled over unto the shoulder, said a little prayer and tried the ignition again. Same thing, only this time the “check engine” light came on. “Why does God hate me?” Trish muttered. So I promptly called Don, who schedules and runs the caroling company. “There’s a problem with the car so you better start getting plan B together.” I also offer him my Cymbeline tickets and he replies, “Lord no, the last thing I want to do right now is listen to Phylicia Rashad talk.” Don eventually calls me back to let me know that he has reserved a rental car for the day and that I’ll need to use my credit card. No problem, what’s another hundred bucks on top of $15,000 debt already? Meanwhile, Trish is on the phone with dad. Apparently, this has happened before. The remedy? - slip the key in as slowly as you can. Then wait. And while pushing the key into the ignition, turn slowly. Of course, this method instantly brings the dashboard back to life but it's too late for us to try and catch our show. So we decide to continue binging for a couple more hours. No sense wasting fried chicken.

The gig itself was pretty routine except for the security guard asking us if we were going to do a better job than last weeks group who had a "horrible tone." Oh well, you can't please everyone.

Someone Please Compose a Happy Chanukah Song

Another weekend from hell is over. The Pineda Four (Juan, Val, Trish and I) once again pulled a show out of our asses with only one rehearsal, this time a holiday concert benefiting the LOC. I have to admit this was not one of our finer achievements. We hadn’t really even yet recovered from our parents' anniversary fiasco (was that really just last weekend?!). I mean, the fake wedding cake is still sitting in the back seat of Juan and Val’s van! By the way, as promised, I will soon post pictures of this magnificent piece of fake pastry art but I need to repair some of the minor dents and scratches. It was a rough ride back to NJ. Anyway, this concert was doomed to fail considering how well our anniversary reception show went. We surely hit our prayer quota over the anniversary weekend. A second miracle within one week’s time was probably just too much to ask for, especially when the four people asking are heathens.

So let me fill in some gaps. Thursday night was our combined first rehearsal AND final dress rehearsal for the holiday concert. “Warning, Will Robinson” and cue floppy robotic accordion arms. Oh well, panic at this point would have been redundant considering the travails of the previous weekend. We even suckered Chin Wen, an area piano teacher to volunteer her accompanying skills gratis. Actually, I think this was Val’s ulterior motive for inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner just weeks before. Way to think ahead, Val. But back to rehearsal - we sang through a couple of cheesy standards and some traditional songs and added the kids ensemble into a few numbers. Trish reluctantly pulled out Oh! Had I Jubal’s Lyre, Maureen whipped out Rejoice Greatly and we made up an arrangement of Oh, Holy Night to tie it all up. To make sure we didn’t get slapped with a lawsuit we even threw in some Chanukah songs for good measure. Now I’m all for equal time, but Chanukah songs are just plain depressing. Are there any rousing, happy Chanukah carols that end with a major chord? Anyway, I ended up staying at rehearsal until very late and took the midnight train back to the city. And even though I got home after 1:00 am, I managed to stumble into work on time - actually early - the next morning, thank you very much. I coasted through the work day thinking I'd make it through incident-free. But Murphy's Law is a bitch and before I knew it, I was knee deep in a sh*t storm.

Just as I was getting ready to sneak out of work to catch an earlier train to NJ, my boss, surely sensing I was up to no good, materialized out of thin air and appeared before my desk. He decides - twenty minutes before 5:00 pm - that he will be flying to Iowa for the weekend to attend an Obama rally (you know he just wanted to meet Oprah). I need to make all the travel arrangements as well as cancel all his weekend appointments, NOW. F*ck! How dare he ask me to do actual work during office hours. Does he not know I have personal business to attend to? So selfish. So I smile, pull my arm out of my coat sleeve, and reply, “No problem.” Just one year at Morgan and I’ve become a total corporate a**kisser! So now I’m running around like a hustler on crystal meth, frantically making phone calls, booking hotel rooms, blathering nonsense and cursing under my breath to no one in particular. To top it off, he can’t take a regular carrier. He needs to get on a buddy’s private jet from an airfield in NJ. God forbid he's forced to sit with the common folk. Oh, to be cursed with the burden of wealth. Luckily, I’m a natural pessimist, so I had already purchased two train tickets the day before in anticipation of just such a catastrophe. I raced to Penn Station and made the 6:03 express with a few minutes to spare, and even got a seat. Then I waited.

And waited.


And waited.


And waited.


Until finally the dreaded announcement, “Ladies and gentleman, due to a stalled train in Secaucus, trains are running behind schedule. We apologize for the inconvenience.” Sh*t, sh*t, double sh*t! When the train finally gets moving 20 minutes later, it crawls and stops and crawls and stops and crawls and stops the whole way. I make my third panicked call to Trish. It’s now after 7:00 pm, the concert is at 8, and I’m still in Newark. Oh well, warming up is highly over-rated anyway. Isn’t that what the first act is for?

When I finally arrive at 7:40 pm, there are maybe 5 people in the audience. I busted my ass for 5 people? Val assures me that people are coming later and then tells me that I have to accompany our guest artist, Michelle Trovato, who appeared as Adele in our recent production of Die Fledermaus. Awesome, more sight-reading!

I won’t bullsh*t you, all in all the concert sucked, even by our low standards. The only saving grace was Michelle’s performance. She busted out a flawless version of Gesú Bambino (with me sight-reading at the piano) and a hilarious reprise of Adele’s laughing song making the rest of us look like talent-free a**holes. Other concert “lowlights” in no particular order - Val and I butchering the end of Panis Angelicus; the deathly slow tempo of Oh! Holy Night (as well as just about everything else we sang); me sight-reading accompaniments of aforementioned Jubal’s and Rejoice; me staring at Juan’s mouth so I could lip read the upcoming lyrics for the second and third verses of Silent Night; me singing nonsense syllables during the German verse of Oh Christmas Tree; and me stopping the concert and making Trish come over to the piano to help look for the piano music for White Christmas right before she had to sing it.

Anniversary Rewind

I know I haven’t really blogged about the actual Anniversary party last weekend, but with the upcoming benefit for the opera company and me starting my new position as a corporate bitch, I don’t even have time to take a dump let alone write. Although I guess I could take my laptop into the bathroom with me and kill two birds with one stone - hmmm. Ha, now you’ll have that nasty image in your head while you read the rest of this blog. Moving right along, I’ve decided I’d just comment on my favorite moments from the weekend since there is just way too much that happened. I also urge you to click the comments link at the bottom of this article and add your own happy (?) memories to my list. Herewith, in no particular order are some of my highlights.

• Upon greeting Valerie for the first time in two years, Tita Rory ran up to her and excitedly began rubbing her stomach. Mortified, Val bellowed, “I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat.”

• The decorator failed to set up enough tables for the 250 guests (in a hall meant for 175) and Trish scolded his sissy ass into setting up more. In a related note, said decorator (sidebar: he claims he’s straight and has a girlfriend - right) also screwed up the table numbers so that the seating chart had groups of 20 sitting at 10 tops. Trish then had to announce the proper table numbers and had guests play musical chairs, getting up and walking them around the hall until she frustratingly just let people sit wherever there was an empty chair.

• Mom has obviously never hired servers/waiters for a large event because she decided that four people would be enough to bar tend, clear tables, serve desserts and maintain the buffet. Instead, the kids, the cousins - Daphne and Marion - and Trish’s friends Billy and Steve ended up filling water glasses, busing tables and taking shit from the snooty assholes at the Filipino table - yes, that would be you, table 2. I mean, come on, there were obviously seating problems and then you see the guests-of-honor’s kids hustling to fill your water glasses, plus you’re getting a free meal and then you’re gonna’ complain because the buffet line is too long? Get your sorry asses back to Manila if you don’t like it!

• I don’t know what dad was thinking, but barely half an hour into the reception there appeared to be only one bottle of wine left. When I asked dad where they were keeping the rest of the wine, he calmly explained that he put the 12 bottles right behind the bar. 12 bottles!? For 250 people!? Oy. I just smiled and said, “OK” and we immediately sent Gerry off to Sam’s Club for 3 more cases. Incidentally, soon after we also ran out of silverware and plates and we had to phone in an additional order to Gerry.
  

• Several guests came up to me and complimented me on how beautiful the cake looked. They were so impressed that I had made it myself. One guest was particularly complimentary about how well the cake was iced and commented on how similar it was to the very expensive cake she purchased for her daughter’s wedding. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was made out of spackle and Styrofoam. The fondant pearls, however, were edible, although laced with hot glue. On a side note, I baked and drove down 10 sheet cakes to serve at the party and planned to ice them the day before, but because there just weren’t enough hours in the day, we scrapped that idea and decided to serve Trish’s birthday cake in lieu of a wedding cake.

• Even with no rehearsal and a last minute decision to use music on stands instead of trying to memorize, the reception show went over like gangbusters. We basically ad lib-ed the whole thing and most of the choreography. Being the sap that I am, I of course started crying during “My Romance.” I think there may be some incriminating video floating around, but I will sue your asses if you post that shit on Youtube so keep it to yourselves.
  

• Because my fat ass has not seen the inside of my gym in almost a year (that’s a $1,000 down the toilet I could have used to buy a real wedding cake), I was mortified to discover that my suit pants would not button closed. I panicked and had Trish order pants online, one size up, and hoped that they would fit properly. Well, they ended up fitting perfectly except they weren't the same material as the jacket. Actually, they were the exact same color, but the striping was different widths. I basically thought, "F*ck it, no one will notice." And nobody did! Hopefully the next time I have to wear the suit I will have lost, or at least drastically reduced, my muffin top and will be able to squeeze into the correct pants.

I encourage family and friends to click the comment link below and add your favorite or most embarrassing moment to my list!

More Love for Target

I just have to share a funny exchange I overheard (read: eavesdropping) between a mom and daughter while I was trying to pick a hand lotion from the glittering array of brands on display at the Queens' Target. Props to unbridled consumerism!

Sloppily dressed, overweight mom:
"I’ll just buy this one, it’s the cheapest."
Gangly greasy-haired, white trash daughter pointing to most expensive brand:
"Why don’t you buy that one, it says it relieves stress."
Sloppy mom grabbing cheap bottle and trudging away:
"If I just got rid of you and your father, I’d be fine."

See post below for more details about my field trip to Target last night.

Haul Out the Friggin' Holly

The fun just keeps coming, don’t it? Right on the heals of the big Anniversary party and reception show (which, by the way, was a smashing success, especially my “King of the World” moment during Val’s tear-worthy My Heart Will Go On), the crazy four, Juan, Val, Trish and I, start rehearsals for the LOC Holiday concert. Never sticklers for preparation, we have yet to pick all the music. I mean, we still have, like, 36 hours, right? Seriously, we need to start planning a smidge better. Anyway, I just got through emailing with Val and we’re throwing around ideas. I’m definitely going to do a cheese-irific version of I’ll Be Home For Christmas as well as Ave Maria, which I can just pull out of my ass, and Grateful by John Bucchino. Other than that, things are pretty much up in the air. We should honestly start planning now for next year. I was supposed to head to NJ after work for rehearsal today, but Val has asked me to stay home so she can teach the music to the chorus of LOC young artists that will be performing with us. Per usual, we will be flying on adrenaline, sugar and creative BS. At least we’ll look fabulous in our tuxes and gowns. If you’re going to be in the central NJ area, come watch us sing and probably make a whole lot of sh*t up on stage this Friday, 8:00 PM, First United Methodist Church of Scotch Plains, 1171 Terrill Road, Scotch Plains, NJ.

I Love Target!

So just about quitting time this afternoon I get an email from Trish suggesting a trip to Target. She was apparently bored and going stir crazy being cooped up in the apartment all day. You have to understand that Trish is a textbook case shopoholic. And due to the loss of her debit card last week (along with her wallet and drivers license) I’m sure she must have also been suffering severe retail withdrawal symptoms. Her new card arrived in the mail the other day and I’m sure her fingers were just itching to sign it and slid it through a scanner.

We decided to make it a full-out white trash evening, which is kind of a misnomer, considering most of the foot traffic at the Queens Target probably consists of illegal aliens. I mean, there is nary a white face to be seen in that neck of the woods. Anyway, we decided that a lovely dinner at Taco Bell would fit our evening’s theme perfectly. So after I got home, we jumped into the van and headed out to scenic Northern Boulevard. Our eyes, as always, were way bigger than our stomachs and our tray was piled high with -itos and -itas. And whatever marketing genius has convinced the American public that Taco Bell’s fast food is “healthy” fast food ought to receive a Noble Prize in some category (come on - if Al can win one for basically writing a souped up term paper, anyone can). I always forget how tasty the food is there. If only it was as pleasant on the way in as it is on the way out.

I know we are always bombarded by reports of how big box retail is the devil, but I love me a Target fix every couple of weeks. And don’t tell Michael Moore, but I love me a Walmart Superstore, too. There is just something truly magical and completely All-American about being able to buy panties, artisanal chocolate, Lysol and a CD player all under one joyous roof! And don’t even get me started on the super cool shopping cart escalator at the Queen’s store, magical.

Again, the idea that you can buy anything you want under one roof is freakin’ awesome. We wandered around that store for almost two hours without an agenda. Just aimlessly wandering the aisles waiting for something to jump out and scream, “Buy me now!” We ended up with a cart of completely random items - chocolate, T-shirts, Christmas cards, candles, shampoo, a belt, a vacuum - oddly, we didn’t leave with the one item that Trish actually was looking for, a shelving unit. Oh well, that means we just have to look for the closest Walmart.

Party's Over

Here are some pics from the big event this weekend. More details and pics to come. But here's just a sampling:

Cousins (and sisters) Marion and Daphne after their waitressing stint just a couple hours earlier. Yes, the family lawyer was busing tables and taking drink orders because there were no servers for the party. Good times for all!

The Kiendals (cousin Tiffany, Paul and little Lily) looking like they're ready for bed.

Eternally youthful cousins Margot and Alan. Good genes or pact with the devil?

Cousin Rosanna w/ her new, extremely tall beau Jamie and Alan (again).