Can't touch this...

This has been the week from hell. I’m sure I probably say that about every tech week, but it really is the only phrase that adequately describes the pain. It started on Memorial Day. Yes, the day you’re supposed to be barbecuing, relaxing and getting wasted on cheap boxed wine. Instead, the Pineda clan was up at the crack of ass (well, 9-ish, but it was a holiday, people!) loading foam pillars and fake palm trees into the mini-van. By 11:00 am we were painting, ironing, screwing (and not the good kind) and sweating it out in the CDC theater.

Thankfully, we were out of that mold spore incubator by around 9:00 pm. So I attempted to catch the midnight bus back to the city. Well, after waiting about forty minutes - including a covert restroom break through the cracked car door (desperate times call for desperate measures), it was obvious the bus was not coming. Why does NJ Transit even bother publishing a schedule? Since I only had nasty, paint splattered clothing with me, my only option was to catch the 6:00 am train to the city, then subway it home to Astoria where I’d have to shower, change into work clothes, turn around and head straight back to the city for work.

Oh, but I left out the best part of the story. Thinking I could just buy a cheap work outfit in Jersey (affording myself a couple more hours of precious sleep), Val, Trish and I high-tailed it Target fifteen minutes before it was due to close. But in my haste, I picked up the wrong pair of pants from the pile I had tried on in the dressing room. When I got back to Juan and Val’s, I realized I bought slacks two sizes too large. There was no way I was going into work looking like an MC Hammer “Can’t Touch This” back-up dancer in huge, gray pinstriped parachute pants. They were that large. And belting them only emphasized the poofiness - not to mention that weird overhang of material at the waist.

Even having to stop by my apartment in Astoria first, I actually made it to work on time, though I was dragging big time at the office. However, instead of having the luxury of heading home for a nice nap after work, I went straight to Port Authority to catch the bus back to NJ for our first tech rehearsal. Crazy, much? The things we do for our opera kids!

Anyway, I’ve been going to work and then heading to NJ for rehearsals every night this week. Suffice it to say, I’m f*cking tired! And the kids wonder why we’re so irritable when they haven’t memorized a quarter page of dialogue. Commuting four hours to find that your time has been totally wasted on unprepared performers isn’t exactly soothing on the nerves.

I know I shouldn’t be so hard on the kids and they’re just teenagers (or younger), but God forbid one of them decides to learn all their lines before the first performance. I mean, we’ve only been rehearsing for six weeks! No wonder I’m prematurely graying. Speaking of which, Trish looked at me the other day and audibly gasped. I thought maybe I was bleeding or that some huge carnivorous animal was stalking me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Oh my God, you need to dye your hair!”

Thanks, Trish!

Anyway, tonight is opening night. I don’t want to jinx it, but doesn’t the saying go, “Bad dress rehearsal, good performance”? If so, this show is going to be spectacular.