The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

Shh, don't tell anyone. This is last year's
  tree but looks eerily like this year's tree.

Somehow, the family decided that on the one free day between the Conservatory’s biggest concert of the year (A Very Merry Pineda Holiday Spectacular) and the Christian world’s most important holiday, we should host a party.   

Don't get me wrong, Val’s dad certainly deserves the most wonderful 70^th birthday party humanly imaginable, but hosting it on that day is sort of the definition of “bad timing.”  No matter, with the catering genius of Mama Love - the mother of one of our favorite Conservatory alums, Zach Love - and a tray full of the best of the donated baked goods from last night’s after-concert reception, we were able to host dadski’s extended family with pride and panache (FYI we call Val’s Polish parents “momski” and “dadski” to differentiate them from our Filipino “mom” and “dad”).

The party went off without a hitch, though Trish and I had to make a beer run early on - those Poles can really put 'em down.  There was the usual gossip, disorderly behavior and inappropriateness that accompanies any family gathering, but after a rousing chorus of “Sto lat” and ice cream cake, all the aunts, uncles and cousins finally bid their adieus and we are able to enjoy the exquisite silence of an empty house.  I decide to spend the night in Jersey because I am just too tired to make the trek all the way back to my apartment in Queens.

With the extra couple of hours I save by foregoing a late night commute, I decide to head to bed early.  Besides, tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I’m planning to spend the day with a very special someone --- my work computer.  That’s right folks, after a whirlwind weekend of parties, concerts and rehearsals, I get to relax for a few hours at my desk high atop Times Square.  It may sound like torture to you, but I’ll get to sit in luxurious solitude while surfing the internet and watching Youtube in a deserted office.  Heaven.

Monday morning, while the rest of the civilized world is still dreaming of sugarplums, I’m on an NJ Transit bus into the city.  No matter, it will all be worth those few hours of alone time at my desk.  For later today, I know real life will again sink its dual claws of familial guilt and obligation into my jugular. 

As expected, the office is completely empty except for one or two fellow geniuses who have also decided to take a vacation from their vacation.  The hours fly by, but before I can get through another webisode of The Walking Dead it's time to clock out.  I descend the thirty six floors and exit into Times Square where the cold air slaps me back into reality. 

I rush back to my apartment in Queens to pick-up Juan’s Christmas gift.  I won’t go into the gory details, but the store I had ordered his gift from conveniently “forgot” to ship my order.  All I have time to do is change my clothes before heading straight back to Port Authority where I catch a bus back to Jersey.   

I arrive at Juan and Val’s house just in time to jump into their car and head to rehearsal.  Juan has hired us to fill out the chorus for that evening’s Christmas Eve mass at the Lutheran Church where he is the choir director. We rehearse, perform a prelude concert and make it through the service without any major mishaps.

Before the minister has a chance to chant her last “Amen,” we're back in the car and heading - where else - to another church.  We may worship the same God, but when you’re Catholic, Lutheran service doesn’t count.  With that in mind, as well as a healthy dose of parental guilt in our hearts, it's off to St. Helen's.

By now, the roads are covered in a deadly mix of slippery snow and slush.  No matter, Catholic guilt is way stronger than your basic human survival instinct, so risking life and limb, Juan slips and slides the car into a parking space.  We push open the church doors just in time to hear the choir singing the final chord of the prelude concert.  I'm guessing the median age of the St. Helen’s choir hovers around 110.  It sounds as if the whole group is harnessed into one of those old-fashioned weight loss machines that straps around your love handles and attempts to jiggle your fat away.  In the car home from the service, Juan, Val, Trish and I make an oath that we will smother one another with a pillow before allowing one of us to perform with a crazy-ass wobble. 

The mass is finally ended and we go in peace to love and serve the Lord (that's an inside joke for all you Catholics).  It's still snowing, but we make it home safe and sound.  Christmas Eve 2012 is now almost a blurred memory.  As the siblings and parents rush to secret corners of the house to finish wrapping gifts, I head upstairs and stumble onto the foam pad on the floor I lovingly refer to as "my bed."  I've traversed two states and crossed both the Hudson and East Rivers twice today.

“Wake ahp.  Eets time for brake-fahst!” I hear Antonia Banderas calling for me.  Am I dreaming?  Has my secret Christmas wish come true?  He continues yelling up at me until his voice slowly morphs into my mom’s Filipino-accented voice demanding we come downstairs for Christmas breakfast.  It is then that I remember that the priest at St. Helen’s, Father Jose (no joke), sounds eerily like Puss in Boots from Shrek.  Disappointed, I head downstairs for scrapple and eggs with the family.

Following breakfast, we gather in the living room and exchange gifts.  I make out pretty well - some nice sweaters, a couple of DVDs and a combination speaker/charging station for my iPhone.  The big surprise is for Juan and Val.  This year, me, Gerry and Trish decided to save up and help pay for some of the medical costs associated with Val’s pregnancy treatments.  As expected, along with our gift checks come Val's hysterical crying, but we are prepared and casual ignore her.

What we hadn't prepared for was the appearance of Magic Mike.  He made such an impression on me, that I gave him his own blog entry.

Anyway, after finally wiping the image of Matthew McConaughey's butt cheeks from my memory, I settle down for a long winter's nap.  When I wake, I head to the kitchen to help Val prepare Christmas dinner.  

Like this year's post-Thanksgiving "Thanksgiving" dinner, this year's Christmas dinner came pre-packaged and ready to re-heat.  No regrets here.  Delicious.

The Pinedas and Sierackis Christmas dinner 2012

Leaving no time for the tryptophan to take effect, I pack my bag and head for the bus stop to grab the late NJ Transit bus back to the city.  I need to sleep in my comfy bed tonight so I'm well rested.  I have another hot date with my work computer bright and early in the morning.

Merry Christmas!

Christmas with the Pinedas OR Things You Should Never Do With Your Mother

Above:  What I like to call the "Magic Mike" effect.

I have just two words for you, dear readers - Magic Mike. 

Thankful for Santa’s generosity and our hearts brimming with joy in celebration of Jesus’ birth, the Pineda and Sieracki clans gathered around the flat screen on Christmas afternoon for some additional family bonding time.  We decided to pop in the DVD of Magic Mike that Juan and Val had given Trish for her birthday earlier in the month.  I know, it’s not exactly holiday fare, but who wouldn’t want to spend the afternoon with a bevy of loveable male strippers? 

We’d laughed and ogled at the hilarious previews in the theatre, so we thought, “How bad could it be?”  At worst, we’d be in for a reverse-gender Showgirls-type catastrophe and have a few laughs.  At best, we might discovery a hidden gem a la Pretty Woman.

We should have pressed “eject” the moment Channing Tatum’s bare (though lovely) ass strutted across the screen and Olivia Munn’s perky breasts shone into our unshielded eyes. 

Nothing says Christmas like the sight of an engorged male member in a penis pump stretched across the widescreen in high definition blu-ray, am I right ladies?   My only consolation is that I don’t think my mom even realized what she was seeing.  Luckily, the movie cut to the next disturbing scene of drug abuse and wife-swapping before she had a chance to ask any questions.  Awkward. 

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Magic Mike is necessarily a bad movie.  In fact, under different circumstances - i.e. not watching it on Christmas day with your mom - I would have better appreciated this surprisingly stark and brutal representation of the male stripper industry. 

Matthew McConaughey was born to play sleazy and there’s a reason Channing Tatum is People’s "Sexiest Man Alive."  But from the movie previews, you’d think Magic Mike was just a more hunky version of The Full Monty.  Oh well, live and learn.  Next year we'll just pop in The Little Mermaid.  Prince Eric is pretty foxy.

Click here to read more about the Pineda's (g-rated) holiday.

Giving Thanks to Bobby Flay

I think the Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving is way over-rated.  I mean, I’m all for family and obscene gluttony, but do you think that sweet, white-haired granny was thankful for getting up at four in the morning to shove a hormone-jacked turkey into the oven for that brood of grinning lazy-asses who just stopped by for a free meal?  Notice the only person in the photo without a huge, toothy grin is granny.   Her and gramps are definitely putting on a polite face, but what I see under those wire-rimmed glasses is a thought bubble that reads, “You ungrateful bastards only come and visit me once a year and then expect me to cook you a bacchanalian feast.  Damn you all!”

Thankfully, the Pineda clan decided against a Rockwellian feast but instead opted for a civilized sit down at Bobby Flay's Bar Americain.  Why slave in the kitchen all day when you can have illegal immigrants slave for you in a fancy New York restaurant?  For less than the price of a Broadway show, you get a gourmet meal served to you by an army of doting waiters and hostesses.  What's not to be thankful for?

We stuffed ourselves silly on some rather un-Thanksgiving-like choices - rack of lamb, pork chops and prime rib - no gobblers on our table.  For eighty bucks, I'm not going to order something I can get in a Hungry-Man meal out of our grocery store freezer.  Unfortunately, dad just recently underwent oral surgery so he had to settle for the less meaty, though tasty, salmon option.

This was actually the second time we've taken advantage of Bobby Flay's culinary skills over the holiday.  Two year's ago, Juan, Val and I gave thanks here when the rest of the clan was unable to make the trip up to Jersey for the holiday. 

Following the meal, we waddled down Sixth Avenue with stomachs distended and made an impromptu stop at Radio City for some picture taking.  Swept up by the holiday spirit and the crowd gathered outside, Juan and Val decided we needed some post-meal time with the Rockettes.  So with two minutes to show time, Juan got in line and bought tickets for the whole family.

I've seen my share of Radio City Christmas Spectaculars given the fact I basically followed my good friend Chris around the country during his heyday as a Radio City dancer and Santa understudy.  No matter how many times you see them, those damn Rockettes never fail to disappoint.  Even with the music hall's new, cheesy digital backdrop, you can't help but catch some Christmas spirit with all those high kicking legs.  My only gripe is the director's blatant attempt to capture the teen boy demographic with that awful (and painfully overlong) video game sequence.  If you can't get a boy to pay attention with 50 half-naked women on stage, a video game ain't gonna' help.  My dad actually fell asleep during that sequence.  'Nuff said?

Val, Trish, Me, mom and dad at Thanksgiving dinner.  Juan used the fancy new panorama setting on his iPhone.

The only drawback to a restaurant Thanksgiving is that there are no leftovers to gnaw on when you get the munchies at midnight after throwing-up your dinner.  We managed to solve this little dilemma by throwing a second, post-Thanksgiving "Thanksgiving" dinner the following Saturday.  You may well ask, “Dearest Fausto, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of going out and having a restaurant Thanksgiving?”  Not if you order your post-Thanksgiving "Thanksgiving" dinner from a supermarket, silly.

Yes, thanks to the lovely folks at Martin's (formerly Ukrop's) supermarket in Richmond, we had a full Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings pre-cooked and ready for reheating.  No peeling potatoes or turkey basting this year.  And you still get your bag-o-leftovers for the rest of the week.  I'd say that's a win-win all around.

The Pinedas Take Manhattan!

It was cosy in my little Astoria apartment with both my parents and my brother Gerry staying with me the week between Christmas and New Years.  Just imagine five people - including 2 woman and a gay - sharing a single bathroom.  Mornings were not pretty.

It was also the first time in years that the family was together in the city for the holidays, so we did all the expected cheesy New York stuff.  Enjoy this joyous photo pictorial of the Pinedas let loose on the city.


Here we are, the Pineda clan posing in front of the only lights big enough to compete with those dazzling pearly whites!



"My, those are big balls."
"That's what she said."
Rim shot.

Mom strikes a dramatic pose in front of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.  And people wonder where we get our flair for the dramatic from.  Genetics, people.  Genetics.

Gerry and mom delighted by the wooden trumpeter and his sizable package.

The family relaxes in front of Rockefeller Center.  Gerry looks like someone just pinched his bum.

After passing on hour-long waits at both Carnegie and Stage Door delis, we decided to nosh at Benash's, just across the street.  Here we see Gerry deciding on his plan of attack on an innocent pile of corned beef.  The food here was "meh," but today it was all about quantity over quality.

A Ukulele Christmas with the Bridesmaids

Too much sugar on Christmas morning!!

This year we finally got to sleep in late, thanks to no Christmas morning church jobs - well, except for Juan and Trish.  In deference to them, we decided to wait until they got home to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas, rampant consumer excess! 

It was the year of the ukulele in the Pineda household.  After Juan and Val purchased one for me, Val snuck out of the house to buy one for Juan after she was nearly driven to insanity by the hours and hours Juan spent "tuning" my uke prior to wrapping it up. 

Ukes are the new black.

With a revolving door of guests stopping by throughout the day, the wine flowed freely, strewn wrapping paper created a delightfully colorful fire hazard and crumbs covered bulging stomachs. 

After we ushered the final guests out the door, the family settled down together for what I'm sure will become an annual Christmas tradition, a viewing of the heartwarming classic, "Bridesmaids."  Is there any more appropriate way to end a lovely holiday weekend than with diarrhea jokes?  Methinks not.

Here are the Christmas highlights in pictures.  Happy Holidays! 



Everyone gets a stocking in the Pineda household.

Tiny Tim, watch out.

Val - when you're ears are bleeding and you hear Kamakawiwo'ole's version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" on an endless loop in your sleep, remember, you bought the Ukes!

Mom and dad with mom and dad.  How meta.

Stogies in the backyard...stinky.

The Love's strike a pose.  One of these things is not like the other...



The Shores.  Looks like there was a sale on red sweaters at Kohl's.



Trish entertains us with her spot-on impersonation of the Virgin Mary.

The Pinedas with favorite student (shhh, don't tell the other kids), Zach.

After a hard day of drinking and eating, Val finally relaxes in front of her new faux fire, courtesy of Juan.

The First Wave...

Mom and her white sons.  I picked out the hats.

Even after our marathon shopping session yesterday, Trish and I still hadn’t picked up anything for today’s guests, Chris and Dan.  So even though we dragged our tired asses into Jersey after midnight, we got up early on Christmas Eve to hit Kohl’s before the panic-stricken masses realized they had forgotten to get something for their crazy Aunt Lucinda and her beloved cat, Lord Chubby Pickleton III.

We arrived around 10 AM and the parking lot was already a bumper-to-bumper nightmare.  In another hour or so, the pavement would be strewn with the rotting carcasses of shoppers who dared get in the way of a suburban mom in her Range Rover and a prime spot in the lot.

Luckily, the store wasn’t yet completely picked over and the check-out line was still of manageable length.  So again, Trish and I split up for maximum shopping efficiency.  I ran to the back of the store and picked up matching hats and scarves for the boys while Trish ran to the Ladies’ Department for a few last minute extras for the weekend’s many guests.  In just under an hour, we were back at Juan and Val's and getting ready for the first wave of revelers.

Due to the sheer volume of gifts, we converted Juan's
basement workbench into wrapping central.

As I added some gay glitz to the last couple of presents, the boys arrived for dinner with their beloved baby, Dewey, a toy Dachshund. 

Mom and dad - well, mostly mom - refer to Chris and Dan as their white sons.  So she was overjoyed to have the whole family (including Gerry) all together on Christmas Eve for the first time ever.  Yes, Gerry finally ventured passed the Mason-Dixon line to spend the holidays in the civilized North.

The evening was marked by excessive eating and drinking - pretty much on par with any Pineda soirée.  The highlight of the evening's festivities? - Dan's scrumptious rum cake.  It's alcohol and dessert in one tidy little package - the ideal Pineda food. 

Dewey & Chris serenade us with the joyous sounds
of the holiday.

After dinner we exchanged gifts, Dewey led us in a few carols and we all passed around a pack of Tums.  The boys left early since they had to drive back to the city.  Bloated and drunk, we got dressed for an early Christmas Eve mass. 

This year, God delivered a Christmas miracle by not booking us for Christmas church jobs.  Well, at least he showed some pity on Val and I.  Juan and Trish still ended up working Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  Still, in order to appease the parents, Val and I agreed to accompany them to Christmas Eve Mass. 

Giddy from the rum cake and tipsy from wine, Val and I unashamedly belted out the Christmas hymns at the top of our lungs along with the cantors.  The family sitting directly in front of us even thanked us for singing so nicely.  The young soprano cantor didn’t fare as well and bit it on “Oh, Holy Night.”  For some reason she couldn’t find her first pitch and did this crazy Patti LuPone-esque slide up to the correct note after seemingly guessing at her first pitch.  Awkward.

After a midnight snack and extra slice of rum cake, I was ready to jump into bed and ready to envision some sugar plums dancing in my head. 

48 hours to go...

Per usual, the day after the Holiday Spectacular my body decided it had had enough of full work days followed by long commutes and even longer rehearsals.  So with just a few days of holiday shopping left and only a few measly gifts on their way from Amazon via 2-day shipping, I found myself laid up on the couch in a generalized “blah” mood.  I’d finally used up all the lingering adrenaline fumes from the weekend’s whirlwind performance schedule.

But alas, luxuriating in my underwear and clearing out the DVR would have to wait until 2012.  On Thursday night, Trish’s friend Josh and his husband, Mike, paid a house call - though more to check out our Astoria digs (and visit Trish) than to see how I was faring.  No matter, they came bearing soup so I didn’t care about their motivation. 

Josh is on hiatus from the national tour of My Fair Lady (check it out and say "hi" if he's stopping near you).   He and hubby were making their rounds visiting friends before Josh had to return to the land of one-nighters.  They stayed just long enough to describe their new high protein/low carb diet while I noshed on some carb-licious dinner rolls, nodding in agreement even though I was actually thinking about how I could convince someone to run out and get me a piece of chocolate cake.



from thesun.co.u

By Friday, I was feeling much better.  But since Trish and I had to be in Jersey that same night to meet up with our parents, we had precious few hours to try and cross off the rest of our extensive Christmas lists.  Strategy is the key to shopping success, so we planned our route according to the “distance versus present-size” algorithm - small items at stores farthest from the subway first followed by larger items at stores closest to the subway last.  It works, try it.

I dashed out of the office early Friday afternoon, met Trish and made a beeline for Forever 21’s Times Square super store.  Yes, Forever 21.  And it’s not just for anorexic tweeners and ghetto Latinas with junk in their trunk.  Well, not only.  They actually have a men’s section and a plus-size section, thank you very much.  

After wrestling some jewelry away from some wholesome, Midwest tourist type in an “I heart Justin Bieber” jacket - you gotta’ do what you gotta’ do - we headed to the Bryant Park Holiday Shops for the next wave of consumer excess. 

Jewelry for mom, check.

 

Watch for Juan, check. 

Hat and scarf for mom, check.

Then we dashed off to the Eighth Avenue street fair, Godiva, Baked by Melissa and finally the Columbus Circle Market (more jewelry for mom, of course).  In just under three hours, we made Christmas our bitch!  Well, almost. 

Between the day’s marathon shopping session and Amazon purchases, I managed to cover all of our immediate family.  But I had forgotten that several family friends would be stopping by throughout the weekend.  We couldn’t let them leave the Pineda household empty handed.

Though exhausted and “shopped out,” we decided to make a few stops on our drive to Juan and Val’s house.  Even though technically we had one more shopping day left, there was no way in hell I was going to venture into the retail jungle on Christmas Eve.  Nearing the Clark exit on the Garden State Parkway, I started frantically researching store hours on my iPhone and mentally plotting our plan of attack based upon store closing times (we’re hardcore, baby!) - Marshalls first (closing at 10 PM), then Target (closing at 11 PM) and finally ShopRite (open 24 hours). 

I spent an inordinate amount of time at Marshalls looking for the right sized shirt for one of our students, Zach, who was stopping by on Christmas with his family.  He’s your typical straight, teenage boy, so we decided he needed the style counseling of a New York gay.  I picked out a smart blue button down and a couple of fabulous ties.  Also on our shopping list was William, a former conservatory student now at Lehigh University.  He’d have to make due with an iPad stylus. 

We closed down Marshalls and headed across the parking lot to Target.  With less than an hour to closing, we decided to divide and concur to increase our shopping efficiency.  Trish headed into the “ladies” department and “housewares” to complete the gift list for the rest of Zach’s family while I high tailed it to “books” and “electronics” for some added bonus gifts for our family.  

We shut Target down as well and then headed across the highway to the 24-hour ShopRite.  At least now we didn’t have a time limit.  We leisurely browsed the aisles for chips and dips and assorted cold appetizers, our assigned course for the holiday festivities.  Val, mom and BJ’s would be responsible for the rest.

Finally, after midnight, we pulled into Juan and Val’s driveway.  I’m sure we woke the neighborhood as the back end of the car scraped bottom with all the Christmas booty we had piled in the back seat.  Val groggily answered the door.  What was she doing in bed at midnight, anyway?  They must be shivering in hell.

The most wonderful time of the year (?)...

Finally, I can take a break for a couple of weeks - no students, no rehearsals and no performances - just my regular 9 to 5 stint.  I wonder how many other people consider their forty-hour a week day-job a “break”?  Likely very few, methinks. 

Opening "Be Our Guest" w/ Trish as Mrs. Potts and me as
Lumiere

With the smashing success of our fourth annual Very Merry Pineda Holiday Spectacular (try to and say that quickly ten times), the Pinedas wrapped up another ridiculously busy year.  Within the span of two weeks, we put together three different shows - our successful, but somewhat aggravating production of Pirates by our Young Artists, the Musical Theatre Class Showcase and the Holiday Spectacular. 

Per usual, turnover time between shows was quick.  Minutes after we had laboriously crammed the Pirates backdrop into its cardboard shipping box following the final Sunday matinee, conservatory students and alumni began showing up at the theatre waiting to fill the stage with holiday merriment.  Their youthful enthusiasm quickly devolved into the wide-eyed confusion I’ve come to associate with the intake of too much information coupled with too little rehearsal time.

I think the Pineda Conservatory motto should be changed from “…where dreams take center stage” to “divide and conquer,” as this seems to be our go-to rehearsal philosophy.  Val teaches a song to a dozen eight-year-olds in the upper lobby, Juan blocks a scene in the lower lobby with a couple teenagers and I try to choreograph a dance number (with half the dancers missing) on the stage and violá - instant show! 

I came into the rehearsal process for the musical theatre showcase fairly late in the game - nine hours before the game, to be exact.  After Friday night’s Spectacular rehearsal, Juan asked if I would be the accompanist for the showcase, scheduled for the next night.  I, of course, said “yes.”  I had to be in Jersey all weekend for Spectacular rehearsals anyway.  What’s another show added into the mix?

So forsaking my coveted Saturday morning sleep-in time, I joined Juan and Val the next morning for more rehearsal, this time with the middle school musical theatre students.  For the showcase, the students picked their own songs and wrote original monologues leading into their songs. 

Apparently, there’s a shortage of prozac in the Central Jersey area.  Each depressing, angst-filled monologue was followed by another even more depressing, angst-filled monologue involving the death of mom, dad or both parents.  Pets and siblings managed to survive this fictional familial massacre unscathed.  This is probably how that town in Children of the Corn started out.



Juan's Cogsworth & Val finally a princess, Belle.



Later that afternoon - after a 3-hour Spectacular rehearsal, natch - the depressed middle schoolers returned, joined by the elementary school students, for a final run-through before that evening’s showcase.  The elementary school students were a bit of mess, but at least had the cute factor working in their favor. 

I have a personal theory about student performances - I think parents enjoy a student performance more if there is at least one train wreck.  Of course, I have no empirical evidence to support this theory and I wouldn’t recommend “planting” a clusterf*ck in a show on purpose, but parents seem to view pitch and rhythm-challenged toddlers as “cute.”  Give ‘em a perfect performance by a stage full of elementary schoolers? Well, that’s a snoozer.  A ditzy eight-year-old accidentally leading a whole line of kids off the stage into the pit?  Brava!



Despite a rough run-through and me having only received the music a few hours earlier, the performance went rather smoothly - no major jumped measures or forgotten cues and no pit fatalities.  Juan even managed to get one student to amend her monologue from “dead dad” to “dad hurt in a terrible accident.”  You have to pick your battles.

The next day we had a final dress rehearsal for the Holiday Spectacular.  This is somewhat of a coup for the Conservatory, as we’ve never had the luxury of a full run-through of the holiday show prior to the actual performance.  In previous years, we’ve set a 6:30 PM call time and done a speed through before the performance in order to set tempos with the accompanist (who is usually sight-reading the music) and to figure out mic hand-offs.  All the while, the cast is usually trickling in late.

This year, we had the fantastic Tony Bellomy at the piano.  He’s played rehearsals for our opera company in the past and is always a favorite with the singers.  Having him in the pit allayed at least some of our musical fears. 

Just the boys.

Though it took the entire four-hour rehearsal, we managed to get through every number except one - the elf number that Chris, Dan (see side bar) and I worked up.  Or rather, hadn’t worked up.  Let me give you some background info -

Last year at the speed through, about two hours before the performance, Val threw Chris and Dan into half a dozen numbers with no warning and little rehearsal.  Based on Chris’ complaints, I advised Val not to block Chris or Dan into any numbers in which they couldn’t rehearse, which, of course left nothing for them but our trio.  Fast forward to about a week before this year’s concert.  Chris asked me what he needed to learn for the concert.  I said, “Just our trio.  Since you were so annoyed by the last minute rehearsals last year, I told Val not to put you in any numbers that you couldn’t rehearse in advance.”  To which Chris replied, “I never said that.”  And curtain.

Luckily, the three of us have been friends for so long that minor squabbles like this rarely affect our friendship.  We’re probably more civil to each other than most married couples.

Chris and Dan are the only people I know whose schedules are as eff-ed up as mine, so the only time all three of us were available to rehearse our trio was the night before the show.  That meant we'd have to bang out a quick run-through with Tony just before half-hour call on the night of the Spectacular.  No sweat, right?  Except Chris wrote a pre-song scene that included Santa (one of our lovely Conservatory parents, but not really an actor) and a gaggle of elementary school students, not to mention a set change and full costume change for me (from a sexy Mrs. Claus to an elf with shoes taped to my knees).  Nothing like winging it on performance night with a nervous Santa and a bunch of eight-year-olds. 

Unfortunately, by Monday my brain’s short-term memory was already filled to capacity with holiday lyrics and blocking.  So when I met Chris and Dan for rehearsal at their apartment, I was a hot mess.  I could tell by Chris’ overly calm demeanor that he was in full panic mode over my lack of preparedness.  I assured him that I’d have my lines and blocking down pat by performance time, though in actuality, I wasn’t really sure I would.  Sometimes, lying is the right thing to do. 

Well, all our worrying was for naught.  We had a full house of appreciative parents and friends who didn’t even seem to notice all the f*ck ups.  Or at least they kept it to themselves if they did.  And I think I got about 90% of my lyrics and blocking correct - pretty good for a performance with virtually no rehearsal, not so much for a brain surgeon. 

Sure, we had the inevitable missed cues and a few suspect harmonies, but given the fact we had just barely gotten through the show once - two days ago - the evening was relatively catastrophe free.  My sexy Mrs. Claus version of “Steam Heat” was a hit, as was our (Chris, Dan and me) last minute, nearly rehearsal-less elf version of “Hard Candy Christmas.”

The opening mash-up of “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” and “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast was also a crowd pleaser, and probably the only time in my life I’ll ever don Lumiere’s famous candlestick costume. 

The best part of the evening?  Chowing down on brownies and cookies after the performance.

Juan, Val, Trish and I have already started planning for next year's Spectacular and I have just two words for you - wooden soldiers.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

A Pineda Christmas

Finally, a boring holiday. No gaping wounds or stitches, no road trips, no double set of parents, no parties – just the family in our pajamas with the TV and an endless supply of food and alcohol. What could be better? Granted, we did have to get dressed for Juan's Christmas Eve mass, but even that was relatively painless compared to the previous night’s cluster-fucked Pineda Holiday extravaganza. Is it grammatically correct to use “cluster-fuck” as an adjective? Does it really matter? At least I spelled it out, unlike our abbreviation-obsessed younger generation – LOL (Get the irony?).

This year the siblings decided to go budget with gift-giving and we set a spending limit. Now that I’m totally OCD about cleanliness and neatness in the apartment, the lack of “stuff” was definitely a plus for me. Juan, Val & Trish pooled their resources and got me a nifty handheld mini video recorder (Kodak Zi8 - isn't it pretty?). So as soon as I figure it out, I’ll actually be able to post some awesome blackmail-worthy video! Watch out family and friends. I smell a lawsuit.

Unfortunately, Gerry was unable to join us in NJ this year. We celebrated via phone as he nursed his ailing cat, Maddie (18 years old!) in Austin. He had a close call the day before and had to bring her to the vet. Hopefully, he won’t have to put her down during the holidays. Very sad.

Mom and dad, however, were able to make the trek to NJ and will be celebrating the rest of the week in my apartment in Queens. I actually don’t mind having them stay with me even though the space is so friggin’ small. What I am freaked out about (here’s my OCD again) is that I haven’t been able to clean the apartment. I’ve literally been going to work and then going straight to NJ for rehearsals everyday this week. I’ve barely had enough time at home to sleep let alone scrub a toilet. Now that I’m in my – gulp – 40’s, I take my eight hours of blissful slumber very seriously. They’ll just have to live with the scattered clothes and dirty dishes in the sink. At least I’ll have a clean set of sheets for them.

It’s now nearly midnight and I’ve been in the same tee shirt and drawstring pajama pants for nearly 24 hours! Even a visit from Audrey (an old friend of Val) and her friend Rosemary couldn't motivate an outfit change. I don’t think my regular clothes will fit me anyway. I haven’t stopped eating or drinking since 11am. I’ve been in this constant state of wanting to throw-up interrupted by hourly trips to recline on the porcelain throne. Yet I continue to shovel in ham, rum cake, sangria, chocolate, shrimp, calamari, assorted appetizers, cookies and a complete prime rib dinner with mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. I’ll have to down a bottle of Pepto before bed.

Trish and Val in their matching PJ's from mom.  They're like twins.  I can't even tell them apart!

Me in my Polar Bear pajamas being acosted by Juan and his new massager.

The happy family.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

A Very Merry Pineda Holiday Spectacular!

The staff of Pineda Conservatory in our opening number finery. 

Merry Christmas!

Spider-man and other random crap

The worker's comp claims are piling up over at the Foxwood's theatre.  And I thought WE were pushing the boundary by making our kids do full-out production numbers in 100 degree heat wearing wool costumes in an un-air-conditioned theatre in the summer (try and say that sentence out loud in one breath).*  Damn that Julie Taymor.  She's one-upped as again! 

The latest casualty of Spider-man is Christopher Tierney, an aerialist and actor who reportedly plunged 28 feet after a safety rigging failed (or was improperly hooked up - still under investigation).  Watch the video here.  I don't mean to make light of an obviously horrific accident, but come on already - a broken toe, two broken wrists (on the same actor), a concussion (sidelining the lead actress for two weeks) and now reported broken ribs and internal bleeding?  That has got to be some kind of a record.  This is Broadway, not Olympic bobsledding.  They need to just go back to the drawing board and compose a better score, write a more compelling book and just tell us a good freakin' story. 

All this flying and acrobatics while impressive and fun are merely diamonds on a necklace made of dog shit.  If I want to see ridiculous feats of physical strength and acrobatics strung along by a wisp of a plot and atmospheric music I'll go see a Cirque de Soleil show.  At least the Cirque cast has been training most of their lives to hone their skills.  I'm not sitting in the audience worrying whether someone may plunge to their death.  I'd go further and add that last summer's Cirque offering, Ovo, had a much more effective and theatrical score than Spidey.  That's just sad.

Anyway, enough about Spider-man, we have our very own stage spectacular to worry about, The Very Merry Pineda Holiday Spectacular!  Yes, folks, it's almost time for the third installment of our annual Holiday extravaganza.  Val has been going crazy coordinating rehearsals for over 80 current students, alumni and parents.  It's been a revolving door at the rehearsal hall and between final exams, vacations, all the schools' holiday concerts, and general season busy-ness, we won't even have a final cast count until the night of the performance.  I'm hoping the stage at the CDC can handle all that weight. 

Anyone not familiar with our off-the-wall family variety show is in for a pleasant (?) surprise.  Where else can you see small children singing inappropriate songs, dancing reindeer, Val in a candy cane suit, me in drag and Santa Claus?  Well, that's just business as usual at Pineda Conservatory.  Hopefully, child protective services never gets wind of us.

Speaking of children, what better way to guarantee the holiday "aww" factor than throwing a few rugrats into your act.  Yes, my friends, I've resorted to the highest form of audience manipulation, small children!  Cute little Suzy will deflect any criticism of my flat singing, botched lyrics or cracked high notes.  It's a win - win for all!  Don't judge.

*Below is a video of Peter Carmo and the ensemble in last summer's Meet Me in St. Louis performing "Banjos."  You would never know it was near 100 degrees in the theatre.  They just keep on smiling and strumming in full tuxes and gowns.  Child abuse?  I'd say we're "instilling character."  Potato - Potahto.

Carolee

Many of you know about my un-holy obsession with Audra MacDonald.  But many of you may not be aware of my other, more subtle fanaticism for Broadway singer/actress Carolee Carmello.  Unlike Audra, Carolee doesn’t appear on a weekly National TV show (yet) so her adoration by the masses may not quite be so ubiquitous. 

Last Thursday as Trish and I wandered through the Bryant Park Holiday Shops (exiting the Kate Spade booth to be exact) we stumbled upon the tree lighting ceremony.  The usual cute (but awful) school groups performed as well as casts from a couple of Broadway shows.  No biggie, right?  Well, after the cast of Rock of Ages screamed through a couple of 80’s covers, the MC started the following introduction: 

MC:

Next up is a Broadway actress who’s starred in Mammia Mia, Lestat…

Me (squealing like a tweener at a Justin Bieber concert):  

CAROLEE CARMELLO! 

Yes, I know, that very well may have been the gayest moment of my life.

Regardless, Trish and I were giddy with delight as the many tourists around us surely wondered, “Who the hell is Carolee Carmello and why are these two crazy Asians flipping their shit?”  They obviously have never experienced the magic that is Carolee. 

I, of course, was hoping for her crazy high belt version of “Do You Hear What I Hear.”  (See below and listen through the end for the juicy belting.)


 
Instead, he announced “Oh, Holy Night.”  Even better.  Trish whipped out her cell phone and started filming the historic event.  You’ll have to check back soon when Trish’s figured out how to download the video so I can post.  We give a blow-by-blow complete with cut-away shots of our facial expressions.  Priceless.

Needless to say, Ms. Carmello was fabulous even though her last belted “di-VINE” was a little wonky.  But hey, it was cold outside. 

If you ever get a chance to see her in action, do not miss it.

Elf

My ass hurts.  And not from what you’re thinking, dirty-birdy!  I had a crazy show-filled weekend so between that and sitting at my desk chair eight hours a day at work - well, you get the (not very pretty) picture. 

Show week started Thursday with Elf, the Broadway adaptation of the Will Ferrell movie.  It was harmless fun and worth a TDF ticket - though I’d rent the movie before I’d shell out $120 for a full price seat.  The music is adequate with a few numbers amped up by some great performances (“There is a Santa Claus”, “The Story of Buddy the Elf” and Amy Spanger’s elf dating song - which I’m sure casting directors are already putting on their “don’t sing” lists - as the standouts).  It’s harmless holiday fun and I did feel my tear glands welling a few times.  Granted, I cry at a bake sale, so I’m probably not a good barometer.  The incredible Beth Leavel added some meat and depth to what on paper probably read as a throw-away role.  Amy Spanger in a long, dark wig looks freakishly similar to Zooey Deschanel’s character in the movie.  The part is a bit under-written and her laissez-faire characterization didn’t help matters much.  Sebastian Arcelus is charming and enjoyable but lacks Will Ferrell’s abashed childlike ignorance.  He seemed to try too hard to ingratiate himself to the audience, but I think a longer run will help settle him down.  Oddly, the physical productions (except for the awesome, Technicolor costumes) looked cheap - like a budget bus-and-truck touring production.  Those rolling desks were hideous and the “nice” decorations in the Christmasland sequence look like dollar store finds.  The choreography also came off a bit theme park-y and seemed like a desperate attempt to throw in prop-ography in place of clean, character-driven movement. 

I know, it sounds like I hated the show.  But I actually did enjoy myself despite some reservations.  I think the score is good and the book adaption is excellent, but the physical production falls a bit short.  If I had all the money in the world to produce it, I’d give it to Jerry Zaks and Susan Stroman and let Michael Yeargan do the sets.  But since that will never happen, you’ll have to settle for what’s at the Martin Beck for now.

 The original Elf (Will Ferrell) l. and his Broadway doppelganger (Sebastian Arcelus) r.