Staycation 2013 NYC part deux

Friday, July 5 (click here for part une)

Unlike the rest of civilized society, my office decided to open for business the Friday after July 4.  I sat in my empty office and watched the clock tick by as my phone and inbox sat silent for five hours.  The powers that be at least had the sense to let us leave after lunch.

Tonight, the boys and girls split up for separate date nights.  I took Juan for a belated birthday dinner to michelin-starred Aldea for their nine-course Brazilian tasting menu.  Coincidentally, Trish and I noshed here earlier in the summer during our Memorial Day staycation.  If you're an adventurous eater and appreciate gorgeous plating, you can't go wrong for the $95 price tag.

Three hours later, Juan and I stumbled out of Aldea in an Iberian food coma.  Time to burn some calories by renting citibikes.  After some issues with the credit card kiosk - nothing a few good kicks and a slew of obscenities couldn't fix - we were peddling back downtown to the hotel.  What's that saying?  You never forget how to ride a bike...bullshit.  I was weaving back and forth on First Avenue like a drunk drag queen in platform stilettos.

The girls chose a date spot in Little Italy, walking distance from the hotel.  Val's sporting her new pixie cut.  While I was twiddling my thumbs in the office earlier in the day, Juan, Val and Trish were getting all Housewives-of-Orange-County at the salon with haircuts, massages and mani-pedis.  Bitches!

Trish is showing off her fancy dessert.  She and Val were generous enough to bring back a bag of Italian goodies for Juan and I to try.  So what if we had just finished a 9-course dinner, there's always room for a cannoli.

Saturday, July 6

Still woozy from last night's food orgy, Juan and I decided on an early morning bike ride across the Brooklyn Bridge.  Since we purchased 24-hour citibike memberships the night before, we still had several hours of rental time available to us when we got up this morning.

I'm finally getting my "bike legs" back after nearly a decade of living bikeless in the city.  On a side note, notice the unintentional cross branding.

In theory, a bike trek across the Brooklyn Bridge seems like a pleasant enough way to spend a morning.  In practice, it sucks balls.  With the mercury already nearing 90 degrees and the humidity crushing my out of shape lungs, we made it about two-thirds of the way to the first tower before I felt the pangs of an impending heart attack.  We decided to stop and take a breather while enjoying the downtown Manhattan skyline.

Here's my artsy-fartsy overhead shot.

I take one more minute to catch my breath before heading back to dry land.

Here's Juan.

After working up our appetites crossing (at least partially) the Brooklyn Bridge, Juan and I dropped off our bikes and headed back to the hotel to pick up the ladies.  Next stop, Petit Abeille for waffles and mimosas.  Directly across the street from the restaurant we spotted this freakish array of superheros and marine life hanging out in front of the Balloon Saloon.  In NYC there is literally a specialty store for everything.

After brunch, we bid Juan and Val a fond adieu.  Juan, unfortunately, has a church job so he and Val had to cut their weekend short.  Trish and I, however, decided to keep the hotel room an extra day and extend our Chinatown staycation.

After a power nap, Trish and I were hankering for some Vietnamese food.  Based on yelp reviews, we headed to Bo Ky, which was just around the corner from our hotel.  I'm not gonna' lie, the place seemed a little ghetto and the cleanliness level was, well, just a notch above outdoor truckstop picnic table, but damn, the food tasted good.  You know it's authentic when you can't spot a single white face in the joint.

I'm enjoying a bowl of yummy pho and an appetizer portion (yes, appetizer portion) of their fried spring rolls.

Trish opted for a heaping plate of marinated steak.  Amazing how a delicious chunk of cow can make you forget all about that sticky spot on the table top.  Shout out to our waitress, a crazy old Asian grandma, who helped allay our initial wariness and made us feel like we were having lunch in her dining room.

After dinner Trish and I headed a few blocks uptown to the Public Theatre where my gorgeous and talented friend, Jaygee, is appearing in David Byrne and Fatboy Slim's environmentally-staged rock musical, Here Lies Love, based on the tumultuous life of Filipino first lady, Imelda Marcos.

Me with the delightful Jaygee after her rockin' performance as Imelda Marcos.  She's the swing and understudy for Imelda so when I heard she would be going on this weekend, I bought my ticket pronto.  (Read my review)

Trish and I were exhausted from the day's flurry of activity and non-stop noshing, so we decided to take advantage of our last evening at the hotel by watching TV and lounging in our PJ's.

Sunday, July 7

Our staycation is nearly over, but not before one last stop for soup dumplings.  We checked our bags in the hotel lobby and headed to Shanghai Gourmet.

11am on a Sunday morning in Chinatown - nothing like having an empty restaurant all to yourself.  These babies arrived just in time to sate a raging dumpling craving.  Soup dumplings are exactly what they sound like, tasty little bundles of scalding hot broth and pork wrapped in a slightly sweet dough.  Heaven.

As a final farewell to the lower east side, Trish and I ventured slightly northward to the Essex Street Market where we leisurely strolled passed the many arstisonal vendors.  Still bloated from our earlier dumpling adventure, we left empty handed and merely made mental notes for our next visit.

One cannot venture to the lower east side and not make a pilgrimage to the Doughnut Plant.  So on our way back to the hotel from Essex Street, we made a little detour and visited their original location.  And after ordering a half dozen luscious, diabetes-inducing beauties for the walk home, we opted to wash it all down with a "healthy" drink option - fresh watermelon juice! 

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!

Week from hell

This week's heinous work schedule has made me question whether the Pinedas are supremely ambitious artists or just plain stupid.  I'm actually leaning toward the latter, as would many who have worked with us in the past. Oh, the things you can learn from facebook.

Thankfully, NJ Transit now has a strict "no donkey" policy, making my long commute much more pleasurable.

Carousel rehearsals are in full swing with just a month until opening night.  We're also heavy into tech week of Little Women which opens at the performing arts high school this Thursday and we just finished callbacks and sent out notification letters for our summer production of Legally Blonde.  

 For any full-time theatre artist, working on three shows simultaneously would be considered an ambitious feat.  So what the hell am I doing committing to all these projects now that the theatre is just an elaborate "hobby" for me?

As a recently turned corporate zombie and slave to the 1%, I have sold my soul for the luxury of a regular paycheck and health insurance.  Can you blame me?  A decade's worth of dignity crushing auditions and the degradation of serving hors d'oeuvres to snooty NYC socialites between the occasional acting gig will do that to a person.  Ironically, now that I've "retired" from the business, I'm busier than ever with directing and choreographing gigs. 

Since last Friday, I've slept in my apartment twice.  Everyday this week I'll head to my 9-to-5 and then run to Port Authority for a Jersey-bound bus for a rehearsal, run-through or performance of some kind.  I'll then turn around for the lovely commute back to my wreck of an apartment in Queens - getting home after midnight - for a couple of hours of sleep and to throw my unopened mail onto an ever growing pile on the kitchen table.

Speaking of my kitchen table (left), did you know that fisherman chic is the latest trend in interior design?  Not.  Those are just some fishing nets I've tea-dyed on my stove and hung up to dry.  You guessed it, I'm also the scenic painter, set designer, and set dresser for Carousel. FYI two-liter soda bottles make dandy fishing buoys with just a little creative papier mache-ing and craft paint!

Did I also mention my parent's are visiting and staying in my apartment for a couple of days?

I know, I know - I still owe you all a Once review.  Well, you'll just have to keep waiting.

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.