Welcome to Minnesota!

Scenic Minnesota from our rental car window.

With the last performance of Into the Woods now just a painful memory and rehearsals for The Music Man crushing my already empty soul, the Pinedas took a weekend jaunt to that vacation wonderland known as Minnesota to celebrate the nuptials of cousin Marion to her Midwestern beau, John.  Nothing against our red state brethren, but stepping out into that flat, barren countryside wasn't exactly the picker-upper I was looking for given my already mentally (and physically) weakened state.  I'm sure it's a green and bountiful land of plenty in the summer months, but in late April the lifeless fields could double for the Plains of Mars.

With an almost 2-hour flight delay, I arrived at MSP cranky and nauseous from the "Moroccan" chicken dinner (a soggy chicken breast over a flavorless bed of couscous) served in first class.  That's right, bitches, since I anticipated a horrible work day and an even more horrible (horribler?) travel day, I shelled out the extra hundred bucks to sit with the big wigs up front. Sadly, my $100 dinner left me reaching for the barf bag and a roll of tums.  Real silverware cannot mask the taste of a nasty meal.

Juan, Val and Trish picked me up at the airport and we immediately headed to the nearest McDonald's in order to obliterate the memory of my in-flight meal.  Nothing like cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets at midnight when you're stuck at a budget hotel off the interstate.

The wedding was fine.  It was basically just a lot of crying and the usual dubious fashion choices.  Juan, Val, Trish and I sang those perennial hits, Ave Maria and Panis Angelicus (yawn).  But the highlight of the morning was the wedding venue, The Cathedral of Saint Paul.  It rivals anything you'll see in the European capitals of the world.  It was truly a pleasure to sing sans microphone under that gorgeous acoustic dome.

The bride looked radiant in part thanks to Trish, who only hours earlier was applying Marion's make-up while frantically attaching hairpieces to the bride's panicked head.

Incidentally, we had to email our performance resumés weeks in advance to the musical director for his approval to sing at the ceremony.  I know, pretty ballsy, huh?  I can understand wanting to maintain some quality control, but if I'm shelling out two grand to rent the place out for an hour, I should have the option of letting my tone deaf Aunt Bertha cross that line off her bucket list if I so desire.

The awe-inspiring dome inside the Cathedral of Saint Paul.

I'm sorry, but only a gay can carry off orange pants and a pink and purple-striped bow-tie.  I sport my spiffy duds with my aunt Clodelsa (Tita Girlie) at the reception held at the scenic Schaar's Bluff Gathering Center.

Close up of Trish and a new relative behind us.

The reception was an extended affair with the wedding party showing up nearly two hours late due to an incompetent photographer.  It's 2013, dude.  Any loser with a digital camera can quickly snap pictures and by sheer luck, end up with a portfolio of usable shots.  This lumbering dolt literally took 30 seconds between each shot and an eternity setting up between each pose.  The extent of his direction was, "Everyone turn in and squeeze close together."  He didn't even bother to get up from his chair, so all the group family shots are from an oh-so-unflattering upward angle.  And who shoots with their subjects facing into direct sunlight?  We're already slanty-eyed Asians.  We don't need the extra squinting from the glaring Minnesota sun.  OK, rant over.

Of course, the situation would probably have been hilarious had we all been drunk.  But there was no alcohol at the reception so we had to deal with the photographer's shenanigans stone cold sober.  Oh well, at least there was a beautiful view and lots of family to commiserate with.

Val's sad look when she discovered no alcohol would be served at the reception.

After waiting two hours, cousin Tiffany's daughter (and flower girl), Penny, could no longer contain her hunger and raided the buffet early.  She sneaks behind a table, hoping to hide her ill-gotten goods from the menacing caterers.

The blushing bride finally arrived flanked by Cali friends, Lea and Cathy.

Marion and John cutting the cake.

The thought of going the rest of the weekend without alcoholic lubrication left Val, Juan, Trish and I in a panic.  So the four of us volunteered to stop by the liquor store to stock up for the after party.  With a case of beer, a couple bottles of wine and five bottles of champagne in hand, we headed to the "haunted house" for more food and a champagne toast.

Before the party, Juan, Val Trish and I had to make our pilgrimage to one of the Midwest's most revered destinations, Culver's.  For those of you who have not experienced the joys of a butter burger and frozen custard, you are missing out on a truly spiritual culinary experience.

The "haunted house" above bears a striking resemblance to Norman Bates creepy abode in Psycho.  Marion and her family rented the house for the weekend instead of staying at a hotel.  Though the exterior was slightly off-putting (Tita Girlie refused to step foot in the house until we confirmed the lack of dessicated corpses), the inside was surprisingly warm and comfortable - a perfect location to drink and relax after a long day of smiling and feigning interest in idle chitchat.

Finally, after a few drinks, Val let's loose with Tiffany's other daughter, Lily.  There's apparently an old chair somewhere in the house that's now missing its upholstering.

The groom's sister, Jane, shows the rest of us how they throw down in Minnesota.

With the wedding day festivities drawing to a close, we hit the sack early to rest up for the post-wedding brunch the next morning.

For our last day in Minnesota, we got up early to enjoy our last complimentary pre-brunch "snack" at the hotel's breakfast buffet (processed chicken cutlets with sausage gravy - I kid you not).  Soon after, we packed up the car and headed back to the haunted house for a final congratulatory hug for the newlyweds.  Still queasy from my earlier "snack," I still managed to snarf down an extra large piece of the groom's cake.  I never turn down free baked goods.

When traveling to Minneapolis, it's heresy to leave without paying homage to America's number one past time - shopping!  So even though I only had a couple of hours to make my flight, I bid good-bye to our relatives and new family and hightailed it to Mall of America, the USA's largest indoor shopping mall.

520 stores, 50 restaurants, an indoor amusement park and water park and an aquarium.  Yes, an aquarium in the middle of land-locked Minnesota.  God bless America.

Juan, Val and Tita Maxine (right - who also joined us on our little shopping excursion) admire the indoor roller coaster in Nickelodeon Universe.  Sadly, the park only sells days passes so we just settled for watching the screaming teens whiz by us.  With only an hour of shopping time, I was still able to do a couple hundred bucks worth of damage to my debit card.  Au revoir, Minneapolis!

MORE PICTURES HERE

Mexico City - Day 2 continued...more art & what else, tacos!

(Click here for Day 1 of our Mexican adventure)

After spending the morning appreciating art and satisfying our voyeuristic tendencies at casa Rivera, Trish and I decided to take a tourist break and engage in some retail therapy.  Since all the travel guides raved about El Bazaar Sábado and since we happened to be in Mexico City on the one day during the week the market's open, we decided it must be destiny.  We had our driver, Jeeves (not his real name, as I can't remember it), drive us to the cobble-stoned San Ángel neighborhood to pay a visit to this Saturday-only market that features traditional and upscale Mexican arts and crafts in a sprawling centralized shopping area.  Think NYC street fair except with fine art rather than five-dollar pashminas and sunglasses.

We didn't take many pictures because the artists were really sensitive about having their paintings and artwork photographed.  I wasn't about to take the chance of getting into some ugly confrontation that would end with me being hauled off by the police to become someone's prison bitch for the sake of a blog post.  I'm not that committed.

With our travel budget tighter than spanx on a Kardashian, we headed straight to the most ghetto looking part of the market - a collection of rickety tables under an old tarp. I know you're not supposed to judge by appearances, but if there was a bargain to be had, it would certainly be here and not in the fancy shmanzy Spanish colonial villa next door.

Sadly, after a fairly uninspiring afternoon perusing the various booths (is there really any occasion where a brightly striped, Mexican poncho is appropriate?), we decided to just window shop and enjoy a taco in the central courtyard.

With the artist's back turned to us, I took the opportunity to snap a covert shot of the art-strewn walkways at El Bazaar Sábado.

After slipping this little chiquita a couple pesos, she let us take her picture.  She's about to throw a freshly pressed tortilla onto the grill for our dining pleasure.

Seriously, a couple pesos can get you anything in Mexico.  We paid our taco girl to take a picture of us from her vantage point.  Below us are the bowls of yummy fixin's just waiting to set our intestines on fire.  And speaking of food, who's that cute Mexican tamale hovering over my right shoulder?

Delicious.  I'm literally inhaling that beef taco.  Notice the spicy, oily goodness dripping onto my plate.

Though most of the fine art (sculpture, paintings and furniture) was gorgeous and comparatively affordable, it was still way out of our budget.  We didn't leave empty handed, though.  Trish did some impressive haggling with a jewelry vendor and made off with a couple of funky over-sized rings.  And me?  Just stuff a taco in me and I'm good.

On to Frida Kahlo's house!

Blizzard, shmizzard…bring on the orphans! And tales of Times Square and mom jeans.

With Storm Nemo threatening to close down the city, Trish and I decided to throw caution to the wind and ignore Mayor Bloomberg’s warning to “stay off the city streets.”  Instead, we treated visiting Summer Conservatory staff member, Dylan Shelofsky, to a day in the gray-brown slush of a NYC snowstorm.  As a native Coloradan, we figured a couple feet of snow would barely impress, let alone hamper, Dylan’s mobility during her weekend trip to the Big Apple.

My Times Square office, on the other hand, was in full panic mode and dismissed us early.  Trish and I took advantage of my free afternoon and the uncharacteristic empty sidewalks to explore midtown with our visiting protégé.  Since Dylan is way too cool to have visited any of the usual Times Square tourist traps on previous trips, we decided to take advantage of the storm-thinned crowds to go full frontal tourist!

First stop?  The Hershey Store, of course.  Where else can you buy the same candy bar your local drug store carries and sells at half the price?!  At least they give out free samples.  Next, we headed across the street to M&M’s World where they somehow manage to fill three retail floors with M&M’s merchandise.  Did you know there’s an M&M military jeep dispenser?  Who knew?  Who buys?

Dylan and Trish enjoying the Ferris wheel.

With the snow piling up to nearly a whopping eighth of an inch, we bravely made our way to the TKTS booth.  All real New Yorkers know that the best time to get great seats for a Broadway show is during a snowstorm (or a Jewish holiday).  Since none of us had ever seen a professional mounting of Annie, we decided to fork over our cash to see that plucky red head just stick out her chin and grin and say…everyone sing!

We still had a couple of hours to kill before show time.  So our next stop was Toys R’ Us Times Square.  Now, I’m usually a cynic when it comes to the Times Square big box retail stores, but Toys R’ Us is definitely worth a stop if only for it’s full-sized ferris wheel and Barbie castle.

Usually, tickets to ride the ferris wheel are sold out by mid-day, but thanks to Storm Nemo’s threatening conditions, the store was practically empty and we were able to jump right on.  Sadly, Barbie’s castle was undergoing some renovation.  But even under construction, we were able to laugh and make disparaging comments about the Pink Label Edward and Bella Barbies on display.  I’m sure Kristen Stewart is lying at home wiping away tears of hurt with hundred dollar bills even as we speak.

An example of my indelible fashion sense.

Finally, we headed to my favorite Times Square retailer, Forever 21.  Yes, you read that correctly, Forever 21.  I know many of you look to me as a barometer of teen fashion, so I hesitantly give away my fashion secret weapon.  Given the day’s busy tourist schedule, however, I was in no mood to sift through racks of skinny-legged jeans.  And yes, I do see the irony of me considering purchasing “skinny” jeans given my healthy 38” waist, but style trumps function, says I.  (For those of you new to my blog or unaware of my “unique” sense of humor, that entire last paragraph was meant to be sarcastic.  It was only a few years ago that Trish had to pry my favorite pair of high-waisted mom jeans from my death grip.)

After a needed injection of Chai tea and a slice of chocolate banana bread from Starbucks - incidentally, one of the few stores still open in the wake of the “blizzard” - we headed to the Palace theatre hoping a gaggle of depression-era orphans might cheer us up on this cold, snowy evening.

Viewing the half empty theatre from our ninth row orchestra seats, it was obvious most citizens heeded Bloomberg’s advice.  But other than a late start, the show proceeded with a full cast (no understudies!).  As the old adage goes - the show must go on - even without an audience.  You can read my review here.

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.

More Palma...

After a morning hanging out at churches, Trish and I decided to ditch the parents and explore the city on our own.  Of course, we made sure to show mom and dad the taxi stand first so they could get back to the ship after their own leisurely exploration.  But we only had a couple of hours left before we needed to re-board the ship and a whole island to cover, so we bid the parents adieu and made a beeline for the shopping district. 

Above, Trish poses in front of some tropical foliage in the square near the cathedral.  The climate is great for palm trees and hibiscus, not so much for hiking around town.

Above, Trish strikes a pose in front of the famous 100 year old olive tree in Plaza de Cort.

Isn't Old Town Palma charming?  Looks like a movie set, no?  The shopping is incredible, particularly if you're into leather and shoes.

Here I am just outside the Plaça Major, one of the larger town squares in Palma, surrounded by vendors, tourists and tapas restaurants.

Some gorgeous architecture and fancy lamp post inside the Plaça Major.

Here's another quaint Palma side street.  Just down the way, on the left, I purchased my second pair of shoes for the day.

I just liked the carvings outside this church in Palma.

The name sign outside of the church.

Here's Trish, new shoes in hand, heading down the cobblestone street toward more shopping.  Our greatest shopping find? C&A department store.  It's like the Old Navy of European discount clothing, except way trendier and of much better quality.  They must pay their sweatshop workers a few pennies more than Kathy Lee.  My purchases include two more pairs of shoes. Yes, that indeed makes a total of seven new pairs purchased this trip, in case you were counting.

I have no idea where this is, but I liked the sculpture.

Those stone buildings at the top of the hill are the towers of Bellver Castle, where we started off our day this morning.  I got this shot on the elevated ramp to our cruise ship.

The Carnival Magic and me.  A perfect pair.

A panoramic view of Palma's bay, filled with the yachts of the rich and famous.

Trish smiles for the camera as we sail away from Palma.  According to our dinner hostess, we were the first cruise to dock in Palma in over three weeks.  Apparently, weather conditions prevented the last two scheduled dockings from happening.  I'd have been four pairs of shoes short had we also sailed past Palma.  Not sure if that's a good thing or not.

This Afternoon's Itinerary:

Afternoon of shopping.  That's it - just shopping!

Previous day at Sea

Morning in Palma

Next day in Arles and Aix

Summertime and shopping

What happened to spring?  Seriously.  We went from record snowfall to 90 degree heat and humidity in a matter of weeks.  Stop with the aerosol cans already, people! 

Anyway, I’m usually very temperamental when it comes to shopping.  I get bored and tired really quickly.  But when I’m in the mood, watch out.  We’re talking marathon session and the debt of a small communist country.  So after a double dose of drama the other day, I decided on an afternoon of relaxation and retail therapy. 

My current obsessions are fedoras, namely the short-brimmed version or trilby, and espadrilles.  I know it’s a bit Eurotrash-y of me, but I can’t help it.  Don’t judge, but I even bought a couple pairs of linen drawstring pants.

Trish and I met Billy and Dan at the Urban Outfitters on the Upper East Side, just for a change of shopping scenery.  I filled my espadrille quota with a pair in brick red and a pair in Pineda Conservatory teal (see above).  I know you’ll all be jealous and want a pair, so better run out to your local Outfitters before they run out.  Those Pineda Conservatory kids are quick and are sure to buy out the whole stock.

We then wandered around The Container Store, which is my second favorite retail shop - my first being any type of office supply store (I know I have such weird fetishes!) where Dan, Billy and I stalked this young, muscle dude who was obviously cruising the store in tight jeans and a flimsy little tank top - trash!  I guess he wants a really organized boyfriend.

We ended the day with a late showing of “The Green Lantern” in Times Square after traipsing for miles - literally - around the city in search of Tasti D-Lite.  Didn’t it seem like there was a frozen yogurt joint on every block just a couple of years ago?  Oh well, like condoms, you can never find one when you really need one.  

As for the movie, thank God for the gratuitous shots of Ryan Reynolds in his underwear.  Otherwise, the script is pure curdled cheese.  And Tim Robbins and Angela Bassett must be hard up for cash to take such small, badly written roles.  Oh well, I guess stars have to eat, too.

Where have I been?

After posting about the blizzard and the holiday concert, I realized there's a month-long lapse in posts starting before Turkey day. So since I’m stuck at my desk at work while everyone else is living large on vacation, I thought I’d hit some of the Pineda family highlights from Thanksgiving onward. Happy Tuesday!

Stuff it!

This year we congregated at Chez Val et Juan (that's "Juan and Val's house" for you mono-linguists) for this year’s Turkey day gluttony. The excitement started early when Val decided to add a slice of her finger to the candied yams. Yum! And since timing is everything, wouldn’t you know, just as Trish and Val ran out the front door on their way to the Medemerg for some stitches, mom and dad (the brown ones) conveniently pulled into the drive way. After waving the parents back, the ladies raced off, leaving Juan and I to finish up the cooking. Thankfully, we only had some reheating and basting left to do.

As per the normal Pineda Thanksgiving ritual, the day revolved around gorging, sleeping and crapping. Come to think of it, just about any gathering of two or more Pinedas seems to follow the same basic pattern. At least we’re consistent. This gathering was small by Pineda standards, with Val’s Aunt Mary and Uncle Doug and Trish’s friend, Billy, joining the family for dinner. Note to self (and everyone else), ixnay on the universalsay ealthcarehay in front of Uncle Doug. Just trust me on that one.

Sadly, our attempt at Black Friday shopping fizzled. In our efforts to top last year’s miserable shopping failure, we set our alarm clocks for 3 am. But somehow we couldn’t drag our fat, tired asses out of bed. Instead, we slept in and hit the stores at around noon. We lasted all of an hour before giving up on the lines and nasty shoppers. Why does bargain shopping turn people into total biyatches?! Instead, we opted to get all Martha Stewart on the holiday and hit Michael’s for some crafting supplies. I then spent the rest of the evening creating the gayest Christmas wreath ever, complete with red lily’s and feather butterflies. Yes, feather butterflies. Don’t judge.

Here we come a-wassailing…

As some of you know, I’ve been caroling with my good friend Donald Birely’s company for years. Unfortunately, with the economy in the toilet people haven’t been willing to pry open their wallets to pay for some holiday cheer. With only a couple gigs for me this year, the old top hat and tails didn’t see much action. I did manage to snag a couple of sweet swag bags from one gig. Don’t worry Donald, I didn’t steal them, they were offered to me.

While we’re on the caroling topic, I just want to know why people insist on talking to us while we're singing. Do they expect us to stop mid-Fa-la-la to reply? Are they testing our caroling commitment and waiting to report us to the caroling police? Please help me understand. And since I’m already in rant mode - do people forget that we’re human beings, not Disney animatronics? No, we cannot sing non-stop for three hours outside in 20-degree weather because you like “the look” of us standing in that 2-foot snow drift in front of your store window!

Sorry, I just finally needed to get those complaints off my chest and in writing. My fellow carolers have been bitching for years now about the same things every year and nothing ever seems to change. Okay, I’m better now. The valium has taken effect.

The Christmas Tree Shoppes…

Well, this is my new favorite store. Why? Where else can you buy flashing snowflakes, toilet seat decals and travel-sized shaving cream all in one store! And what do shaving cream and toilet seat decals have to do with Christmas? Absolutely nothing! That’s why I love this place. Go visit, you won’t regret it. But I have to say "word up" to the Paramus store. You kick the Springfield store's ass.

Well, I think that just about hits the high points. I’m sure there will be more family hijinks and bitter feelings to report soon, so check back often! Happy Kwanzachristmanukah!

Play-full Saturday

Usually I don’t have the energy or the concentration level (I am a child of the 80s) to sit through two plays in one day. But today’s picks both happened to be 90 minute, intermission-less one acts. So I thought, what the hell. It’ll be like sitting through one 3-hour play with a 4-hour intermission. First on the agenda, the off-Broadway production of The Understudy.

Mark-Paul Gosselaar has certainly come a long way from Saved By the Bell. For a dude who’s never acted onstage before, he’s surprisingly natural and confident. It also doesn’t hurt that he looks hot in a tight T-shirt and jeans. Rebeck’s written a tight, accessible modern-day farce. Justin Kirk and Julie White are expectedly excellent, but seem to be in a casting rut. Both are portraying characters we’ve seen them play many times before. And though I thought White’s performance in Little Dog Laughed was sensational, some of her shtick here seems a bit over-the-top for the intimate Laura Pels Theatre.

Intense doesn’t begin to describe Mamet’s Oleanna, the second half of our theatre double header. I sometimes find Mamet-speak a bit too contrived, and to some extent, that was the case here. I’m not filing for my MENSA card anytime soon, but it took me the first fifteen minutes of the play for my brain to wrap around those rhythms. I mean, I’ve never really heard anyone speak that way, let alone a self professed “stupid” student. Others around us were not as patient as I and obviously not open to giving the play a chance. Their audible sighs and impatient watch gazing spoke volumes.

Overheard behind me as we were leaving the theatre (for full effect, speak out loud with an exaggerated Jersey accent): “I hated everything about it - the acting, the set. Terrible.” Usually, I’m pretty respectful of people’s opinions. But this lady was hemming and hawing within the first five minutes. It was obvious her party had purchased tickets to see movie stars, Bill Pullman and Julia Stiles, and didn’t even consider whether the play would actually appeal to them. Mamet is not Disney. If you don’t want to think, go see Mamma Mia! (I seem to be on a MM bashing tirade lately, huh? For the record, I enjoyed the movie.)

Actually, I was happily surprised at the quality of Pullman and Stiles’s (good name for a steakhouse) work. Stiles especially, since I’d seen her in Shakespeare in the Park years ago and was, well, let’s just say that I was not impressed. The play raised some interesting questions about power, manipulation and sexual politics, but it’s definitely not something I’ll ever need to see again - except maybe with some stunt casting. How about Brangelina? Or maybe Travolta and Fanning (good name for a Western wear outlet). It’s a great academic piece and the play's final confrontation, as played here, is worth sitting through the somewhat slow-paced opening.

I’d also love to plug GoSushi on 52nd (I think) and 8th. It’s cheap and yummy and they give huge portions. It’s also great for people watching, especially the gay hipsters smoking outside next door at Vinyl - another Hell’s Kitchen favorite of mine. And while you’re in the Gay-borhood, stop by the totally over-priced, but fun Delphinium Home store on 45th and 8th. You can always find some kitschy, clever stuff that you can then go online and order for much cheaper. I’m totally getting one of the bamboo Umbra bath mats - which, by the way, was actually the same price in the store as online. Go figure.

"I think I'm turning Japanese I really think so"

I'm appalled to admit that I'm old enough to remember that silly Vapors song from the 80's (although I was in diapers, hehe - not). But yesterday's trek to Pearl River (my only night off this week and next) for Madama Butterfly props sent that idiotic, yet unforgettable refrain buzzing through my head. Weren't the early 80's a freaky time for pop music? - Funky Town, Call Me, Fame, The Rose - all so cheesy and awesome and pre-MTV!! God, I'm old. Anyway, if you've never visited Pearl River, it's this crazy store downtown that sells just about anything remotely associated with Asian (mainly Chinese) culture and arts. It's proven to be our "go to" spot for props and small set pieces. I can literally waste hours just wandering around the store because they have aisles and aisles of the coolest, random sh*t. I mean, how many different styles and colors of paper lanterns do you really need, anyway? Looking for a Buddha statue (they have a wall of them), origami paper, a Saki set, bamboo poles, weird herbs, blinds or strawberry Pocky? And everything is cheap, cheap, cheap! If you need to furnish your apartment on a budget without it looking like page 107 in the IKEA catalog, check it out.

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.

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.

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.