A Vegas virgin books a flight from hell

August 30, 2013 >>

It’s been a stressful couple of weeks. Some crazy family turmoil has wreaked havoc on my normally relaxed August.  But in a last minute change of plans, my on-again-off-again Labor Day weekend in Vegas was suddenly back on again. It's taken 43 years, but I'm finally popping my Vegas cherry.

I twiddled my thumbs through a half day at work. But at 2pm on the dot, I clocked out and dashed home. With my boarding pass loaded on my iPhone and lucky fedora in hand, I jumped a gypsy cab to JFK for my Friday night flight to Sin City. The travel gods seemed to be on my side as I sailed through traffic on the Van Wyck, breezed through airport security and boarded my flight without incident.

And then it all fell to shit.

We pulled away from the terminal on time but then sat on the tarmac for what seemed to be hours (it was actually only about 45 minutes). The pilot announced they were having difficulty with a light on their control panel. I broke out in what I assumed was a nervous sweat, but soon realized the vents were blowing hot air. The cabin temperature was rising as panic began to spread amongst a cabin full of irate New Yorkers. 

Now, New Yorkers are generally good-natured pragmatists. But get in the way of a weekend in Vegas and all bets are off. Especially when most have already knocked back a few at the airport bar and are sweating their balls off.   

It seemed likely a few of the more lubricated passengers might storm the cockpit when the captain finally came on the PA. He explained that the AC had been shut off in order to reset the mysterious, malfunctioning light. His explanation seemed to temporarily appease the group.

We sat in silence (and in our own sweat) for another fifteen minutes before receiving another announcement from the cockpit.

We’re heading back to the terminal. The technicians can’t repair the problem.

People started audibly cursing and groaning. But at least the AC was working again.

Another fifteen minutes passed before the next announcement.  

All the gates are full and we’ll have to wait on the tarmac until a gate opens up. 

I could feel the passengers' collective anger rising. I’m sure this is what the streets of LA felt like just before the Rodney King riots.

We sat for another ten interminable minutes before another announcement.  

Flights are backed up and all the gates are still full. Instead of sitting on the tarmac, we're taxi-ing to a landing pad where we’ll deboard onto the runway and buses will drive everyone back to the terminal.

  

Now people are pissed. The obnoxious young couple next to me (wife continuously answering and reading texts and husband with shoes off adjusting and picking at his crotch like he's got a bad case of crabs or the largest penis on earth stuffed into a mini thong) got on their cell phone and booked seats on another flight. But despite the announcement, our plane sat motionless on the runway for another fifteen minutes. And then we heard the disembodied voice of the captain again.

A gate has opened up at another terminal. So instead of busing you back to your original gate, we'll drive around to terminal 2 where you'll be given further instructions.

At least we weren't going to be emptied out onto the blazing tarmac to play chicken with passing airliners.

As we arrived at terminal 2, my annoying seatmates made a dash for the door, pushing aside mothers holding babies and an elderly woman in an attempt to make their next flight. But they're foiled in first class by the evil stewardess, who won't unlock the cabin door. Karma's a bitch.

Another announcement.

The technicians should be able to fix the problem pretty easily now that we're parked at the terminal. So this flight will likely depart later tonight.  'm just waiting to see if they'd like us to deboard or have you wait on the aircraft while they make the necessary repairs.

I'm pretty sure I've been teleported into an episode of Lost and am now languishing in purgatory. I probably should have taken those ten commandments more seriously. Oh well, I decided I'd just sit back, relax and bask in the glow of the rising tempers around me.

The ground crew has just asked that we deboard this flight as we make the necessary repairs. We ask that you please stay close to the gate for further instructions.  

There was suddenly a flurry of activity as overhead compartment doors swung open and carry-on luggage whizzed by. I sat patiently as panicked party-goers rushed out of the plane looking for alternate flight options. I was in no hurry since I knew the last flight to Vegas was long since sold out. I'd either wait and get on this flight or go home and head out again in the morning.

Another 30 minutes crawled by. Several passengers stake out stools at the nearby bar, drowning their disappointment in beer and Jäger shots.  Finally, we got another announcement.

Attention passengers on Delta flight 1629. We are changing aircraft and moving you to gate 61 where we will begin boarding your new flight at approximately 9:45. We apologize for any inconvenience.

Finally, after several hours of sitting, swearing and being shuffled around terminals, some definitive news. Our flight's angry mob of passengers proceeds en masse to our new gate on the other side of the terminal. My phone is at nearly 10% power but there's not an empty socket to be found. I turn off my phone so there will be enough power left to contact Trish when I arrive.

Three and a half hours after boarding my first flight, I'm finally on my way to Vegas.

Countdown to Pineda Summer Conservatory and Fausto with power tools

For many of you, being stuck in a cement room no bigger than your average movie theatre with a hundred excited, hormonal teens for five hours a day is the very definition of hell on earth.  For the Pinedas, it's just business as usual.

Granted, things have improved greatly since we finally got air conditioning installed in the theatre last summer.  I still think back fondly to those first few summers, watching cast members pass out on stage during performances in 90 degree heat while wearing twenty pound wool costumes.  Ah, the good old days.

Since our crazy conservatory schedule coupled with my 9-to-5 literally allows me no vacation time (the European cruise with the family 2 years ago was the first time in over four years that I had more than a long weekend off), I revel in the freedom of my three weeks working at the summer conservatory.  And by freedom I mean not having to check my email every five minutes and the luxury of wearing shorts and tank tops to work.

With the first day of classes beginning next Monday, we're in full panic mode with preparations (mainly the mental kind).  Last weekend, we spent a day in the theatre to get a head start on set building.  Yes, Fausto and power tools - a combination that must be seen to be believed.  I'm actually quite handy with a jigsaw, thank you very much.

To see my handiwork onstage (hint - that coral reef didn't grow itself) you'll have to check out Spotlight Theatre Program's production of Disney's The Little Mermaid Jr in a couple of weeks.

"Magic Flute" frustrations & melodic colonic at "The Little Mermaid"

The Bad Seed, 1956

Dante has obviously never produced a full length opera performed entirely by 12 to 18 year olds, otherwise he'd most certainly have included a tenth level of hell somewhere between the fifth (anger) and the seventh (violence) rings.  I found myself precariously poised between anger and violence following Saturday afternoon's tedious Magic Flute rehearsal at which several of the leading performers were still stumbling over lines and blocking after a mere four months of rehearsal (the show opens in one week).

Is it no wonder Val decided to take last season off from producing operas?  Sure, producing any kind of classical art form, let alone opera, in this economy and within a youth culture of instant gratification and entitlement is an iffy proposition.  But last season's break was as much a mental health issue as it was a financial one.  Sometimes you just need to cleanse the mental palate - or in this case, scrape it clean.

Okay, rant over.  Moving on...

Trish matches the poster!

With those damn Magic Flute melodies insinuating themselves into our brains like a bad case of head lice, we decided on an impromptu trip to the Paper Mill Playhouse for a melodic colonic via Alan Menken’s tuneful Little Mermaid score.  There is nothing more catchy (or annoying) in all the musical theatre canon than Ariel’s three-note, ascending theme.  I bet you're hearing it in your head right now and cursing me.  Bwah ha ha ha.

The Little Mermaid

Paper Mill Playhouse

Saturday, June 1, 7PM

Apparently, Saturday's gay night (aka actor night) at the Paper Mill.  In the audience we spotted Ra-Sean Holloway, Don Rey, Matt LaBanca, Matt Tweardy and Daniel Torres all slumming it in Jersey for tonight’s performance.  At least we were in good company.

The original Broadway production of The Little Mermaid, though it had its moments (specifically the glorious vocals of Sierra Boggess), was mostly a bloated, stylistically inconsistent mess.  But that’s what happens when you attempt to stretch the near perfect original Disney movie into two acts in order to justify charging over $100 a ticket. 

For Paper Mill’s production, Disney granted the artistic team permission to re-write and tweak the original script.  It could still use some judicious snipping (the added Ursula songs are abysmal and the eels do not need their own song), but the Paper Mill version is superior, with a clearer, more streamlined book.

The physical production has also been re-thought.  No more mer-folk in heelys.  Instead, our scaly friends are suspended from cables and “swim” through the air.  It’s a major improvement visually over the skates, though the novelty began to fade by the second act.  And all those body rolls to approximate swimming are a little much.  We get it.  You're underwater.  You're fish.  But please stop.  

One major misstep with the flying/swimming is during “Part of Your World.”  Poor Jessica Grové is being whipped around the stage the entire song and as a result, suffers vocally and dramatically.  In the Broadway version, Sierra made me cry simply sitting there onstage.  Grové’s version only succeeded in making me seasick (not her fault, of course).

The rest of the cast is uniformly excellent with Nick Adams showing off a surprisingly legit voice (who knew he had that hidden underneath his Priscilla drag).  I wish Ed Watts had more opportunity to show off his ringing baritone voice, but he fills out his wet suit nicely.  And poor Liz McCartney valiantly tries to put over the two worst songs in the show (though in consolation, she also gets the best song, "Poor, Unfortunate Souls").

Don't forget to come out this summer and check out our middle school Spotlight Theatre students present Disney's Little Mermaid Jr.  We promise lots of flying and stunning visual effects!  And by "flying" I mean "walking" and by "stunning visual effects" I mean "a backdrop."

Food, Fun & "Fancy Free" - Memorial Day Weekend Staycation

Staycation: Day 1 (Friday, 5/24)

What better way to inaugurate the official beginning of summer than with a Brazilian buffet and Audra McDonald (not together, of course - though the thought of it does get me all hot and bothered - not sure my heart could take the fanboy excitement combined with the cholesterol).  Trish has raved about Villa Brazil for months since her friend, Mara, introduced her to it's carnivorous pleasures.

The restaurant is in our Astoria nabe, but torrential rains (and my laziness) combined with unseasonably cool temperatures forced us to drive the 15 blocks rather than walk.  Mara enthusiastically agreed to join us even though she had just supped with Trish the day before.  Like us, she never passes up an opportunity to stuff her face with grilled meat.

We dropped our umbrellas in the foyer and faster than you can rip the tape off a Brazilian bikini wax, Mara had dragged me to the back of the restaurant where a buffet of South American delights awaited my watering mouth.  I have no idea what anything was (nothing is labeled), but it was all delicioso.  Especially the churrascaria-style meats (pictured above) that the grillman cuts and piles on your plate to order.  I can feel my arteries hardening at the sheer memory of those scrumptious, bloody cuts of sirloin, skirt and rib.

We followed up our animal flesh bacchanal with a trip to, where else, the Entenmann's Bakery Outlet.  It's only two blocks from the restaurant, so we trudged through the wind and rain for $1 pound cakes and english muffin packs.

Trish and I ended our evening in a post-feast haze, watching The Goddess, Audra McDonald, on Live from Lincoln Center.  We were privileged to be in the audience during the live taping, but I wanted to re-live that night from the comfort of my couch and with the added luxury of close-ups.

The gorgeous lobby of the Koch Theatre

Staycation: Day 2 (Saturday, 5/25)

With dreams of Audra wafting through my brain, I slept in until almost noon.  But once up, there was no time for more lounging.  I'd already wasted half of staycation day 2 in my jammies.  With just enough time for the three "sh"'s (shit, shower and shave), Trish and I were off to Lincoln Center for New York City Ballet's "Tribute to Broadway."

Today's matinee program included ballets based on or taken from classic Broadway shows.  First up - "Fancy Free," the Jerome Robbins ballet that inspired Leonard Bernstein to write On The Town.  Gotta' love a man in a tight white uniform, right?  And since Fleet Week was canceled this year, today's show was my only opportunity to openly ogle sailors in NYC this spring.

Second on the program was Christopher Wheeldon's "Carousel" (not to be confused with Agnes de Mille's "Dream Ballet" created for the original Broadway production).  The Wheeldon ballet is a loose interpretation of the musical's Billy/Julie relationship employing excerpts (including the thrilling "Carousel Waltz") from the iconic Rodgers & Hammerstein score.  This piece was new to me, and I appreciated the intricate pattern work and liberal use of - for lack of a better term - the "peel-off" effect.  I also made a mental note of how Wheeldon created a human carousel with his dancers and a few poles.  I'll definitely be stealing this moment...er, I mean recreating the moment "in homage"...the next time I'm called to choreograph the show.

Intermish photo shoot - aren't we lovely?  That's rhetorical.

Trish and I took advantage of the extended intermission to stretch and do some minor back re-alignment.  Our cheapo fourth ring seats, though front row, were way off to one side so we had to sit in an abnormally twisted position in order to see the stage without resorting to some serious Cirque du Soleil neck contorsion.

Act 2 was comprised entirely of Robbins' "West Side Story Suite."  It's sort of the Cliffs Notes version of West Side Story.  I'd never seen a performance of the suite, so I didn't realize the scenes (except "Something's Coming") were literally exerpted from the original staging - including the singing.

I know there are some kick-ass dancer/singers out there, but yikes.  The singing in "America" was barely at the level of a competent high school production.  To be fair, it is a ballet company, but I just couldn't get past Anita's thin, underpowered vocals.  Chita and Rita have forever spoiled me.  Thankfully, a professional singer (on mic stage right) sung the role of Tony during "Something's Coming."

Staring at emaciated dancers for two hours can really work up the appetite.  So after the final curtain call Trish and I headed to Aldea, a Michelin-starred, Iberian restaurant in Union Square.  Normally, this type of fancy-shmancy place is out of my price range.  But the advantage of a staycation is not having to shell out for flights or hotel rooms.  Instead, I was able to divert the extra cash to fund my favorite pastime - gorging until I throw up!

Aldea's small, sleekly furnished dining room has a clear view of the open kitchen in back. The modern design afforded us an unobstructed view of hunky celebrity chef, George Mendes. Talk about wetting - I mean whetting - your, um, appetite.  Yowza.

We decided to forgo restraint in favor of the gluttonous 9 (!) course chef's tasting menu.  You can check out all the gory details to the left (I have no idea what that brown smudge is, but I'd venture to guess it's probably my drool).  Jealous yet?  If not, let me list the "Petiscos" for you:

- Mojito sandwich with coconut water (like a little lemon-mint macaron)
- Potato chip w/ goat cheese and beet purée
- Raw oyster on half shell
- Asparagus soup w/ fresh peas (my favorite)
- Bacalao croquet
- Beet-soaked mini hard-boiled egg

...and the "Pre Dessert":
- Vanilla curd cream with mango granita and mint sorbet topped with vanilla wafer balls

...and yet a tenth, post-dessert bonus "Petit Four" course:
- Almond financier
- Lychee strawberry gelee pâtes de fruits
- Ginger clusters

Is it any wonder the meal took over two and a half hours to serve?

I was so mesmerized by the volume and variety of dishes and the gorgeous plating that I forgot to take pictures.  I finally regained my composure by the dessert course, at least enough to make Trish take this aerial shot (left) of the dessert plate.  Beautiful AND tasty - just like me.

In an effort to burn off a few calories, after dinner we decided to walk uptown to the next subway stop instead of jumping on at Union Square.  As we reached 23rd street we noticed some brightly colored tents and strung carnival lights.  With no other plans for the evening, we decided to investigate.  Nearing the site, the hypnotic smell of beer and fried food wafted passed us and we knew we were heading into dangerous territory - an outdoor food festival.

Just past Eataly, on a tiny triangle of asphalt just west of Madison Square Park, the festive tents of Madison Square Eats were buzzing with a mix of Flatiron yuppies and excited tourists.  I stood wide-eyed, mesmerized by the stands of artisanal street foods.  Though still obscenely full from our 9 course dinner, I was tempted to sneak down a side alley, purge and re-fill.  Instead, Trish and made a plan to return later in the week for dinner.

Not wanting to leave the festival empty handed, we stopped by Macaron Parlour's stand for a sample pack featuring some of their more unusual flavors (including salted caramel, smore and - wait for it - candied bacon with maple cream cheese frosting and - wait for it again - cheetos infused white chocolate ganache!).  We managed to make it all the way home to Astoria before ripping the box open and devouring all 12 of the the colorful, chewy bundles of cream-filled goodness.

Memorial Day Staycation continues...

Another summer...

I was at Duane Reade the other night picking up batteries and baby wipes (don’t ask), and was mortified by the sight of a “Happy Holidays” banner hanging on the side of a corner newsstand.  Happy Holidays?  I’ve only just recently accepted the fact that it’s the end of avocado season.  I’m not yet mentally ready to commit to the holidays.  It’s just too soon.

So in a fond farewell to daisy dukes and farmer tans, I’d like to run down the highlights of the “Summer of 42” (that would be the 42^nd summer of my life, not the classic flick).

July Fourth Weekend in Orlando - Yes, it was hot.  Very hot.  And I don’t mean sexy hot.  I mean underarm-sweat-ring, thigh-chafing-ly hot.  But the opportunity to visit Harry Potter’s Wizarding World made it all worth it.  More…

Summer Conservatory - As always, camp was exhausting.  But seriously, who can resist teenagers slutting it up on stage all in the name of art?  Not I!  More…

The Reugsegger’s take Manhattan - Our Ohio cousins made their first family trip eastward to take a bite of the Big Apple.  I’m sure they had fab time.  Unfortunately, we were stuck at camp in Jersey for most of their visit.  This afforded them the opportunity to enjoy the luxurious accommodations at Chez Pineda Astoria (aka my apartment) sans Fausto and Trish.  Oh well, it’s just an excuse to start planning their next trip.

Raiders of the Lost Ark in Bryant Park - The annual Bryant Park Summer Film Festival - Harrison Ford, red wine and farting neighbors all al fresco in the middle of the greatest city on the planet.  Who could ask for anything more?

Josh, Trish and I mingling with the masses in Bryant Park.  The infamous farter is laying directly behind us just out of site, though his stench hangs heavy in the evening air.  Nasty!

Foxwoods Labor Day Weekend - For our last hurrah of the summer, Trish and I planned a weekend of gambling and general debauchery at Foxwoods Casino Resort in Connecticut.  Sure, we headed home in the red, but not before busting a gut at the all-you-can-eat prime rib brunch at David Burke Prime Steakhouse.  I’m still working off that extra plate of fried chicken and waffles.

Who would have thought you could find an authentic Chinese bakery smack dab in the middle of a Indian-run casino in the heart of New England?  Above, Trish marvels wide-eyed at the fluffy, monster-sized ensaimada we picked up as a souvenir.

Terracotta Warriors Exhibit at the Times Square Discovery Center - Did you know that the ancient Chinese were kinky freaks?  Yup, aside from life-sized statues of warriors, some Chinese royalty made sure to pack their favorite sex toys with them for use in the after life.  I shit you not.

Two of the many artifacts on display from the ancient tombs.

Ancient dildos.  No, really.

   So long summer of 2012 and hello Christmas shopping season!

I need a vacation from my vacation (part trois)

Click here for part une
Click here for part deux

Week Three (July 30):
It’s Monday and I’m still churning out slutty choreography for Legally Blonde with a detour into High School Musical-land to tweak some student choreography.  With HSM opening in just three days, we simultaneously rehearse and start run-throughs so that the multiple casts can get at least one full dress rehearsal before the first Wednesday matinee. 

Though exhausted, we stay late tonight because Val has her first HSM orchestra rehearsal.  As the strains of faux, quasi-musical theatre pop echo through the empty theatre, I put finishing touches on the set and wonder why we didn’t choose a less strenuous career path, like marathon running or Olympic gymnastics.  Speaking of the Olympics, we ended up missing almost all of the coverage.  Oh well, there’s always 2016.

(July 31) Tuesday night is my first orchestra rehearsal for Legally Blonde.  I’ve barely had enough time to shower let alone study the conductor’s score, so I’m basically winging it.  Hopefully, I won’t come off as a complete moron in front of the mostly professional orchestra.  The rest of the Pineda clan stays late with me to continue their never-ending work on costumes, lights and sets all to the soothing tones of the "Bend and Snap." 

(Aug 1) Wednesday afternoon is the first performance of HSM.  With the theatre in use, I take the rest of the campers down the road to the Elk’s Club and continue rehearsing Legally Blonde.  Unfortunately, a huge chunk of the dancing ensemble is also in HSM.  With all the missing people, ensemble clean-up and detail work is pointless.  Instead, I spend most of the time choreographing the first act finale, which I’ve let go to the last minute in the hopes of being “divinely inspired.” No such luck.  Once again, I’ll just have to wing it since we open in three days.

A few hours later we’re back at the theatre where Val is politely kicking the stragglers from the HSM audience out of the lobby.  Thus begins our first dress rehearsal of Legally Blonde.  Everyone’s exhausted.  This is our fourth show to open in a week and the kids are wandering the stage like zombies.  With the addition of props and set pieces, the cast seems to have forgotten all their blocking. 

Undeterred, at 5:30 we push the student zombies out the door, order Chinese food and get the theatre ready for the evening performance of HSM.  I’m not really involved, so thankfully I can just veg out in the lobby during the show.  Mercifully, the junior version of HSM is much shorter than the full licensed version so we are able to get everyone out, lock up the theatre and get home just before midnight.  In the last two weeks, we have rarely spent less than 14 hours a day at the CDC.  Ah, the glamorous life!

(Aug 2) Seven hours later and we're back at the theatre.  Today is basically a repeat of yesterday's hellacious schedule except we stay late after the evening performance to change over to the Legally Blonde set.  What does “change over” consist of?  Oh, just repainting the HSM flats, side stages and benches, striking the un-needed HSM set pieces, hanging set pieces from the fly rail, re-setting the pit and cleaning and re-setting the dressing rooms with a new set of costumes.  Sound “fun” yet? 

For tonight's change over it’s all-hands-on-deck, including ma and pa Sieracki (Val’s parents) who are visiting from Florida.  Apparently, they’ve also been staying at Juan and Val’s house this week, though the only evidence of this has been the whiff of breakfast I smell on the way out the door in the morning as we head to camp.  We finally get a chance to catch up with them at the theatre over the roar of power tools and the smell of wet paint.  Sexy.  Tonight we skip the HSM closing night cast party because by the time we call it quits, the party has long since finished. 

(Aug 3) We drag our asses into the theatre early on Friday morning.  We are all running on just a couple hours of sleep and late night McDonald’s drive-thru.  We have one day to complete the change over we started the previous night as well as squeeze in two full dress run-throughs, one with full orchestra (the first and only time the cast will get to rehearse with the orchestra before we open tomorrow afternoon). 

With a cast full of mostly first-time summer conservatory students, the sense of anxiety and panic is palpable.  These kids are used to months of rehearsals at their high schools, not our three-week crash-and-burn schedule.  Juan and I lie through sincere smiles and assure the young cast that everything will be fine. Don’t get me wrong, by Sunday the show will be up and running like clockwork, but what happens at the first performance Saturday afternoon is anybody’s guess. 

Surprisingly, we are able to get through two full run-throughs without any major hiccups.  Some years, the first performance is the first time we actually run the show non-stop.  So we’re in great shape; though we still won’t know exactly how the show will sound since our bass player wasn’t able to make the final dress and our drummer wasn’t able to get to the rehearsal until halfway through the first act.  No matter, it’s still one of the smoothest final dress rehearsals we’ve had for a summer show. 

We don’t stay late tonight.  It's "fuck-it Friday" - if there’s a costume not quite right or a set piece unfinished at this point, that’s how it will stay for the run - fuck-it!

(Aug 4) We have a larger-than-usual audience for the first Saturday matinee, mainly because the show is so popular with the MTV crowd.  There are a few minor music cue problems and some ragged scene changes, but all-in-all, it’s a great first run and the audience is loving it.  Surprisingly, we get no audience backlash from the overt sexuality, language or gay references.  I guess between Jerseylicious and The Jersey Shore, some rump-shaking and cursing seems pretty de rigueur for north Jersey.

The positive buzz on facebook started at intermission so we anticipate a full house tonight.  I’m still not sold on the choreography for the first act finale - you know, the number I threw together literally two days ago.  But I’ll take a closer look at it tonight.  If you’ve worked with us before, you know not to get too comfortable with any blocking or choreography.  Juan and I are notorious for making full-scale changes even after a show’s opened (and sometimes even during intermission).  My infamous unfinished choreography of the last 32-bars of a dance number up until the half-hour call of the first performance has now become stuff of Pineda legend.

Because nearly every role is double cast, no two performances have the same exact set of leads.  I know that’s not the norm for high school productions, but it’s great experience for student actors and keeps them on their toes.  It also means the evening performance could still be a train wreck even if the afternoon runs smoothly.  With that in mind, we order take-out for dinner so we can stay at the theatre and prep for the evening show and new leads. 

Thank God for social networking and the internet because in just a few hours the good word has spread and tonight’s performance is sold out.  We actually end up turning people away at the door.  As excited cast members return from their dinner break, we give out acting notes and minor adjustments to blocking based on the afternoon performance. With a new slate of leads, we treat tonight's performance as a second "opening night" of sorts.

The new air conditioning is blasting, but the theatre still warms up thanks to a full house.  Again, except for some minor slip-ups, the show proceeds rather smoothly.  But I’m definitely still hating the first act finale.  I’ll have to go home and think about how I can correct that before tomorrow’s matinee.  We head home knowing the phones will be ringing off the hook with ticket requests.

(Aug 5)  The Sunday matinee is nearly sold out.  The kids are old pros by now and we know the show is in solid shape - except for my first act finale.  So at half hour I grab my dancer girls and completely re-choreograph the end of the act.  I'd been re-playing the moment in my head all morning and it finally dawned on me that as usual, I've over-choreographed it.  It's now time to simplify and streamline.  Behind the show curtain and with the sound of the audience filling the theatre, the girls nervously run-through the new steps which they'll perform full out, in context for the first time during the actual performance.  Yay, for live theatre! 

The closing night performance is standing room only.  Tonight is bittersweet for the kids.  They're stoked about their success but sad the summer's over.  I'm not.  By tomorrow I'll be back in the comfort of my cozy apartment, lounging in my underwear and catching up on a month's worth of DVR, blissfully content to be working only a paltry 9-hour day at the office.  But for now, I'm in the pit waving my arms like a fat, deranged, featherless turkey, trying to push the tempos in hopes of clipping at least a good  5 or 6 minutes from the performance.  Tonight after the final bows come all the speeches and flowers and I want to compensate for the inevitable lovefest to come.

Per usual, the closing night curtain call is followed by the cast singing our camp song.  As the opening refrain ends and the tempo changes, the kids from the other programs bum-rush the stage and join in.  And then as if on cue, the tears start rolling on stage.  The evening ends with heartfelt speeches, hugs and lots of flowers.  It's finally over.  Almost.

The kids are now hyped up on love and adrenaline.  They can't wait to get to the cast party.  With only thoughts of partying filling their teenaged minds, they leave a disgusting trail of used tissues, sweaty clothes and half eaten food in the dressing rooms for us to clean up - but not tonight.  Tonight we party. 

We arrive at the Sandoukis' household (our generous party hosts) just as a police cruiser pulls up - the true sign of a successful cast party.  A group of parents magically appear to greet law enforcement.  I'm too hungry to care and head straight to the hot buffet.

It's now well after midnight and I have to be at work bright and early the next day.  I can catch a nap at my computer.

Note to self: take the Monday after camp off next year.

'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah...

I just want to say that being chosen as this month's Miss August is

like a compliment I'll remember for as long as I can.

Right now I'm a freshman in my fourth year at UCLA but my goal is

to become a veterinarian cause I love children.

‘Cause I'm a blonde yeah, yeah, yeah,

‘Cause I'm a blonde yeah, yeah, yeah
- Julie Brown

Since this summer was all about the blonde, I decided to post these lyrics from one of my favorite movie musical guilty pleasures of the 80s, Earth Girls Are Easy, starring…wait for it…Geena Davis, Jeff Goldblum, Jim Carrey and Damon Wayans.  Pretty impressive, huh?  Well, they must all have been seriously hard up for cash or in deep doo-doo with their dealers to sign off on this script, because this movie is a big ol’ train wreck.  But what a beautiful, hilarious and tacky train wreck it is!  Check it out some night if you’re bored.  It’s extra entertaining if your drunk or otherwise “impaired.”    



Angie Sandoukas as Elle Woods in Pineda Conservatory's Legally Blonde

Anyway, back to the blonde at hand, Legally Blonde, which ended our 2012 summer conservatory season.  Last year’s jet-setting across Europe prevented me from choreographing during last summer’s session.  So I was a bit rusty when it came to the fancy footwork needed for LB’s contemporary pop score (not to mention carrying a good 15 pounds of extra jiggle around the middle).

I’m not exactly a hip-hop master, so I hit up some of my old dance cronies (aka youtube) to freshen up on how the young ‘ns are breaking it down these days. Seriously, you can learn anything from youtube.  Of course, since most of the dancing in Legally Blonde involves slutty, whore-ish sorority girls, a more appropriate course of action might have been to take a pole dancing class at Crunch.  But since our underage cast would likely be shaking their groove thangs in front of their horrified fathers, I decided to tone it down a notch - but just a tiny notch.

Imagine little old me teaching 15 year olds how to pelvic thrust, gyrate and open-thigh squat in rhythm.  Okay, I guess it’s really not that hard to imagine if you’ve known me for more than five minutes.  But it was still slightly uncomfortable teaching our sweet little 9^th grade girls how to get nasty.  We all gotta’ learn sometime.

More surprising (and encouraging) to me was how unfazed the kids were with all the gay references in the script.  It’s telling when two straight teenage boys have no problem with a gay kiss, but their parents do.  Maybe we are finally evolving as a species.  Or maybe not.  You decide based on these photos from Disney Dress-up Day at camp.

RyRy & Malika are Mickey & Mini

Marisa is a princess

Fausto's a fairy - no comments, please.

I need a vacation from my vacation (part deux)

Click here for part une

Week two (July 23):
The air conditioning is finally working.  Huzzah!  You’d think the kids would be jubilant.  Nope.  Now the kids complain that it’s too cold in the theatre.  Too cold?  Well then, bring a sweater, Mr. Whiny McChillypants. 

The week begins with more Legally Blonde slutty choreography, but I also get a chance to team-direct the big act two ensemble scenes with Juan.  I keep telling the kids to “act as they would in real life” but forget that they are only teenagers and “real life” consists of going to the mall and updating their facebook statuses.

During breaks from choreographing and directing, I start faux-finishing wooden flats to resemble brick that will eventually replicate the famous gates of Harvard University.  I don’t know why I’m so concerned with verisimilitude given the fact that even if the gates are an exact match, no one in our audience will know the difference.

The real Harvard Gate and...

...our imposter gate.

Lunch everyday is a frozen pre-packaged grilled chicken sandwich heated up in the microwave because we don’t have time to leave the theatre to get anything else.  I try to convince myself that I’m eating healthy, but the texture of the processed chicken patty makes me wonder what parts of the chicken I’m actually eating.

We (the Pinedas) stay at the theatre well after classes finish for our daily exercise routine - picking up discarded water bottles, nasty candy wrappers and crushed goldfish crackers off the floor.  Think of a teenager’s closet.  Now multiply that by 100 children.  Did I mention there’s no janitor?  Well, technically there’s a sweet, 90-year-old Italian guy named “Gus” who does a perfunctory sweep-and-mop a couple times a week.  I love him, but he’s not exactly Mr. Clean.

After our "workout" it's back to set construction and painting.  As the week progresses, we are constantly cutting set pieces from our build list as we decide they are not truly necessary.  In actuality, we’re usually just too tired or realize there is no way in hell we’ll finish everything in time.

Since the beginning of camp, the high schoolers have been rehearsing two shows simultaneously.  Their first show opens this week and they are noticeably anxious and slightly panicky.  We are constantly adding and changing blocking and choreography as we start run-throughs of the cabaret show.  I'm in the pit with Trish who's conducting, wearing hat number three, pit musician.

The mad summer show-opening marathon is about to begin.  It's Thursday night and after a full day of classes we open Let’s Go to the Movies.  All goes remarkably well considering the short rehearsal period and general inexperience of the cast.  There are no major train wrecks, just a few minor derailments - an occasional wide-eyed look of panic and a brain fart or two.  But we make it to curtain call without any broken bones and with the show clocking in at under two hours.  I’d call that a major success.

The next day we continue rehearsing Legally Blonde but also tweak some of last night's problem spots.  In true Pineda fashion, one of the "minor" tweaks includes re-choreographing an entire number. 

That same night, we present the new-ish and improved Let’s Go to the Movies 2.0.  After the final bows, we herd the audience out of theatre so we can tear down and start setting the stage for the next production, Disney’s Cinderella Kids (contractually, I'm required to spell out the whole damn title) which opens the next afternoon.  As Juan and team begin the arduous task of taking the backdrop down from the cabaret show, I’m frantically trying to finish painting an eight-foot tall carriage for Cinderella that will be onstage for approximately one minute.  After midnight, we head home, exhausted.

We’re at the theatre bright and early the next morning so Trish and Val can do last minute alterations to costumes and Juan can reset the mic plot from last night’s show.  I’m sitting on the dressing room floor painting a carriage wheel because I was too tired to finish it the night before.  Fingers crossed that it will be dry by show time.

The young cast arrives (grade 2-6) around noon for their two-show day.  The dressing room is soon filled with 9-year-old divas complaining about their hair and make-up.  I’m sure there’s a reality TV show in store for at least one or two of these girls’ futures.

We make it to the end of the day without any major mishaps, just a cameo appearance by me to drag off a forgotten set piece and the temporary misplacement of the pumpkin prop during the first show.  Luckily, a basketball from our third upcoming production, Disney’s High School Musical Jr., is handy and makes a fine understudy pumpkin.  The children are happy.  The parents are happy.  We’re tired.

We start striking the Cinderella set to make room for High School Musical which opens in three days.

Click here for part trois

I need a vacation from my vacation (part une)

Since getting back to my day job last week I've been bombarded with the same annoying question, "How did you enjoy your vacation?"  Of course, my vacation really isn’t a vacation at all.  It’s just me working somewhere else for three weeks.

Usually, I just explain that I take time off to work at a camp for teenagers that my family runs in New Jersey.  That usually puts an end to the conversation.  More often than not, the confused party skedaddles off pretty quickly with a polite smile and a confused, “Oh, that sounds fun.”

Technically, I am using my vacation time.  But working 10-hour days with a hundred kids in an enclosed space the size of a 7-Eleven isn’t exactly most people’s idea of “fun.”

After years of explaining, I can now easily identify that pleasant, feigned expression of interest on my co-workers' faces.  Nobody really wants to hear about my camp adventures. They want to know about how drunk I got on the beach or how beautiful the Eiffel Tower looks at sunset. 

So for all of you office drones who think working at a theatre camp sounds so “fun,” this is what goes on during my three weeks of "vacation."

Week One (July 16): 
Camp has already been in full swing for two weeks.  I join mid-stream, the week before our first show opens - Let’s Go To The Movies! - a cabaret/variety show written and compiled specifically for the kids who didn’t get cast in lead roles in Legally Blonde. 

I begin the painstaking and slightly creepy task of teaching slutty choreography to the teenage cast of Legally Blonde.  Between booty shakes and thrusting, Juan and Val give me the low-down on all the set and detail painting I’ll need to accomplish in the next few weeks for all four of our summer shows.  With zero budget for extra tech staff, I have gained the title of "Head Scenic Painter" for the summer in addition to my choreographic duties.

In another money-saving move, we have purposely chosen shows set in the present time to avoid renting costumes.  Instead, we send the children home to dig through their closets for usable items.  As a result, throughout the week children intermittently approach us wondering if the tiny kitchen dishrag they refer to as a "skirt" is an appropriate length for the stage.  When did teenagers start dressing like prostitutes?

The electricians are still installing our new air conditioning, so we are working in a cement box without ventilation and temperatures topping 90 degrees.  Sound fun yet?

Click here for part deux

Pssst...I'm back...

Surprise, I’m back!  Yes, I realize it’s been over a month since my last blog entry - June 1^st  to be exact.  And since then I’ve seen four Broadway shows (and one Off-Broadway show) and help put up four full productions at our family’s theatre camp.  So I’ve been just a teensy bit busy.

But don’t fret, my dear Pineda-starved blogytes, for the next week or two I’ll be consumed with writing and updating.  Last week was my first full week back to NYC following another stress-filled, but far less sweaty, Pineda Summer Conservatory season thanks to our new air conditioning (yeah!).

The first Monday back at my desk job was hellacious - over 1200 unread emails and I was working on five hours of sleep - damn those Sunday night shows and their accompanying late night cast party.  So it’s taken me pretty much the entire week to finally get my shit together.

For my first free summer weekend since Pineda Camp hell, Trish and I decided to check out Dogfight at Second Stage.  The new off-Broadway musical is based on the indie

film from the early 90s.

I’ll be honest, this show caught me by surprise.  I went in with no expectations and found

myself an emotional wreck and nearly in tears by intermission (Trish too).  Central to my enjoyment was Lindsey Mendez’s remarkably honest and moving performance as Rose, the “homely” unknowing participant in the dogfight alluded to in the show’s title.  Amazing, since I found her character in the recent Godspell revival a tad cloying and vocally a bit gimmicky.  Here she’s perfect and gets to show of her clean soprano and easy belt. Oh well, I guess I can chalk Godspell up to bad direction.

The score is folksy-pop a la Jason Robert Brown. There are definitely some great pull-out audition songs that I’m sure we’ll all be tired of hearing by this time next year.  But it's a relief to finally hear a score that’s musically interesting as well as lyrically specific - a nice change from the bombastic self-importance of some recent new scores (I’m talking to you, Frank Wildhorn).  One “This is the Moment” is quite enough, thank you very much.

The physical production is simple, but appropriate with a sometimes stunning

lighting design. 

Chris Gattellis’ choreography/musical staging is spot on.  It’s odd, because I definitely have a love-hate opinion on most of his work.  Sometimes I find it repetitive and gimmicky (Newsies) and sometimes it’s so perfect and character-driven that I can’t imagine a production without it (Altar Boyz).  Here, the latter applies, particularly in the group soldier scenes and the battle scenes in the second act.

And for a musical about horny, young soldiers, there’s only one semi-gratuitous shirtless scene.  Good for you, Joe Mantello.

Dogfight

Second Stage Theatre

Saturday, August 11, 2pm performance

How do you follow-up a surprisingly satisfying afternoon at the theatre?  With a double-header at the movies, of course.

Not wanting to head back to our tiny Queens apartment just yet, Trish and decided to catch The Dark Knight at the Times Square AMC, but not before stopping at Auntie Anne's to fill Trish's over-sized bag with illicit pretzel dogs and cinnamon sticks.  When a popcorn and soda are $20, sometimes you have to resort to smuggling the occasional wiener.

And when the hell did movie prices jump to fourteen bucks!?  And that's without 3D or IMAX - just the plain old, regular boring 2D.  Trish and I decided to stick it to the man by sneaking into a second movie, Total Recall.  I'm a fan of the original and Colin Farrell is super hot, so even with lukewarm reviews, we decided we'd at least get to stare at his pouty face and maybe get some harmless shirt-free ogling time.

Well, it didn't suck AND we got to see a shirtless Colin Farrell, so I'd say it was a win-win all around.

Off to Hogwarts...

Having already allotted most of my vacation time to the Summer Conservatory, the unfortunate mid-week timing of this year’s July Fourth holiday totally screwed me.  With only one vacation day to spare, I decided to take a long weekend directly following July 4 to join the rest of the Pineda clan in Orlando, FL.  Those bitches had already flown down Tuesday night and had been enjoying the sun, sand and Disney for several days. 

Unfortunately, my 42-year-old body decided to send me a farewell fuck you.  The week before my vacation, a large abscess formed directly in the crease of my left armpit.  Believe me, a large, painful, blood and puss-oozing hole in your body is not exactly conducive to travel.  Regardless, three emergency room visits and a dose of antibiotics later, I was on the tarmac with hydrogen peroxide and gauze pads in hand ready for my flight southward.

I’ve already made multiple visits to Disney but have never ventured to Universal Studios.  Since my time was limited, the family agreed to wait and visit Universal until I arrived.  Val’s brother recently relocated to Orlando and conveniently works at the park (repairing roller coasters!), so we were able to score some nice discounts and free admission. 

Here are the juicy highlights.

Entering Islands of Adventure, we made a beeline for The Wizarding World of Harry Potter to beat the crowds.  Trish and I are ready to roll on the Hogwars Express.

Even with temperatures in the upper 90s, it's always snowy at Hogwarts.  Juan and I pose on the main street.

Trish and Val strike a pose in front of Hogwarts castle before getting in line.  The ride was amazing but a bit intense - 3D, live action robotics, animation and stereo sound all while moving around on a wild conveyor belt-style hanging pod.  We were all a bit nauseous exiting the ride and poor Juan was knocked out of commission for the rest of the day.  I guess we really are getting old.

Here I am rehydrating with a Butter Beer and Pumpkin Juice.  Delightful if a bit cloying and unfortunately, non-alcoholic.

Leaving Harry Potter's Wizarding World, we head into Jurassic Park.  Joey (Val's brother) is in the background doing his best T-Rex impersonation.  Pretty Scary.  Sadly, the Jurassic Park ride was closed for the day due to mechanical issues.

Juan and Val get some tongue from Krusty at the Simpsons Ride, another 3-D, simulator that left us reaching for the barf bags and dramamine.

With Juan dizzy and wobbling around the park, we decided to slow things down and hop on the Caro-Seuss-el.  Here, Val shows off the gymnastic prowess that I'm sure helped her woo Juan during their courtship.  How romantic. 

Bi-polar Show Disorder

Legally Blonde and Carousel - could there be two shows any more stylistically different?  Between ongoing Carousel rehearsals for CDC and Legally Blonde auditions for our summer program, I've been experiencing a serious case of choreographic whiplash.  In the span of just a few hours this weekend, I went from the booty-licious rump-shaking of hormonal co-eds, to the repressed sexuality of turn of the century New England lads and lasses.  And if you're not sure which description belongs to which show, then you probably ended up on my blog by some strange googling accident and should stop reading before you catch "the gay."

We've already sat through four audition days for Legally Blonde and the competition is getting crazy.  I haven't seen so much pink hoochiness-in-heels since my Senior Prom in '88.  I realize these young ladies are just trying to dress the part, but somehow they've gotten the idea that the character of Elle Woods is a slutty whore.  Yes, she's clearly not a virgin, but it's also made clear that she's monogamous as well as rich and trendy.  Many of the young ladies we've seen thus far seem to be auditioning for Pretty Woman - The Musical (Alan Menken or Stephen Flaherty, please jump on this idea).

Carousel is shaping up to be quite a wonderful show - if I ever finish choreographing it.  I'm actually on par with my usual mid-rehearsal slump.  I usually need the pressure of the clock to get my artistic juices jump started again.  Hopefully, we won't have a repeat of my infamous unfinished dance number from the last time I choreographed Carousel, where I completed the number at the half hour call prior to the opening night curtain.  Good times.

These are worth way more than a thousand words...

I'm still basking in the memories of last month's Pineda family cruise (don't worry, more updates and pictures are coming soon - I'm just a little slow.  Scroll down to earlier posts to see updates).  Those pesky on-ship photographers annoyed the hell out of us, but we finally broke down and decided to pose for them.  Little did they know we had our own special brand of glamour shot in mind. 

Here we are in all our airbrushed glory!  Yes, we also did a "real" pose, but it was nowhere near as interesting as this "dramatic" action shot.  The photographer didn't think we were serious and we literally had to force him to take the shot.  I think the results speak for themself, no? 

I mean, seriously, a red velvet chaise with matching red curtains?  Is this a cruise ship or a French whorehouse?

We actually couldn't believe how nice this picture of mom and dad turned out.  Now you can all see where we get our photogenic tendencies from. 

Ah, the (in)famous Northern Lights Dining Room.  So many memories of mediocre, but enjoyable meals with head waiter, Sirima (sweet but slow), and waiter, Stanimir (a sarcastic but lovable smartass). Here we are on formal night.  I guess that's why they added the extra fancy floral border to the picture.  Classy (barf).

I'm back!

Yes, my lovelies, I’m indeed back in the country and overflowing with tawdry tales of my European adventures, not to mention a dapper new hat from our day in Positano, Italy (me left - snazzy, huh?).  For my readers in the northern Jersey area, I hope my silly blog entries can at least bring a smile to your faces during your continuing recovery efforts in the aftermath of hurricane Irene. 

I’ve been taking copious notes and writing furiously while in Europe, but with the ridiculously expensive internet rates on the cruise ship and my hours scurrying from ancient ruin to ancient ruin, I’ve not been able to publish any of my adventures in real time.  Therefore, please check back regularly as I’ll be updating like a fiend over the next week or so, uploading blog entries and posting photos.  I’ll publish under the actual dates of travel, so make sure to scroll down to make sure you don’t miss a single delicious detail. 

Trish and I actually returned to our beloved Queens apartment on Monday night, following an exhaustive and nausea-inducing 10-hour flight, stopping over in Geneva for literally an hour to change planes.  Don’t worry, we still managed to haul ass to the duty free shop and purchased our weight in Swiss chocolate. 

Earlier that morning, 5:30 AM Barcelona time (that's 11:30 PM Sunday night for you East Coasters), we pried our eyelids open for the 30-minute cab ride to Barcelona airport.  Trish and I were going to head out late Sunday night for one last jamon sandwich and gelato on La Rambla (that's me on the left, actually on a street just off La Rambla, but you get the idea) but instead spent most of the evening packing and re-packing our bags to ensure we’d be under the 50-pound weight limit. 

With our portable hanging scale in hand, we furiously juggled trinkets, socks and dirty underwear between our three suitcases in order to avoid paying an extra fee.  We finally got under weight, but the effort left me literally dripping with sweat.  I appreciate the efforts of the Spanish government to limit energy use, but I am a spoiled American and want my room Arctic cold, dammit.  Turn up those thermostats!  Although I do give my Spanish homies props for installing nifty energy-saving key slots in each room, which automatically shut off the electricity unless you insert your key in the slot. 

The ride to the airport the next morning was uneventful, with just the gorgeous views of the city rushing by our cab window in the early morning darkness.  Oh, and also the view of the nasty couple playing tonsil hockey in the cab next to us.  Boy, those Spaniards sure are...um...romantic(?).

Check-in was quick and painless, except for the shenanigans of the Spanish gentleman ahead of me at security.  It seemed he had never flown before and kept setting off the metal detector, each time removing another metal article from his person before walking through the gates and again setting off the alarm - first some keys, then his watch, then some coins and finally his belt.  Unfortunately, with his belt also went his shorts - down to around his knees.  A middle-aged, overweight, Spanish dude’s hairy ass crack in red bikini underwear was not exactly the last image of Barcelona I wanted to take away with me.

I forced myself not to sleep on the flight so that I could go to bed at a regular hour once we arrived back in NYC.  Those changing time zones wreak havoc with your sleep cycle, not to mention your stomach.  So Thor, Hannah and an episode of House later (I started Battle LA, but the skittish camera work had me reaching for the barf bag), I was coasting into JFK, tired but happy to be home. 

It turns out our apartment was unscathed by the hurricane thanks to our landlord who was kind enough to shut all the windows that I had inadvertantly left open in my haste to escape the city amidst my earthquake panic.  Seriously, an earthquake and a hurricane within the same week?  What next, locust and plagues of hail and fire?  Anyway, two weeks with minimal airflow left the apartment warm, humid and musty like a homeless dog in the rain.  So after hauling our suitcases up the three flights of stairs, we flung open every window and Lysol-ed the shit out of place. 

And what's the first thing we do after turning on the TV and peeling off our dirty traveling clothes?  Call friends and family?  Wax nostalgically over shots of the Trevi Fountain and Tower of Pisa?  Of course not, silly, we order Chinese food!  After ten days of incredible pasta, the freshest seafood in the world and the most decadent desserts imaginable, I just want to sink into my sofa in my underwear with a pair of chopsticks and a pint of house special fried rice. 

I've now managed to stay awake for nearly 24 hours straight thanks to all the time zone crossing.  Though it's been an amazing trip, I'm thrilled I'll be able to collapse into my own dirty, damp bed tonight.  Where is our trusty cabin stewart, Lito, when you really need him?  Probably off at some towel-animal folding seminar.  Oh well, I’ll change the sheets when I’ve finally unpacked all my luggage, which shouldn’t be more than a month or two. 

Speaking of luggage, my fellow passengers were not as conscientious as I had been with their packing.  Apparently, our flight from Geneva to JFK was overweight, so the airline randomly pulled luggage off the plane in an effort to reduce our chances of falling out of the sky and thereby providing a lovely International feast for the Atlantic shark population.  Oh, those pesky weight restrictions.  As of this writing, we’re still waiting for our floral print Le Sport Sac filled with souvenirs and contraband French cured sausage from the farmer’s market in Arles.

Tomorrow morning I'll be bitch-slapped back into reality, answering phones and once again kowtowing to the financial elite in investment bankerland.  It's still good to be home.