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

Royals, gays and terrorists, oh my.

Who'd have imagined a weekend that started off with a royal wedding would end with the assassination of Osama Bin Laden - or as Fox News reported, Obama Bin Laden (perhaps a Glenn Beck-inspired Freudian slip? - scroll down for photo).  Anyway, I didn't catch the royal wedding live.  That three hours of sleep is far more important to me than catching a first glimpse of Kate Middleton's wedding gown.  I know, revoke my "Dorothy's Boys" membership card immediately.  Wouldn't "Dorothy's Boys" make a great name for a cabaret bar?

In keeping with the weekend's political theme, I highly recommend The Normal Heart, a play that Trish and I caught Sunday afternoon on the Broadway.  The first production I'd seen of this play was at a community theatre in Allentown, PA about a hundred years ago while still an undergrad at Muhlenberg.  Is it possible I'm old enough to send students to audition there now?  I need a drink. 

I'm embarrassed to admit that at the time I was bored out of my mind by what seemed like an overly preachy piece of gay theatre filled with a bunch of unlikeable characters.  Of course, having lived in NYC for the last - gulp - 18years, I've now met and/or befriended some facsimile of each one of these characters.  Moral of the story, every play deserves a second chance, especially if the first "chance" was a community theatre production.  Now don't get your panties all in a twist, I've seen some incredibly professional community theatre shows - namely mine (that was a joke, people, lighten up), but I've also seen plenty of shitty ones, and that production falls in the latter category.

As the saying goes, it's all in the execution.  What had seemed preachy and labored in Allentown, is viscerally exciting and inflammatory in the hands of a gifted director and the current Broadway cast.  It doesn't hurt to have hotties Lee Pace and Wayne Wilcox in the cast either.  Perhaps in my closeted youth, political activism wasn't yet something I was comfortable accepting, but what a difference twenty years makes.  This indictment of the Reagan administration's handling of the AIDS epidemic - or rather how the government chose not to acknowledge the epidemic - is political theatre at its best.  In hindsight, it's a wonder anyone's alive and healthy given the facts presented. 

I also haven't been to a play - or musical for that matter, and I've seen Next To Normal three times - where the audience was so emotionally wrecked by the curtain call.  The two Long Island matinee ladies sitting next to me were passing tissues to each other through the second act and the sniffling and nose blowing by the rest of the audience was almost distractingly constant.  It took every ounce of self control I could muster not to totally lose it during the last 10 minutes of the show. 

Regardless of your political assignations, this play is a must-see if only for the central performance of Joe Mantello.  Just hand him the "Best Actor" Tony right now.  Speaking of the Tonys, I'm very excited about this years nominations - 14 nominations for Book of Mormon, 12 for Scottsboro Boys and 0 for Wonderland.  I wonder which show will be closed by July?

The Normal Heart
Golden Theatre, Sunday, May 1
2 PM performance

Oh, Fox News...

Team Lucky and the organist from hell

In the midst of Pineda camp, we took a brief excursion to the land of corn and football for my cousin Alan’s wedding. Once again, our family continues to strengthen the gene pool by throwing in some hardy Irish Catholic stock via his lovely bride, Bridget.

After work on Friday I took a shuttle flight out to Chicago. I met Juan and Val at O’Hare and we drove to the lovely Skokie Doubletree, just outside of Chicago, where the whole wedding party was staying. As the family’s only known “friend of Dorothy,” it was my responsibility to make sure the wedding party knew that New York was in da’ house. So I decided to go in full-out Cuban pimp drag with a tan pin-striped linen jacket, khaki pants and … wait for it … a straw fedora. I was the fashion toast of Skokie that weekend, I’ll wager. Doubly impressive is the fact that the only item I actually brought with me from NYC was the jacket, white shirt and shoes. I purchased the rest of the ensemble just hours before the ceremony at the Marshall's next door to the hotel. How's that for living on the edge?

The wedding day started off a bit rough for us. Per usual the Aunties drafted Juan, Val, Trish and I into singing for the ceremony. The organist was, to put it nicely, difficult. I guess we should have been prepared for some attitude, given that Al kept telling her we were “professional singers from New York.” I’m sure she came to the table ready to show us snooty East Coasters how they roll in Chicagoland. But let’s get real, it’s a wedding in Skokie not our premier at Chicago Lyric. You’re really going to choose this particular situation to have a my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours smack down?

First off, Val sent the organist dozens of music choices that we knew the couple would like and that we have performed at other weddings. But instead of honoring the family’s choices - because the wedding is obviously all about the organist - she decided we’d perform two songs of her choosing. Fine, yours is bigger than mine. This wouldn’t have been a problem had the songs been, well, good. But instead we got saddled with New Age-y, faux folk/pop ballads of the blandest sort - Christian elevator music.

We arrived at the church right before the ceremony with unreadable faxed copies from the hotel since the organist wouldn’t fax the music to us in NY because of some bulls*it about long distance faxing. After telling her we just wanted to plow through the song to learn the notes - remember we’re sight reading - she stops us two pages in to give us notes about dynamics. Really? The ceremony is set to begin in 20 minutes, we don’t know the song and you’re worried that we’re not catching that decrescendo in the fifth measure? Get a grip, lady. The funny part is she kept telling us we were singing too loudly. Um, we were marking (for you vocal laymen, that means we weren't really singing out, just sort of singing under our breath so as not to tire out our voices). I’m sure her ears were bleeding during the ceremony when we actually did sing with our "real" voices. On a side note, a few guests at the church commented about how the singing could have been louder and that it was difficult to hear us at some points. I'm just saying. Anyway, her wedding … I mean, Al and Bridget’s wedding ... went fine even with little rehearsal and bland music choices. Thankfully, Al is the last cousin to get married in that church so we never have to work with this woman again (knock on wood).

Twenty minutes into the reception, all thoughts of the organist from hell had dissipated thanks to the soothing embrace of beloved family member, Vodka Collins. I'm embarassed to say it, but we were “that” table. You know, the rowdy drunk group everyone whispers about and leers at. Don’t judge, we had a rough day. Regardless, we had a blast with our Canadian cousins, Serena and Jonathan, who can really put 'em back.  And also our Indiana cousins, Hannah and Clara, who didn't drink at all (don't worry mamma Leslie), although they may have been privy to some mighty saucy language from the rest of the table. They're off to college soon, so I'd like to think we were just breaking them in.

My fedora was the hit of the evening, with everyone (okay, mainly the under ten set) fighting for a chance to try it on. Watch for my upcoming Fedora Series, to be published once I get the photos off Trish’s camera. And while we're on the subject of fashion, Gerry and I were disappointingly the only wedding guests to do a mid-reception outfit change. How can you attend an event and not have at least two costume changes?

Oh, and I almost forgot about the surly wedding photographer.  I don't care how good your photos are, unless you're Ansel Adams it is not appropriate to tell your clients to shut up. While trying to get a group shot of the dozens of cousins, Little Miss Surly actually said (and without irony or joking smile), "If you don't shut up, this is going to take a lot longer." Oh no she didn't. Granted, we were all very drunk and rowdy.  But it's a wedding reception, not a class photo shoot for Miss Buffy's Finishing School. After the initial shock and probably priceless shot of us all staring gaping-mouthed and wide-eyed into the camera, her comment only made us laugh louder and act even more inappropriately. That put Miss Surly-pants over the edge and she actually threatened to separate Margot and me. Seriously. It was like a real life Saturday Night Live sketch, only funny. (Note to photographer: if you want to take an organized group shot, don't wait until the end of the night after everyone's gotten plastered.) 

The highlight of the weekend? - discovering the culinary Mecca known as Portillo’s Hot Dogs. The life changing experience can best be described in three words - dipped beef sandwich. ‘Nough said?

Congratulations to Team Lucky (below). Bring me something nice from Hawaii.

(Photo courtesy of Leslie Cruz Ruegsegger)

Better Late Than Never!

I know the wedding was weeks ago. But here's the promised picture of the cake I created for the happy event!

Anniversary Rewind

I know I haven’t really blogged about the actual Anniversary party last weekend, but with the upcoming benefit for the opera company and me starting my new position as a corporate bitch, I don’t even have time to take a dump let alone write. Although I guess I could take my laptop into the bathroom with me and kill two birds with one stone - hmmm. Ha, now you’ll have that nasty image in your head while you read the rest of this blog. Moving right along, I’ve decided I’d just comment on my favorite moments from the weekend since there is just way too much that happened. I also urge you to click the comments link at the bottom of this article and add your own happy (?) memories to my list. Herewith, in no particular order are some of my highlights.

• Upon greeting Valerie for the first time in two years, Tita Rory ran up to her and excitedly began rubbing her stomach. Mortified, Val bellowed, “I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat.”

• The decorator failed to set up enough tables for the 250 guests (in a hall meant for 175) and Trish scolded his sissy ass into setting up more. In a related note, said decorator (sidebar: he claims he’s straight and has a girlfriend - right) also screwed up the table numbers so that the seating chart had groups of 20 sitting at 10 tops. Trish then had to announce the proper table numbers and had guests play musical chairs, getting up and walking them around the hall until she frustratingly just let people sit wherever there was an empty chair.

• Mom has obviously never hired servers/waiters for a large event because she decided that four people would be enough to bar tend, clear tables, serve desserts and maintain the buffet. Instead, the kids, the cousins - Daphne and Marion - and Trish’s friends Billy and Steve ended up filling water glasses, busing tables and taking shit from the snooty assholes at the Filipino table - yes, that would be you, table 2. I mean, come on, there were obviously seating problems and then you see the guests-of-honor’s kids hustling to fill your water glasses, plus you’re getting a free meal and then you’re gonna’ complain because the buffet line is too long? Get your sorry asses back to Manila if you don’t like it!

• I don’t know what dad was thinking, but barely half an hour into the reception there appeared to be only one bottle of wine left. When I asked dad where they were keeping the rest of the wine, he calmly explained that he put the 12 bottles right behind the bar. 12 bottles!? For 250 people!? Oy. I just smiled and said, “OK” and we immediately sent Gerry off to Sam’s Club for 3 more cases. Incidentally, soon after we also ran out of silverware and plates and we had to phone in an additional order to Gerry.
  

• Several guests came up to me and complimented me on how beautiful the cake looked. They were so impressed that I had made it myself. One guest was particularly complimentary about how well the cake was iced and commented on how similar it was to the very expensive cake she purchased for her daughter’s wedding. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was made out of spackle and Styrofoam. The fondant pearls, however, were edible, although laced with hot glue. On a side note, I baked and drove down 10 sheet cakes to serve at the party and planned to ice them the day before, but because there just weren’t enough hours in the day, we scrapped that idea and decided to serve Trish’s birthday cake in lieu of a wedding cake.

• Even with no rehearsal and a last minute decision to use music on stands instead of trying to memorize, the reception show went over like gangbusters. We basically ad lib-ed the whole thing and most of the choreography. Being the sap that I am, I of course started crying during “My Romance.” I think there may be some incriminating video floating around, but I will sue your asses if you post that shit on Youtube so keep it to yourselves.
  

• Because my fat ass has not seen the inside of my gym in almost a year (that’s a $1,000 down the toilet I could have used to buy a real wedding cake), I was mortified to discover that my suit pants would not button closed. I panicked and had Trish order pants online, one size up, and hoped that they would fit properly. Well, they ended up fitting perfectly except they weren't the same material as the jacket. Actually, they were the exact same color, but the striping was different widths. I basically thought, "F*ck it, no one will notice." And nobody did! Hopefully the next time I have to wear the suit I will have lost, or at least drastically reduced, my muffin top and will be able to squeeze into the correct pants.

I encourage family and friends to click the comment link below and add your favorite or most embarrassing moment to my list!

Party's Over

Here are some pics from the big event this weekend. More details and pics to come. But here's just a sampling:

Cousins (and sisters) Marion and Daphne after their waitressing stint just a couple hours earlier. Yes, the family lawyer was busing tables and taking drink orders because there were no servers for the party. Good times for all!

The Kiendals (cousin Tiffany, Paul and little Lily) looking like they're ready for bed.

Eternally youthful cousins Margot and Alan. Good genes or pact with the devil?

Cousin Rosanna w/ her new, extremely tall beau Jamie and Alan (again).

Two Wookies in Love

What do you do when 90 miles into a 350 mile road trip your vehicle begins to groan like two wookies in heat? You ignore it and keep driving, of course!

So we were just about to cross the Maryland border when I was startled awake thinking Chewbacca was nearing climax in the back seat. My felon sister, Trish, driving sans license because her wallet was stolen from her purse earlier in the week (we're sort of trying to keep that on the DL from the parents, so please forget you just read that), was in full panic mode. Shifting gears made absolutely no difference. In fact, when the car slowed to around 60 mph the sound only amplified and it was like we were sitting inside the turbine engine of a jet plane during take-off. The noise was migraine inducing - imagine someone polishing the inside of your skull with steel wool. I wanted to literally peel the scalp from my head. The odd thing was the faster Trish drove, the quieter the noise. So through some extremely dangerous on-road trial and error we discovered the torture zone to be between 55 - 60 mph and above 70 mph, just mild migraine territory. We were now forced to speed through the rest of our trip or suffer ear-splitting engine noise. It was like a bad remake of Speed (remember that Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves movie where the hijackers rigged the bus full of innocent passengers so that it would explode if they went below a certain speed? - if not, I hate you and your youthful ignorance) only no Keanu, no Sandra, no bus, no hijackers, and no passengers other than us - hmmm, not like Speed at all, really.

Anyway, I am not ashamed to say that I am mechanically-challenged. And I'll admit the thought of being forced to drive at least 70 mph and weaving in and out of DC traffic didn't thrill me either. So at the risk of suffering for the next four hours, we decided to suck it up and call dad. In typical dad fashion he calmly advised pulling to the side of the road and checking the muffler - it was probably just nothing. Then he yawned and told us he would leave a key underneath the doormat because he and mom were tired and heading to bed. Thanks for the concern, dad.

For you Faustosspot virgins (and regular readers with bad memories) let me back track a little. This weekend is my parent's 40th Ruby Anniversary party which is just a lame excuse to eat too much, get wasted and collect lots of useless gifts. But because I can't afford to take a day off from work, Trish and I decided to drive to our parents' house in Richmond late Thursday; thus, hoping to miss rush hour traffic and not waste all day Friday on the road. Fast forward to dying car.

After speaking with dad, who really didn't seem very concerned that his two favorite children were now forced to speed down I-95 to their possible deaths in a fiery car crash, we decided to pull into a rest area and re-assess our situation. We headed to the restrooms first, praying the car might just spontaneously repair itself. Well, the sheer act of stretching and getting some fresh air in the absence of background engine noise helped calm us down tremendously. And I decided to take dad's advise and take a look under the car. I had no idea what I was looking for or what I would do if I found it, but I got on my hands and knees and started looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Road Trip, Part II (Wookies Cont.'d)

I have no idea what the "ordinary" underside of a car looks like, so looking for something "out of the ordinary" is pretty much a moot point. However, even I could not fail to notice the huge gash running the entire width of the muffler. Problem solved. Or at least problem identified. We called dad again and he told us that we could still drive it, we'd just have to suck it up and put up with the noise. So Trish and I pushed onward to Virginia.

All seemed fine for the next three hours. Just the occasional outburst from the car engine. I even sort of got used to it, enough that I was actually able to doze a little here and there. Then I about 50 miles from Richmond I was jostled awake yet again by Trish's shriek. "Do you smell that?!" She screamed. The car instantaneously filled with the overwhelming odor of burnt rubber, sulfur and feet. Of course, we were so close to home that we decided to just cross our fingers and keep going, hoping the car wouldn't burst into flames, at least until we pulled into the driveway. We cracked the windows, pulled our coats around our shoulders and wrapped our scarves around our nose and mouth to block the offending odor. So then we're freezing, we can't breathe, and we looked like two terrorists on our way to a car bombing.

Drama queen that I am, I was actually hoping that the car's hood would dramatically burst into flames as we pulled into the driveway. That way we could make a huge show of climbing out through the car windows and run screaming away from the flaming wreckage. I can already see the cinematographer's wide angle shot (this scene will be quite dramatic in my movie biopic) of the burning car rolling into the driveway of my parents' suburban postcard house. But nothing of the sort happens. Sigh. Mom and dad don't even wait up for us. So much for being met at the door with concerned hugs and kisses and mugs of hot chocolate. We didn't even get the pleasure of wallowing in self-pity over our last four hours of suffering and mental anguish. Wallowing is just not the same unless there are witnesses to console you. So instead we unpacked the car and just went to bed, our excitement bubble deflated by snoring.

Extreme Cheese Factor

Calling all cheese aficionados. Here is the song list for our parents' 40th Anniversary reception show. I think you'll find it sufficiently cheesy, and by that I mean more like canned spray, not a nice aged Gouda.

1. Love is a Many Splendored Thing
2. Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life
3. Happy Together
4. Hey Jude
5. Ain't No Mountain
6. Knock Three Times
7. Physical
8. My Hear Will Go On
9. My Strongest Suite
10. My Romance
11. Together

Pretty cheeserific, wouldn't you say? We're doing a scripted "This Is Your Life"-type presentation and each song relates to mom and/or dad or was popular during a significant year of their lives. so family, if you're going to be there, don't you dare record this. If I see us on Youtube I'm suing!

I was in NJ until late last night recording. Therefore, the amount of flubbed notes on the tracks is directly proportionate to the lateness in the evening at which it was recorded. Example: the ending button on Together in no way relates to the key of the preceeding song. It's flat out the wrong chord! C'est la vie. But it was 11:58pm and I had to be at the train station at 12:12am. Anyway, I did make it back to Astoria before 2:00am and managed to somehow get my lazy ass to work by 8:40am. Interesting how motivating a paycheck can be.

Speaking of paychecks, looks like I'm going to become a permanent fixture at Morgan Stanley. I have decided to temporarily take a break from "the biz" to become a corporate bitch. Although even negotiating an offer from "the man" causes me to die just a little bit inside; I will finally, after some 15 odd years of foraging between sofa cushions, sustain a quality of life hovering above bag lady - no disrespect intended toward bag ladies, of course.

Sugar High

Hallelujah! The fake wedding cake has been completed and it looks pretty darned good if I do say so myself. Stay tuned for photos as I will wait until it's at its final home in Richmond before taking any glamour shots. Turns out that the actual decorating wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be, it was just extremely tedious; like trying to fold 20 loads of laundry in one sitting except without the same satisfaction that comes with knowing you'll be able to slip on a clean, spring-fresh scented t-shirt when you're done. Instead, you only get to stare at it and imagine what it would have tasted like had it not been made of styrofoam and spackle. I think I worked on it for at least 5 or 6 hours. Most of that time was spent rolling various-sized small fondant "pearls" to attach all over the cake. It looks great, but took forever to execute. I was so tired by the time I starting "pearling" the third tier, that I started eating a "pearl" for every 3 or 4 I was rolling just to keep my energy up. I was jittery and tired like Whitney after an all night binge only without the profuse sweating (have you seen those concerts she did for HBO? - her pores were like faucets!). I actually watched "Elf" twice in a row on TNT and was well into my third viewing when I decided to call it quits. Great movie, by the way ("Why don't you just say it. I'm the worst toy maker in the world. I'm a cotton-headed ninny-muggins.").

The rest of the day was just as tedious. I sat at the keyboard during cake breaks and tried to lay down the tracks for the songs we're going to perform at the anniversary "show" this weekend. I'll probably hate the tracks when I listen to them again later in the week, but I couldn't bare to sit at the keyboard for more than 20 minutes at a time. All four of us (Juan, Val and Trish) are burning the candle at both ends trying to get this shindig together. We are so in the weeds - I'll be maniacally baking and freezing sheet cakes all week in preparation for the 250 (!) guests that have RSVP-ed; we also haven't rehearsed the reception show or the actually church music at all - just picked it out; Val is trying to scan, edit and compile hundreds of family pictures to put together a video slide show for the reception; we have to pick a show for next summer's High School theater program; Auditions are coming up for both Juan's Oklahoma! and my Madame Butterfly; we have a Holiday Concert coming up in two weeks that we have yet to start rehearsing for; I have to find a storage unit and coordinate the move of my old roommate's belongings out of my apartment (he's in China with the 42nd Street tour); I haven't cleaned the bathroom in weeks and the apartment is just plain nasty; I haven't started any of my Christmas shopping; I lost my cell phone yet AGAIN!; Trish lost her cell phone as well (and we have no land line); and on top of all that, I may soon be unemployed from my current temp job! Yeah! Between all of that, I hope to also book a few more church gigs and plenty of caroling jobs so I can scrape together my rent. I know, I know - "stop your bitching" you're saying to yourself. I'm sure I'll be complaining about having nothing to do in January when I'm living in a cardboard box in Times Square. Actually, I'd probably choose Union Square if I had to, much nicer neighborhood and less tourist traffic.

The Magic of Spackle

I've just frosted three layers of yummy styrofoam cake in Juan and Val's basement. For anyone in need of fake icing, light spackling compound is the exact same consistency of buttercream icing. It's really rather disturbing and I had to keep myself from licking my fingers because it looks so real. I'm really hoping this cake won't end up looking too ghetto, but I guess they really have no choice and it's too late anyway. Oh well, I'm going to head to bed and let the "icing" dry overnight and then I'm going to try a light sanding.

The Wedding Singer

The problem with having siblings who perform is that you always end up being the sideshow at any family event. I don't mind singing at the occasional wedding but sometimes things get a bit out of hand. Case in point, the reception "show" for the upcoming parents' 40th. Aside from already preparing a mini-recital for the actual mass, we have also been ordered to prepare a personalized skit a la "This is Your Life" for the reception. I know mom said that it didn't have to be "big," but for those of you who know my mom you are well aware that she only does "big." Subtle is not in her vocabulary. Therefore, besides trying to make the show relate to the milestones in their lives it must also have clever dialogue, include many songs with staging and choreography and be uproariously funny. On top of that we also have to compete with the recent memory of another reception "show" we put on several years back for our Uncle's anniversary. Right now it's basically a big cheese-fest with lots of crazy songs from the 70's and some other random pop music. Did I mention we have been asked (read: ordered) to include "Love Is Many Splendoured Thing"? I'm warning the lactose intolerant to head for the bar when the show starts.

Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain...

Next week is my parents' 40th Anniversary bash. As you can guess, the family's been pulling out their hair trying to get preparations ready for the big day. For sanity's sake, Trish has limited answering calls from mom to just one a day. The new phone technique I have implemented has been to preface each of my calls home with, "I can't talk, just answer 'yes' or 'no'."

On top of the never-ending calls, guess what idiot volunteered to bake the wedding cake? Moi, of course. OK, so my wedding cake experience is basically nada, unless you count having seen every episode of "Ace of Cakes" as "experience". It's not that I'm a stranger to my oven; I in fact bake a mean batch of brownies (from scratch, thank you very much) and am no stranger to the virtues of parchment paper on a cookie sheet. But we're talking 250 hungry guests, half of whom are Filipino and therefore have never uttered the words, "No thank you, I'm full."

When I agreed to supply what most couples would consider the centerpiece for the evening, the date was nearly a year away. I thought I had plenty of time to bone up on my piping skills and fondant rolling technique, and by "bone up" I mean "learn." But a year sure does fly by quickly and now I'm scrambling to find a way to create an incredible culinary masterpiece with basically no cake decorating skills. Luckily, we were able to talk mom into letting us present a fake cake so at least what's under the icing can be bought and carved out of Styrofoam. Any ideas? I hear that you can use spackling compound instead of buttercream icing, but I want to make sure that the cake looks real. I had grand ideas of making each gum paste flower myself and individually painting the detailed leaves. Screw that. I'm gonna' have to see if the craft store has them pre-made or if I can go to a bakery and get some made for me. Suggestions would be most grateful.

I've already experimented and come up with the "real" cake which will be "hiding" in the kitchen, pre-sliced, until the fake one is carted off the dance floor. It will be a white cake with butter cream icing and either/both strawberry and cherry topping. It got the thumbs up from Juan, Val, Trish and Trish's friend Billy (who was in this week from Virginia and got screwed because of the Broadway strike) and turned out even better than I expected considering my measly budget. I won't reveal the secret recipe until after the big event in case anyone attending ends up reading this. I don't want to ruin the experience for anyone. So you'll just have to keep posted if interested.