Can't touch this...

This has been the week from hell. I’m sure I probably say that about every tech week, but it really is the only phrase that adequately describes the pain. It started on Memorial Day. Yes, the day you’re supposed to be barbecuing, relaxing and getting wasted on cheap boxed wine. Instead, the Pineda clan was up at the crack of ass (well, 9-ish, but it was a holiday, people!) loading foam pillars and fake palm trees into the mini-van. By 11:00 am we were painting, ironing, screwing (and not the good kind) and sweating it out in the CDC theater.

Thankfully, we were out of that mold spore incubator by around 9:00 pm. So I attempted to catch the midnight bus back to the city. Well, after waiting about forty minutes - including a covert restroom break through the cracked car door (desperate times call for desperate measures), it was obvious the bus was not coming. Why does NJ Transit even bother publishing a schedule? Since I only had nasty, paint splattered clothing with me, my only option was to catch the 6:00 am train to the city, then subway it home to Astoria where I’d have to shower, change into work clothes, turn around and head straight back to the city for work.

Oh, but I left out the best part of the story. Thinking I could just buy a cheap work outfit in Jersey (affording myself a couple more hours of precious sleep), Val, Trish and I high-tailed it Target fifteen minutes before it was due to close. But in my haste, I picked up the wrong pair of pants from the pile I had tried on in the dressing room. When I got back to Juan and Val’s, I realized I bought slacks two sizes too large. There was no way I was going into work looking like an MC Hammer “Can’t Touch This” back-up dancer in huge, gray pinstriped parachute pants. They were that large. And belting them only emphasized the poofiness - not to mention that weird overhang of material at the waist.

Even having to stop by my apartment in Astoria first, I actually made it to work on time, though I was dragging big time at the office. However, instead of having the luxury of heading home for a nice nap after work, I went straight to Port Authority to catch the bus back to NJ for our first tech rehearsal. Crazy, much? The things we do for our opera kids!

Anyway, I’ve been going to work and then heading to NJ for rehearsals every night this week. Suffice it to say, I’m f*cking tired! And the kids wonder why we’re so irritable when they haven’t memorized a quarter page of dialogue. Commuting four hours to find that your time has been totally wasted on unprepared performers isn’t exactly soothing on the nerves.

I know I shouldn’t be so hard on the kids and they’re just teenagers (or younger), but God forbid one of them decides to learn all their lines before the first performance. I mean, we’ve only been rehearsing for six weeks! No wonder I’m prematurely graying. Speaking of which, Trish looked at me the other day and audibly gasped. I thought maybe I was bleeding or that some huge carnivorous animal was stalking me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Oh my God, you need to dye your hair!”

Thanks, Trish!

Anyway, tonight is opening night. I don’t want to jinx it, but doesn’t the saying go, “Bad dress rehearsal, good performance”? If so, this show is going to be spectacular.

Guys and Dolls 5/21

I’ve kept putting off seeing this show because frankly, I was waiting for cheap tickets. So when I got the Playbill offer for half-priced tickets, I jumped. And can you believe I scored fourth row center orchestra seats the day before the show? Damn, I should have bought a lottery ticket instead. Anyway, my first thought was that ticket sales must be in the crapper, but when we showed up the theater seemed full. Hmmm. So what gives? Maybe economy troubles have people waiting to buy last minute rather than reserving ahead of time to make sure they don’t need that extra hundred dollars for groceries rather than Frank Loesser?

The show is in great shape and unlike over at West Side Story, all the leads were in. I still can’t believe they let Tony AND Maria call in for the same show. The good news is that musical theater newbies Oliver Platt and Lauren Graham prove they have stage chops. So maybe they’re not as over-the-top as we’re used to in these roles, but their more deadpan approach worked. We’re treated to a more dramatically interesting take on the Nathan/Adelaide couple. This added some unexpected depth to the usual anything-for-laughs scene chewing usually associated with these roles.

Craig Bierko’s Sky Masterson was bland, but solid. To me, he just doesn’t have the sex appeal or charisma needed to make the role work. Kate Jennings Grant fairs much better. Who knew Sarah Brown could be so funny? Although it was rather disturbing to hear most of the role belted and frustrating to hear that absolutely no attempt was made to smoothen the jarring differences between her head and chest voice. But all was forgiven during the Havana scene where she had the audience laughing out loud at her drunken antics throughout “If I Were A Bell.” I’d always thought of the song as a cute character song, but when Grant lets loose with her “good-girl-gone-bad” seduction, well, who knew?

The rest of the cast was solid, with an impressive but pointless arrangement of “Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat” meant to exploit the ridiculously high-voiced (and woefully miscast) Titus Burgess, as Nicely-Nicely. I love that voice, but he shouldn’t be shoe-horned into character roles. He needs something written especially to show off that crazy range and smooth tone. Someone get to work on that!

The athletic choreography ranged from serviceable to often exciting. The direction, while not innovative, was definitely more than adequate. The main set structure and physical design was impressive. But be warned, take a Dramamine to prevent the motion sickness you’ll be suffering from those damn obnoxious (and unnecessary!) rear-wall projections. This trend needs to either die, or be developed to better integrate with the more traditional 3-dimensional set.

Anchor's Aweigh

Summer in the city is officially here. The boys are back in town! Yup, it’s Fleet Week in NYC and you know what that means. Cute young things in tight, white uniforms whip-lashing to check out “all them tall buildings” in Times Square (for best effect, try reading that last sentence again but with a southern or western accent where the quotes are). I’m thinking of it as a warm-up for Pineda Conservatory’s upcoming production of On The Town and an excuse to do some in depth character “research” - wink, wink. Who doesn’t like a man in uniform? Am I right ladies? Gimme’ a holla! Whoah, excuse me, I totally ghetto-ed out there for a second. Anyway, I love this time of year because the skyscraper-lined streets haven’t yet turned into asphalt ovens and everyone is just plain giddy that winter is finally over. And did I mention the sailors?

I must have a late dose of Spring fever as well, because this morning I realized I completely forgot to go to a rehearsal last Wednesday night. And it wasn’t just some random rehearsal, it was our final run-through of The Magic Flute before next week’s tech. Oops. Oh well, sometimes sh*t happens. I must really be out of it, because I’ve never just plain forget about a rehearsal. Yes, I’ve been known to bull-sh*t some lame last minute excuse in the past (haven’t we all?) but I honestly just forgot. Early onset of senility? Whatev’s. Only four days to tech week.

Obsessed!

I’m so obsessed with The Biggest Loser. I don’t know if it’s because I was a former fatty or if I just love the drama of it all (or perhaps both?). I mean, each week at least one contestant has a mental breakdown. How can you not love that? What’s really sick is that I always watch while I’m sitting on my fat ass and stuffing my face. As the contestants are throwing up on the treadmill or having heart palpitations from over-exertion, I’m chowing down on - gasp - carbs! Yum. Unfortunately, this week’s finale was sort of lame. I’m a sucker for cheesiness. I love when the contestants karate chop through the life-sized posters of their former fat selves to show of their new, svelte figures. That’s drama, people! But this year, only the finalists got the poster treatment. Lame-oh! I mean, there’s nothing exciting or dramatic about having the contestants just walk out on stage waving. Where’s the theatricality, the bombast, the drama!?!? Obviously a straight person directed the finale. Oh well, I guess I should just be happy for them.

And while we’re on the subject, let me just say that reality shows are one of my all-time favorite, secret (well, maybe not so secret) vices. I’m obsessed with them. There, I’ve said it. Yes, I’ve lived in shame and denial for too long, so I’m officially outing myself. Let me be clear, I don’t go slumming around with those trashy dating shows like Rock of Love or The Bachelor. I go for the more rugged type myself. My latest obsession is The Alaska Experiment on Discovery. The show follows a group of people varying in age and background, dropped off in the wilds of Alaska with limited equipment and no food. They’re given a map and a compass and are asked to trek out of the tundra and back to civilization. Along they way the group needs to learn how to start fire, hunt and scavenge for food, build shelter and generally survive in the wilderness. What makes this show different from most others is that there is no “winner” and no prize for finishing. These freaks (and I use the term with love and emulation) actually volunteered to be stranded in the wilderness for…wait for it, wait for it…the experience! They just want to see if they can do it. What the hell? I’m so jealous. I mean, it’s not like their homeless or jobless and have nothing better to do. Within the group there’s a lawyer, a bus driver, a cop, a gay horse trainer (the trainer’s gay, not the horse), a housing director, a personal trainer a wilderness outfitter and a landlord. Are these people independently wealthy? Do their bosses not care? I wish I could just take a month off and volunteer to be stranded in the Alaskan wilderness.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not belittling these people’s achievements. Alaska ain’t exactly Club Med (well, unless you see it by cruise ship like I did). In most episodes, the group goes days with little more than a mouse drumstick for nourishment. Literally. I’m not kidding. It’s certainly eye-opening to watch seemingly level-headed professionals digress into verbal sparring over sharing a couple ounces of mouse meat or comment on the delicious merits of porcupine paw stew.

Anyway, the group is now down to five from the original nine. Last week, the big, burly Jersey cop went home because the group couldn’t catch enough food (i.e. calories) to keep his muscular frame functioning. You see, each person carries a GPS device. At any time, a team member may push a button that instantly sends a rescue helicopter to their location. I can’t wait to see who drops next! I’m already excited about the premier of what is sure to become another globe-trotting favorite, Expedition Africa on the History Channel. Well, at least until the next season of The Amazing Race starts up.

DVR and the Biggest Loser

DVR is both a blessing and a curse. Yes, I’m grateful to get rid of my dusty old shoe box filled with scratchy unlabeled VHS tapes, but now I’m faced with a new dilemma - too many choices. I mean, the option to record two shows at the same time? That’s just crazy talk. And seriously, unless you’re a pathetic loser, there isn’t enough time in the day to watch all those shows. Trish and I have resorted to “marathon nights” where we stay up until 2AM watching four or five episodes of one show (which, I guess, makes us pathetic losers?). Of course, that puts us further behind since we have to record the shows we’re missing while we’re trying to catch up. Life was so much easier when there were only thirteen channels and no cable. Do teenagers today even know what rabbit ears are?

Now I never watch anything on the night it actually airs. So on the rare occasion that I’m watching something live, it takes me two or three frustrating attempts trying to fast forward through the commercials before I realize, “Oh, I’m actually watching the show live.” Why is my life so difficult? (Please note tone of sarcasm) Anyway, a couple of days ago I was trying to catch up on some random shows that have been on the DVR queue forever. I don’t know if it was that particular combination of shows or if it was just that time of the month for me, but I could not stop crying. Yes, I audibly wept through The Biggest Loser, Grey’s Anatomy and Michael J. Fox’s TV special about optimism. Now that I think about it, I pretty much asked for it. I mean, first, an injured, overweight dad forces himself to complete a marathon even though he looks like he’s going to die because he wants to prove something to his overweight teenage son. Then a commitment-phobe holds an impromptu wedding for his dying girlfriend. And lastly, everyone’s favorite Back to the Future star discusses how he still manages to stay optimistic and positive though slowly losing his motor functions to a debilitating disease. Yikes! There’s nothing like a light evening of entertainment at home, right? And as Trish often says, I do have quite a large vagina. Come to think of it, who needs a therapist? I got to work through my weight issues (I’m in mourning for the loss of my 32” waist), commitment/dating issues (single for almost five years now) and mortality issues (preparing for the big four-oh next year) all in one four-hour mega-session on the couch. Granted, it was my living room couch and not the therapist’s couch. The only thing that would have made the evening more perfect? A pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and a Papa John’s pizza. A girl can dream.

Waiting for Godot (2/23)

It’s taken awhile, but I’m finally getting around to talking about Godot (which I guess I’ve been mispronouncing for the last half century or so - according to this production GOD-oh). Oddly, this is the first time I’ve seen the play staged. It’s weird, because it’s always talked about so academically that you sort of forget it’s supposed to be entertainment. Well, I guess some would argue that it’s not. While some snooty types - you know who you are - spout meaningless crap they regurgitate from their college lit classes to make them feel better about themselves. But intellectual mumbo jumbo aside, I found Godot funnier than I remembered and also surprisingly frustrating (in a good way) in that you’re constantly left expecting something to happen even though you know damn well Godot is never gonna’ show up. It’s also a play you definitely need to actively watch, meaning it’s no Legally Blond or Little Mermaid where you can sort of let all the frothiness wash over you and you’ll still get the gist of it.

For a play where “nothing happens”, there sure is a lot of talking. I honestly left wondering how Lane and Irwin managed to memorize the whole damn thing. Lane still pushes his usual shtick, but in measured doses. He’s either chosen to repress his “sarcastic New York Jew” gene (yes, I know that will offend some of you, but come on, you knew exactly what I meant when you read it) or the director’s holding some nasty lewd-Lane internet pics (eww) over his head. It gives me hope that Lane’s more than a one-trick pony - granted it’s a very entertaining pony. Naturally, Irwin’s physicality was extraordinary but I sometimes found his line readings odd, leaving some strange pauses in the middle of lines - nothing too bothersome - maybe a character choice? I realized Goodman was a large man, but my, he’s huge! But his imposing physical stature lent itself to the blustery, self-importance of his character. John Glover is, well, scary as hell and looks like an extra from the Night of the Living Dead. Though silent for most of his performance, his nuanced physical portrayal spoke volumes.