The Pinedas Take Manhattan!

Okay, so not quite as exciting as when the Muppets painted the town red back in the 80’s, but hey, we’re old.  And human. 

For a last "hurrah" before the start of camp, Juan and Val decided to meet Trish and I in the city for some fun and to celebrate Juan’s 40^th birthday.  Happy Birthday, gramps!  If you’ve been a regular blog reader you can probably guess the itinerary.  That’s right, the day was based on… wait for it… eating!  Surprised?  I doubt it.

Anyway, Juan told us to meet them at Petite Abeille in Chelsea at the un-Godly hour of 10 AM.  Don’t judge, it was a Saturday.  Juan heard about the restaurant’s incredible waffles on The Travel Channel, so we decided to judge for ourselves.  Well, the waffles were alright.  And by alright I mean they are like breakfast crack.  These golden brown slices of heaven have a crisp, sweet, caramelized crust that renders syrup unnecessary.  Yum. 

The dining room is quaint and small, but the service was a bit slow considering the restaurant was half empty when we arrived.  Being the first “morning after” of Pride Weekend I’m sure most of Chelsea was just crawling into bed after a fabulous night of debauchery.  Oh well, more waffles for us.

After finishing breakfast, we naturally headed up Fifth Avenue for… wait for it… more food!  Yes, we actually walked directly from one restaurant to another.  We are sick people. 

Technically, Eataly isn’t a restaurant.  It’s a complete Italian Market selling fresh produce, meat and fish and homemade pasta, bread and desserts.  They also have six restaurants, numerous take out stands of coffee and sweets and a rooftop beer garden. 

We wandered around admiring all the freshly made goodness just long enough to work up our appetites again.  We finally settled at La Piazza, a cavernous hall filled with marble-topped tables where you stand and nosh.  We ordered a Grande Piatto Misto Salumi e Formaggi, which is Italian for “big honking cutting board full of meat and cheese” or something like that (see pics).  We chased it all down with a delightful Prosecco - except for Val who is trying to get her own bun baking in the oven.  We felt bad.  For about 30 seconds. 

Having now consumed two back-to-back meals, we naturally decided on… wait for it… dessert!  Just when you thought we couldn’t get any more disgusting, huh?  Well, in Val and Trish’s defense, only Juan and I ordered dessert.  We both had gelato Italian style, in a brioche roll instead of a bowl.  Italians really do eat bread with everything.

We waddled out of Madison Square Park toward Sixth Avenue and hit up a quintessential New York institution, the summer street fair.  I know some people hate them, but there’s something comforting about seeing the same old vendors hocking mozzarepas, cheap sunglasses and even cheaper costume jewelry.  I don’t feel summer has officially started until I’ve sucked down my first watery $1 lemonade.

With the afternoon heating up, we hightailed it to Times Square for the matinee of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.  What better way to celebrate Juan’s birthday, Gay Pride and the passage of NY’s gay marriage bill then with disco drag queens. 

This was my second trip to Priscilla and it’s definitely tightened up since Trish and I caught it in previews earlier this year.  It’s no West Side Story, but it’s got such fun music and incredibly over-the-top costumes and performances that I forgive its faults. 

Tony Sheldon is still giving a wonderfully sweet and nuanced performance.  Will Swenson has a severe case of disappearing-Australian-accent-itis, but is still likeable and sincere as Tick.  I didn’t think it was possible, but Nick Adams appears to have buffed up even more since our last viewing a few short weeks ago.  I’m sure his performance is fine, but I honestly have no idea as my attention is always drawn to his remarkably chiseled abs.  On a side note, those fertility hormones Val’s taking must be super potent, because she was in tears by the final chorus of the closing number, “We Belong,” which says a lot because my eyes were dry and I cry at Hallmark commercials. 

After our disco break, we headed to Queens for… you guessed it, more food!  I’ve mentioned the Beer Garden

(the original, not all the upscale poser joints opening up around the city like sores a whore) to Juan and Val for years so I was very excited to finally introduce them to its laidback charms.  Of course, when we arrived the place was standing room only.  We wandered around the drunken groups and a surprising amount of toddlers and baby carriages trying to find an open table.  Should you really be getting wasted at what amounts to a huge frat party while caring for an infant?  Anyway, we ended up bumping into our cousin, Merce, who moved to Manhattan about a year ago from San Francisco.  She looked surprised to see us, though I don't know why considering we live just a couple blocks away, and immediately started to nervously explain that she was just about to text us to come meet her.  Yeah, right.  Busted!  Of course, we could care less.  Hey, it’s New York, people are busy. 

We finally squeezed into a long table between a huge group of twenty-something Asians and a couple of douchey looking white boys and their girlfriend.  Then Trish and I immediately bounded into Beer Garden mode.  I headed to the bar for a pitcher and Trish headed to the barbecue for pork products.  Trish returned with a tray overflowing with brats and fries.  The douchey guys looked longingly at our assortment of artery clogging items and in a friendly beer haze, we offered them our leftovers.  Of course, once you offer someone a brat you’re friends for life.  So in the end, we ended up bonding with our formerly douchey buds.  Turns out the girl is half-Filipino and engaged to one of the white dudes, so we ended up trading crazy family stories and warning him how his life is about to become a living hell.

Tipsy and with bellies distended, we walked back to my apartment.  Our food orgy complete, we decided to drive right back to NJ since we wanted to get an early start at the theatre the next morning to set up before the first day of camp. 

I've already started the countdown to the next food-centric Pineda road trip, our annual Washington DC July Fourth weekend extravaganza! 

"Death Takes a Holiday" or "Why Does Death Look Like Gene Kelly?"

Maury Yeston truly has a gift for composing beautiful melodies.  Just listen to the scores of Nine, Titanic, Grand Hotel and (that other) Phantom.  That said, the lyrics to his newest musical just plain suck.  I believe a junior high student could write more meaningful and interesting lyrics than he has provided to his own soaring melodies.  What happened?  Seriously.  The rhymes are on par with Dr. Seuss, except they’re supposedly coming out of the mouths of 1920’s European aristocrats. 

I had such high hopes for this.  Unfortunately, lyrics weren’t the only problem.  The freakishly talented cast seems to be performing in two different productions (perhaps a directorial problem?).  Half think they’re in a melodrama, the other half think they’re in a farce.  You find yourself wondering if you’re supposed to be laughing at certain lines or if they’re meant to be ironic.

Though unlikely, with a complete book re-write a la Spider Man and with the hiring of a new lyricist, the piece could be salvageable.  It’s an intrinsically theatrical story, but in its current state it's just a mish-mash of styles and tone. 

Some other random thoughts:

• The second act trio for the girls is gorgeous.  Too bad it’s stuck in a show that nobody will ever produce again.
• Death’s entrance is lame.  He strolls to the stage through the house with an umbrella and in a raincoat like he’s in a community theatre production of Singin’ the Rain.
• All the leads are sopranos!  Crazy, no?
• Speaking of sopranos, I was so looking forward to hearing Rebecca Luker but she was out.   
• What’s up with Matt Cavenaugh’s voice?  It’s so nasal. 
• Did you know Death has an English accent?  And why do both the European and the American characters have American accents but Death can have both an English and a Russion accent?  Doesn't seem quite fair, does it?

Oh well, at least I didn't pay full price.

Death Takes a Holiday
Laura Pels Theatre
June 24, 7:30pm performance

Master Class, War Horse & Born Yesterday

Yes, you read correctly, three plays in less than a week.  I think that’s a record for me.  Quick, get me to a musical before they revoke my gay card!  Here’s a (sort of) brief run-down of my thespian pursuits of late.

Master Class

Samuel Friedman Theatre

Saturday, June 18, 2pm performance

Yes, detective Lacey sure has come a long way.  Though there’s still an odd Brooklynese twang to her unspecified European(?) accent. 

I saw the original Broadway production way back in my Manhattan School of Music days with Zoe Caldwell.  Her Callas was over-bearing, powerful and, well, a bitch. Tyne Daly lends a more sympathetic light to La Divina, an approach I prefer.  Though still a Diva, Daly let’s a bit of Callas’s vulnerability filter through that steely exterior and gives us a more human characterization.   

The singers are uniformly strong, with tenor Garrett Sorenson the standout.  Sierra Boggess plays the role that won Audra the Tony.  I didn’t think the Little Mermaid had it in her, but she surprised me with an easy high C, though her bottom and middle are thin and sometimes pushed.  Still, it’s a great performance and a surprisingly strong legit voice.

I’m now obsessed with Tyne’s Callas wig and the production shot with those thick, penciled-in eyebrows.  I think I have this year’s Halloween costume idea!

The real Callas

Tyne's Callas

War Horse

Vivian Beaumont @ Lincoln Center

Saturday, June 18, 8pm performance

I’m gonna’ sound like a total cheeseball here, but the physical production of War Horse is truly magical.  Ugh.  I can’t believe I just typed that.  I don’t know how else to describe it.  These ain’t your typical puppets. 

The story itself is a bit of a stretch and the cast works hard to add depth to a stage full of under-written characters, but the sum effect is satisfying if a bit dreary.  I’m sure the upcoming Speilberg film will succeed in turning this children’s story into a full-blown historical tearjerker.  I can’t wait to weep in the movie theatre.

Born Yesterday

Cort Theatre

Wednesday, June 22, 8pm performance

Well, the buzz has been crazy surrounding Nina Arianda’s performance and rightly so.  She adds a warmth and humanity to the ditzy Billie.  What Belushi lacks in subtlety, he makes up for in commitment and Robert Sean Leonard lends a dignified honesty to Paul.

The play creeks a bit with age, but the abusive relationship between Harry and Billie is universal and timely.  Seriously, I thought I was in for an evening of zany, laugh-out-loud comedy and instead was met with a treatise on abuse and power.  Who’d ‘ave thunk it? 

The set is gorgeous, the incidental music is awful and the first act takes about 20 minutes to really get rolling, but it’s worth the ride.   

On a side note, if you're in the Rockefeller Center area and need cheap eats, check out Bill's Bar and Burger.  They have awesome steak fries and an incredible beer selection. 

Summertime and shopping

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weird clowns and old chorus girls

Catch Me If You Can
Neil Simon Theatre
June 11, 2pm performance

With the Tonys coming up, I panicked because I hadn't yet seen all the nominated musicals.  So Friday afternoon on a whim, I entered a discount code for CMIYC and scored tenth row center orchestra tickets for Saturday's matinee.  So much for paying premium ticket prices.  Suckers! 

Well, CMIYC is a slick, well constructed, well directed, and solidly performed new musical.  So why did it leave me cold?  There was something distancing about the lead character that prevented me from connecting with him on a personal level.  Sure, Aaron Tveit sings and acts exceptionally well (and incidentally looks great without a shirt), but his character, Frank Abagnale, Jr., is sort of an asshole. 

Yes, we learn about Frank Junior's daddy issues and cheating mom early on, but so what?  Who doesn't have a challenging childhood?  With no real audience sympathy for the main character, the writers have created an impossible hurdle to overcome.  You can't have a musical where you root for the supporting character instead of the lead.  The more fascinating take might have been turning the tables and making the police officer, Hanratty, the main character, with Frank as his muse.

Speaking of Hanratty, Norbert Leo Butz is incredible in the role.  He earned and deserves the Tony.  The excerpt on the telecast doesn't really do justice to his performance.  Then again, can any two-minute excerpt taken out of context really do justice to a performance or show?

Unlike many of my fellow bloggers, the framing device (presenting Frank's life as a variety show), didn't really bother me.  The score, by the gentlemen who brought us the infectious Hairspray, is period authentic.  Maybe too authentic, because it all sounds like something we've heard before. 

And now for my pet peeve of the season.  Why do choreographers these days feel the need to choreograph every single moment of every single song?  This seems to be a general industry trend that just makes for busy, unfocused scene work.  How can an audience concentrate on an important scene when there's a gaggle of hot chorus boys and girls hip-popping and step-touching behind them (as well as around them and sometimes through them)? 

I'm not saying this movement-based directing can't work (Michael Bennett and Tommy Tune have done it expertly), but there needs to be a purpose, an impetus for the movement.  That said, the ensemble numbers are clean and tight with no "matinee marking" as far as I could tell. 

And now for my bitchy queen comment of the day.  The chorus girls in this show are fierce dancers with fantastic bodies, incredible legs and luxurious wigs, but their faces, yikes.  They have the bodies of 25-year-olds but the faces of - how can I say this nicely - much older women.  I know, I'm an asshole, but I'm just keeping it real.  I'm all for casting mature dancers (I actually love the contained, controlled energy of a more experienced dancer), but CMIYC's female ensemble could be a PSA warning people about the harmful effects of UV ray.  There - I've said it and I'm sure I'll regret it later.

Zarkana
Radio City Music Hall
June 16, 8:00 pm performance

Last night Trish and I caught our third Cirque du Soleil show, Zarkana, at the mother of all theatres, Radio City.  Like the other Cirque shows, Zarkana is visually stunning but lacking the cohesive throughline (and heart) of both Kooza and Ovo.  I know it's just a friggin' circus, but the other shows - especially Ovo - had characters you cared about and a story - albeit a simple one - that was easy to follow and held your interest.  The angry magician/MC of Zarkana just didn't do it for me.  But then again, how do you top Ovo's lovelorn lady bug?

Maybe distance had something to do with it.  In that gargantuan hall, we were probably at least a football field away from the stage.  With the thrust stage of the circus tent, it seems you are always right in the thick of the action.  At Radio City, even with my glasses I couldn't really make out any facial features.  Also, at the circus tent on Randall's Island there was a carnival-like excitement due to the location, the views and well, that huge circus tent.  In Radio City, all the plush red velvet seemed to dampen that excitement a bit and you completely lost the circus feel being in "the theatuh."

Oh well, there were still some nifty acts.  My faves included the lady who draws with sand, the guys on the giant hampster wheel thingy, the freaky contortionist in white and the team of acrobats that close the show.  Oddly, all these performers were in the second act.  In fact, I'd have been satisfied with cutting the magician/MC character (completely uncharismatic with a gravely, out-of-tune voice) and just presenting the last act. 

On a side note, even with hundreds of empty seats in the house, at 8:00 PM the house lights went down.  Throughout the first 15 minutes of the show there was a constant stream of audience members shuffling across aisles to find their seats in the dark.  The stage manager at Radio City is not playing games.  We could use him over at LaGuardia or at the MTA.

Tonys

Oh, the Tonys.  Does anyone except New Yorkers and gay men (despite the opening number disclaimer) even watch?  Though the ratings are always dismal, word is that CBS president, Les Moonves, likes to hang on to them for the "prestige" factor.  The show regularly wins the low-ranking network a few Emmys each year.

Well, if the Tonys hoped to catch any straight viewers this year, their unfortunate scheduling opposite the NBA finals dashed those hopes.  Oh well, maybe next year.  And maybe someday you'll also find me relaxing on a Sunday afternoon with a cold beer and a football game.  Ha.  I couldn't even type that with a "straight" face.  (insert rim shot here).  Some of my telecast highlights and observations:

• Thank God Brooke Shields is gorgeous.  Though even with her fuck-ups, she's just so darn likeable.
• Frances McDormand in a jean jacket.  Seriously?  Could she also not find a hair brush? 
• I'm happy for Nikki M. James, but she should've thought through that bumbleebee story before getting up there.
• Ellen Barkin is very serious.
• Daniel Radcliffe is adorable and will sell tickets but I still think the number is over-choreographed. 
• I'm stumped by Sister Act.  I haven't seen it yet, but the excerpt shown didn't impress me.  Alot of screaming (i.e. high belting) and unintelligible lyrics to an uninteresting melody.  Maybe it needs to be seen in context.
• Nei Patrick Harris chastising an audience member, "Why are you touching me?" right before a commercial break.  High-larious!
• NPH and Jackman are just delightful together.  But weird (depressing?) how even the spoofs of classic Broadway showtunes are better than most of the original scores honored this season.
• I hate to sound like one of those snotty theatre queens, but Sutton is no LuPone (or Merman, for that matter).  I still love her and someone should write the girl a new show quick.
• What crazy 80's time warp did they pull Martha Walsh out of?  Glad Priscilla got to do a number, but it didn't come off as fun and fabulous as it did in the theatre.  Seemed a bit like just a better-than-average drag show.
• Did anyone not think Book of Mormon was going to sweep?

And of course, NPH's hilarious Tony rap-up courtesy of Lin-Manuel Miranda (In The Heights).

Crazy with the heat

Maybe Harold Camping just miscalculated by a month or so.  It sure feels like we’ve been in hell the last two days.  My poor a/c has been running non-stop for the last three days and is now grinding like an old Model T. 

Tuesday night I did what any respectable New Yorker does in the face of such adversity.  I bought a movie ticket and relaxed for a couple of hours in the peace and comfy arctic chill of the theatre.  Just me, some popcorn, a hot dog, a cushy reclining seat and the X-men - heaven! 

The movie was solid, though not outstanding, summer fare.  Michael Fassbender is dreamy as the young Magneto.  If I was a newbie X, he’d certainly convince me to join the dark side.

The walk home from the subway was unbearable.  With my brain heat-fried and my body exhausted from the recent closing of yet another Pineda production, I forgot to set my alarm clock.  At 9:30 AM Wednesday morning, I promptly awoke from a deep slumber (I never made it to my bed, having fallen asleep on my couch watching TV).  Unfortunately, I’m supposed to be at my desk at 9:00 AM.  After a quick call to work and a pass under the shower, I was at my desk by 10:45 AM.  Not bad, eh? 

Of course, the heat made me drowsier than usually and as soon as I got home from work, I crashed on the couch again.  After what seemed like hours of sleep, I sprang awake, looked at the time displayed on NY1 (which I had fallen asleep to) and thought, “Oh shit, 8:17, I’ve done it again!”  There was no time to shower this time, so I quickly dressed and ran out the door into the muggy morning air. 

The sky was strangely dark and there seemed to be so many more people on the street than usual.  Something was not right.  I started to examine the businesses along my route, namely the restaurants, and realized it was 8:17 PM.  I had only fallen asleep for two hours.  Idiot.  I promptly turned around and headed back for an evening of trashy TV and Mexican take-out. 

Oh, what heat and exhaustion does to the brain.

The Bat flies away and a western town is born

Despite two pathetically bad final dress rehearsals, one for each of the casts, the weekend performances of The Bat were surprisingly quite good.  Although I’d never want the opera company to present a bad show, it would perhaps teach the kids a lesson if their inconsistent commitment and sometimes lazy work ethic wasn’t rewarded with a great performance.  I know what you’re thinking - damn, Fausto, that’s some harsh shit.  Maybe.  But talk to me after you've had to re-block the same scene five times because no one bothered to write down their blocking. 

Of course, I’m also generalizing.  Several cast members consistently arrived at rehearsals prepared and committed to the process.  But how do you convince young performers that their work outside of the rehearsal hall is so vital to the success of a performance when they’ve seemingly put on a successful performance without this “vital” preparation?  I always find myself telling a cast, “Think of how much better the show would have been if you’d put in more effort during rehearsals.”  This never works.  All they remember is the enthusiastic audience ovation and a sea of smiling faces, most of whom are family and friends.  I know, still harsh, but I just keeping it real.

Or maybe my standards are too high?  I know most of these kids aren’t looking to become Broadway stars.  They just want to have some fun with their friends while padding their college applications.  I get it - sort of.  Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t understand why you’d bother committing to something - be it theatre or a sport or even knitting - and not strive to do your best.  Granted, I was a total nerd in high school, so maybe I just don’t understand the psychology of the “average” teenager because I never was one.

Oh well, maybe things will change next year.  And maybe the Mets will win the World Series.  And yes, Fausto actually just made a sports analogy!  So I guess anything is possible.

It’s now become a tradition to spend the day after the last opera performance building the sets for the upcoming summer season.  Tired and grumpy, Val and I hauled our asses out of bed early Sunday morning and headed to the Home Depot for paint and supplies before heading over to the theatre.  With a McDonald's breakfast wreaking havoc on my digestive system (but totally worth it), I began to transform the side stages into a dingy old west hotel room and the stage door of an old theatre for our Center Stage production of Crazy for You.

I don’t purport to be a scenic painter, but I did a pretty damn good job, thank you very much.  My only regret is agreeing to paint a faux brick effect on one of the side stages.  It looks fantastic, but took hours to complete.  There better be a lot of scenes taking place on that side stage.  I'm just sayin'. 

To save some money, not to mention hours of construction time, we decided to re-purpose the rolling flats from CDC's last production, Gypsy.  Just a fresh coat of paint and few cosmetic touches and violà - instant western town. 

Another Opnin'... my angry actor rant for the day and a few pet peeves

Tonight we finally open our Young Artist production of The Bat at the CDC theatre in Cranford, NJ.  The last four days have been spent in commuter hell - subway to work at 8am, bus to NJ at 5pm and then back to Queens on the bus, subway, hitched car ride or some combination of all three.  Finally around midnight I stumble up my third floor walk-up and straight into bed to start all over again the next morning.  Why do I do it?  Stupidity mostly. 

This tech week has been particularly trying.  Many of our leads are first-timers and are learning that theatre isn't just play time with wigs, make-up and the occasional sexual experiment.  There's actual work involved.  Trust me, I know from whence I speak.  I paid my dues on-stage before finally my obsession with power and control forced me to move on to directing.  Yes, I know I have issues.

So in an attempt to diffuse my ever growing "theatre-rage" and avoid finally lashing out and possibly decapitating some poor student with a prop banana for calling "line" one too many times, let me spell out my top actor pet peeves.

1.  Paraphrasing - Please say what is written.  I understand that paraphrasing at the start of rehearsals is the "process" for some working actors, but there's no excuse for it once rehearsals are in full swing.  Oh, wait, there is one excuse, laziness.  When you win your Pulitzer or hit the NY Times best seller list I'll consider your re-writes.  Until then, learn the F*#+$*%*$@ lines as written.

2.  TV acting - OK, I have nothing against TV actors as rule, but I'm referring to what many actors call an "intimate" acting style.  Bullshit.  Unless you're in a tiny blackbox theatre in the East Village getting paid in Jäger shots, you need to speak the hell up.  I don't care how emotionally connected you are with your scene partner, if I can't hear what you're sayin' I ain't payin'!

3.  Back-of-the-head acting - In general, I do prefer the American school of naturalistic acting.  But again, it's theatre - it's a heightened realism.  Granted, there are times it is impossible to always stage an actor so they aren't up-staging themselves.  But please, I don't want to watch the back of your head for any extended amount of time unless you're the "listener."  If you always seem to be looking upstage or away from the audience, for the love of God, cheat out.  Either that or your director just sucks.

4.  Know what you're saying - If I had a dollar every time an actor answered "no" when I asked, "Do you understand what you just said?"  I'd have at least enough money to buy that actor a dictionary.  Seriously, with the internet there are no excuses.  Remember the old days when you actually had to go to that dark, quiet, brick building with all the books in it?  If you don't know what you're saying, look it up. 

5.  Stupid questions - I'm sorry, despite popular opinion there is such thing as a stupid question.  Some gems from my own personal files: 

"I don't like this costume, do I have to wear it?" 
"While that scene is happening downstage (usually some important plot development), can I add this bit?" 
"I have dance class, can I be late to the final dress rehearsal?" - no joke, someone actually asked this.

6.  Know your blocking - Blocking is not optional.  It is not a suggestion.  If I ask you to be at a certain spot at a certain time, be there.  And please, please - I'm begging you - don't make me re-block a scene again just because you were too lazy to write it down.  Actors always seem to forget that a director is there to make them look good and is on the outside seeing "the big picture."  We're on your side.  If you don't trust the director, don't do the show.

Ah.  I feel much better.  Love ya' - mean it!