More tales from the Islands...

Sorry it’s taken me a minute to write more about the Hawaii trip. Life, sleep, and general chaos got in the way. But let’s pick up where we left off.

We had just arrived at our suite and were doing that polite-but-impatient waiting thing for our luggage so we could unpack and start exploring like proper cruise people. I forgot to mention that our concierge, Mareike, had already stopped by to introduce herself—very poised, very “I run this ship and also your life now.” Then we met Ramadhan, one of our butlers, who brought us salmon canapés while we waited. Nothing says “vacation mode activated” like being handed tiny fish snacks by a man in a crisp uniform.

Our luggage eventually arrived with Emmanuel, one of our stewards from the Philippines. Our other steward, Lea—also from the Philippines—was equally delightful. These two were sunshine in human form. Every day they made the beds, tidied the room, and in the evenings they left us towel animals that honestly had more personality than some people I’ve worked with.

Once we unpacked, we wandered up to the deck to watch the Aloha sail-away party. It looked like it might rain, but the clouds were just being dramatic. We had a gorgeous view of Diamond Head and the Aloha Tower clock as we waited to leave port. Naturally, we settled in with mai tais, strawberry smoothies spiked with rum, and blue Hawaiis. Hydration is important.

After we finally pulled away from the pier, we hit the Sports Bar buffet for something resembling dinner before heading back to the suite. At this point, we were all running on fumes and fruity alcohol.

Now, let me paint you a picture of the sleeping arrangements, because this suite was something else.

You walk in and there’s a hallway. To the left: a big bathroom with a soaking tub and a door that leads into the master bedroom. The master had a queen bed, a vanity/desk, a closet, a TV, and a sliding glass door out to the balcony. Very “I could live here if they’d let me.”

To the right of the hallway: a massive walk-in closet with enough space to store a small family—or, in my case, sleep in. It had cabinets, hanging space, and a pull-down bed.

Straight ahead: the living area with a couch, two chairs, a coffee table, a curio cabinet, a desk, and an entertainment center with a 19-inch TV, DVD player, and CD player. The sofa pulled out into a queen bed. There was a floor-to-ceiling window on one side and another sliding glass door to the balcony on the other.

And oh, the balcony. Four chairs, ocean breeze, endless waves. We spent a ridiculous amount of time out there. When we left port, we waved at people on the pier like we were starring in a Love Boat reboot—minus the confetti, because apparently the environment matters now.

Once the shoreline disappeared, it was bedtime. Mom and Sandra took the master bedroom. Quanna claimed the sofa sleeper. And I took the pull-down bunk in the closet. Now, I haven’t been in the closet in years, but let me tell you—I thrived in this one. Cozy, quiet, door I could close on the world… it was practically a spa retreat.

Before we turned in, our other butler, Ryan, stopped by to introduce himself. He and Ramadhan would be bringing us treats every day like some kind of magical snack elves. Ryan also came to ask which three bottles of alcohol we wanted—complimentary, because we were in the Owner’s Suite. We chose rum, tequila, and vodka. A balanced diet.

Alright, that’s enough for now. More soon—and pictures are coming in the next day or so!

Tales from the Islands

Hi, everyone!

I figured it was time to give you the scoop on the Hawaii trip before I forget the details—or block them out for dramatic effect later. Let me just start by saying: the service has been ridiculous. Like, “is this real life or did I accidentally wander into a travel commercial?” levels of incredible. The whole trip has been everything I hoped for… with one tiny disappointment, which I’ll get to eventually because I believe in suspense.

So, picture it: the last few days before departure. Aunt Sandra rolled in Sunday around noon, ready for adventure and bargain hunting. Naturally, we hit Mervyn’s, Payless, and Ross—because nothing says “tropical getaway” like discount shopping and a cart full of things you absolutely didn’t need until you saw them on clearance.

Monday I worked from 6:30am to 3pm, because apparently I enjoy suffering, and then rushed home to pack. Meanwhile, Quanna was supposed to arrive at 10pm, but life had other plans. Her mom’s flight from Savannah was delayed, and on top of that, her Aunt Irene had passed earlier in the week. So by the time Quanna finally made it to my house, it was 2am. And because the universe has a sense of humor, we had to be up at 5am for the limo. Three hours of sleep before a major trip? Sure. Why not. I love chaos.

The limo showed up early—because of course it did—and our driver, Josh, was charming enough to make us forget we were basically sleepwalking. He whisked us to the airport, we checked our bags at curbside, and made our way to Hawaiian Airlines flight 19.

The flight itself was uneventful, which is exactly how I like my flights: boring, smooth, and with minimal screaming children. We landed in Honolulu around 12:15pm and headed to baggage claim, where we met our next limo driver, Steven. He brought us a luggage cart like some sort of airport fairy godmother, then went to fetch the limo.

Bags arrived quickly, Steven loaded them into the stretch limo, and off we went… to the Hilton. Where we were not staying.

So there I am, standing in the Hilton lobby like, “Wow, this is lovely,” only to realize—nope. Wrong hotel. We were supposed to be at the Hyatt Regency. I called Steven, who had that “oh no” tone in his voice, and he swooped back to rescue us from our accidental luxury squatters’ situation.

We finally got checked in at the Hyatt and headed up to our room on the 31st floor. The view of Diamond Head? Absolutely effing fantastic. Like, “I suddenly understand why people move to Hawaii and never come back” fantastic.

We freshened up and wandered over to the International Marketplace. The girls shopped, I supervised (which is a full-time job), and then we all hit the bar. Mom, Sandra, Quanna, and I had a few drinks—okay, more than a few—and laughed ourselves silly before collapsing into bed around 8:30pm. Vacation bedtime hits different.

The next morning, we grabbed breakfast and took a cab to Pearl Harbor. This was my third visit, and somehow it gets more powerful every time. The Arizona Memorial feels like stepping into a sacred space—quiet, reverent, and heavy with history. The video before the tour lays out the events of December 7, 1941, and then you take a tender boat to the memorial itself, built over the remains of the USS Arizona. Over 1,100 men are still entombed there. It’s sobering, heartbreaking, and important. And the oil still leaking after all these decades? A reminder that history doesn’t stay in the past as neatly as we’d like.

After the tour, we headed back to the Hyatt, checked out, and grabbed a taxi to the Aloha Tower Pier to board our cruise. Because we booked one of the Owner’s Penthouse Suites (I know, I know—fancy), check-in took about 30 minutes. Then suddenly we were standing in our three-room suite aboard the Norwegian Wind, trying to pretend we weren’t about to move in permanently.

The suite had everything: a living room with a pull-out sofa, giant windows, a private balcony, a master bedroom with another balcony door (because why not), a bathroom with both a tub and a shower, and a walk-in closet big enough to rent out on Airbnb. After unpacking, we set off to explore the ship like kids at Disneyland.

More to come later—because trust me, this adventure is just getting started.

—Ray

Back from Vacation!

I’m baaacck!

Technically, I’ve been back since late Sunday, but between unpacking, wrapping up my final week at Sprint, and diving headfirst into rehearsals for Seussical, I haven’t had a moment to sit down and blog. So here I am, finally catching my breath — and ready to dish.

Let’s talk about the trip.

We left Friday the 14th at the crack of dawn (okay, 7:45 a.m., but close enough). Landed at John Wayne Airport around 9:20 and had our bags in hand within ten minutes. I fell in love with that airport. No crowds, no chaos, and Enterprise handed us a free upgrade to a mini-van — perfect for getting Mom and Aunt Sandra in and out without a wrestling match. Sorry, LAX… we’re breaking up.

Checked into the Howard Johnson across from Disneyland by 10:30 a.m., then immediately drove to Universal Studios. I splurged on VIP tickets because life is short and lines are long. We hit the tram tour first — mildly boring for me (been there, done that), but watching Aunt Sandra scream when the Jaws shark lunged at us? Worth every penny.

We rode everything we could, shopped like tourists, and left around 5:30 p.m. Dinner at Mimi’s next door, and I was out cold by 10. Theme park stamina is not what it used to be.

Saturday was Disneyland day. We hit the park at 10 a.m., and by 2 p.m., Mom tapped out and headed back to the hotel. Sandra and I stayed until 7:30, riding everything that wasn’t closed for refurbishment. The crowds were surprisingly light — maybe everyone was still drying out from the recent L.A. monsoon. Even Tower of Terror was only a 20-minute wait, and yes, I screamed like a child. That ride is a visual feast with a side of adrenaline.

Sadly, Haunted Mansion and Space Mountain were closed, but Space Mountain reopens in May for Disneyland’s 50th anniversary — and yes, I’m already planning my return.

Sunday morning we slept in (glorious), then had lunch with my friend Marina Campana. She moved to SoCal to chase the acting dream and is already SAG-carded, agented, and popping up on shows like Will & Grace. She’s going places, and it was a joy to catch up.

After lunch, we headed to San Pedro Harbor to board our cruise ship — Vision of the Seas. It took a couple of hours to get through security, but by 4 p.m., we were exploring the ship like kids in a candy store. This was my sixth cruise, but my first since 1985, and Royal Caribbean did not disappoint. Gorgeous architecture, a theater that gave me major stage envy, and a stateroom with a private balcony where we spent every morning sipping coffee and listening to the waves.

Our cabin stewards, Theresita and Jose, were absolute gems. Every night they left us towel animals — some of which were so elaborate I considered naming them. I took pictures of all 300 moments of joy (okay, 300 photos total from the trip), and I’ll post them once I dig myself out from under the laundry pile.

Dinner was a dream. Our team — Kheng, Charles, and Filrandy — treated us like royalty. The food? Incredible. I even got Mom and Sandra to try new things. The desserts were borderline indecent (hello, baked Alaska). Midnight buffets, formal dining in the Aquarius Room, casual bites in the Windjammer Café… we ate like cruise royalty.

Monday was a full day at sea: sunbathing, casino losses, and the Captain’s welcome gala. Tuesday, we docked in Cabo San Lucas. The moment we stepped off the boat, we were swarmed by souvenir vendors. I gasped at the menu prices at Margaritaville — until I realized they were in pesos. $180 for lunch? Nope. $18. Crisis averted.

We shopped, spent too much, and made it back to the ship in time for dinner and a lovely piano and strings concert in the Champagne Lounge.

Wednesday was Mazatlan. Fewer vendors, more charm. We taxied to the Golden Zone, strolled the beach, lunched at Anthony’s, and shopped at Señor Frog’s and a jewelry store recommended by the cruise director. I bought Quanna a bracelet, Mom got earrings for my niece, and Sandra went rogue to shop for her grandkids. We reconvened just in time to sail off into the sunset.

Thursday, Sandra wasn’t feeling well, but I had a dolphin adventure booked in Puerto Vallarta. So off I went — and spent eight hours learning how to care for dolphins, feed them, train them, and get gently nibbled by teething baby dolphins who just wanted belly rubs. It was magical. Smelly (the fish room was intense), but magical. I even got a DVD of the whole experience. Worth every penny.

Back on the ship, Sandra was still recovering, so Mom and I did dinner solo and watched the port fade from our balcony. By Friday, Sandra was back in action, and we spent the next two days at sea watching Broadway revues, losing more money in the casino, sampling the drink of the day, and witnessing the Mr. International Belly Flop and Mr. Sexy Legs contests. Yes, they were everything you’d imagine.

Sunday morning, we docked in San Pedro at 7 a.m., cleared customs by 10:30, and made it home late that night.

Now I’m back, wrapping up my final day at Sprint with an exit interview at 9 a.m. It feels strange to be leaving, but I’m excited for what’s next — time off, new adventures, and maybe a few more towel animals in my future.

Hope you’re all doing well. I’ll be better about updating now that Mom and Sandra have flown home and life is settling down.

Have a great day!

Mexico Fast Approaching

My Mexican Riviera cruise is coming up fast, and I’m officially in that chaotic pre‑vacation phase where I’m shopping, packing, repacking, and wondering why I don’t own a single pair of shorts that fit the way they did in 1989. It’s a whole situation.

Meanwhile, work has reached the “watching paint dry would be more stimulating” stage. My last day is January 31st, and while I’m thrilled to be wrapping this chapter up, I’m also surprised at how sentimental I’m getting. I walked through the office today looking at nameplates of people who aren’t there anymore, and it hit me — this really is the end of an era. Eighteen years of inside jokes, shared stress, potlucks, and hallway therapy sessions… and now everyone’s scattering like dandelion fluff in the wind. Life really does love a plot twist.

It also made me think about how complacent I’ve gotten over the years. I mean, I used to be the kid who packed up and moved to Atlanta at 19 to tour the country as a professional musician. I went to the Grammy Awards in 1982 for heaven’s sake. Then I left the music world entirely, got myself a “real job,” and moved across the country to Sacramento in 1988 to start over from scratch. Life felt big and electric back then — full of possibility and reinvention.

And then in 1997, theater came along and lit me up all over again. That passion is still there, still humming under the surface, still mine.

So now, with all these new changes rolling in — leaving Sprint, taking time off, heading into a new chapter — I’m hoping that spark comes roaring back. Maybe it’s already starting. Maybe it’s waiting for me somewhere between the ship’s buffet and a margarita the size of my head.

Either way, I’m ready for whatever’s next.