A Little Ditty

He's my American Fool

Bonjour lapins!

My new favorite subway ad is trolling for Vioxx victims and says “Heart attacks, strokes, blood clots and death. 1-800-LAWYERS.” I love it. It’s a musical that writes itself:

Heart attacks, strokes, blood clots and death,
We’ve got your back until your last breath.
If you are sick from taking a pill,
We’ll sue their ass and send you the bill.

I TOTALLY have a future on Broadway, no?

* * *

I just got some address labels from St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Those kids can’t be that sick if they’re making address labels.

Who is Brittany Murphy and why is she on Dave Letterman? (Seriously, who is she?) More importantly, why is Chasing Farrah on instead of Cheers? Am I going to have to write another angry letter to TV Land?

My love for the 70s channel is well-documented, and the best “Artist Fact” ever is: “Bob Welch spent five weeks in heroin-induced coma”

Speaking of Bob Welch, and I have no idea who he is, I always though the line in JC’s Jack and Diane (best song in the history of music) “Let the bible belt come and save your soul” was “Let the Bobby Welch come and save your soul.” I swear to God. The fact that all these years later I find out there actually is a Bob Welch who was in a five-week-heroin-induced coma is fantastic.

Oh my gosh! I just did a Google search to see who the heck Bob Welch is (Fleetwood Mac, apparently), and there IS a Bobby Welch who is some kind of Southern Baptist pastor… it’s all makes sense! I’m telling you, the Lord works in mysterious ways. (And yes, I’ve had three beers tonight, but I don’t think that’s relevant.)

March Crabness

Reasons I’m in a bad mood tonight:

I’m not tan
It’s March
Haven’t seen the sun in 462 days
Spring training is just a tease
I won’t be reliving my triumphant 2002 second-place NCAA pool finish
Babies, and the friends who would rather have them than hang out with me
It’s Sunday and I’m at work
My cat is not at work with me
Terri freakin’ Schiavo
“Intervention” has too many compulsive gamblers and not enough meth addicts
It’s freezing and raining out? No way!

Strolling on the River

Is it a stroller or a golf cart? 

There are 8 million people in the naked city and every single one of them is in my way. Between the Christmas tourists lollygagging along Sixth Avenue like it was ribbon night at the State Fair and the packs of Bosnian refugees hijacking my subway in their frenzy to see the “The Gates,” I’m surprised I haven’t found myself a bell tower and a rifle yet. The good news is, Christmas is gone for another nine months, and the Christos have gone back to violating European cities with their saffron bedsheets of Satan.

However. I live on the Upper West Side and that means one thing: strollers. Everywhere. On the sidewalks. At Filene’s Basement. In the grocery store. Have you been to a grocery store in New York? It’s hard enough to carry a can of soup down the aisle without having to turn sideways; trying to get by when there’s a stroller THE SIZE OF A HUMMER in the way, with the mom standing there yapping on her cell phone, oblivious to the fact I need to get by so I can go home and eat my soup so my low blood sugar doesn’t cause me to BEAT TO HER TO DEATH, is virtually impossible.

And the strollers are not only gigantic, they are more pimped-out than anything you'd see on Monster Garage. I’m schlepping my stuff around in a tote bag like a jerk, while the stroller jockeys are strapping lumber from Home Depot onto their roof racks.

I haven’t even gotten to the part where stroller = high probability of screaming baby, although with all the groceries, dry cleaning, furniture from Pottery Barn, there’s no room for a baby. I saw a woman carrying her baby in a kangaroo pouch while pushing a plasma TV in a stroller the other day.

When did this happen? I don’t even remember having a stroller when I was a kid. My parents stuck me in a cardboard box and dragged me along behind them with a length of clothesline. I think I turned out fine.

I Heart TV

Channel 624 rocks my world 

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

This may be the happiest day of my life. I just found out I have A&E, HGTV and Food Network… ON DEMAND. Throw in TLC and the History Channel and I would never leave my apartment. This started out on a sad note. Usually at this time of night (from 12 am to 1 am) I’m watching Cheers on TVLand, but tonight there is some dumb awards show on, and I was going to complain about it. Instead, I found out I can watch Design on a Dime ANY TIME I WANT. This should be a lesson to myself to stop being negative all the time, and try to look on the bright side, etc, but I don’t think I could do that. It would render me impotent, like A-Rod without his purple lipstick.

Speaking of Cheers, I’d like to nominate it as the best TV show ever. A few years back the Sports Guy* did a comparison between Cheers and Seinfeld, and Seinfeld just barely edged out Cheers and I can respect that. Seinfeld is a good show. But Seinfeld is on TBS every five minutes and I’m sick of it, whereas I could watch Cheers 24 hours a day. How could I not like a show that incorporates all the most important elements of my life? Here are just some of the ways in which my life is exactly like Cheers:

It takes place in Boston; I lived there for 8 years
It takes place in a bar; Most of my life also takes place in a bar
Diane Chambers went to BU; I went to BU
Carla is a short, mean waitress; I was a short, mean waitress
Norm hangs out at the Hungry Heifer; I worked at the Stockyard
Sam is a recovering alcoholic; I am a … nevermind
Sam played for the Red Sox; My boyfriend Johnny Damon plays for the Red Sox
Rebecca went to UConn; My friend Jen went to UConn
Lilith carried a dead rat in her purse; I had a dead mouse in my apartment
Cliff was on Jeopardy; I kick ass in Jeopardy

I mean, I could go on forever…

Long live Cheers!

PS: For those of you (Allison and Brigid) who never believed me when I said there were two Garys (of Gary’s Olde Towne Tavern), well, I was right. Robert Desiderio and Joel Polis. Ha.

While I’m in this happy cable TV moment, I would like to take a second, and I’m sure this won’t be the last time I mention this, to thank channel 624, the 70s channel, for being awesome. Thank you Dan Fogelberg, Bay City Rollers, Jim Croce and Bread. I love you!

*You can read the Sports Guy column for a mere 40 bucks if you join ESPN Insider!

The Snoop

Here's my Snoopinator looking very mysterious.

Scary Snoop 

Mouse Grouse

I got through college by handing in the same Dorothy Parker paper six or seven times. I thought I would keep that tradition alive by posting the Disney diary I wrote last year. Also, I thought it was appropriate in light of the Michael Eisner resignation announcement. I'm nothing if not topical.

Diary of a Misanthrope at Disney

Tuesday:

After speaking with the front desk to find out if my room is ready, I am told to have a “magical day.”

I decide to start a running fanny-pack count.

Call off fanny-pack count because I can’t count that high.

We are at the new “Wishes” fireworks show. The name “Wishes” reminds me of the dumbest senior quote to ever grace the pages of my high school yearbook: “if wishes were horses, dreamers would ride.” If wishes were tequila, I’d have a much better disposition.

Wednesday:

Summer Media Preview at MGM:

While wandering around the park, I find a street modeled after New York City. I propose a Boston-themed street with potholes, triple-parked cars and the occasional shooting of a teenager at the T-station.

If it were really the “happiest place on earth” there’d be fewer kids and more dogs.

I dig the show tunes.

Sneak Preview at Saratoga Springs Resort (opening later this month):

The newest resort is called Saratoga Springs Resort and Spa, based on Saratoga Springs, N.Y. The resort’s motto is “Health, History and Horses.”

Let’s see. “Health.” Okay, there is a spa. That could be construed as healthy. “History.” If you consider a fake reproduction of upstate New York circa 1870 in the middle of 2004 central Florida historical, then yes, there is history. “Horses.” Hmmm. No horses. No horse races. No betting. They should at least throw in an OTB.

Saratoga Springs Performance Center:

We are gathered for a “surprise announcement” via a live feed from Disneyland in California.

To celebrate Disneyland’s 50th anniversary (for some reason called “The Happiest Homecoming on Earth”), Disney World will import attractions from other Disney parks.

From Tokyo, they will introduce a show called “Cinderellabration,” a story featuring Cinderella and the other Disney princesses. Euro-Disney will contribute its “Lights, Motors, Action! Extreme Stunt Show,” which consists of a bunch of cars going really fast and crashing. I suggest they combine the two and call it the “The Last Days of Princess Di.”

Art Linkletter, who is 93, appears on stage in California to tell a rambling story about Walt Disney and his God complex…I mean his “vision.” If they wheel out Christopher Reeve, I’m leaving.

Reminiscent of the Daniel Pearl hostage video, Captain Tom (of Disney Cruise Lines), surrounded by “crew members” in gold mouse ears, announces the inauguration of west coast cruises.

Back at my hotel:

My faith in (in)humanity is restored. Today on Oprah: that guy in Syracuse who locked women in his basement dungeon.

The local T.V. station shows a hilarious commercial for something called “Granny Nannies.”

Item in the news: For the second day in a row, a local high school is under lockdown because someone brought in a weapon.

By the pool, there’s a man in a Speedo eating a banana. I don’t know why I think that’s funny.

Epcot:

At an International Media event, we get a VIP viewing of the Siege of Fallujah, I mean, the “Illuminations” fireworks show.

At Epcot, you can safely say, “I see London, I see France…” and not have to finish the sentence with “underpants.”

Thursday:

Magic Kingdom:

I’ve seen two couples (so far) wearing Mickey/Minnie wedding attire, which consists of white mouse ears with an attached veil (for her), and a top hat (for him). This makes me very sad.

Made-up, but possibly true, statistic: Per square foot, there are more strollers here than anywhere else in the world.

T-shirt slogan: “Life is good, Eternal Life is better.”

Animal Kingdom:

Random observations:

Behind the scenes, Animal Kingdom employees ride around the park on blue Schwinns.

I saw a huge container with the sign: “Manure Only.”

The animals are housed in giant buildings with signs that say “Elephant/Building 15” and “White Rhino/Building 16.” I wonder if they have to pass drug tests.

One of the employees working at Tusker House Restaurant looks just like the “O-Face Guy” from Office Space.

The Tree of Life is fake.

Saturday:

Blizzard Beach:

There are entirely too many people here.

Chef Mickey’s at The Contemporary Resort:

As I am surrounded by approximately one million children all hopped up on candy and Mickey Mouse, I wonder idly about the alcoholism rate among Disney employees.

Speaking of Mickey, I don’t like his attitude. The scene at Chef Mickey’s was just like the show “The Restaurant,” where everyone is all, “Where’s Rocco, where’s Rocco?” Like Rocco, Mickey sashays in when he feels like it and expects everyone to make a big deal over him. Whatever.

Overheard: “Connor! Don’t grab his tail!”

Grand Gatherings Fireworks Cruise:

We are in a boat, in the middle of the Seven Seas Lagoon, where we are watching the “Electrical Water Pageant.” Imagine your neighbor’s light-sculpture Christmas decorations, but instead of reindeer, it’s dolphins and fish and alligators. Then it turns patriotic with stars and stripes and flags, which totally reminds me of “Red, White and Blaine!” from the movie “Waiting for Guffman.”

Christopher Guest needs to make a movie about theme parks.

The “Wishes” fireworks display. Again. By this point I’m wishing, fervently, that the boat would capsize.

Sunday:

On the airplane:

To the parents of the child who screamed at the top of his lungs from North Carolina to Logan Airport: please don’t fly ever again.

Train Pain

Spent the weekend in Boston. Boston is so small and watered down now that I’m a big cool New Yorker. If Boston were a condiment it would be spicy brown mustard. It’s not completely devoid of character or culture, but it has no edge. It’s pleasant, non-threatening, and perfect with a hot dog.

New York, on the other hand, is wasabi. It’s spicy, it’s weird, it goes with sushi (which I hate), but it’s awesome.

On the way home I took the Acela and sat in the quiet car, which is the next best thing to the Kate Only car I’ve been dreaming about all these years. I only wish the quiet car could be extended to other areas of my life. I would like to walk around in my own personal bubble of quiet where there are no cell phones, no radios, no loud conversations, and certainly no one chewing ice cubes in the cubicle behind mine. (I know, it was a year ago. I’m still scarred.)

Somewhere in the evil state of Connecticut I saw this billboard: “Babies Were Born to Be Breastfed.” I don’t know why it infuriated me so much. I have half a mind to go out and have a baby so I can feed it nothing but scotch. Seriously, what the fuck? Who are these people? Why are they demanding I breastfeed, and why are they demanding I do it in my quiet car? Is there a marauding band of women savagely bottle-feeding their babies on the trains from Boston to New York? What the fuck?

I also saw a law firm billboard outside of Bridgeport. The number was 1-800-NOT-DRUNK. Somehow I can see myself needing that number some day. I will keep it under my pillow next to the number of the law firm whose subway-ad slogan is “When spending the night in jail isn’t an option.”

Finally, I call a moratorium on making up names from initials. It’s getting out of hand. It’s already too late in some cases, SoHo and TriBeCa are entrenched, and even I’ve been guilty of calling South Beach “SoBe.” But I saw a sign calling South Norwalk, CT “SoNo,” and that means the trend has gone too far. I can only assume it stands for So Not a place that doesn’t suck. No amount of cute names will ever make Connecticut cool. Ever.