Twelve Steps

Kate has agreed to be in a documentary about addiction. She doesn’t know she will soon face an intervention.

Kate: My name is Kate. K-A-T-E. I’m addicted to downloading crappy music from iTunes. I don’t how I got started. It just sort of snuck up on me. Of course I’d heard about iTunes before, but I wasn’t that familiar with it. I didn’t even know how to download music. Yeah, I had friends who did it, but I was always like “I could never do that.” Then one day I happened to click on the web site and I found a list of ‘80s One-hit wonders. That was all it took.

Kate was on iTunes for seven hours Saturday night.

Kate: The first song I ever downloaded was “I Don’t Like Mondays” by the Boomtown Rats. I’ve loved that song since high school. I put it on every mixed tape I made from 1988 to 1990. I lost it when all my tapes mysteriously disappeared last year. So to just find the song there, waiting for me… and for only 99 cents… I mean, what would you do?

Soon Kate was downloading Dolly Parton and Barry Manilow.

Snoop (House Cat): Kate’s always had terrible taste in music. She owns a Carpenters CD. Sometimes she makes me dance with her to “What’s New Pussycat.” It’s scary when she does that. I'm afraid this easy access to ‘70s power ballads and one-click buying will push her over the edge. If she doesn’t get this intervention… I don’t know what will happen.

Yesterday, Snoop walked in on Kate browsing Jennifer Lopez songs.

Jeff (Interventionist): Hi, I’m Jeff. We’re here to talk about Kate’s intervention tomorrow. What I need from you is to say what you will do if she refuses this offer of help. Snoop, since you’re the only one here, why don’t you start.

Snoop: If you don’t accept this help today, I probably won’t do anything different because I’m a cat.

Jeff: Great. Thanks. Now all we can do is cross our fingers.

* * *

Kate: I’m so glad work is over. I can’t wait to go home and download Britney Spears. (Enters apartment) Who the hell are you? What are you doing to my computer?

Jeff: I’m Jeff. Kate, your cat, and I’m sure your friends, if you have any, really care about you and want to get you help.

Kate: Fuck you. I don’t need help. I need the Divinyls.

Snoop: I can’t take it anymore! Little River Band, Al Stewart, a-ha… it’s got to stop. You’re spending a dollar a song! A dollar a song! Don’t you see how you’re hurting yourself?!!

Kate: I don’t care. It’s not that bad. I won’t stop! HOW CAN YOU ASK ME TO STOP THE ONLY THING I’VE EVER LOVED???!!!!

Jeff: Look, there are people who can help you. Won’t you let them?

Kate: I can’t, I can’t. Don’t you see, I can’t? I have nothing else. I can’t live in a world without the Spice Girls, I can’t.

Jeff: We’re gonna get you help for that. There’s a place for people just like you. Will you accept this help today?

Snoop: Say yes! And feed me.

Jeff: Will you accept this help today?

Kate: I don’t have a choice do I?

Jeff: No. You’re out of options. Will you go to treatment?

Kate: Can I drink there?

Jeff: Sure.

Kate: Okay.

Snoop: Thank god! Now feed me.

Kate spent 90 days living in a fourth-floor Williamsburg walk-up with a bunch of squatters in a rock band. She returned home and was Neil Diamond-free for three weeks. On the twenty-second day she bought Harry Nilsson’s Greatest Hits.

Reunited

Step back off the ledge…I’m back.

It’s been wayyy too long since I’ve had the opportunity to polish off a bottle of wine on my couch, listen to my 70s music cable channel and expound on why Gristede’s sucks. Now I know how Lindsay Lohan feels. I’m sure all she wants is to kick back and chill at home but she’s under constant pressure to party, party, party. Kind of like me lately. Forced to go to Utah, then Worcester, then the Cape. I mean, for the love of god, I’m not a machine.

Despite the many opportunities I’ve had to be annoyed in the past month, I can’t think of anything new that I haven’t already gone into at length, so I will spare you. In case you’re wondering, I still hate: my job, Bank of America, Boston College, Jorge Posada and people who snap their gum on the subway. In my bid to be more positive and tolerant (which hurts me more than it hurts you) I’ve enjoyed the following: seeing actual, live buffaloes in Utah, hanging out with my Boston peeps, watching Brigid try not to puke during Jeremy’s wedding ceremony, the Red Sox kicking the NL’s ass, a mudslide at the Beachcomber and driving through Connecticut. Okay the last one was just to see if you were paying attention. Connecticut: an Indian word that means “driving 50 mph in the passing lane.” Thank you, I’ll be here all week. (Everything’s funny after a bottle of Prosecco!)