A Night With Harry Carry & Garp

So here's the scoop. First, no we didn't buy the tix that came with autographed copies of the books. No way Jose, those suckers were expensive. We got great seats however. First row, first mezzanine so we saw everything. Plus, they had four humongous screens above the stage so all seats were great.

Whoopie Goldberg came out to introduce the evening. I kind of groaned inside when she strode to the podium because that lady would go to the opening of an envelope. But she did a great job, although reading from notes, she did some improv and was a great segue to the next guest, Kathy Bates.

Ms. Bates was absolutely charming, told some funny anecdotes of Stephen King, talked about the King movies she starred in. All around, she made the perfect intro to the man himself, who was initially presented in a video montage with movie clips and first person interviews while driving through his hometown.

After the video, Stephen King strode out and stood in his designated section of the stage, which was decorated as a farm house living room. The man was absolutely hilarious and really seemed natural when he spoke to the audience. He read aloud a great short story from Different Seasons called The Revenge of Lard *** Hogan, a hysterical story of small town retribution during the annual blueberry pie eating contest. It was as funny as I remembered, and more disgusting than I recalled.

Next up, Andre Braugher came onstage and gave one of the most painfully boring introductions I had ever had the misfortune of hearing and seeing. He zipped through his notes, never looked up at the audience, mubbled a few times, uttered some blather about reading and uttered John Irving's name. The he pointed up at the screens and hussled offstage. He was an insult to the evening if you ask me. He's on my list.

In any case, the video clips were pretty fascinating, illustrating the progression of John Irving from a wrestling coach to international best selling author. When he strode out, we expected this towering beast of a man. Have you seen his picture? Thick hair, chiseled jaw, intense eyes. Hottie McHotterson. What strode out was thick silver hair, chiseled jaw, intense eyes, in a two foot tall man. He is short short short. But still a serious Hot Guy. He walked over to his own set which was decorated with a fireplace, a true man's man's living room straight out of New Hampshire.

He seemed to be slightly stiff and I understood that he really didn't like to do public appearances too often because he was a bit shy. It came across initially but Mr. Irving definitely shines when he talks about his books! He quickly evolved into an animated presenter and had a great sense of humor. I was thrilled when he announced he has chosen to read aloud a chapter from A Prayer For Owen Meany, Joe's single favorite book of all time and one that's in my top 10 as well.

I had completely forgotten how funny the book actually was and soon remembered that little Owen Meany is truly one of the single greatest literary characters in recent times. Mr. Irving was brilliant in his reading, acting out the characters' parts with intensity, yet with tongue firmly planted in cheek. His "Meany" voice was amazing. How a man with such a deep gravelly voice can change the pitch into the high end of tomorrow, I'll never know.

Next up, John Stewart strolled onstage to much applause, which came as no surprise. He was absolutely great in his intro to the next author, JK Rowling. It was very clear he was a huge fan of her work, and really knew what he was talking about in terms of her characters and plot. He threw in his signature dry humor and was truly the funniest presenter of the evening. When he gestured to the video screens and introduced Ms. Rowling, the audience went absolutely insane. The only time I'd ever seen such a huge reaction was at rock concerts. Who knew that a WRITER could be such a huge star in her own right? Pretty amazing if you ask me.

When JK Rowling walked out onstage, the audience worship tripled. Very awesome! She walked over to the middle portion of the stage which was set up as a mini Hogwarts with a sorceror's throne, medieval touches all around. It took a few minutes for everyone to calm down, yet she sat smiling, if not beaming. I was astounded at the number of children who were in the audience. I hadn't realized how many because they were all so incredibly quiet for the entire evening. But not when Ms. Rowling came out, no sirree. One little boy that sat right by us was on his feet, hooting, stomping his feet, in absolute adoration of who was clearly his idol. His enthusiasm was one of hundreds, if not thousands.

Ms. Rowling was absolutely charming and had the entire audience enraptured. She spoke of the trials and tribulations in telling Harry's tale, about the difficulties involved in getting her books picked up. All while throwing in a very dry British wit. She was great! When she announced she was going to read a chapter from her latest book, the audience was completely in her thrall. Her use of voices and hand gestures, her facial expressions, I swear if she weren't an author, she should be an actor.

When she finished reading, she invited a few kids up to ask any questions and of course, they were all asking about Harry, Hermione and Ron's future relationships, who was going to die, what was the fate of Voldemort. It was so neat to see so many kids on the edge of their seats, all because of some dusty books.

Afterwards, Soledad O'Brien came onstage as moderator, with King and Irving in tow. The q&a continued, with selected audience members asking some pretty great questions. It was an inspiring, humorous, extremely rewarding night. Joe said afterwards that he was once again enthused to pick up the young adult novel he had started last year. And, due to the reaction of so many kids and teens in the audience, he was truly happy with his recent career switch to teach English.

Stephen King put it so well at the end of the evening. Last night, Radio City Music Hall wasn't packed to the rafters with concert goers or fans of show stopping musical extravaganzas. Radio City was filled with 6,000 readers. It was amazing.

A Dinner Party.... uh... A Too-Much-Wine Party

I was invited to what I thought was a dinner party this past Saturday night, an invitation I gladly accepted. Unfortunately, Joe was unable to come along because he had made plans to see Reba McIntyre and Brad Paisley in concert in New Jersey. So while he was enjoying his hootenanny, I grabbed a cab to midtown Manhattan. Because the original invitation said dinner, I had decided to eat a late lunch since I wasn’t to arrive until 9pm. Needless to say, I was pretty hungry by the time I arrived.

Strolling into the apartment, saying sweeping “hello’s” to one and all, following Ms. Posts’s dictum, I handed the host a bottle of Veuve to satisfy the obligatory hostess gift. I immediately locked my eyes on a lovely cheese and crudite platter, my mouth instantly watering at the sight. Not wanting to appear gauche, I nibbled a bit of brie and popped a couple of grape tomatoes. I was hungry enough to set up a TV tray, sit in a bean bag chair and steamroll through the entire platter but that would have been a tad inappropriate. Besides, TV trays don’t exist in Manhattan. Unless you are independently wealthy or have subleased your apartment from an elderly relative, you can see your television from every corner of the teeny tiny room. Heck, you can see the TV from the shower if you leave the bathroom door open.

Instead of eating everything I could get my hands on, I decided it best to suppress my appetite and help myself to some wine. I walked over to the bar that had been set up and started looking at the labels; mind you, I am not even remotely close to being a connoisseur of wine, but I can pretend with the best of them. Well, I should actually say, I can pretend like 90% of all the other people who tell everyone they know wine. Pack of lies, I tell you. Anyway, I chose a lovely red and thought it had a musky woody nose with a piquant flavor that reminds one of plums and orange zest. See? I just lied but I sounded like I knew what I was talking about. What I was really thinking was, “this stuff tastes like poop and makes my tongue itch, where’s the Bud?”

During that first glass, I chatted with others about the orange zest and musk, passing the time until dinner was served. No dinner yet, so I moved on to another red which had beautiful clarity not unlike a ruby in the summer sun. Still chatting, I moved on to sample a white. It had a wonderfully accessible pear quality with a lightly astringent, yet austere background of cedar. I mused that perhaps the vineyard had fermented in that particular wood choice and deemed it an excellent decision. Back again to a freshly opened red, and to my happy surprise, was a lovely discovery of various autumn fruits, with a touch of allspice.

At this point, I had several glasses of wine and I peeked at my watch. It was well past 11pm at this point and there was no dinner to be had. The hosts were happily mingling with fellow guests, all of whom were muttering about the wines and cognac. Yes, they had cognac which I hadn’t noticed earlier. Had I made note of this offering, I would have… done absolutely nothing. I hate the stuff, tastes like paint thinner to me. In any case, my stomach was rumbling and I was getting a tad woozy (read: buzzed like a college freshman at a Rush Week kegger). So, with my massive intellect, what do I do? Move back to the bar and have another glass of something that tasted like fermented apple juice on a good day. No idea what it was, didn’t care, I just drank the sucker. Moving over to the cocktail table, I spotted the remnants of the cheese and crudite platter that was, at one time, quite lovely but now looked like a mini-Saigon. Didn’t care. I grabbed the last cube of cheddar, barely remembering to take out the toothpick and shoved it in my maw alongside a piece of something that was green and smelled like a lawn.

I had decided that it was time for me to leave at this point, my stomach just couldn’t take the lonely feeling it was experiencing any longer. I had my heart set on some pizza and an ice cold beer. Moving towards the bedroom to grab my coat, I was taken by the arm by… someone… and was introduced to… someone. The first someone said, “Oh Rick, you have to meet (someone), you both have so much in common.” So I had to chat some more. Please God, no more wine. But the second someone handed me a glass and told me she just knew I would enjoy it because I had apparently loved some glass of something I had earlier. I politely sipped and smiled, what’s a guy to do? I was trying to think of adjectives, fruit, spices and wood grain that would be an appropriate lie to offer when I was stumped. I merely uttered, “Good stuff” and tried to make my leave. Nope. Another glass was thrust in my hand from some other someone who said that I clearly didn’t like what I just had since it didn’t seem to grab me. So I sipped, smiled, sipped and felt woozier. The third and second someone looked at me with enthusiastic anticipation, so I had to think of something to say. With a bit of a slur, I looked at them both, “Doesn’t taste like wood…”

Yup, time for me to go home definitely. I’ll skip the pizza and beer and just eat left over Chinese while standing over the sink. So after a couple of more attempts, I finally got my coat and did my absolutely best to move gracefully through the guests, muttering “Pleasure to meet you… have a wonderful night… terrific party… thanks for having me… I truly enjoyed our talk… I hope to see you again soon… buh-bye now.” I have no doubt that I probably sounded like, “Pleshrrrrtameet…. Wunnerful… gdprty…gottagobyebye….”

Stepping onto the sidewalk, breathing in the chilly Spring air, I was no longer woozy. In fact, I was stupidly, hazardously, stinking drunk. I didn’t stagger, no, not at all. I made absolutely certain of that by purposefully walking very cautiously, very slowly, and in a straight line. I know I looked like a mime who was illustrating “Man walking through pasture, avoiding cow flops.” I made my way to the end of the block and immediately hailed a cab which took my sorry butt home where it belonged.

Waking up the next morning with a dog doing the pee dance, the sun streaming into my bedroom, I held my pounding face, making my way to the medicine cabinet, on the hunt for either Advil or a handsaw to cut my miserable head off. Advil won out. Alcohol is a miserable beverage. It not only hurts the next day, but your eyes swell to twice their normal size, you have indoor outdoor carpeting growing on your tongue and idle thoughts about food make you gag. I’m never drinking again… or at least until Thursday when I meet up with a friend for a cocktail after work.

And I never did get any dinner the night before. What is up with that?

The Boxer Rebellion

The other evening, I had made a nice dinner, set the table and called Joe in to eat. All was good. Enjoying each other’s company over a tasty, home-cooked dinner, Joe got up to get something to drink. As he walked across the kitchen, I glanced over, thought to myself “Oh NO he didn’t!” and looked back. Sure enough, he was walking around in his underwear.

“You did not sit at this table, eating dinner in your UNDERWEAR did you?”

Looking over at me innocently, butt pointing out as his upper body was leaning into the fridge, poking around for a soda, he simply said, “Yeah? So what’s the big deal?”

Now, Joe is usually pretty well mannered and his reaction was pretty surprising. “It’s gross. You can’t sit at the table and eat your dinner in your underwear. Go put something on!”

“Why? It’s just boxer shorts. It’s like I’m wearing shorts anyway. What’s the big deal? It’s not like I’m naked or something,” he muttered with a shrug, carrying a bottle of Diet Coke over to the counter. Clattering around the cabinet, grabbing a glass he continued, “Besides, it’s hot…”

I have to admit, years ago, in my college days and shortly thereafter, I would be in the exact same position, only I’d probably have defended myself for having been naked at the table… and hung-over… and lazy… and not just a little smelly. But we’re both 39, we’re supposed to be civil. We’re supposed to have manners. We’re supposed to eat like adults and have adult conversation, ask each other how their day was, talk politics, comment on current events, all while we’re fully dressed IF we’re sitting at the kitchen table over dinner.

“Go put some pants on before you sit down.”

“But it’s hot.”

“Put on something.”

“I’m hot and it’s muggy.”

“Then put on some shorts.”

“But I’m comfortable.”

Leaning over, taking his plate, I stood up and said, “Cover yourself up. I don’t wanna eat dinner and wonder if your boys are gonna fall out. Do it or don’t eat.”

With a huge theatrical sigh, Joe strolled out of the kitchen. From the bedroom, I heard him muttering about being hot and sweaty and that his boys weren’t going anywhere, that it’s not like we were in a restaurant, that it was just the two of us so no big, that I had a problem with his comfort. I heard drawers opening and closing, the closet door being slid open and shut. And the entire time, the muttering continued.

Shortly after, Joe strolled back into the kitchen, fully dressed, and once again sat at the kitchen table. Grinning at me, smile stretched ear to ear, he couldn’t resist, “Happy now?”

Grumbling, I just ate my dinner.

Now, you’d think that would be the end of it, with no risk of inappropriate boxer wearing, right? Wrong. A few days later, I was running a bit late at work, so I rushed home. Joe usually walks the dog while I made dinner, but tonight, I’d promised to do both since he had a ton of work to do.

The day had been sweltering; the subway air-conditioning wasn’t working so I was soaked through with sweat. The moment I walked in to the apartment, there was Bill doing the doggie “Googily moogily man, I have to pee!” dance. Because I was so sweaty and miserable, I turned on the air-conditioning, walked into the bedroom and stripped with the intent of changing into a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. No way could I bear going for a walk in long pants and dress shirt.

Seeing Bill in all his distress and feeling bad for delaying him his evening constitutional for two minutes, I hustled over to the front door, slipped his leash on, grabbed a bag for his poop, slipped on my flip flops, and we were off. Well, Bill was. He bolted out and did his business that very second right on the sidewalk outside our apartment. He usually walks for a minute or two before he does that so this told me he really, really had to go pretty badly. My guilt led me to commit to myself that I’d take the little guy for a longer walk than usual. What the heck, Joe was working a little late, the apartment air-conditioning had still yet to cool off the place, and we were ordering in dinner anyway. I had the time so off we went for Bill’s evening walk.

Bill was ecstatic, wandering the streets of our neighborhood, sniffing his favorite spots, trying to attack any cats in sight, flying into a rage at any squirrel that crossed his path. Best of all, he had the chance to say a doggie “howdy” to the people in the area that he knew. His favorite pastime is to spot a neighbor, casually stroll up to them, sniff their leg and glare at them until he got a scratch behind his ear. It’s actually because of Bill that Joe and I know so many neighbors. Typically, in New York, most people just give you a polite nod and small smile as they walk on by to wherever they’re going. But if you have a friendly dog, everyone knows the dog and you start chatting, you inevitably get to know a lot of folks, whether you want to or not.

So our walk was a bit longer than normal because Bill had a number of people to greet. He was in his element, strolling along, enjoying himself tremendously. Looking at my watch, I realized that Joe was likely going to be home any moment so we starting ambling our way down the street with the intent of giving him a hearty hello as a surprise. Sure enough, Bill spotted Joe before I did, just as we turned the corner.

Normally, Bill is a good dog and doesn’t pull at his leash, unless he sees one of us on the street when he’s walked by the other. Then all hell breaks loose and he absolutely must reach the other. And he won’t take “no” for an answer, or in this case, “Bill, heel… Bill, HEEL… Bill, quit it… stop… NO NO NO NO NO!” That said, I was yanked down the sidewalk, Joe hunckered down on one knee about 50 yards away, watching the tug of war in action before him, Bill straining and making gack noises, trying to get closer.

As we got closer, I saw Joe’s huge, very amused smile falter a bit. Standing, he lost his smile completely, replacing it was utter confusion. This look puzzled me a bit but I figured he’d tell me when we met up. Bill, tugging without mercy, kept gacking and snorting, demanding that I hurry up. As I got still closer to Joe, his look of confusion was soon replaced with a smirk, then a grin, then a hand covering his face. I was dying to know what was so funny, figuring it was simply because Bill and I painted an amusing picture for him.

Reaching him, I said, “What’s so funny?”

Unable to talk, Joe simply burst out with loud peals of laughter, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean ‘what are you doing’? I’m walking Bill. What do you think?” Blinking with confusion, I looked around, wondering what the heck Joe was up to.

“No… I mean… Oh-my-God… you have no idea, do you?” With that, Joe was absolutely screaming with laughter, holding his head with one hand and his stomach with the other. “How long have you been walking Bill?”

“Dunno. About 30 minutes or so… Why? And why are you laughing? What’s so funny? What? Do I have a boogie?” Wiping my nose self consciously, checking to see if I had a bat in the cave. “Would you tell me what’s so funny?”

“Look at yourself. Just look down and look at yourself. PLEASE!” Was all Joe could choke out while flailing his hands at me.

Very confused, I looked down. Flip flops – check. Legs – yup, still got ‘em. Check. T-shirt. Check. Shorts… shorts… NO SHORTS! Only BOXERS! I was wearing a t-shirt, flips flops and underwear and I walked the entire neighborhood and no one said a thing! OHMYGOD!

I threw Bill’s leash at Joe and ran like the wind… ran like the very Devil was after me… ran like my butt was on fire… and ran down the street, flip flopping as fast as I could, fumbled with the door and slammed it shut behind me. All the way, I could hear Joe laughing and laughing and laughing. What was Joe’s first comment when he entered the apartment? “I’m going to sit at the kitchen table and eat dinner… in my underwear and there’s nothing you can say to stop me.”

So next time you take the dog for a walk, make sure you have everything with you that you might need. And I mean EVERYTHING.

Hot Geeks of the World - UNITE!

I don't usually wear glasses, I try to avoid them, although I do have six or seven pair at home. All fancy, funky in their own way. I just flippin' HATE wearing glasses. Hate them, hate them, hate them.

But what do I do? I buy a new pair and picked them up yesterday. Yup, super funky, very cool. I like them sort of kind of not really.

I wear them this morning. Feeling super nerdy but what the heck. Wanted to get used to them.

I'm on the subway and I'm reading my book on my Kindle, a birthday gift from Joe. Very awesome e-reader. As I'm reading, a very cute blond young woman in a low cut blouse sits right next to me and starts looking over my shoulder. She launches into, "What is that? What does it do? Is that a book? How cool is that? Very awesome! Do you love it? I love it!" and so on and so on. She was really too cute. I'd be into her if I weren't... y'know. Into guys. That gets in the way sometimes, eh?

We chatted a while and then she remarked on my glasses. Apparently they are "so cool for words, I love them, do you love them because I love them!" And then the outfit or as she said, "I just love your whole 'look'", i.e. the casually messy on-purpose but still messy hair, the distressed jeans, plaid converse, white t-shirt and grey light sweater vest I was wearing. This chick was taking inventory and I was feeling so objectified. Yeah, I liked it. Call me cheap. Call me shallow. Attention is attention and I'll take it when and where and from whom I can. I'm 42. I'm allowed.

We were coming to my stop and was getting myself ready to boogie. I put away my Kindle and pulled out my iPhone to get my walking-to-work music all cued up and ready to go. And Cute Girl noticed that too and said, "Another electronic gadget, huh?" and she smiled at me, beaming super white teeth below a cute little wrinkled nose and shiny little blue eyes.

I chuckled and said, "Yeah, I guess you could say I'm a big geek with that sort of thing" as I stepped off onto the platform and said buh-bye.

And this cute young thing leaned out and shouted, "If you're a geek, then you are a HOT GEEK!!" with an emphasis on the "hot" thankyouverymuch. And yeah, I had to call Joe and tell him a young little blonde busty really cute chick just called me a Hot Geek. His reaction? "I've been telling you that for years" My reaction? "Are you calling me a GEEK?" His reaction? "I can't win" followed by a huge world weary sigh and he hung up.

Whatever. I'm a Hot Geek.

I WAS a DISboard Moderator

The DISboards were once a great bulletin board service in which one can post one's travel plans, ask dining questions, learn about the various resorts, make friends and simply hang around and chat with others with a similar love of Disney parks. When I first joined, I had thought I was one of just a small few that actually truly loved going to Disney World. I had thought my interest was rather strange and never really went beyond the confines of my immediate family. I had assumed it was just us that love Mickey, the Magic Kingdom, Epcot, the water parks, Pleasure Island, the Marketplace, turkey legs and pressed pennies. After joining the DIS, I quickly learned that there were many, MANY others like me, who had that same love.

I had assumed that we all would get along in some pixie dust filled sense of camaraderie and good fellowship. Boy and howdy, was I proven wrong… and naïve… and just plain stupid.

I was sadly mistaken. Things very slowly but very, very surely started to turn ugly. It was clear that so many members looked down their noses at others who were not at minimum, middle class. Black members? Very few and far between. And if they dared pipe up and state their opinion on the Community Board section of the DIS, it was instantly inferred that they were white-hating racists. Women who stayed home to take care of their children were considered lazy, bon-bon popping second class citizens by those women who chose to work. But don't feel bad. Those SAHM's were just as judgmental of those other mothers who dared to leave their children alone with sexually abusive, baby shaking strangers while they went off to work each day, living the yuppie professional woman’s every fantasy.

And don't you dare bring up food stamps. Seems so many have seen every single welfare recipient in the whole of the United States use and obviously abuse their food stamps. Apparently every single one of them only buys cigarettes, booze and junk food at the local A&P. And because it’s that obvious, then they must be using their money for other things… like drugs maybe? I mean, clearly all welfare recipient are drug abusers. Right?

How about credit cards. We all have them, right? Any some of us have more than one. God forbid you use it for anything but essential goods, otherwise you are personally responsible for the economic downfall of these grand old United States. Don’t believe me? It’s true! Go check out the Budget Board. Some will dare to book their vacation to Disney World, all up in arms with finger trembling, teary eyed excitement. They dared to book a week long stay at the Caribbean Beach Resort, with free dining. It’s 180 days out and they wanted to ask about which restaurants they should book to get the most for their money. They know the dining plan promotion is free for nothin’, but just sayin’. And they were also asking if the Caribbean Beach blahbiddy blah blah still has the refillable mugs because they had hoped to pack mugs from a previous trip from five years ago. (Who keeps plastic ugly mugs that long anyway? But I digress.)

So, did you read the above paragraph? What did I just do that made you think all was not fine in Pixie Friggin’ Land? And that’s a real land in the Magic Kingdom by the way. It’s between Tomorrowland and Fantasyland, just behind Mindyourowndamnedbusiness Land. Again, I digress. Let me point out the many issues in the above that will cause a huge amount of ire on the DIS. At least to those that seem to live a life where absolutely everything around them effects them personally and is clearly their business. So here you go, in bullet point fashion even:

• You used a credit card. You must be broke apparently, so you are not entitled to go on vacation, let alone to Disney World. You need to cut that card up, save your money, because some guy named Dave has demanded it.

• You stayed at the Caribbean Beach Resort. There are two things wrong with that:

1. You are staying at a moderate resort using your credit card. If you have to rely on credit to go on vacation (see above point), and you can't pay in cash, then you should stay at Pop Century. Better yet, you should stay at the All Stars because clearly you are white trash.
2. You are staying at the Caribbean Beach and not at MY damned favorite resort. What the hell is wrong with you? Everyone knows that (insert resort name here) is so much better than your choice, so you must be stupid beyond belief. No wonder you’re broke and white trash.

• You are staying for a week. You can’t afford it. If you decide you really deserve this Disney trip, and you are clearly broke, you really only should stay for as long as you can afford it. So you should only stay for three days. If you want to stay longer, then you really should go off property and stay where the white trash belongs.

• How dare you ask for advice for restaurants when it’s free dining. Be grateful that Disney is deigning to give you anything for free. So just be happy and gracious, after all, you can't afford to pay for the food otherwise. Because you're white trash.

• Reusable mugs. World.War.THREE. It’s true. And you should be tarred and feathered for bringing this up you poor, ungrateful disgusting wretch. Be gone before you sully our doorway again. We have no place for white trash.

Don’t think this is possible, let alone true? Ok, ok. I am exaggerating. They don’t actually tar and feather you. But you will be yelled at and denigrated three ways ‘till Sunday for bringing up just about everything I described. And they won’t stop until you report them, cry or join another bulletin board just so you can bitch, piss and moan about them.

Oh, there is more. For a daily dose of “Are You Friggin’ Kiddin’ Me?”, just consider the following topics that will explode into a ‘roid rage fueled backyard smack down of a brawl. The following really, really push the busybodies over the edge into the realms of Insanityland:

• Strollers and the inconsiderate people that use them as battling rams in a medieval movie.
• Those obnoxious people that so very clearly rent the wheel chairs to get to the front of the line. I just know it. I saw them earlier and they were running a marathon while doing the lindyhop. I swear it.
• Republicans
• The rude people with such a sense of entitlement that they will DARE swim in my pool when it’s clear they aren’t guests here. I can tell.
• The self centered people who will save a table while their family is buying dinner when I was kind enough to pay for my food like everyone else… but HER.
• Overweight people in ECV’s that are obviously only overweight because they live in ECV’s
• Anyone who might have gotten hurt while doing anything at Disney. Note to self: It is always, always, ALWAYS your fault; never Disney’s.
• If you DID get hurt at Disney, you are entitled to a buh-zillion dollars. And a free fast pass.
• Democrats
• Christians who feel that everyone else is going to go to Hell. Because the Bible was written by God Himself and I can’t wait until you find out when you die and you are surrounded by big scary demons with pitch forks and not angels who handle snakes. Niener niener niener.
• Gay people. Just because… well, they’re gay. Duh. And they should be banned from Disney all the time. And from the mall. And from my town. And from everywhere because… well, duh… we have to protect the children.
• Kids. They are more evil than Democrats and Republicans combined apparently and should never be allowed at Disney World
• Kids on wheelies. Worse then “Reusable Mugs”

I kid you not. There are people on this planet that will loudly and proudly proclaim their hatred of everything above. Why? Because they can do it in complete anonymity through a bulletin board on the internet.

So you would wonder, “Where are the mods?” You thought the moderators were supposed to control everything that was said and protect the fine DIS citizenry. I mean, they should, right? Guess what, I’m a mod. We have rules. We actually have more rules than you do, and personally, it drives me a little bug shit. There, I said it. First and foremost, as a moderator, we only have control over those boards we have been assigned. Por ejemplo, if I am the mod of the Restaurant Board, then I can only give points to those that post on the Restaurant Board. I can’t go crazy and give out points all over Hell and gone to anyone that posts on the… say… the Community Board. That’s not my assignment.

Aside: And damn would I love to be a mod on THAT board for just a couple of hours. I wouldn’t bother with giving out points. I’d ban so many ignorant, self righteous, pompous pieces of crap that it would make your head spin. Yep. Buh-bye to Teresa, Laurie, Steve, Joe, Dawn, Sherri, John and quite a few others. You guys are just too stupid for words, it’s impossible to describe. How you actually function in every day life without alienating yourselves from your spouses, children, neighbors, friends and co-workers is a miracle.

Moving right along, all mods have been given passive aggressive wrist slaps to not give out points too frequently. If we do, we get looked at very poorly by the powers that be. And who are the “powers that be” you ask? Why, they are the Web Masters. And who are they? You know, I haven’t a clue. I do know a couple through the DIS and they seem to be perfectly nice. But the majority really don’t do much at all except make the moderators present them with a situation and then we have to wait forever until they come back with their judgment. And that is if they come back to us with anything at all. So yeah, as a mod, they frustrate the crap out of us too at times.

Just know that the majority of mods are pretty great folks who truly enjoy what they do on the DIS. Unfortunately, at times, our hands are tied with respect to our abilities. We've become the fall guys in many instances.

And finally, the Grand Poobah himself. Pete. I was always completely ambivalent about the guy. I did think he was a bit like the Great and Powerful Oz in that he would more often than not hide behind his curtain, while the Masters did his bidding like little crazed Munchkins on Ritalin. But he made a social faux pas that moved my ambivalence about him from a “meh” attitude to “holy crap, you’re a racist dick”. During a well known podcast in which the speakers were talking about so many new American citizens standing proudly before Cinderella Castle, someone made reference to the many hispanics and let slip a comment about new “mousekeepers” (resort house keepers to the uninitiated). Were you sitting next to me at the time, you’d have seen my jaw slam to the floor, only for me to pick it up and gingerly place it back, to slam back down again. And the joking went on and on.

What made matters worse was that Pete and those others involved were called on their insensitive and very racist comments and not a single one of them came forward to apologize. Rather, they deleted the threads, pretending the podcast didn't exist and went on their merry way. And what made things even worse than that was so many DIS’ers defended them. They took it as a joke and chastised anyone else for thinking differently. Apparently, Pete can do no wrong and would never say something so heinous.

And I’d still love to see some sort of ownership to those comments and a public apology made to some extent. And I’d like to see a herd of miniature unicorns come flying out of my backside but that aint happening any time soon. Nevertheless, there's a better chance of that then there is for a full and honest explanation of all the mass bannings that were made last year. Quite a few of my DIS friends were caught up in that. I’d say about 95% of those banned should never have been banned to begin with. Pete and Alex, you only just opened the doors for some closer public scrutiny and the results aint lookin’ pretty. That “other board” (insert doom filled death dirge here) was enraged, sure. I was enraged. What you did was just stupid. But all those folks you banned? They’re still there out. And now the very few nasty people on that board have been joined by some really nice, very caring, very open, yet very honest people. And yes, guys, if you had just taken the time to really look at that “other board” (death dirge, blah blah), you’d have realized that there were only a very, very small handful of big mouth trouble making pot stirrers. You guys couldn’t handle about six or seven potty mouths with your 204,000 members? Seriously? Weak willed much? Might I remind you how many DIS’ers are pot stirrers that clearly do their best to piss off as many people as possible with their hate filled, nonsensical rants? But you hold those beloved DIS’ers in your warm embrace. I don’t get it. Many don’t get it.

Finally, in light of what has recently transpired regarding the DIS coming down with legal action against another site with a slightly similar domain name. Are you kidding me? Pete, my man, do you realize that by using such measures, you are damaging the reputation you are working so hard to protect? Has that occurred to you? You fought against the Undis (oops, I named the Site That Cannot Be Named, cue music) and frankly, you lost. Quite badly in fact. Now you are moving to halt another site that was never associated with the DIS. In fact, I'm a mod on the DIS and I never heard of that other damned site until you did this. Excellent move on your part dude. Not.

Finally, now let’s talk about you, the DIS member. Not all of you, mind you. Not even most of you. Just some of you. Sometimes you say something wrong. Own up to it and apologize. Sometimes you say something stupid. Acknowledge it and move on. Sometimes yes, you are racist or sexist or homophobic or elitist. Stop hiding behind the DIS. Either change your attitude or own up to your opinion. Perhaps you’ll get some respect. And yes, folks, some of you are just plain jerks. No one can help you there. You know who you are. You are the reason why I stuck around for as long as I have simply because I find your opinions and thoughts so misguided and ridiculous, so intensely ignorant, hateful, intentionally hurtful and quite honestly, stupid beyond belief, that I felt I had to stick it out as long as possible in order to at least try to get you to see things another way. Or at minimum, to at least put a counterpoint to your blather. I wanted to at least be a voice of dissent. Nope. Didn't work. You would just succeed in pissing people off and in the process, get others so worked up, they were the ones who ended up with points or worse yet, banned. All because they responded in not-so-pixie-dust-like ways, thus breaking a DIS board guideline. Yet you would get nothing in the process. Well... except self satisfaction. Game well played. You're nothing better than that kid in class who would poke and poke and poke until they've had enough and lashed out at you. You cry and scream in bewilderment, running to the teacher with tear filled eyes, pointing fingers and grunting accusations through your snotty nose like the true pig you are. And because I am a mod, there's not a damned thing I can do about it but keep my mouth shut. After all, you stayed within the confines of the DISboard guidelines. The frustration is no longer worth it.

I can't and won't forget the cool DIS'ers, the nice ones, the easy going ones, the reasonable ones. Thankfully, you are the majority. It's your kindness, respect for others and yourselves, your common sense and your ability to carry a civil debate without intentionally lobbing hateful barbs, it's your jokes and your sense of fun that have made being a mod truly worth it. Sadly, I'm not so certain that's enough any longer. And I've come to understand and am fully aware that I am as guilty as anyone for some of the things that truly tick me off. The DIS, supposedly a happy, magical place to post your thoughts, hopes and dreams about the best Disney World vacation, really brought out the ugly in me. I've seen a side of myself that I can't look back on with pride. I made mistakes and will continue to do so, but I will do so in the real world and not in a false one with loose guidelines and a false sense of security. I haven't left yet, but it won't take too much time for folks to figure out who I am and as a result, I am fairly confident my screen name will die a very fast and very sure DIS death, to disappear into the internet ether. But I'm good with that, because my own sense of dignity and self respect are much more important to me.

Just know that a large number of you will be missed.

So there you have it. My own side of the story of the mods, the Masters and Pete, and yes, you dear DIS'er.