Bibbity-Bobbity-BLAM!

*

Hannah Montana. The Suite Life of Zack & Cody. Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam.

As if the Disney Channel needed another method to send sentient adults running for the remote, there is now Disney Blam! You should know just from that title whether or not this is the program for you.

Imagine someone screaming the word "BLAM!" directly in your face. Now imagine that this person has one of the most grating, unpleasant, obnoxious voices you've ever heard. Now repeat that word over and over for one minute and thirty seconds. "Blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam!" Do you feel like you're being shot in the face with a machine gun? I do! I tried to think of a word more abrasive than "BLAM!" and was unsuccessful, so kudos, Disney, on an appropriately irksome title.

Think I'm exaggerating? Watch the following clip at your own - BLAM! - peril:



Believe it or not, that clip is only a minute and a half long, even though I feel I could've caught an entire season of Mad Men in that agonizing span. I now know what Hell is like - it feels like being tortured for an eternity!

Is this really what it takes to hook the ADD generation? Back in my day - not so terribly long ago - Disney was still a sacred, untouchable entity, producing such classics as Beauty & the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King. I imagine there were some purists who balked at Timon and Pumbaa's flatulence humor, moaning, "How has Disney sunk down to this level?" To these purists, I have just one thing to say:

BLAM!

The Lion King is looking pretty old-fashioned now, isn't it?

Once upon a time, Disney was about simple cartoons featuring silly characters getting themselves in absurd predicaments. And that's about it. I'm pretty sure some of them involved a mouse, but who can remember such details anymore? Then there were full-length animated features, then there was a theme park. Then there was merchandise. I suppose it was all downhill from there. Soon celebrities like Robin Williams were doing their shtick in Disney films, and wiseass postmodern comic relief like Timon and Pumbaa were inserted to appease the kiddies. At least those movies still retained the winning Disney formula with strong themes, imaginative stories, and memorable characters.

But what could kids possibly be getting out of Disney Blam!? Aside from an excuse to refill their Ritalin prescription?

Once upon a time, Disney's characters were a staple of growing up. Mufasa might as well have been Jesus Christ for how well he was known and worshiped. Do kids even know who these characters are anymore? It's no coincidence the Anonymous Blammer refers to Goofy and Donald each as "that guy." I bet he's never heard of them, either. I can only imagine some tyke running up to Mickey Mouse at Disneyland and saying, "Look Mom! Look Dad! It's that guy from Blam!" And then giving "that guy" a swift kick to the groin with a snicker, a stale pun, and - what else? - a "Blam!"

Not that I'm surprised. The Disney Channel has been violently offensive to adult sensibilities for quite some time now - I dare you to visit the Disney Channel website. It is borderline terrifying. Those trademark mouse ears can still be located, but beyond that, there's nary a familiar face from my childhood. Certainly no Goofy, Minnie, or Donald Duck. Not even an Ariel, Simba, or Genie. You would think Disney would use this outlet to, say, air Disney films and cartoons featuring cherished Disney characters. Alas, no. Primarily the Disney channel features shows about teenagers doing assorted trickery (sometimes magical, and sometimes just fooling people into thinking they are/aren't a famous country diva) and pretending they're not sexually active. Quite a lot of this involves singing - Disney would rather have their tween viewers believe that your average American adolescent is more likely to burst spontaneously into song than get to third base with his girlfriend, and in this respect, I suppose things haven't changed that much. Family values are still in tact, they're just a lot harder to buy these days when the focus is on high school students rather than far-off princesses.

Where are the mice in suspenders? The irate, pantsless ducks? The miserly uncle with three boisterous rhyming nephews? I suppose Disney Blam! was some genius executive's way of keeping these characters alive in the minds of today's youth. I suppose they think this is a way of honoring dear old Uncle Walt and his beloved early creations.

In reality, this is the Disney Channel desecrating the name of Walt Disney and everything he once stood for, spitting on all that is holy in the world, and poisoning the futures and well-beings of our nation's children. Blam! Blam blam blam! Now let's hit rewind on the Blam Cam and watch it again, shall we?

I just don't see the point. As I recall, Disney cartoons were already brief and rather violent. Sure, the violence was more harmless even than, say, Looney Tunes or Tom & Jerry, but cartoon creatures were constantly hit with objects that would mostly likely kill a normal human being. This was done for our amusement. When I was a kid, I still found these cartoons reasonably entertaining without any added "blam!" They did not need pesky voiceover spouting ESPN-esque quips to "explain" what was going on. I don't recall ever watching a Disney cartoon and thinking, "Man, I just don't get what's going on here! Can't someone spell it out for me?" Not even as a very young child. I certainly never thought the cartoons needed more sound effects. When the image of an animated dog getting a pie in the face is accompanied by a "smoosh" sound effect, that generally works. Why a spoken "blam!"? Why, why, why? How the hell did Steamboat Willy become Jackass for 4 year-olds?

Is this just the first step in Disney's forceful world takeover, dumbing down all that is sacred until it can be dumbed down no more? You know that graphic with Tinkerbell flitting about, waving her wind, and then illuminating the Disney castle? It wouldn't surprise me if that flick of her wrist was soon accompanied by a "BLAM!" Lady and the Tramp's spaghetti kiss might also be punctuated with a "BLAM!" and then rewound for an "Instant Replay." They could probably cut Cinderella out of Cinderella altogether for a story about mice and birds making a dress, "BLAM!"-ing with every stitch. And hey, on second thought - why can't it be a spoonful of "BLAM!" that helps the medicine go down?

The following is ostensibly a parody, but almost indiscernible from the jaw-dropping horror of the real thing:



"BLAM!"

Did you hear that?

I'm pretty sure that was Walt Disney shooting himself in the face.

Wham! Blam! No thanks, man,

X.

One Less Moaning Groan

The other day, I received an invitation to my 10-year high school reunion on Facebook, which felt to me like the equivalent of a group of Eskimos approaching me with rope, preparing to lash me to an ice floe and send me out to sea. I ultimately accepted the invite, but the damage had been done. Since that day, I have been aggressively looking back to figure out just what happened.

When did I get so old? It seems like only yesterday that I was in college. Or high school. Or even junior high school. And now I'm more than 4 years out of college and 10 years out of high school. Holy Jesus. By the time I finish this post, I'll probably be fifty years old (longest blog post EVAR!) that's how fast time seems to be going these days.

Through all of this inner reflection, I have been able to recall instances of being younger, and looking at my parents (and older folk in general) as they let loose that standard moan: "what's become of music these days? Remember (name I didn't know)? And what about (name that I may have heard once, somewhere)? Whatever happened to them!? Kids just listen to crap these days." This often happened whenever I'd have command over the family radio or CD player and would pop in the latest boy band or whatever to dance in-the-closet-ly along to.

And I would roll my eyes at these adults. Thinking: what do they know? Now That's What I Call Music volume 8 is the shit! Long live Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Tool, Korn and everyone else! (I had a very, very eclectic taste in music, mind you. No one else had mix tapes (yes, tapes. STFU). That would jump from N*Sync's "Bye Bye Bye" to Type-O Negative's "Too Deep: Frozen." Then again, no one else was regularly sent to the school counselor either, but I digress.)

And then I began to get older. But, as I aged, I found my musical taste expanding along with what was on the radio, or at the clubs. I was aware of new musical upstarts auto-tuning themselves onto the scene. And I began to think: will I ever become like those old folks from my childhood? Could I possible be proof that you can ALWAYS be with it? I mean, I was in it! I knew Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears and Katy Perry and all of them! And I was able to get down to their tunes as much as I was able to boogie with Back Street Boys, 98 Degrees, Boyz II Men, Another Bad Creation and all the other pop crap I grew up devouring.

But then something must have happened. Or maybe it was happening all along. Because today I find myself in the exact same place of my former elders. I only first heard of Miley Cyrus when Party in the USA was released. I didn't know that The Jonas Brothers came out of the same Disney musical pop star factory, or that they had started with their own show.






Disney Lab Unveils Its Latest Line Of Genetically Engineered Child Stars 
But you know what? It's fine. It's okay that I'm not "with" these latest pop sensations. They leave me alone, and I leave them alone. We are co-existing peacefully and will let bygones be bygones. Except for one. One single tween star has been coming on my radar over and over, despite my efforts to ignore him every single day.

And that girl is Justin Bieber.

You probably know more about Justin than I do. My one experience seeing him performing would be from New Year's Eve this past year, where he performed in a cast out in LA in the later hour of Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. I don't know why he had a cast, and I didn't really care for him all that much. I also was too busy (thankfully) attending to my boyfriend's skyrocketing fever and mysterious flu-like illness that overtook him. I am actually jealous, as I imagine the hallucinations that stemmed as a result of the fire in his brain were probably more on key, and less elvish in appearance.

To be honest, I think I know more about Justin Bieber's fans (known as "Beliebers") than I know about the superstar himself. From what I think I understand, he got his start on YouTube. He is canadian. People think he looks like a lesbian. He got pegged in the head with a water bottle a few weeks ago. He is already working on a biopic and a biography (I, unlike others, will not fault him, as I have written two "biographies" already and I've been alive twice as long as he.) And that is it! Is there more to him? Maybe!

Now, what do I know about the Beliebers? Oh, plenty. For one, they can't spell. At all. For two, they are VICIOUS, PROFANE, and MURDEROUS. I'm serious. Just pop his name into a Twitter search bar. The results are gorier than a Friday the 13th movie festival. They have invaded Twitter like a swarm of locusts, and tweet and re-tweet each other every other minute, imploring the Biebster to follow them. Why? What will him following do for you, exactly? He's still not going to sleep with you. Or talk to you. He's too busy cutting singles with Usher and other misguided stars who are trying to lash their dying corpses to his poprocket.

These Beliebers are also on the warpath against the Jonas Brothers, who have their own set of frothing fangirls. Epic battles between Beliebers and Jonas Buckeroos (I made that nickname up, not sure if Jonas fans have a convenient pseudonym for their crew) occur every single day. And it is because of these Beliebers, and the penning of the term "Bieber Fever" that I am faced down with this sprite that shares my name every single god damn day.

Justin, meet me at camera two: I know we have the same name. I know you're a big shit superstar. I'm sure your music is just wonderful to girls with not-yet-fully-formed ears. I am sure that you work hard, and ride your segway hard. But please, please, PLEASE go hide out somewhere for a while. I can't stand these fanatics. And I can't stand hearing about you every day.

A few weeks ago, Pink put herself in a slingshot at a concert outside of the US and an accident occurred, flinging her off the stage and into a barricade. If I had not been staring at Twitter THAT moment, I never would have known she had almost died. Meanwhile, I think the dog that is leashed outside of my office was telling a stop sign about that water bottle that slammed into your noggin. That's just plain wrong.

I am beginning to think that there is only one cure for Bieber fever, and it is the same as used for killing vampires: stake the girls through the heart, cleave off their head and stuff it with garlic cloves. And you know what? If that works, then I am all for this alternative (and classic!) treatment.

Justin Bieber has crossed the line from talentless jerkoff to talentless jerkoff whose every single jerk off is reported by every media outlet, every day. He dominates the Twitter trending topics, replacing  VALUABLE trending topics like this blog of photos of owls that look like they are hung over. And it doesn't look like it's going to be improving any. Lord knows if the Beliebers don't get me, their pedophile mothers will. For christ sakes, Justin just sold out Madison Square Garden yesterday. And if I am to believe the review I read in the Times, Justin is just starting to grasp what sex on his penis might feel like, and so he will be flirting with girls and driving them all the wilder.

Justin Bieber makes me pine for Jonas Brothers with their chastity rings, and Miley Cyrus with her penchant for turning into a superstar country idol when she is sleeping. It makes me wish for Boyz II Men and Bel Biv Davoe and Another Bad Creation when they all came together to perform "Motown Philly". (And don't even think about reminding me that Boyz II Men actually came out and performed with Bieber last night. That hurts more than anything.)

And then I wonder: when did music get so bad? What are these crazy kids getting themselves into? And then I feel old, just like my parents probably did. And that makes me hate Justin even more.

It's either that Justin, or this Justin. But, seeing how pop stars usually age, I imagine that if I bide my time and sit silently, Justin will be doing coke and coming out of limos in skirts with no panties in no time. And then this generation will be able to feel the same shame and embarrassment that mine does when we see Joey Fatone hosting soon-to-be-canceled singing competitions.

And that will be the sweetest revenge of all.

J: The Other White Justin

When You Bark Upon A Chaise.

*

It’s all over the news: we’ve got a piss-poor economy. Hundreds of thousands are out of work. People are losing their homes left and right, barely scraping by. Some reports link an increase in suicide rates to the economic decline.

But you wouldn’t know it by looking to Disney, a company that has always thrived on painting smiles over anything remotely controversial or tragic or that isn't, like, you know, a spoonful of zip-a-dee-doo-dah. Before Uncle Walt came along, the evil queen feasted on Snow White's heart and was forced to wear hot iron shoes as punishment for her malevolence, and from from the festive nuptials attended by Scuttle and Sebastian, the Little Mermaid is given a knife to kill her beloved prince when he chooses to marry someone else, but instead decides to off herself. Wishing on stars, marrying Prince Charming...where would we be without the silver lining Disney provides to lull us into the mass delusion that everything will always turn out fine, no matter what? Well, maybe not in a recession, that's where. But what's done is done.

Children all over world already whine and plead to visit Disney parks because, you know, they're magical. Now, in a real magic kingdom, I'd argue that you could buy snacks for a family of four without taking out a second mortgage, but don't tell the kids. It's gotten to the point that if parents don't shell out a few thou to take the kids to Anaheim or Orlando at least once in their formative years, they are robbing them of a childhood, ruining their financial future thanks to the hundreds of hours of therapy they'll need, and essentially killing their souls. (Never mind that these kids will be screwed up regardless when their wishes don't come true and they realize their supposed Prince Charming just slipped them a roofie.)

But no, the Mouse House is not content to stop at just your children. Now, in their latest ploy to help the medicine go down, Disney is opening a new luxury resort...

...For pets.


As if it's not already milking American families for all they're worth, Disney is now also trying to convince pet owners that man's best friend will not be their friend anymore unless they put them up at a sumptuous spa for dogs at the Walt Disney World Resort.


That's right. Uncle Walt wants to taint the hopes and dreams of Rover, too. And Fluffy. And Minnie, the pet mouse you named after...well, you know. I guess it wasn't Disney that tried to convince us that all dogs go to heaven, but they're sure trying to convince us that they'd all like a week-long stint at Disney's woof-ready answer to the Four Seasons, which is close enough.

Now Disney already has a long-standing tradition of promoting puppy opulence. Witness Lady and the Tramp feasting on fine Italian cuisine...do anything you can not to witness Beverly Hills Chihuahua...and don't even get me started on the Aristocats. The Shaggy Dog, Up, Oliver & Company, Bolt, Pluto, Max from The Little Mermaid, The Fox & the Hound, 101 Dalmatians...clearly this has been in the works for ages. I'm surprised we didn't see it coming. Now, I can see why they’d be confused, what with Goofy wearing a hat and pants and talking and all. The next logical step is a honeymoon suite with a jacuzzi.

But newsflash, Disney:

Dogs don’t care.

I’ve never understood why owners pamper their pets. Massages, caviar, sweater-vests, and Fiji in the water bowl...do you honestly think your shih tzu gives a shit? I’ve never seen a dog any happier after a mani-pedi than it is with some other dog’s asshole in its face. As human beings, we sometimes have to charge for that sort of thing, but dogs can easily get such things for free. You know what a dog's idea of lavish is? Two piles of shit to sniff instead of one. Ooh-la-la. Can we all just admit that when it comes to indulgences, dogs don't exactly have the most extravagant taste?

The Best Friends Pet Resort has VIP suites and private outdoor yards. What's "exclusive" in dog world? Do mixed breeds have to bribe the bouncer with a Milkbone to get into the purebred lounge? Will the dog be aware of its elite status? I guess if you can train Paris Hilton to sniff out a VIP suite, you can train anything. But is this really something we as a populace can justify spending money on? I find it truly disturbing that there are people who would rather spend their hard-earned money on an air-conditioned suite for Fido than, say, send it to a single mother of two who was recently laid off from her minimum-wage paying job at a fast food chain. Are we all aware that VIP stands for Very Important Person, and there’s a reason there’s no such acronym for canines? If I remember correctly, it wasn't too long ago that a foreign terrorist group attacked us for being privileged, wasteful fucks with our heads up our asses (not unlike most canines). Wait 'til they get a load of this.

(A dog dressed as a dog? How meta!)

The dogs will also be given ice cream (anus-flavored, I assume, as chocolate kills dogs) and have storybook time. Now, pet owners, I know this is going to be hard for you to take: but your dog cannot understand you. Yes, it has been trained to understand a few simple commands. Sit. Beg. Shake. Good boy. I know every master wants to believe his dog is just the smartest creature ever, but that does not mean it will pick up on the literary nuance in The Great Gatsy or relate to the struggles of African-American women in Toni Morrison’s Beloved.

Your dog does not care if you are reading Old Yeller, Where the Wild Things Are, the phone book, Overcoming Hangnails for Dummies, The Iliad, Chicken Soup for the Nazi Soul, or The Vagina Monologues. Even if there is a canine equivalent titled The Sphincter Soliloquies, I guarantee your pup will not be on the edge of its seat following along at every plot turn. I’ll bet your dog doesn’t even bark during Cat in the Hat, because unless you scream the word “Cat!” and make a mewing noise after it, your dog will have no idea what you’re talking about. If you really want to entertain your pet at a level any dog can comprehend, turn on Fox News. That's about your only option.

It has always infuriated how, in movies, millions of people can die in a special effects sequence, but the hero will still always stay behind until he makes sure the dog's okay. If I asked someone to buy me an extended at a place where I would do nothing but be read to and eat ice cream, you’d all call me a spoiled little bitch. So why send a dog? You cannot make a dog unhappy. I dare you to try. You can take away all its fancy toys. You can lock it in a tiny confined space. The dog will still find a way to entertain itself. Short of beating it, starving it, or prying its eyes open and forcing it to watch Cats & Dogs: The Revenge of Kitty Galore in its entirety, there is simply no way to ruin a dog’s day. A dog is perfectly happy with any food, any toy, and any amount of storybook time (preferably none). Notice how the dog seems more interested in licking its own genitals than finding out whether Bella will choose Jacob or Edward? This is not a coincidence. Isn't it time we stopped treating man's best friend better than our fellow man?

Of course, Best Friends Pet Resort is an equal-opportunity lodging; Disney doesn't discriminate by species, just against those of us who have common sense or no money. There’s a special “Kitty City” for felines (I guess “Pussytown” was a little risqué). But if you ask me, that sounds like one shitty city - cats want nothing except to be left alone on a sofa to take a nap. There's also a separate park for hamsters, rabbits, and the like. How does that work? Presumably, they’ve already got a wheel at home...how are you going to improve on that? Slap a picture of Mickey Mouse on it? Wouldn't that just make the VIP mice and rats confused? “Hey, I thought we were VIP! How come he gets pants?” Oh yeah, ‘cause he fuckin’ owns the place.

So pet owners, take my advice and steer clear of Disney's Best Friends. It will only give your pets delusions of grandeur. Next thing you know they’ll start an LLC and start charging your friends and neighbors to visit them. Then they’ll rope you into dressing up in costumes and selling churros at $36 a pop. Then they’ll get an agent and hire Johnny Depp to star in the motion picture adaptation of their ride.

Do you think your beloved pets will remember you then? Will they give you VIP status and pay thousands of dollars to have someone read to you? I don’t think so.

Who raised Mickey Mouse? Was it Walt Disney himself? And tell me, where is good old Uncle Walt nowadays?

That’s right. Dead.

So why don’t you go read him a story? He’d appreciate it as much as your dog would. That’s a fantastic new way for people with too much money to waste even more money at a theme park: a VIP park for your dead relatives. So your VIPs can RIP in style.

Okay, I know: now I'm just being ridiculous. I'm probably overreacting. There's nothing wrong with giving your favorite puppy a vacation from all that eating and snoozing and barking at nothing that's undoubtedly been causing him a lot of stress lately. It's perfectly natural to love our pets like they're our kids, why not express that love just as we would to our children? In a totally materialistic fashion.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to buy four pair of tiny Manolo Blahniks for my pet tarantula.

Dog Fancy forever,

X.

Hotel for Dogs 2: An Actual Hotel for Dogs

Limo drivers that pick you up from home, personal massages, jogging partners, people to read to you, cook for you, play with you. Yup, being the pet of a rich person sure is a sweet deal. Just ask any dog that rides past you in the Poochmobile as you stomp through puddles of sludge to cram yourself into an un-airconditioned subway stuffed worse than an olive from hell.

Well, that warm lap of luxury so many pups are used to is just about to get warmer and more luxurious: Disney World has announced their newest resort hotel: a "Luxury Pet Resort".

Located just across the way from Disney's Port Orleans Resort, the Best Friends Pet Care resort will be opening this September 1st. The resort features many trivial amenities to be enjoyed by creatures that tend to be entertained by bouncing balls, balls of yarn, or other animals' balls, including:

- a 1,300 square-foot “canines only” water park
- a “Kitty City” pavilion – away from dogs – featuring two- and four-room condos
- ”VIP” suites
- and "Ice Cream Time"

No more kennel treatment for them! The days of being left with the aunt or uncle or neighbor are gone. Dogs, cats, ferrets, and even hamsters can get the Disney treatment - frolicking and enjoying magical fantasies on astroturf playgrounds and in preserved wetlands while their owners chow down on giant turkey legs and then vomit them back up after two consecutive rides on Animal Kingdom's "Everest" roller coaster.

At first I was jealous. Because, once again, I lose to animals. Precious and Fido get "ice cream time" and nicely appointed rooms on the park grounds while I have to fly coach, crash on my Mom's couch 45 miles away in her active retirement community, and beg her to borrow her car so I can drive to the parks.

But maybe jealousy isn't entirely necessary. I don't know if you've ever noticed this, but so much "pet luxury" isn't really that luxurious. I've noticed, because in New York City, animal spas tend to outnumber healthcare clinics by 10-to-1.

Pooch limos are usually vans that looked like they were bought off of 1980's-era rapists. "Playrooms" tend to be cavernous empty spaces with cheap-looking blue gym mats for floors and blank walls.

So maybe the previous list of amenities could stand to be better described...

Water park = one of those cheap plastic pools with a hose stuck in it.

"Kitty City" pavilion condos = big, metallic cages

"VIP" suites = broom closets

"Ice Cream Time" = employees devour ice cream and bitch about their jobs, while ignoring animals.

And, of course, none of this matters.

Why? Because they are animals and I honestly don't believe they can tell the difference between "food" and "fancy food". Does it smell like meat? Om nom nom thanks. Doesn't matter if the meat is real meat, meat-flavored, or meat-flavoured. What animals want is what they physically need: attention and nutrition and something that bounces or resists their sharp teeth when they gnaw at it.

They don't care if their leash has Swarovski crystals sparkling on every square centimeter. They don't care if it's a "water park", they just want to splash around. And chances are, if a giant Mickey Mouse comes bouncing in with Pluto at his side, they will all shit themselves and perhaps mount an attack.

But then again, these are CLASSY animals. Perhaps they wouldn't bother attacking, preferring instead to preserve their latest mani-pedi. Or maybe they'd just hire a doggie hitman to do their bidding for them.

Because animals are not pampered humans. If you left them in a room with a wallet and left your door wide open, telling them the world is their oyster (note: I am assuming your pet is not an oyster... in which case, this statement might permanently destroy their sanity) they would probably chew the wallet to pieces, leave, and go have sex with the next closest animal (or animal-like thing) they found, or chow down on spoiled food hanging out of a dumpster.

But then again, I think the paparazzi caught Lindsay Lohan doing the same thing two weeks ago. So maybe I'm wrong after all.