CATS: the Snarkicle

Because I absolutely had to get it out of my system, the abbreviated version of the musical "CATS." I warn all pregnant women, young children, and those with high blood pressure to beware.

Every time I see this set, I have to restrain myself from screaming, "Euthanize the kitties! Bring on the Taverna!" We are, as you see, at the Wintergarden Theater, which is currently showing Mamma Mia! And yes, you know you're in trouble when a musical which is basically a Maury Povich paternity test set to disco is considered a work of art compared to your show.

The kitties prance and dance and sing about how great it is to be a Jellicle Cat.

Old Deuteronomy, the corpulent old feline leader and guru, stands on a raised platform and half heartedly imitates the rest of the dancing cats, like a guy on a TLC "650 pound Virgin" special doing water aerobics while waiting for the insurance company to approve his bariatric surgery.

Keep on, keep on dancing, little cats.

Ten minutes later, no one has any idea what a Jellicle Cat is, nor will they ever. But I have an even stronger urge to reach for a razor and go all Chien Andalou on my eyes than I did the day I stumbled across that Neuticles site.

Next, Victoria, a white female cat in a skin tight suit performs a dance that made me stare at my shoes in horror when I had to see Cats with my parents.

And because the unwashed masses seem to think that gyrations that would make Mary Lou Retton blush are Culture, this is how we ended up with Cirque Du Soleil years later.

Snark on, MacDuff. The Rum Tum Tugger, who's apparently the love child of Mick Jagger and a Laker girl, bumps, grinds, and touches himself. If you thought the ending of the Black or White video was hot stuff, you'll love this.

Side Note: the Rum Tum Tugger always pulls a lady from the audience to dance with him. One woman sued the actor playing Rum Tum, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and the Wintergarden Theater, for sexual harassment. Can you blame her? I feel as dirty as Hank Hill in that dolphin rape episode of King of the Hill, and I'm watching it on youtube at home.

Apparently, some of the Cats got to put "Doubled as Fluffer" in addition to "Swing" on their resumes.

Next, a cat who's called Grizabella the Glamor Cat, a down on her luck cat who used to be totally hot (think Lindsay Lohan's trajectory) enters. None of the others let her play in any kitty games.

"Andy likes me better because he gave me whiskers and real cat ears. Don't you wish your costume was hot like mine, Teddy Ruxpin?"

Side Note: Judi Dench was meant to play the role of Grizabella in the London production but ended up being replaced by Elaine Paige when she snapped a tendon. Dame Judi proved herself to be a true badass--none of this "Sorry, Mr. Mamet, I ate a bad tuna sammich" for her (take that, Jeremy "the Human Thermometer" Piven). Sawing through your own tendon to avoid a role is what true grit is all about.

But can you blame her? I'm guessing Andy promised her a role that was more Eartha Kitt and less "I'm a casualty of animal hoarding."

Another hour or so of kitty dancing. Railroad cats, theater cats, and a kitty ball. To paraphrase Blackadder, Mr. Lloyd Webber, I'm thicker than a whale omelet, but even I know--a musical's gotta have a plot.

Andy got the message. Over half way through the show, he decides to leaf through "Musical Writing for Dummies" and realizes that most plays, books, films, and children's puppet shows have antagonists. Hence, Macavity the Mystery Cat.

"I hope Tina Turner doesn't notice I made off with her wig collection..."

Macavity fight-dances a couple of other cats and somehow manages to appear less menacing than Kitty on a Roomba. Then he steals Old Deuteronomy.

Time to bring Old D back! Mr. Mistoffelees has an elaborate dance number, which the Rum Tum Tugger sings, with the whole cast joining in for the chorus. I thank god and the costume department that Mistoffelees is wearing a glittery tux and not a skintight latex cat suit.

Mr. Mistoffelees, I no longer doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion.

Mr. M. brings back Old Deuteronomy and the Rum Tum Tugger's tone changes as he sings earnestly. Then Mr. M. leaps onto Old Deuteronomy and nuzzles him as the other cats sing, and somewhere some over educated cats are debating who should be disemboweled first for slandering the feline species--Lloyd Webber or the CEO of lolcatz.

"Oh, well!"


"I never!"
"Was there ever a cat so clever as..."

"When I think about you, I touch my--Oops, wrong number."

"Look, Ma, no balls!"

Once again, thank you, costume department--this jumping sequence could have been so much worse.

Then for no real reason, it's time to send one of the kitties off to the Heaviside Layer. That's Kitty Heaven. Every seven years, a cat gets to ascend to the Heaviside Layer on a gigantic tire to be reborn.

Old D has to choose one cat.

"I can haz HEAVEN plz?"

What a surprise! It's the cat with "HAZARD WARNING: I SECRETE PATHOS" tacked to its hide. Grizabella ascends to the Heaviside Layer as the other cats chant.

Incidentally, Cats fanfic exists. I'll remind you that Mary Anne and Logan dressed up as two characters from this musical for Halloween in Mary Anne's Bad Luck Mystery. Now, how many of you want to see Ann M.'s fanfic collection? (Forget her BSC first editions and her autographed copy of Five Little Peppers!)

This post is dedicated to my good friend ali who's always up for a fun theater snark. Together, we've seen a ton of musicals--the good (the twin wonders that are Nolan Gerard Funk's hips), the bad (two words: Pal Joey), and the ugly (a college production of Wake Her Up, a rock musical version of the myth of Psyche and Eros, in which Eros swivels his hips and somehow makes the Rum Tum Tugger look as suave as a pre jumpsuit Elvis).

Happy Blogoversary to me!

Yes, Michelle. I am going to eat all this cake myself.

A year ago today I created this blog and wrote my first post.

In my blog's honor, the ten best posts.

First, my five favorite BSC related posts.

Where Are They Now: BSC Ghostwriters (Part One and Part Two)
Kristy and the Baby Parade
Maid Mary Anne
Stacey and the Bad Girls
Claudia and the World's Cutest Baby

Next, five of my other favorite posts.

My Snark of Go Ask Alice
Don't Make Me Over: the Animated Edition
Sexually Inappropriate Children's Fiction
Whatever Happened to Janie
Musical Musings: Everything Old Is New Again

In one year, I've gone from just a couple of friends who knew me reading it to 85 followers on blogger, a Twitter account, and 26,236 total page views, per Shiny Stats. Yay!

I gave Dibbly Fresh his present already--the brand new banner. And his presents are arriving soon. He gave me a cool top from Express and this book (well, I ordered them and put his name on the card).

Thanks for reading, folks. You've been a wonderful audience. (Always wanted to say that!) It's been a great year, and hopefully we'll make this one even better! One more thing. Stacey, want a bite of chocolate cake? It's totally sugar free. (Evil grin.)

The Dangers of 80s and 90s Toys

Remember the late 80s and early 90s? Weren't they a fun, vibrant time? But didn't those fun things have horrible, horrible implications for the future? No, this time I'm super, super serial. And I'm going to go through all the great things we all played with as kids and show you their impact.

Video Games

When I was little, my brother and I parked our little asses by the TV and played SNES till the cows came home. We loved Yoshi's Island and Donkey Kong in particular and debated their merits with the dedication of senior citizens arguing between the Matlock-a-thon and 24 Hours of the Golden Girls.

With both video games, making your character eat as many bananas or bad guys as possible was a huge component. Even if Yoshi had eight eggs trailing behind him (the limit) or Donkey Kong had forty-eight lives and we had Diddy along, I could never stop myself from eating more nanners and shy guys.

And this is why overeating is rampant today--why Cookie Monster made cookies a sometimes food, why companies have to put the caloric content on the back of even carrots, and why hospitals are now investing in newer, unbreakable obese person proof toilets. We learned to overeat when playing video games because you never knew when you might need more. And, in the case of Yoshi, it was eat them before they ate me.

You may be staring at me skeptically. I'll just let you guys know that the Grand Daddy of video games, Pac Man, is currently being homed at the Claudia Kishi Center for Bulimia and Overeating.

American Girl

I know, the socially responsible feminist mothers reading this are in shock. The moms who read their little girls the Paper Bag Princess every night and who write angry letters about Hermione's breasts being photoshopped on the Order of the Phoenix ad, and who wish their daughters would put down the Barbie doll and all her myriad accessories. What could be bad about a wholesome company manufacturing dolls that don't have breasts or hips and who teach girls about the importance of reading and learning history?

Because they also taught me how to be a good little capitalist piglet. Go consumerism! When I was eight, I pored over this magazine with the intensity of a 15 year old boy with his first Penthouse, longing for furniture that cost more than some IKEA products do today. And when I met a friend who had all of Samantha's birthday apparel (yes, even the tiny plastic $18 dollar petit fours and the forty dollar teddy bear that was barely Beanie Baby sized), it was like the preteen girl equivalent of entering the Playboy mansion. And hey, American Girl cashed in on it, too--it's the only brand of doll I know where people are paying serious money to get its hair styled.

There was also a huge amount of social status connected with each doll. Samantha Parkington had the most cachet. And now that the doll-pire has expanded, the girl who gets the homeless doll gets ostracized just a bit. (Yes, Virginia, there really is a homeless American Girl doll.)

In case you still doubt my theory that American Girl=consumerism deluxe, Paris Hilton had a Samantha, Felicity, and Kirsten. I rest my case.

Tamagotchis

These were basically the "Carry an Egg" around project that kids in Home Ec classes in books and TV. Except you had to pay money for the privilege. They also came with key chain holders, for today's kid on the go.

If you did well, your reward was a happy pet that you'd get to go on taking care of for the rest of its life (kind of like the reward you get when you make partner). Huzzah for the status quo! If you neglected it by forgetting to feed or clean up after it, you'd come back to one big pile of virtual shit...or in some cases, a dead pet with x's in its eyes. And that's more traumatic than the time we all learned the Truth About Milli Vanilli.

When you're used to hearing a cacophonous beeping noise every five minutes that dies if you don't pay attention to it that exact minute, is it all that strange that we carry around iPhones, Crackberries, and attend to them like they're miniature babies? And this is why I can't go to the movies without being assaulted by texters and sexters.

Littlest Pet Shop

We all had these as kids. Adorable little plastic animals with oversized heads and eyes. Because they were so small, you could collect as many as you wanted and then just shove them into the little cages they came with. (Or, in my case, as many as it took my parents to say, "You know for the price of all this sweatshop produced plastic, we could have gotten her a real goldfish and about eight replacement fishies.")

And you people wonder why so many sad folks on that show Hoarders have about fifty cats living in their own filth. Don't quote big fancy words like "serotonin imbalance" or "childhood abandonment issues" at me. It was Littlest Pet Shop making Crazy Cat Ladyism a socially sanctioned ill. Hey, for all the hate the Ty company got, Beanie Babies didn't come with little plastic cages to shove your pets into. Go free range beanies!

Don't get me started on Pokemon. I blame them and their "Pokeballs" for why so many people end up kidnapped and stuffed in dungeons a la Jaycee Duggard and that freak in Germany.

Talkboy

This was a really cute Home Alone 2 tie in. Basically, it was a glorified tape recorder. You put in a tape and taped yourself, then you could press a button and slow it down or speed it up. Oh, you could also rewind and fast forward. Like I said--glorified tape recorder. But since we saw Kevin McCallister using it to record sexually inappropriate stuff his uncle said, and to get away with credit card fraud, it became cool. I myself was so insecure in proving my femininity that I had the lady Talkboy, also referred to as the Talkgirl. (Same as the Talkboy, only lavender.)

Why is the Talkboy on the list? Because it's spawned a culture so interested in recording its own voice that we have entire websites devoted to self promotion. Insecure girls photographing their T&A in black and white for deviantart. Blogs devoted to cats that look like Hitler. The equivalent of "Did you hear about Hugo and Kim?!" getting twittered. Before I start to sound like the younger female version of Andy Rooney, I'll point out that I did cave and join Twitter. (John Stamos is there. And my philosophy is that if it's good enough for Uncle Jesse, it's good enough for me...which led to some really interesting hair styles back in the day.)

Leg Warmers

Leg warmers? you ask. Those are harmless. They encourage proper leg circulation. And make it so we don't have to shave as often.

Wrong. A society so mind boggling stupid who decides to put cloth warmers on their legs rather than, you know, pants or warmer trousers, is too dumb to live. It's reasons like this why when we get cold, we buy a Snuggie--a blanket with arms--rather than putting on, say, a sweater or a cardigan. Come on, people, we saw Mr. Rogers do it twice a day. We can do this! Together!

This post is dedicated to my little brother who loves nostalgia toys just as much as I do, in lieu of a birthday gift. (I keed, I keed.)

BSC #131: The Fire at Mary Anne's House

Synopsis:

Mary Anne's house burns down. And the babysitters are entering a best babysitter contest in some magazine--as a group. The book has an open ending--Richard and Sharon are considering moving from Stoneybrook to buy a new house, possibly in Pennsylvania. And MA's pretty shellshocked.

When I first started recapping this one, I decided to do the unthinkable: to judge a book by its cover. I know it's wrong, but look how utterly hot this cover is. It's convinced me that we need to f'getabout Claudia's stylishness and Stacey's sophisticated...ness, and focus on Mary Anne as a model. Okay, so she's short--so were all the Top Models last season! Give her a pair of Jimmy Choos and park her right in front of the judging panel on America's Next Top Model.

Judging Panel

Tyra: So, Mary Anne. How do you like your Ty-Over? I know the girls freak out when we ask them to cut off all their hair, but short hair is really high fashion and it shows off your cheek bones, and I think we did a great job with it.

MA: Um. I got this haircut at the mall over a decade ago.

Tyra: Girl, when I was first starting out, I was doing go sees in salons in malls and little towns--and the first time I was discovered was when I was five and a guy did a caricature for me at the food court...

Nigel: Let's see her best shot.

Tyra: Gorgeous. Today's shoot was tragic situations, and you really nailed it. I love the fact that you weren't afraid to be unpretty. It was a sad shot but you made it fashion. Just like I myself dealt with tragedy when Heidi Klum got to be top angel at the Victoria's Secret fashion show four days after having a baby, and I had to--

Nigel: You really committed to the shot. And you were a joy to work with, I have to say.

Tyra: But not as much fun as meeeeee, Nigel, right? Remember that nickname you gave me?

Nigel: Insufferable Yank?

Tyra: Anyway, Mary Anne, one thing really skinny girls need to watch out for though is making yourself look TOO thin--your left arm looks a bit bony, and that's something we'd need to touch up after.

Janice Dickinson: Tyra, hush, you can never be too skinny, rich, drunk, Valium infused, or syphilis ridden.

Tyra: I think I'd like to see you go a little further, though, Mary Anne--don't be afraid to really show us your body. Let your t-shirt fall off the shoulder, be a little flirty, sexy...but make sure it's fashion!

MA: Can I go now?

• Mary Anne has to wear some clothing donated by other people because she loses everything in the fire. This isn't explicitly said, but I bet there's a scene where she wears a new shirt and excitedly tells Richard, "Look, Dad, Dawn is stupid and I'm with her!"

• Speaking of borrowed clothing, no one at one point stops off to buy new underwear. You really expect me to believe that Richard "I iron my sweat socks" Spier is wearing Watson's knock offs? I think not.

• This was the last BSC book ever. Until Friends Forever, anyway. Who got to ghost write? Ellen Miles, bitches. Lerangis offered Ann M. his first born child, but Ellen Miles made Ann a tea cozy shaped like a gigantic tea cozy.

• The BSC enters a contest for Sitter of the Year. They decide to enter as a group. They have to write an essay about why they're great sitters and collect testimonials from the kids they've sat for. The book never tells us if they win, but I have to assume they do because can you imagine the competition?

That girl in Arthur who babysits, that Arthur crushes on but who breaks his heart when he realizes she's got a boyfriend

Arthur's testimonial: "She broke my heart and made me not want to open myself to another living soul again, which means I'll probably get brow beaten into marrying Francine, having weird pseudo monkey kids, and never leaving Elwood City again. Oh, um, she provided good snacks."

Title character of Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead

Crandell kids: "She really fostered growth and independence."

R.L. Stine's the Babysitter

Donny Hagen: "Jenny was the only babysitter Daddy didn't kill. Well, so far."

Ole Golly from Harriet the Spy

Mrs. Welsch: "Ole Golly was a wonderful and attentive nanny to our bright, shining star of a child...why doesn't she still work for us? Well, she left the night we came home to find she and her boyfriend went out on a date to the movies, and stayed out past midnight, but apart from that..."

The BSC are so the winners.

Happy New Year, all! I promised I'd be posting more BSC recaps in the New Year, didn't I? I'm having a bit of blogger's block, so please let me know, either through comments or e-mail, if there are any books or movies or anything I absolutely have to recap.