My Peter Pan Birthday Party

Astute readers of this blog know that The Pony has long been known as a hater of kiddie birthday parties. So it seemed particularly ironic (a la a black fly in one's Chardonnay) that Yours Truly was the lucky winner of a birthday party contest on The Loop.

I gloated about my win. The party was being offered by It's My Party, which then went out of business. It was later taken over by their partner, Applause. Applause runs Broadway Babies and Broadway Superstars, which offer classes and parties built around popular musicals, including High School Musical, Annie, The Sound of Music, and Grease.

Oh, this kind of twee gaiety would be ripe for my pen! Boy, was I going to slag these people! But then, a moral dilemma: How could I possibly be snarky about some nice folks who were offering me a free birthday party? How could I be the meanie that I am accustomed to being?

I went down to chat with the Applause folks and plan my party. When I arrived, a bunch of wee babes were experiencing a Broadway Babies class. The drooling infants were being serenaded by a lovely young blonde in full makeup and a buff, steel-jawed actor who looked very freshly bathed. The woman who ran the place was all smiles and excitement: "We just can't WAIT to have your party!" They were so earnest, so Broadway! I expected a chorus line of Zac Efron lookalikes, all abundantly gay and wearing mascara.

I had, in fact, been offered High School Musical as a theme, but I decided that was too, too much for my five-year-old boy, who doesn't know Sharpay from a Shi'Tzu. Instead, I chose Peter Pan. Flying! Pirates! Lost boys! Crocodiles! How could it go wrong?

Oh, I wish I could say that the party had scarred me, my children, and all their friends for life. But no, dear readers. The party was an absolute delight. The three young performers, all actors from NYC, sang, danced, and engaged the children with songs from the Peter Pan Broadway musical. Before the party even started, my two boys were dancing madly to a CD of tunes from The Lion King, The Little Mermaid, and other fodder that makes my husband cringe and gnash his teeth.

A young woman played Peter Pan, and she whispered to some children early on that Captain Hook was terrified by the sound "Tick tock." The children went wild over this, and proceeded to attack the actor playing Captain Hook with a delighted frenzy (After har-harring and fleeing the scene repeatedly, he wound up at the bottom of a pig pile after being pelted with beach balls to the head. I suspect his "My Career Sux" blog will read more rudely than mine will). Wendy, in a white nightgown, backed up Peter at every turn.

From the start the children were transfixed and thrilled. They loved every moment of the show, and you could see it on their faces. Gosh, it even warmed our cold and prickly hearts to see them all leaping about the room with shiny pom-poms to the tune of "I Can Fly." My almost 6-month-old infant nearly flailed right out of his diaper in an effort to join the festivities.

After the show, they served pizza (Sals, overrated as it is) and juice boxes to the kids, and then a giant cake with my son's face embossed on its chocolatety surface. He laughed most uproariously when he saw himself on the cake. Then the kids all walked the plank, shouted out their names, and received goodie bags.

I confess that at times during the show I wanted to be a part of it all. Performer! Birthday guest! It didn't matter. Everyone was made to feel welcome and it was just a lot of gosh-durned fun. I batted a ball toward the ceiling and popped bubbles with my infant's toe. I found myself smiling with glee. Aw, ain't life sweet? And I'm old and withered, too!

The cost for all this hilarity? The party that I won would have run us a nice four figures. Plus tips for the performers. I can fly, indeed! Because I'm on crack! Well, if you have the dollars floating around, it's pretty swell.

Note: Send someone up the street for a box of Dunkin Donuts coffee. The caffeine makes the party extry-special.

Photo Credit: Cristina Costa-Cerone

Brenda the Stubby-Legged Bride

So a while back on The Loop, I got a lot of flak for dissing New Ro shopping with cruel barbs and rude photographs. Just to show that I'm an equal opportunity kind of girl, I hereby present Brenda the Stubby-Legged Bride, discovered just this morning in the window of Larchmont Floral Designs on Chatsworth Avenue.

Her icy stare belies her quaking—and very stubby—legs beneath that flowing white skirt. Actually, maybe she has no legs whatsoever and is planning to trundle herself up the aisle on a rolling cart! What lies beneath the skirt? 'Tis a mystery that only her beloved husband will discover as he lifts the skirt ever so gently skyward...and Brenda giggles shyly.

Her left hip appears to be dislocated, but because this is Larchmont and not New Ro it most certainly is the result of a fall rather than an abusive incident at the hands of her fiancé.

[Disclaimer: I bear no ill-will toward stubby-legged, legless, leg-impaired, leg-challenged, and multi-legged peoples of any race or nationality.]



Right next door at K-9, the groomsmen are leashed and ready to attack anyone who dares to interrupt the ceremony. The guy on the right wears dark glasses because the bachelor party went really, really late. His hangover is so fierce that he's a-gonna bite cha!



Also sighted in the window of the Citibank on Palmer Avenue: This misplaced pink lovey, desperately beating itself against the glass in an effort to return to its small and grieving owner. Note the panic in its eyes! Trapped like a rat, it can only hope that someone will release it to run wild and free yet again. Many patrons of the bank turned aside for fear of getting mauled by the creature, and rushed to deposit their money elsewhere.

More to come, oh brave citizens of Larchmont.

Independence Day

In years past we have always watched the 4th of July fireworks from our very own front porch. And every year, just like this year, I raise the spectre of having our boys stay up way too late and watch the show. Occasionally, I even suggest that we stroller it down to Five Islands to get a better view. And every year, my darling husband says this is a Very Bad Idea.

Our nanny, who happens to be a British Supernanny, says she sides with him in this matter. Fortunately, cooler heads have prevailed and we are out in the rain (live blogging from the scene!) while we hear a few distant booms. The boys are safe in their beds. We are not actually sitting in the rain, for that would be foolish: We are on the porch. Ah, soon to be no longer our porch, and we'll miss it sorely! And this is a true thing.

According to a few soreheads who read the Loop, where our favorite Editrix has posted a fair number of my rantings and ravings, I am a racist, elitist, mannequin-mocker who also happens to hate women with breast cancer. See this link for the firestorm rivaling any Independence Day spectacle New Ro can put on! (Fire fed by myself and my husband, of course, as nasty naughties who call me bad names cannot escape unscathed and must be driven weeping into the ocean.) When I first read the post of the anonymous troll known as "Another Reader" (I suspect a woman's touch, but maybe that labels me as a "sexist," too!) I was in the park with my seven-week-old infant and older son and felt keenly wounded. Ouch. Was I to be run out of town on a rail, bullied back to the borough of Brooklyn for the crime of having a sense of humor? Gosh, peeps, I was just having a bit of fun and happened to have a camera in my beaten-up old-lady non-elitist purse.

Me, a racist? I remember most vividly our very first Fourth of July in this house, when we had three couples over for a barbeque. Two of the couples happened to be black. Our neighbors' four fat sisters, floating like offal in their above-ground pool, glared at us over the fence with pointed rancor. We later planted four fat trees in that spot.

Lest another reader tracks me down here and says the "Gee, I have black friends, too!" defense won't wash, I'll mention that one of my dear pals from New Rochelle (black) was the very one who suggested I stay the hell outta this neighborhood because the school system wasn't so good. Horrid elitist that she is! We didn't listen, because I tend to think standardized test scores are a crock, especially when the majority of the school population is ESL. And I do think the school is a very decent school, with very good people working there. I'm not a fan of the garbage in the playground, but hey, there's garbage in Turtle Park, too.

When I started this blog I think approximately three people read it. I like them and they like me, and what they thought wasn't going to stop my opinionated, snarky, and occasionally heartfelt and even sad musings. Nothing has changed. Long live the free journalistic spirit, and kick-ass free spirits like the Loop's Polly!

Where are my fireworks? What are my very, very low taxes paying for, anyway?

Wait. Oh yes, indeed. They have begun. And they are quite fine!