Son of Manus Mondays: Do, Re, Mi

It’s almost Thanksgiving, which means it’s almost time for NBC (or maybe it’s ABC) to show everyone’s favorite schmaltzfest: The Sound of Music.*

Okay, fine, so maybe I kind of love it (but don’t tell anyone). It does, however, raise some questions, which I addressed in this post from 2006.

The Nazis in the Sound of Music have to be the dumbest Nazis ever. Do you mean to tell me they posted guards all over the auditorium during the festival but no one was watching the door? And didn’t Max get punished for so obviously helping the von Trapps escape? And why weren’t the nuns immediately taken to a concentration camp after they dismantled the Nazis’ cars? The only Nazi who showed any initiative was Rolf, and it was probably just because Liesl refused to, shall we say, “deliver his telegram” in the gazebo that night.

You want it, put a ring on it.

You want it, put a ring on it.


Sixteen going on seventeen ain't gettin' any younger, babe.

Sixteen going on Seventeen ain’t getting any younger, babe.

Lessons I’ve learned from the Sound of Music

-The Nazis in Salzburg in September 1939 just didn’t care
-When you’re sixteen going on seventeen, it’s best not to get involved with Nazi youth because they will turn you in at the end of the movie unless you put out
-Governesses are man-stealing bitches (just ask the Baroness)
-While a stiff drink and a lap dance may be among the captain’s favorite things, they are not part of the song
-No one, and I mean no one, knows how to solve a problem like Maria
-The hills may be alive with the sound of music, but it could also be those mushrooms you ate

Perhaps not my best effort, but something to think about while you’re digesting turkey this year.

Thanks for reading and have a wonderful Monday.

xoxo, SnoopK8

What is this? Back in the day, I had a blog. It’s long been abandoned, but I think the world deserves to hear my wisdom anew.  And I was also a lot crankier back then, so if you have a moment, why not go back in time and give 2006 Kate a hug.


Boozy Tuesdays: Brandy, You’re a Fine Horse

Here’s a fabulous idea for your next party. Instead of a keg or a punch bowl (do people still even have punch bowls??), think outside the bottle and provide your guests with the finest Armenian brandy in the finest of vessels: a glass horse.




“But wait!” you say, “The holidays are coming!”

Don’t worry, I have your Christmas party covered:

It's a brandy reindeer! (Obviously.)

You’re welcome!


I suppose I should explain how I found out about these. My friend’s dad gave her the brandy horse for her birthday (which we named, creatively enough, “Brandy”), and I thought it was so fantastic, he gave me one at Christmas. (We him named “Randy.” [Reindeer + Brandy – are you sensing a theme?])

Randy is SO special, I have vowed not to open him until I win my Tony award or until NYC is hit by a dirty bomb and I have to shelter in place, whichever comes first.

I just googled these guys and all I didn’t realize there were so many to pick from! I want them all. Especially this one.

So what’s your favorite incarnation of Armenian brandy?

As always, thanks for reading and have a fab day!


Son of Manus Mondays: Mouse Grouse

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away (Boston), my bosses at sent me to Disney World for an assignment and it was my first (and hopefully last) encounter with Mouse Culture. You can read the original post here.

Diary of a Misanthrope at Disney


After speaking with the front desk to find out if my room is ready, I am told to have a “magical day.”

Decide to start a running fanny-pack count.

Call off fanny-pack count because I can’t count that high.

We are at the new “Wishes” fireworks show. The name “Wishes” reminds me of the dumbest senior quote to ever grace the pages of my high school yearbook: “if wishes were horses, dreamers would ride.” If wishes were tequila, I’d have a much better disposition.

Hail Satan!

Hail Satan!


Summer Media Preview at MGM:

While wandering around the park, I find a street modeled after New York City. I propose a Boston-themed street with potholes, triple-parked cars and the occasional shooting of a teenager at the T-station.

If it were really the “happiest place on earth” there’d be fewer kids and more dogs.

I dig the show tunes.

Sneak Preview at Saratoga Springs Resort (opening later this month):

The newest resort is called Saratoga Springs Resort and Spa, based on Saratoga Springs, N.Y. The resort’s motto is “Health, History and Horses.”

Let’s see. “Health.” Okay, there is a spa. That could be construed as healthy. “History.” If you consider a fake reproduction of upstate New York circa 1870 in the middle of 2004 central Florida historical, then yes, there is history. “Horses.” Hmmm. No horses. No horse races. No betting. They should at least throw in an OTB.

Saratoga Springs Performance Center:

We are gathered for a “surprise announcement” via a live feed from Disneyland in California.

To celebrate Disneyland’s 50th anniversary (for some reason called “The Happiest Homecoming on Earth”), Disney World will import attractions from other Disney parks.

From Tokyo, they will introduce a show called “Cinderellabration,” a story featuring Cinderella and the other Disney princesses. Euro-Disney will contribute its “Lights, Motors, Action! Extreme Stunt Show,” which consists of a bunch of cars going really fast and crashing. I suggest they combine the two and call it the “The Last Days of Princess Di.”

Art Linkletter, who is 93, appears on stage in California to tell a rambling story about Walt Disney and his God complex…I mean his “vision.” If they wheel out Christopher Reeve, I’m leaving.

Reminiscent of the Daniel Pearl hostage video, Captain Tom (of Disney Cruise Lines), surrounded by “crew members” in gold mouse ears, announces the inauguration of west coast cruises.



Back at my hotel:

My faith in (in)humanity is restored. Today on Oprah: that guy in Syracuse who locked women in his basement dungeon.

The local T.V. station shows a hilarious commercial for something called “Granny Nannies.”

Item in the news: For the second day in a row, a local high school is under lockdown because someone brought in a weapon.

By the pool, there’s a man in a Speedo eating a banana. I don’t know why I think that’s funny.


At an International Media event, we get a VIP viewing of the Siege of Fallujah, I mean, the “Illuminations” fireworks show.

At Epcot, you can safely say, “I see London, I see France…” and not have to finish the sentence with “underpants.”


Magic Kingdom:

I’ve seen two couples (so far) wearing Mickey/Minnie wedding attire, which consists of white mouse ears with an attached veil (for her), and a top hat (for him). This makes me very sad.

Made-up, but possibly true, statistic: Per square foot, there are more strollers here than anywhere else in the world.

T-shirt slogan: “Life is good, Eternal Life is better.”

Animal Kingdom:

Random observations:

Behind the scenes, Animal Kingdom employees ride around the park on blue Schwinns.

I saw a huge container with the sign: “Manure Only.”

The animals are housed in giant buildings with signs that say “Elephant/Building 15” and “White Rhino/Building 16.” I wonder if they have to pass drug tests.

One of the employees working at Tusker House Restaurant looks just like the “O-Face Guy” from Office Space.

The Tree of Life is fake.

                                                 What the F, Tree of Life?

What the F, Tree of Life?


Blizzard Beach:

There are entirely too many people here.

Chef Mickey’s at The Contemporary Resort:

As I am surrounded by approximately one million children all hopped up on candy and Mickey Mouse, I wonder idly about the alcoholism rate among Disney employees.

Speaking of Mickey, I don’t like his attitude. The scene at Chef Mickey’s was just like the show “The Restaurant,” where everyone is all, “Where’s Rocco, where’s Rocco?” Like Rocco, Mickey sashays in when he feels like it and expects everyone to make a big deal over him. Whatever.

Overheard: “Connor! Don’t grab his tail!”

Grand Gatherings Fireworks Cruise:

We are in a boat, in the middle of the Seven Seas Lagoon, where we are watching the “Electrical Water Pageant.” Imagine your neighbor’s light-sculpture Christmas decorations, but instead of reindeer, it’s dolphins and fish and alligators. Then it turns patriotic with stars and stripes and flags, which totally reminds me of “Red, White and Blaine!” from the movie “Waiting for Guffman.”

Christopher Guest needs to make a movie about theme parks.

The “Wishes” fireworks display. Again. By this point I’m wishing, fervently, that the boat would capsize.


On the airplane:

To the parents of the child who screamed at the top of his lungs from North Carolina to Logan Airport: please don’t fly ever again.

Where I spent most of my free time.

Where I spent most of my free time

I 'wish' I were dead

I ‘wish’ I were dead!

So there you have it. 2004’s unhappiest person on earth visited the “happiest” place on earth and lived to tell about it. (You can read the fruits of my Disney labors here if you’re so inclined.)

Do you have a terrifying vacation story?

Thanks for reading and have a great day!


What is this? Back in the day, I had a blog. It’s long been abandoned, but I think the world deserves to hear my wisdom anew. I was also a lot crankier back then, so if you have a moment, why not go back in time and give 2005 Kate a hug.

This was one of my earliest posts.

Boozy Tuesdays: Industry City Distillery

Hey Y’all!*

This week, in the interest of science, I left my apartment on a Saturday and trekked ALL THE WAY to Brooklyn to tour a vodka distillery. (Of course the only thing that could get me out of my borough on a weekend is the promise of alcohol.)

It was pretty interesting, I guess. I was excited to learn that there is a point where alcohol can’t get any stronger through distillation. Or something. Science isn’t my strong point. In case you’re wondering, it’s around 191.2 proof, or roughly my BAC Monday morning after the Mets lost.

In addition to learning about fermentation and chemistry, you get to taste the vodka, which tastes like…vodka. They also make gin and limoncello and you can buy a handful of delicious cocktails and some snacks (empanadas, mostly. I didn’t try them). You can also buy stuff to make your own limoncello, although why you’d wanna do that when you can just order from Drizly, is beyond me. But hey, maybe you’re not as lazy as I am.

In any event, even though I am more of a wine person who only occasionally dips into hard liquor (at open-bar events, natch), Industry City Distillery was a fun way to kill a Saturday afternoon. (And possibly, some brain cells.)

*I just finished watching Friday Night Lights on Netflix and I’ve been channeling my inner Mrs. Coach Taylor.

Boozing in BK

Boozing in BK


I'll drink to that!

I’ll drink to that!

Pink drinks are the best drinks!

Pink drinks are the best drinks!


Distill my heart!

Distill my heart!


Every distillery needs an adorable kitteh.

Every distillery needs an adorable kitteh


A drink with a view.

A drink with a view

Son of Manus Mondays: Strolling on the River

There are 8 million people in the naked city and every single one of them is in my way. Between the Christmas tourists lollygagging along Sixth Avenue like it was ribbon night at the State Fair and the packs of Bosnian refugees hijacking my subway in their frenzy to see the “The Gates,” I’m surprised I haven’t found myself a bell tower and a rifle yet. The good news is, Christmas is gone for another nine months, and the Christos have gone back to violating European cities with their saffron bedsheets of Satan.

However. I live on the Upper West Side and that means one thing: strollers. Everywhere. On the sidewalks. At Filene’s Basement. In the grocery store. Have you been to a grocery store in New York? It’s hard enough to carry a can of soup down the aisle without having to turn sideways; trying to get by when there’s a stroller THE SIZE OF A HUMMER in the way, with the mom standing there yapping on her cell phone, oblivious to the fact I need to get by so I can go home and eat my soup so my low blood sugar doesn’t cause me to BEAT TO HER TO DEATH, is virtually impossible. 

And the strollers are not only gigantic, they are more pimped-out than anything you’d see on Monster Garage. I’m schlepping my stuff around in a tote bag like a jerk, while the stroller jockeys are strapping lumber from Home Depot onto their roof racks.

Thaaaaat's what I'm talkin' about. (Photo Credit: / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND)

Thaaaaaat’s what I’m talkin’ about! (photo: Foter/CC BY-NC-ND)

I haven’t even gotten to the part where stroller = high probability of screaming baby, although with all the groceries, dry cleaning, furniture from Pottery Barn, there’s no room for a baby. I saw a woman carrying her baby in a kangaroo pouch while pushing a plasma TV in a stroller the other day.

When did this happen? I don’t even remember having a stroller when I was a kid. My parents stuck me in a cardboard box and dragged me along behind them with a length of clothesline. I think I turned out fine.

So yeah. Maybe a little bitter, but bitter adds dimension, right? We can’t ALL be Oprah.

In any case, I hope you enjoyed this trip back in time. I will be posting some old shit every week (and some new shit tomorrow), so come back soon!


What is this? Back in the day, I had a blog. It’s long been abandoned, but I think the world deserves to hear my wisdom anew. This was one of my first posts and I believe the message is still relevant for 2015. (Click here for the original post.) I was also a lot crankier back then, so if you have a moment, why not go back in time and give 2005 Kate a hug.

People in my Facebook Feed*

*Ok, maybe not MY FB feed because all my friends are normal and I love them.**

(**I’ve hidden them.)

Grim Reaper

Posts “RIP” about every famous or semi-famous person’s death five seconds after it happens. Not just A-list celebrities like your Michael Jacksons or Robin Williamses, but your Maureen O’Haras and your Andy Griffiths and all those other people you never heard of/thought had died in the 80s.

Going through a Breakup

Posts at least one pic a day of a wind-swept tree branch imprinted with a quote about how men are jerks. Sometimes there’s also a sunset.

Inspirational Quoter

Didn’t Maya Angelou ever shut the fuck up? And who the hell is Rumi?

Munchausen by Facebook Syndrome

If it’s Tuesday, she must be getting an experimental treatment for her rare mitochondrial disease or having a kidney removed. (How does she even have any organs left?)

Local Socialite

Posts selfies wearing a large fancy hat to Saratoga Racetrack even though she’s sitting at a picnic table in the Grandstand with a cooler of Coors Light.


Desperately tags myriad people in her multiple daily status updates in hopes of getting one “like.”


1: Bemoans lack of job, girlfriend and friends for six months. 2: Inexplicably finds girlfriend. 3: Posts every day that he loves her more than anyone ever. 4: Breaks up three weeks later. 5: Starts over.

European Dude

The guy I met in Germany who posts in German so I can’t adequately judge him.

The Friend Who Wishes She Were Irish

Posts a lot of Guinness pics. Thinks every day should be St. Patrick’s Day! Slàinte!

Ex-Boyfriend Who Got Married Recently

She’s fat.

Hashtag Activist

Writes heartfelt post imploring bloodthirsty lunatics to #BringBackOurGirls but thinks Boko Haram is a bespoke denim company from Bushwick.

Depraved Dr. Dolittle

Why post pics of cute fluffy animals with all their limbs when you can post pics of one-eyed cats and three-legged dogs with oozing burn marks from the disfiguring fire they were rescued from?

Crossfit Caveman

We get it. You like to throw around monster-truck tires for fun and eat raw meat directly from the cow’s still-warm carcass. Go away and let the rest of us enjoy our gluten in peace.

Boozy Tuesdays: Introduction

Liquor? I don't even know 'er!

Liquor? I don’t even know ‘er!


I’ve been thinking about taking on a writing project for a while, but when I sat down to contemplate what knowledge I could impart to the world, I drew a blank and began crying into my Malbec. At that moment, I realized the answer was right in front of me! What am I an expert on? Booze! Well, not like how to make it or what the best kind is or anything, but I know how to drink it. And I know the culture. From bar etiquette to historical facts to hangover remedies*, this is my calling.

What are my qualifications? Well, I won’t cite my Irish roots because that’s too easy and too obvious. Let’s blame it on growing up in the 70s and 80s in upstate New York, when the drinking age was 18 (at least until 1985, thanks, Mario Cuomo) and people weren’t as psychotic about their health as they are today. I’m not saying excessive drinking is an ideal life choice, but let’s concede there is a middle ground between the dude sleeping in a puddle of Popov on Ninth Avenue and the Crossfit scolds in your office who joylessly sip quinoa smoothies and give you the side-eye at happy hour because beer isn’t Paleo.

For some of us, booze is something to be enjoyed at a level just slightly above moderation – somewhere between feeling happy and falling out of a cab, not that I have any experience in the latter, no siree. Anyway, I have a lot to say on the subject and I look forward to sharing my insights with you in the coming weeks.

Until then, enjoy this classic Larry Miller video about the Five Levels of Drinking:

Do you have any good drinking stories? Share in the comments.

As always, thanks for reading and have a great day!


*Yeah, there is no remedy for a hangover. Any claim to the contrary is bullshit. (Although Revive Vitamin Water and saltines can certainly help.)