Follow the Yellow Brick Road

Are people pleasers destined to fall into the natural politician/pharmaceutical junkie categories?

Williamsburg's eighty degree days and the end of spring break means bumble bees and Adderall Annies are buzzin' round campus, cafes, and town chemists' counters, determined to dazzle with their overachieving, sanctimonious attitudes, and desperate to drop one last pound while swilling the very last drop of soy latte (Boo!).

Were Scoobie Doo and Generation X cocaine fiends half as annoying and boring as Millennium's "mother's little helper" munchers?

New York Times Magazine recently featured an article about former Virginia Governor Mark Warner's bid to defeat "she who shall not be named" in the upcoming Democratic presidential primary.

The hard-hitting expose, a fine NYT example of Millennium-style reporting, informed readers that the Harvard law school graduate and multi-millionare Nexel co-founder is, to paraphrase, an attention lusting pleasure pig with a freakishly large head.

Not to be limited by its Magazine contents, the Times online front page also ran a stimulating intellectual piece covering the Big Apple's impending Trader Joe's opening.

Okay. I realize everyone is trying to get Adderall Annie and the rest of the RX Generation's attention in order to attract expensive advertiser dollars, and I love Trader Joe's peanut butter filled pretzels as much as the next person, but really.

The NYT reminds me of Nico, circa "Chelsea Girls."

When I next speak to Adderall Annie, I'm going to offer her a peanut butter stuffed pretzel, advise her to keep an eye peeled for falling airborne houses, and click my ruby slippers three times.

Speaking of addicts, politicians and flying monkeys, legal eagle scourge Dick Cheney winged his way over Williamsburg last week to attend a private fund raiser in Norfolk.

I'm almost positive the presidential puppet master (secret service code name, "Gipetto") regularly dwells right outside Williamsburg in Spookville's subterranean training ground, Camp Peary.

Williamsburg shelters as many retired London Fog jacketed CIA agents as the Barbary coast once harbored pirates.

I'm thankful that our valiant veep managed to spare the family of quackholes who, deprived of access to Trader Joe's gourmet groceries, dine daily at my backyard birdfeeder.

Shortly after Cheney's buckshot dispersed, we, too, traveled to Norfolk, to attend Chrysler Hall's Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble concert.

Upon arriving at the nautical city, we discovered Barnum and Bailey Bros. Circus also in town.

I'm sure I needn't waste time describing the fray as Formula One aficionados and NASCAR dads battled for premiere parking spots.

As I sat digging my fingernails into our car's dashboard, I began to wonder whether or not the clowns would, following their show, pile into a teeny tiny car, arm themselves with a giant squirt gun, and go duck hunting with VP Cheney and Gov. Warner's huge head, which they could use in lieu of a bowling ball.

I also marveled that a section of Chrysler Hall was hosting the circus only a stone's throw away from PETA national headquarters.

To my shock, while lions, tigers and bears suffered abuse inside the building, nary a PETA placard carrying Birkenstock-shod protester stood outside the venue, sounding an alarm.

I suppose PETA Pres. Ingrid What's Her Nuts must still be on her international book tour, and the other PETA officers were in LA, trying to convince Pamela Anderson to pose for another lettuce-costume billboard photo.

Miles away from the Hollywood Hills, the sticky cotton candy crowd enjoyed juggling and high wire acrobatics, and we concert-goers presented our $100 tickets and were treated to a single, solitary Yo-Yo Ma solo.

Granted, the casual atmosphere meant that Yo-Yo Ma actually spoke to us about the music and instruments, and even delivered a joke or two; wonderful, and something unheard of at a classical event.

And I did rather enjoy the music, with the exception of a Yo-Yo Ma-less Arabic piece.

The song made me feel as if I were an entranced cobra, ready to uncoil myself from the confines of my bag, I mean, seat.

As the same ten notes wailed slow, then fast, soft, then incredibly loud, I recalled the time I toured Alexandria trapped in the stifling heat of an Egyptian taxi while a radio played one excruciating tune over and over and over again until I had a headache as big as the Sphinx and I contemplated, in a bid to end my suffering, flinging myself from the cab onto one of hundreds of smoldering rubbish heaps.

Luckily, I wore a long, flowing skirt; so the fear that I might expose my legs in a Muslim country and be sentenced to a stoning probably saved my life.

On an additionally cheerful note, Williamsburg's sometimes claustrophobia-inducing Kimball Theatre has been running decent independent films as of late.

We saw Thumbsucker and Breakfast on Planet Pluto, and then, since I'm on a Wes Anderson binge, watched The Life Aquatic and an old classic, Rushmore, at home on the sofa, where we devoured NYT-approved snacks. Had to make amends since I snuck Milk Duds into the Kimball (Shhhhhh! CIA gonna' wrap me in London Fog and spirit me away to Camp Peary).

Williamsburg's Chamber Music Society tempted us back into the concert hall, or in this case, the library theatre (!), to attend a performance by internationally famous Vienna Piano Trio, comprised of violinist Wolfgang Redik, cellist Matthias Gredler, and Stefan Mendl, piano.

Redik is an incredibly talented man, the inspiring sort of individual who mesmerizes audiences with the brute force of his raw talent and his giant head...no, sorry, that last bit was Gov. Warner.

Anyway, the three performed Mozart's Piano Trio in B Flat Major, K. 502--wonderful; Rebecca Clarke's Piano Trio (1920)--absolutely phenomenal; and ended the evening with Schubert's torturously boring and repetitive Piano Trio in E Flat Major, Op. 100, D. 929.

The best part of the evening occurred after intermission, when the Trio failed to retake the stage.

As laughter coursed through the crowd, an elderly Chamber Music Society grand dame finally plucked up her courage, climbed from the audience to the stage, and journeyed to the library's bowels in order to summon the negligent Europeans.

My superior half said the situation reminded him of that famous scene from the mockumentary This is Spinal Tap, when Spinal Tap become hopelessly disoriented and lost in a giant amphitheatre's labyrinth. "Helloooooo, Williamsburg!"

It just goes to show that no one, not even the Wizard of Oz, with his normal-size head, can please all the people, all the time.

Which reminds me of an old fairy tale...

Once upon a time, there was an old man, a small boy, and a donkey. They were going to town, and decided that the boy should ride the donkey.

As they went along, the three passed some people who thought it a shame for the boy to ride, and the old man to walk. The old man and the boy decided that maybe the critics were right, so they changed positions.

Later, they passed some more people who thought it a real shame for an old man to make such a small boy walk. The two decided maybe they both should walk.

Soon they passed some more people who thought it stupid for the two to walk when they could ride the donkey. The man and the boy decided maybe the critics were right, so they decided they both should ride the donkey.

They soon passed other people who thought it a shame to put such a load on a poor, little animal. The old man and the boy decided that maybe the critics were right, so they decided to carry the donkey.

As they crossed a bridge they lost their grip on the donkey and he fell into the river and drowned.

Moral of the story: If you try to please everyone, eventually you'll lose your ass.

Throw back the curtain, Williamsburg!