"You made me the villan!" he ranted. "I can't believe this. I finally make it into your diary and I'm the villan!"
I should explain that Brett takes his job at Disney very seriously. It is not just a job to him, it is a calling. Which, I suppose, is perfectly natural because as I understand it they don't pay as well as they should. It is, therefore, no surprise that he would be horrified at the thought of being classified in the same category as Cruella or Ursula
When talking to Brett, typical conversation topics include "what is your favorite ride at the parks?" and "do you know all the words to 'A Spoonful of Sugar?'" and "I've been thinking about it and there are seventeen main reasons why Tinkerbell is my favorite Disney character, but each of the main reasons is supported by various subreasons. Wanna hear what they are?"
He thinks of life in terms of Disney movies. Simple lessons that can be learned by example, through fable, in kindergarten. He pays tolls for cars behind him. But not just tolls, he buys the lunch of the patrons behind him in the drive up window at McDonalds. And perhaps even more charming, he wants to buy everyone in the world a Coke.
"I think that if every mean person in the world had someone go up to him or her and say, 'here you go. I bought you this Coke,'" a tremor becomes evident in his voice and a tear forms in the corner of his eye, "well maybe, just maybe, they'll be so moved by this act of completely un-selfinterested kindness that they will stop being so mean."
It's really a very beautiful idea, though imminently impractical. I mean, what about all the diabetic people in the world. You can't just buy them a Coke, they would not be able to drink it. Or if they did they'd go into insulin shock and go blind. And what about the logistics of getting millions of Cokes into war torn regions of the world. Will there be a a special truce called for the Coke distribution, like the Pope used to impose on Sundays and Feast Days, or will Brett be risking his neck to deliver his Cokes. What about all the people who never get thier Cokes after Brett steps on a land mine and joins Bambi's mommy in Heaven? What about them?
I have, of course, brought these and many other concerns about this Coke scheme up to Brett and after a few minutes he usually screams "I hate you!" through the receiver.
"I'm just trying to make your dream come true," I explain, "but I can't until you think this all the way through."
"Before you got a hold of it, it was a beautiful thing. Now it's been deconstructed into something horrible. You're horrible. Slam. Horrible. Slam."
Well, I prefer to think of it as practical, but what do I know.
Anyway, in deference to Brett's complaint he will from this point on be officially known as the hero of this diary. When ever anyone needs saving, Brett will appear in the nick of time and rescue the distressed citizen with a Coke and a Disney Dream Parade.
I bring you this information, dear reader, as prelude. Given the state of my life, I anticipate a good number of Brett interventions. Sort of the Superman to my Lois.
But above all, I wanted everyone to know that Brett of the Mouse Ears is my hero.
Posted at 2:52 p.m.
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