I still claim to be, perhaps, the only travel writer on Earth never to have set foot in a Disney theme park.
But during a recent trip to Orlando I found the Disney gravity too strong to avoid completely.
And so was I sucked into Downtown Disney, the entertainment/restaurant/retail strip where the Mouse Corp. attempts to drain away any dollars, euros or yen accidentally left in visitors' pockets after a trip to the Magic Kingdom, Epcot et al.
I naturally alit at the likliest looking place in all of Disneyville, The House of Blues, a Disney leasee.
"What happened to your taps?" I asked, gazing across a row of bar spouts, bespeaking a once-ample selection, but now bereft of their levers.
"No taps, now, just bottles," replied the bartender, a bit defensive.
I, of course, pushed the issue, which apparently delighted the barkeep and elicited from my new friend a tale of corporate buyout and greed, the upshot of which was that draft beer just didn't fit the current economic climate.
"Can you believe it - in "The House of Blues"?" asked the bartender, who seemed happy to finally be able to tell his story to someone not wearing mouse ears.
I ordered a shot of Beam. It seemed the thing to do for a travel writer of my predilections busting his Disney cherry.
"Hell, I'm buying you that one," said the bartender.
It went down smooth.
But during a recent trip to Orlando I found the Disney gravity too strong to avoid completely.
And so was I sucked into Downtown Disney, the entertainment/restaurant/retail strip where the Mouse Corp. attempts to drain away any dollars, euros or yen accidentally left in visitors' pockets after a trip to the Magic Kingdom, Epcot et al.
I naturally alit at the likliest looking place in all of Disneyville, The House of Blues, a Disney leasee.
"What happened to your taps?" I asked, gazing across a row of bar spouts, bespeaking a once-ample selection, but now bereft of their levers.
"No taps, now, just bottles," replied the bartender, a bit defensive.
I, of course, pushed the issue, which apparently delighted the barkeep and elicited from my new friend a tale of corporate buyout and greed, the upshot of which was that draft beer just didn't fit the current economic climate.
"Can you believe it - in "The House of Blues"?" asked the bartender, who seemed happy to finally be able to tell his story to someone not wearing mouse ears.
I ordered a shot of Beam. It seemed the thing to do for a travel writer of my predilections busting his Disney cherry.
"Hell, I'm buying you that one," said the bartender.
It went down smooth.
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