And safety comes first.

Wednesday, May 24

Disneyland is mostly right with me!

Hold my hand, morons, and I will take you on a wondrous tour revealing the hidden treasures of my recent Disneyland essay. Thank you especially, anonymous moron, for encouraging me to “plz” correct all the “errors” that I posted.

I knew that if I mentioned Hong Kong Disneyland in the title of my essay, I would surely awaken the patriotic spirit of my fellow nationals. If you thought for a second that I honestly believed the Hong Kong Disneyland’s Donald Duck waved with more genuine enthusiasm than the one born and bred in Anaheim, you’d best check yourself, you Americentric reader of titles only!

By the way the story about the Mickey ears hat was true up to the point where I said got “Kool Moe Dee” stitched on my hat. I was really "Beyonce" for a day. Dreams really do come true at Disneyland!

Now, considering the entire assessment, I only named three shits that made my personal Disneyland experience shitty:

  1. It's a Small World was closed for maintenance. It's like going to a O.A.R. concert and not being able to see the band perform even though you can hear 'em in your head. Actually, O.A.R. is a really bad example for this because O.A.R. is a really bad band. I mentioned them because for years I have wanted to utter my public disdain for them for vexing mine ears at the turn of the century. The wonderful mechanical children of It's a Small World, however, may sing their glorious song to my grave. There shall be boats and moats at my funeral, but that's a blog entry for another day.
  2. The PeopleMover is gone. When something dies, you grieve for it, you bastard. How do you figure I'm favoring Hong Kong Disneyland at such a sad time? How inappropriate!
  3. The Submarine Voyage is also gone. Adding to insult was a five-foot "Coming Soon!" affont by a fish clown (or was it a "clown fish"?) called Nero (or was it "Nemo"?). The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables!
I'm excited to go here next fall: Yesterland.

Tuesday, May 23

I have a big heart, apparently.

Working for a not-for-profit organization means that the organization does not profit and you, the employee, profits not, as well (or at all! har har har). The other night at a benefit dinner, I encountered a couple of socially insultated engineers who were still rather unschooled about charitable organizations, one asking if we non-profiting employees received bonuses for securing extra grants. Horrified at his suggestion that we martyrs would instate a policy so virulently unethical, I warned him never to ask such an unforgivably stupid question again. I said that if he again crosses me or one of the many other saints at local chapters across the country, God would be very angry with him, because we, through our sacrifices for humankind, are dearest to Him--we, next to the trees and animals, of course. The foolish engineer became awkward, then silent. His partner, then feeling the proximity of God, remarked that "wow" I must have a big heart. I do, for without it, I am unable to forgive the founders for founding and fleeing.

Sunday, May 7

Magically Delicious

More about filming on location from someone who's often finds herself on location in Downtown Los Angeles:

Usually I just want to quickly get around the production crew and be at work on time. Last Wednesday, however, I cared no longer for my job when I found myself immortal in front of a bluescreen. I had approached the area with a mental map, weaving through the extras, squeezing by the crowd at the catering van. Once free, I found myself vulnerable, but dramatically so, in front of an enormous bluescreen. I was engulfed, engulfed by pure energy. I felt like I could do anything, deliver any line, make people cry and experience all their emotions deeply--something that's quite impossible to do in this society. But because no one noticed me at first, I took off my shoes to do incredible cartwheels in front of the film crew. I kept doing these physically demanding cartwheels until someone took notice, but it was the blisters which formed on the palm of my hands--not my waning will--that finally forced me to stop. I waited patiently for the return of equilibrium, at which moment I knew I had to rediscover my shoes, the very pair I had cast off when all senses were silenced by the unstoppable force, which only the awesome spirit of drama can wield. At the office that day, everything else seemed absurd.