Not A Dollarshort

In the Tiki Room, no one can hear you scream

After seeing Andy's take on the next three attraction-based Disney movies, I couldn't resist from creating my own dream movie poster. And don't think that I don't already have a pitch in my mind. The Tiki Room! is sort of Jurassic Park and The Birds meets Norma Rae. But, you know, with really mad birds who are tired of performing on demand.

I think it has potential.

We saw The Pirates of the Caribbean on Friday, and I must say I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would. I had no plans to see the movie but after reading a couple glowing reviews about the film and Johnny Depp, I couldn't resist. If you're a fan of the ride, you'll certainly appreciate the references. The art direction was fantastic and the subtle references were extremely amusing. And, Johnny Depp was Johnny Depp, which is always worth the price of admission.

Disneyland Photos.

I put up photos from our day at Disneyland.

Out of the seven days we were gone, this was really the only day that really felt like a vacation. Of course, it was a working trip, so that was expected.

The bed and breakfast we stayed at in San Diego was lovely; good breakfasts and fine decor.

Unfortunately, our room happened to be directly under the San Diego Airport landing path. For someone like me, who's not only afraid of flying, but also terrified of planes themselves, this wasn't an optimal situation.

Fortunately, the best way to combat a phobia is by meeting it head-on. So, by the time the thirtieth plane passed over or room, my tears had dried and I was just really pissed off. Part of this anger had something to do with the fact that we had accidentally skipped breakfast, lunch and dinner that day.

Foolish Mortals.

From the "it seemed like a good and fun idea eighteen hours ago" department.

The other day, after following a link from Boing Boing to these items, I was inspired to construct my very own miniature tiki lounge. This idea, already a bit too ambitious, was quickly abandoned after a bigger and brighter (and even more ambitious) scheme popped into my head: I wanted to build my very own miniature Tiki Room (as in Disneyland).

It didn't take very long to realize that this was not going to happen. Ben's exact words about the project were "it's going to look like crap." Not that he's not supportive -- he's just realistic. And he's right, I mean really, where would I even get a miniature Jose? Or Michael, Fritz, Pierre and the rest of the glee club, for that matter?

I wasn't ready to give up on a homemade Disneyland-themed miniature, however. I began to think smaller. How about making a model of an attraction without any animatronics, furniture or faux-fauna? How about the Haunted Mansion, specifically the Haunted Mansion stretching room?

It seemed doable.

It wasn't.

Map O' Fun.

While in Los Angeles, I picked up a copy of my absolute favorite National Geographic -- an issue from August 1963.

The cover story is on Walt Disney, Disneyland and the growing Disney empire.

Here's a scan of the map insert (289 k) included with the issue -- circa 1963. For those really familiar with Disneyland, note the absence of New Orleans Square and the amount of water that used to cover the park.

Did that poodle say he wanted to take over your soul?

Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Angry.
Angry. Hungry. Angry. Angry. Angry.

So that's what Augie has been saying for all these years.

How much do I so want this gadget?

Perhaps we could also decipher what's going on in this dog's (1.3 megs) head. Ben and I got a major kick listening to this track off of Disneyland's complete Pirates of the Caribbean�soundtrack.

c|net link via OliverWillis.com.

The Joy of Grandparents!

We had a wonderful mini-vacation. Visiting my grandparents is like recapturing my childhood for a few days. My toys are still in the closets and my grandmother makes all my favorite foods. And, luckily, Ben also enjoys just sitting around and talking to my grandparents.

Highlights from the past five days:

Drive down to Los Angeles:

Passive aggressive hate: In the Central Valley, we saw a billboard that had a picture of some good ol' boy politician and said "politician's name SUPPORTS the Boy Scouts." Why mince words? The politician probably couldn't get "I hate F*gs" approved. Two hours out of the Bay area and we're in a totally different country.

Day One in Los Angeles:

Force-feeding: Within thirty seconds of entering my grandparents' house, we're offered food. Before we arrived, my grandmother made five different types of cookies, a pie and bread. After she realized that I have gained weight, she brought out fruit. Her honesty was refreshing, however.

Me: I know -- I've gained weight.

I hope for a contradiction.

Grandma: Well, go put on something that covers your arms.

Me: Thanks.

Computer withdrawal: I actually started thinking that I could make a computer from household objects (toaster?) lying around the house. "Wow, this old, broken typewriter kind of looks like a computer. Maybe this will work."

Acceptance: "Watching television news (despite the anchors' creepy L.A tans) is sort of like going onto MetaFilter."

Cultural enrichment: My grandfather told Ben and I to rent Rush Hour because he had been impressed with the Chris Tucker interview on Charlie Rose. Unsure of my grandmother's appreciation of a "onesa" film (you know, as in one's a martial artist, one's a street-smart, wiseacre), we settled for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Meet the Parents. They thoroughly enjoyed both films.

Dinner: Stuffed cabbages, apple cider and homemade apple pie.

Day Two at Disneyland:

Disturbing stuffed animal: This Winnie the Pooh toy with an odd-looking and strangely placed water jug.

Biggest disappointment: Disneyland took out Dick Dale's music in Space Mountain.

Biggest sign that we're not kids anymore: "Hey, Ben, let's ride on the Mark Twain (the white steamboat). That way we can just sit and rest." Or "Let's go see "Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln." Interestingly, Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln has been revamped and actually was quite enjoyable.

Nicest change: The entrance to the Tiki Room has been made more prominent and more people seem to be enjoying my favorite ride.

Best purchase: The Disneyland gallery now sells prints of the stretching pictures from the elevator in the Haunted Mansion. I bought the one with the high-wire girl.

Dinner: Numero Uno pizza. It's such a memorable experience of growing up in the San Fernando Valley.

Day Three:

Retirement would agree with me: I sat out on the patio, reading the Loretta Young biography Forever Young. It was either this book or the AARP magazine.

Dinner: Wonderful wonderful homemade Polish food. Dumplings, pork chops, sauerkraut, homemade applesauce and garlic-cheese biscuits.

"In my day...": Ben and I sat for hours listening to my grandparents and great-aunt and great-uncle tell stories about their childhood. The highlight being my aunt's story about being born two months premature and actually being thrown away. "Luckily my grandmother fetched me out of the trash and put me in their oven -- a make-shift incubator." Another highlight: My grandfather arguing (for the sake of arguing) with his sister about how poor they were during the depression:

Auntie Florence: You can't imagine how bad we had it. It was a horrible time.

Dooley (my name for my grandfather): We weren't that poor.

Auntie Florence: Like hell we weren't.

Dooley: I had it good. I was the only kid in grade school driving a truck to school.

The punch-line? He had to drive the truck since he was forced to work in his father's auto-repair shop since he was eleven.

"Why HMOs are sh*t" story: Last year, my grandfather went to the doctor because his throat was bothering him. The doctor through his HMO examined him and told him he needed to drink more water. When that didn't work, he went to another doctor who diagnosed the problem as throat cancer. The cancer was partially removed but it came back. My grandparents then dropped their HMO coverage and bought private insurance. He found a new doctor and received radiation treatments at UCLA and, knock on wood, the cancer is gone.

Departure: Before we left, my grandmother told me that my Aunt Florence had called to say that Jerry Lewis had been murdered by a stalker in Las Vegas. We were a bit shocked and tried to catch news of his death during our entire trip back up 101. Not hearing a word of news I said to Ben that it kind of sucked to be Jerry Lewis to not even merit a second of wire reports. It was a bit depressing.

When we got home, the first thing I looked up on the Web was "Jerry Lewis murder" (which is a really disturbing search). It turns out that Jerry Lewis's stalker had died in prison.

Welcome back home and welcome back to 24-hour news gratification.

Silly Dreams.

In 1983, I had two aspirations:

1. Live across the street from Disneyland.
2. Work at Disneyland.¹

I'm able to pin down the exact year -- 1983 -- because it was during this same time that Samantha Smith was writing letters to Soviet leader Yuri Andropov. She was rightly afraid of Nuclear war and wanted to know what was being done to prevent mass destruction.

She wanted peace.

I wanted a annual passport and a Anaheim address.

Because of our different agendas, I was ashamed of my selfishness and superficiality. Why couldn't I be like Samantha Smith and care enough to write to Mr. Andropov? Why was I so consumed with my need for 24/7 amusement.

It's not like I wasn't afraid of Nuclear war. I saw The Day After. And, despite common sense, we were still doing drop and cover drills in school (Although that may have had more to do with the constant threat of The Big One, another source of childhood anxiety).

Despite the guilt I felt over my lack of involvement in affairs of state, I never let go of my Disneyland fantasies. In this screwed-up world, Disneyland was my safe house.

I've gone to Disneyland about once every year since I was three years-old. And now, with the new California Adventure park, we're faced with a dilemma. On our upcoming trip to Southern California, should we go to the new park and create a new experience? Or, should I rely on the pleasure I feel through childhood associations and stick with old-school Disneyland?

Is it wrong that I consider this to be a dilemma? Am I still living in the shadow of Samantha Smith?

^1. Where would I work at Disneyland? It's really a tricky question. My favorite "ride" is The Enchanted Tiki Room. But really, how much Tiki Room is too much Tiki Room? I'd give myself five hours before I'd want to make Polynesian stew.

As an adult, I can't really picture being happy as a Cast Member. Perhaps a waitress job at the Blue Bayou, the restaurant inside the Pirates of the Caribbean, is ideal since it involves indirect involvement in a ride, tips, and a controlled climate.

That choice really disappoints my inner child.

Where would you work?

M-I-C (See you in court) K-E-Y (Why? Because you're liable).

In an act "not related to several high profile accidents at the park," Disneyland will begin stationing full-time paramedics at both its California parks.

Accidents at Disneyland, along with other Disneyland-related legends, have always been the grist for my family's gossip mill. My dad and I are two generations of native Los Angelians, who take pride in the fact that we're always the ones at parties who convince everyone that Walt Disney is buried, or rather cryogenic'ized underneath the Pirates of the Caribbean. It's not true, by the way.

Most of our interest in Disneyland-related accidents stems from the Park's fanatical desire to maintain their image as, well, the Happiest Place on Earth. This of course requires a fast-acting crew of spin-doctors and re-imagineers.

My dad and I have this long-standing joke that when an accident occurs on Disneyland property, the first one in the hospital with the settlement check is none other than Mickey himself.

Of course, we picture him doing that annoying white-gloves-over-mouth pantomime, a behavior that is probably first on the syllabus at character-training school.

I love Disneyland but I can't stand Mickey Mouse. And I can't think of anything I would hate more than Mickey Mouse appearing in my room -- accident or not.

CNN link via Boing Boing.

Here's a sweet picture of me to wash the taste of the "Mickey's hospital visit" picture out of your mouth.

Launch sequence engaged.

NPR's animals-in-music quiz led me to recall this piece of trivia:

The Space Mountain theme performed by Dick Dale is actually an adaptation of Saint-Säens' Aquarium from Carnaval des Animaux which, incidentally, is the same piece used for their cruiseline commercials.

On a similar Disneyland-related note: Save the Enchanted Tikki Room!