Disneyland Unfettered

18 12 2009

Randall and Cory and I and company show Disneyland what’s what:





Missiles

24 02 2009

Randall and I went to Downtown Disney the other night and enjoyed everything from the artificial smell of caramel popcorn to the tall tales of Jimmy.  I’ve been to Disneyland quite a few times, but there’s just something nice about having no intention to spend money and still having a really nice time.  I caught up on some of my reading in the Grand Californian while the piano man serenaded the visitors with ditties of synchopated Disney tunes and Elton John.  Actually, it was strange.  Good, but strange.  There’s something about the hotel’s spacious confines that really evoke my childhood.  I’m not sure why, but it was fairly nostalgic.  I plan on returning soon.

Lent is a strange time for me.  While some of my friends have talked about “giving something up” for the season, I always have this weird desire to keep my own intentions as muted as possible.  (Which of course means writing them here.  No danger of anyone noticing this.)  Many of my friends have a hesitant fascination with the idea of fasting, but their (and my) protestant background usually gives them pause before they go through with any actual fast.  I’ve yet to really “discover” the magical lenten spirit, as it were, but it is the only time of year when I honestly look forward to forsaking some of my greater pleasures.  The discipline is certainly no end in itself, but the strange, secular imitations of Lenten fasting often suggest otherwise.  Temperance is wise, but perhaps it is the thought of what such temperance implies that pushes away many of my friends from going through with it.

I’ve started dreaming (memorably) again lately, and it’s been a rare morning that hasn’t seen me waking up before my alarm with feelings of bemusement.  (That sentence just made me throw up, but I’m not changing it.)  I wonder if it’s just my inclination to melodramatics that has me thinking about my dreams so intensely;  I also wonder if it’s my guilty conscience begging for some supernatural reprieve.  On this of all Tuesdays, perhaps such reprieves are closer than I’m willing to admit.