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You are about to begin reading my new online journal "Guest of Beth." Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Forget about the Journals Chronicling Ongoing Train Wrecks, Journals Containing Humorous Anecdotes You Wouldn't Be Embarrassed To Read At Work, Journals Where The Good Stuff Is Hidden In The Source Code, Journals Full Of Sweetness And Light That Might Be Interesting To Someone Else Who Is Less Cynical Than You Are, Journals Written As If By A Pet, Journals By People Living Fascinating Lives Abroad So Why Are You Stuck In Sacramento, Journals That Make You Wish There Was No Such Thing As The Friday Five, Journals Featuring Sexual Entries Well Beyond What You Could Possibly Compete With, Fake Journals That Shock People When They Are Ultimately Exposed, Fake Journals That Fool No One, Journals About All The People The Journaler Hates, Journals That Were Once Entertaining But Of Late Are Just Full Of Infants, Journals Where You Hope That All The Quoted Lyrics Are Part Of A Phase And It Will Soon Return To Its Regular Program, Journals Where Every Entry Is Eventually About A Past Relationship, and the Journals That Are About Something So Private That You As A Reader Cannot Determine What That May Be.
Let's not even talk about the Journals That Are So Beautifully Expressed And Emotionally True That You May As Well Have Been Born With Hooves If You Think You Can Write In Their League.
Other Ian sites you may enjoy:
Macaroni & Cheese boxes and FAQ
Squirrel Bait fan page and FAQ
Book Club
Movie List
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2002-11-19 - 7:17 p.m.
Firstly, I apologize for the long delay in updating about my Disneyland trip. At first I worried my entry was too mean towards the others, then I worried it was poorly written. At this point, h asks me every day whether I've updated yet and Beth threatened to ban me from the forum until I post here, so I have made my peace with the entry and HERE IT IS, warts and all. You asked for it, you get to read it.
Preamble
Day One: Friday, October 25, 2002
Day Two: Saturday, October 26, 2002
Day Three: Sunday, October 27, 2002
Preamble
Going to Disneyland isn't a vacation for me, it's a calling. I dream about the park -- all the time. It's like Brigadoon, it's Mircea Eliade's concept of Sacred Space, an unchanging eternal paradise (except with more rides added occasionally). It is the Happiest Place On Earth, according to the sign, though they tore that down last year when "Disneyland" as we know it was subsumed into "Disneyland Resort In California" and renamed "Disneyland(R) Park." And I go there sort of a lot, with pretty much anyone who will accompany me. This year I went with Disneyland veterans Lance and Duncan, and we roped in Jessica "to make the rides even" (we told Jessica that it was Duncan who was making the rides even, but really I am super happy that everyone came!!!). If you do things a lot, rituals develop, like stopping at the Pea Soup Andersen's in Santa Nella even though we don't ever eat there. We just make fun of the souvenirs and take photos of our heads in the cutouts. Another ritual is rubbernecking at the massive Truck Stops of America just before you hit the Tehachapi mountains -- we've stopped there so often that Lance knew from memory what aisle the self-heating meals were located in. Another cherished ritual is bickering over what CDs to play on the drive. This can quickly devolve into the car passenger version of a flame war, so I try not to bring anything I don't want to hear insulted. Sometimes tastes change on a dime: Jessica's mockery of the Human League lasted only until the chorus of "Don't You Want Me," when the song possessed her body and forced her to sing along as loud as she could. Jessica hadn't been to Disneyland since she was little, so she was eager for me to be a tour guide and share my extensive and hard-won knowledge about the park. Nowadays anyone can become an instant expert via the Web, and the bar has been raised: it's no longer enough to know where Club 33 is; I heard ordinary folk discussing arcane details about Paul Pressler's reign of terror.
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