Looking out at the rest of the park from the Sky Tower, as it begins to get dark, the light touches the rollercoasters and ride vehicles and trees and walking paths in such a way that it makes it all the only place in this entire to have feelings. When it's sunny out, and even when not, it assumes full control. It is confident of its power in offering up so many rollercoasters, in ensuring that a lot of people have a good time. When the sun goes down as it did in those moments, it feels sad that people have to leave soon, have to give up this temporary world for what awaits them wherever they come from. It wants to get a stranglehold on the sunlight, push it back up, and spread it out to the entire park again. People can't leave yet. There's still so much to do.
This is why it closes at 6 p.m. in winter. There's not enough lighting throughout the park. What is there is suitable only to the immediate areas, but never beyond that. You'd have to bring in floodlights if you wanted to illuminate the park entirely, but that would be too harsh. Near the Golden Bear Theatre, there's lights in the souvenir shop, and a few other places, but not among that walking path. You can get to where you're going, though, by the arcade ahead and brighter lights as you get to the central plaza near the front gates.
The elevator came back up and that was it for us. No reason to stay longer. There's a lot less memorabilia than there was last year. Maybe some of it was being spruced up, maybe they rotate it. It didn't seem like enough, as if there's indifference here as to whether people know more about the park as it was. It's one of the rare instances here that the attitude of the Santa Clarita Valley has crept in: No history. Only the present and the future are allowed.
Going down in the elevator with a few other people, including two employees, I knew already what the park looks like at dusk from on high and what the seemingly distant valley looks like too. So I spent those few minutes looking at the wires of the elevator moving in the structure as we went down. You can see stairwells, all painted orange just like the rest of the tower, and once on the ground, the other elevator, which wasn't in use since there weren't that many people in the tower. Never are. It's the same line of thinking used at Superman: Escape from Krypton. If the crowds grow, then they'll use the second vehicle.
We passed Ninja, and I felt like seven times on it had been enough. "7" is a major number in Las Vegas, and it felt right with a farewell to it that way while looking ahead to my new home.
At the top of Samurai Summit, across from Ninja, is the Orient Express, an air-conditioned tram that takes guests from there to the central plaza of Six Flags without having to walk back down the steep hill that takes you up to Samurai Summit. It was the best way to get back down since we were beginning to run out of time, with it being 10 minutes to 5, and the park closing at 6.
The Orient Express has two trams, operated by the same cable, and when one tram goes down the hill, the other goes up to the Samurai Summit station, and then they reverse. It's not long to wait for a tram, and it was a relief to sit for a little bit. My feet don't hurt like they used to before I lost all that weight, but the day began to wear on me. Not sleepy just then, but tiredness began to settle in all my joints. There was still more to do, since Meridith wanted to ride Colossus, and I had d promised that I would go on it with her.
To get to Goliath, you walk past the Magic Moments Theater building, which is used about as much as the Golden Bear Theatre, and there's the entrance for Colossus. Then you weave through where longer lines would be until you reach the loading station. They were running two trains, so it wasn't long to wait for ours, and it was when our train bolted out of the station that I realized that Colossus is the father, and Apocalypse is the son. Colossus races up the first lift hill, and when I saw the steep drop, I said "Oh shit!" out loud. This was harrowing. It jerks you around so much, up one hill, down one hill, up one hill, down one hill, that you don't have a chance to breathe for even a second. Then there's another lift hill and you drop way down yet again. It's said that the Colossus trains on both sides (There was an empty loading station across from ours) were used years ago to race each other, and during Magic Mountain's Halloween festivities, the trains run backward. I still shudder at the thought of that.
After I knew it was over by Meridith no longer pressing herself into my shoulder and screaming with her eyes shut tight, as she did on Apocalypse for equally good reason, I felt a bit of a headache, which went away as I regained my balance after we got off. I told Meridith that I was done with rollercoasters, and I mean it. I can't do this anymore. Riding the wooden Hurricane rollercoaster 19 times in one night at Boomers in Dania Beach was easy because I was in my teens. It was also easy to ride Space Mountain at the Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World in 2000 after eating an entire turkey leg because I was in my teens. In March, I'll be two years away from 30. I know there are some daredevils well older than me, and rollercoaster enthusiasts I've seen at various websites, including themeparkreview.com, who probably had this love instilled in them at a young age. Reading I did. Movies I did. Aviation I did. Not rollercoasters. I'd be fine with never riding another one again if not for the Desperado in Primm, Nevada, one of the first things you see after the state line in that complex of three casinos and an outlet mall, which I'll ride for home state pride, and the taxicab rollercoaster at New York-New York. But other than those two, I'm finished. At least with Superman: Escape from Krypton, it was just one tall curve and then back down. I know there are easier rollercoasters and I've been on them, but I've lost my interest. Better that my time with all that is replaced with more books and more writing, and probably more Galaga too.
On the way back to the front gate, Mom called Meridith and told her that she and Dad were at the Cyber Cafe and they had already gotten me my pumpkin pie. See, pumpkin pie, butterscotch anything, types of pasta, those are other fine replacements for my interest in rollercoasters, especially with pumpkin pie being my favorite kind. And after the pie we had had at Thanksgiving that we bought frozen from Walmart that had to be baked, I was looking for one far better. When we got to the table where Mom and Dad were sitting outside the Cyber Cafe (with all the computers inside in use, of course), and I got a plastic spoon from inside, I found the pumpkin pie I had wanted for so long. The pumpkin, the spices, the sugar, all melded so perfectly. It was a welcome comfort after the physical turmoil of Colossus, but most of all, it was amazing to me to find this here. I can understand the funnel cakes being so good since they make them on-site, but where would they make a pumpkin pie? They have each slice in individual clear plastic containers, so maybe it's brought in from somewhere else. I really want to know where that "somewhere else" is, and I've just gotten the idea to e-mail the park and see if anyone knows. There are a lot of things worth living for, and that pumpkin pie is close to the top of my list.
We ordered another slice to take home for Mom and I to share, and I told Mom that I decided not to ride Ninja again because first of all, we were already away from Samurai Summit and I didn't want to hike up there again, plus the Orient Express eats up more time and I wanted to make sure I got my Superman t-shirts and anything else Superman related that looked interesting to me. Plus I told her about keeping it at 7 times in honor of Las Vegas, and because the appeal of Ninja to me is gliding past those trees. At nighttime, it doesn't have the same effect. You're just gliding through darkness, and the trees are just outlines of something.
Walking through the main souvenir shop in the central plaza was an immense pleasure. A tinier crowd this time, and I found two Superman shirts, one in a can, and another with the Six Flags name under the image of Superman. Others were comic book covers and too specific for me. I like a general Superman on my t-shirts, open to all possibilities.
While they waited for us when we were on Colossus, Mom and Dad picked up the pickle and the school bus from package pickup at the Looney Tunes Superstore. On the way out, I went into that store to find a relatively unscratched red Superman cup (Has a clear plastic mold of Superman on the left and the right), since the ones in the main souvenir shop looked terrible, more scratched up than is worth buying just to have Superman. Most in the Looney Tunes store were no better, but I did find one that didn't look so bad, and I wanted a spare.
So that was it. All that was left to do after leaving the park was stopping at Grand Panda to pick up the beef chow fun that Dad had ordered for dinner, and at Chronic Tacos for Meridith and I to get what we and Mom wanted. I was still thinking of a chicken and cheese quesadilla when we walked in, but breakfast items are served all day there, and I spotted a picture of a breakfast quesadilla with cheese, eggs, potatoes, and veggie, chorizo, or machaca, which is shredded beef, grilled onions, and tomatoes. I chose chorizo and my god, not only was it filling, but this was what every quesadilla needs to be: Hearty, confident in its combination, and offering up so much good stuff in every bite. Taking our orders home for dinner was perfect because not only were we worn out from the day, but I preferred to be at home, enjoying my quesadilla at my own pace. I don't eat as fast as I used to, but rare is the time that I slow down for something, and this was it. Between the french fries, the pumpkin pie and this, the meaning of life to me seems to be pure pleasure in whatever you love and savoring every moment you have it. The next time we go to Chronic Tacos, that quesadilla is mine again.
Going back to the question that has been part of the title for three entries, I think it would have been better if I had gotten a season pass. When I was in line with my Superman t-shirts and a small Superman desk light I found, there were three people in front of me who were from somewhere else, because the guy at the register told them to have a nice flight back. I was surprised that people venture as far as here, what with Los Angeles, and Anaheim containing Disneyland. But I understand it because perhaps they wanted a different perspective of this region. People watching alone would have made a season pass worth it. A lot to observe and be entertained by, and a lot to write about. A chance to continually explore a different world, to just sometimes watch rollercoasters in motion.
I can't go for a season pass now. Last year was better because though our situation was fluid like it is now, I didn't feel that drive for movement like I do now. Not that I didn't want to leave for home this year, but it felt like things had to take more time to develop. Having passed in August our eighth year of living here, I've become much more antsy. A season pass wouldn't work because it'd be an all-the-time reminder that we're still here. It's not just about having a place to live; it's about where you live, where you're happy. For a final time, though, this was the right feeling. Casual, absorbing everything that I've loved about Magic Mountain, and leaving with a smile. That was the way to do it.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Day 2, Part 2 of a Four-Week Pleasure Cruise: Would It Have Been Better If...?
During my french fry reverie, oblivious to the crowds passing across from me away from Goliath, and to the booming noise of the one running Superman: Escape from Krypton train, my cell phone buzzed. It was Meridith, saying that she, Mom and Dad were at the souvenir shop across from the Golden Bear Theatre, and they were still selling Thomas the Tank Engine items, this time for 75%, way up from half off when we went to that shop last year. Upon Six Flags giving up its licensing for Terminator and Thomas the Tank Engine, the Terminator rollercoaster became Apocalypse, and Thomas Town, which had Thomas the Tank Engine as a train kids could ride, became Whistlestop Park, the most generic-looking train station you will ever see anywhere. Six Flags is not good at in-house creativity, also evidenced by the pre-show videos passed by on the way to the Apocalypse loading station. More on that fresh hell later.
After finishing the fries, collecting the unused mustard packets (and there were many, since I'm always overzealous for mustard), and putting them back in the container behind the front counter, through the open window, I began walking past the food court, past Goliath, toward the Golden Bear Theatre.
The problem with this particular shop is that if it's doors aren't open, you miss it completely, pass right by it. The double doors were open this time, yet I still didn't notice it. I thought it was further up than where it was, and called Meridith to ask where the heck I had to go. She told me not past the arcade, I turned around, walked past the huge fake tree that you can walk through into Looney Tunes World, and saw Dad standing in front of the shop. I went in, saw the Thomas the Tank Engine toys still unclaimed, and noticed that the park's also still trying to get rid of Superman: The Escape t-shirts, which could be collectors' items if the ride hadn't been so rickety toward the end of its operation.
I also looked at the Batman, Superman and Green Lantern merchandise on display (The latter because of the opening of the Green Lantern: First Flight rollercoaster in the D.C. Universe section of the park), and then spotted a three-tiered metal display case full of toy cars, including fire trucks and school buses. I have an aversion to police and fire vehicles because they're fairly typical of any community, expected, and therefore not really all that unique to my working vehicles collection. I wanted the school bus, though, picked one up, determined that all the parts were intact, and paid for it at the counter.
One of the things to love at Magic Mountain as a once-in-a-great-while visitor is that they have package pickup, which means you can have your purchases sent to the Looney Tunes store right near the entrance and exit gates of the park, and pick them up later, though not until after 3 p.m. And that's what I did: I had a toy school bus sent over there to pick up later.
After Mom and Meridith had looked around, and determined that we had enough toy Thomas trains for our dog Tigger that we bought during our visit last year, we walked to Cyclone Bay, which most visitors don't seem to bother checking out unless they're there to ride Apocalypse, or drive go-karts, or try bungee jumping. There's also carnival-style games that require little effort, such as one you pay $5 for to hit a round metal platform with a mallet to try to make the bell ring at the top. You do that twice, and then you can pick any prize that they have there. Meridith did it and choose a Tweety cape for Mom that she had been eyeing for her last year.
Then came hell. Apocalypse. Meridith wanted to go on it since it was a wooden rollercoaster. You enter under the sign, then walk through a maze of a queue before reaching the first part of the building that has a pre-show video running of people under attack by some vicious force, and psyching themselves up to defend themselves and their families against it, but it's not really clear what it is, and, at this point in its operation after switching from being a Terminator rollercoaster to this, which required new pre-show videos to be shot, no one really cares. No one is required to watch the pre-show video. Once you're allowed in (We had to wait a few minutes while the small crowd in front of us cycled through the building), you just walk past those monitors and loud noises emanating from the sound system, pass through another room that used to have the top half of Terminator robot bodies, ignore another flat-screen monitor with more of that pre-show video, and then walk up a set of stairs to the loading station for the ride, choosing which "sector" you want to be in, meaning which part of the ride vehicle.
Also here, the ride vehicle currently in use rushes overhead and the screams are LOUD. I wish I had taken that as a clue to what I was getting into, because Apocalypse has major anger-management issues. You speed to the first lift hill, go swiftly up it, and then zoom right down and the speed never lets up. It's vicious. There's one really wide turn that's hell to go through, and there's also the turns that go through narrow wooden tunnels that let thin shafts of light through. It leaves you extremely shaken up.
After we got off and walked out of the Apocalypse area, I told Meridith that Apocalypse is one rollercoaster that could use some serious therapy to smooth out whatever makes it pissed off at the world. It should be torn down to make way for something different, but considering the major cost likely involved in building the thing, they're probably going to keep it. To me, it's a waste of space, but I guess it appeals to thrill-seekers much younger than me. Even when I was that young a decade ago, I didn't go for that kind of rollercoaster. I was satisfied and happy enough with the Hurricane rollercoaster at Boomers in Dania Beach, Florida, which closed a few months ago. That was a wooden rollercoaster too but it wasn't as abusive as Apocalypse. It was fast, but it didn't jolt you, and going down those short hills was pure sugar for the pleasure center of the brain.
After leaving the Apocalypse area, we found that Dad had gone on ahead of us and was in the Coaster Candy Company shop, where truffles are sold at the counter, and there's displays of various candy, including huge lollipops that are actually holders for 12 much smaller lollipops. M&Ms are prominently featured, and there's also bags of candy with the Coaster Candy Company label on them, most of it brittle, including peanut and cashew. What caught my eye was almond brittle, I was thinking of getting it, and I have no idea what stopped me. My attention was focused on getting a quesadilla at Los Cuates Mexican Grill nearby. As Mom and Meridith looked over the chocolates at the counter, and Meridith found a large chipotle-accented pickle in a pouch, I decided to go over there and get my quesadilla, but after standing in line for a few minutes, I had a closer look in the kitchen, and it didn't look all that great. Not that it wasn't safely made, but it didn't look like my kind of quesadilla.
After Mom, Dad and Meridith came out of the candy store, Meridith told me she had the pickle pouch sent for package pickup. Meridith's always been one to do the most wonderfully weird things, and this was one of them. A school bus and a pickle at package pickup. I still smile at that.
Dad remembered that Guillermo, one of the teachers at his school, works part-time at the Mexican food counter in the food court building near Goliath, so we trekked over here, walking under the part of the Superman track, that shattering noise out and about again, and Mom covered her ears as we walked under it. We got to the food court, and no Guillermo, as well as no quesadillas. Just burritos. Then, Mom decided on something better: Because of my generosity in buying the toys that we donated to get the free tickets, we'd stop at Chronic Tacos to pick up dinner on the way home. This meant a guaranteed great quesadilla for me, and I was thinking about a chicken-and-cheese one.
We crossed the courtyard near which is a three-point basket contest setup with prizes such as jerseys, and finally went into DC Universe for the roasted corn that we all worship. But first, The Flash: Speed Force, in which you sit in connected vehicles that spin around and around and around, the G-forces growing and pressing you against the left side of your vehicle. It used to be Atom Smasher back when the area was called Gotham City Backlot, and the two rides at the front (including what is now called Wonder Woman's Golden Lasso of Truth) were themed to Looney Tunes. It looks a lot better now with the DC Comics theming, brighter, with much more to see, and ever since refurbishing the Flash ride, it's a lot smoother.
The roasted corn stand was remodeled and expanded, and is now called Kent Farms, after Clark Kent and his earth parents. There's a large oven on the right side, the top door of which can be opened, revealing a revolving rack of corn in their husks, the ends of the husks blackened. The person behind the counter tears off the husk, and it's a beautiful, slightly crunchy, oh-so-good sight, especially when the corn is wrapped in paper, the majority of it dipped in butter, and many options with which to season it, including lemon-pepper seasoning, salt, pepper, barbecue seasoning (That one was new to me), as much as you want.
We were behind someone ordering, and the guy behind the counter opened the lid of a rectangular storage fridge, putting something on the corn, but I couldn't tell what. All I cared about at that moment was that the lemon-pepper seasoning was on the side counter and I needed it right away. Once we got our corn, and Meridith went to find out what Dad wanted on his (At the circular table we found with the Superman logo on it, across from Green Lantern: First Flight, so we got to watch the craziness of the spinning double seating), that's exactly where I went, but first surprised to find barbecue seasoning, and suddenly conflicted. Did I want lemon-pepper seasoning all over my corn this time? How much barbecue seasoning? I soon decided on half-and-half by the time Meridith came back and told me that Dad wanted seasoning salt and pepper on his, and Mom wanted part lemon-pepper, part barbecue seasoning. Meridith had lemon-pepper, and became very full by the time she was done with her corn, and I decided I wanted another.
After deciding to get one for Dad too (When he looks like he wants something, he always says "No, I don't want it," though I have no idea why and I don't have ample time in my world to analyze that one), I asked the guy at the counter what it was he dipped into for those other customers, and he said it was parmesan cheese. The kind you shake out of the container onto pizza and pasta, and what was going to make Meridith's jaw drop, because after she had seen parmesan cheese on roasted corn on some kind of food truck show, she wanted it, and said that if this roasted corn stand had parmesan cheese, she'd dump it all over her corn, give back the container, and say that they ran out and to refill it, after which she'd do it again.
The lemon-pepper seasoning wasn't as appealing to me now as it had been last year, so I asked for parmesan cheese on my corn. The guy poured it on, I asked him how much he was able to put on, and he replied, "As much as you want." I'm not as greedy as Meridith would be in such a situation (Though her greed is justified since she loves cheese as much as I love books), so I asked for it to the end of the corn and that was it. After I got back to our table, I showed Meridith what I had found, she asked shocked questions about where it was, and I let her have as much as she wanted, which wasn't much, since she was full.
And oh god was it wonderful! The roasted corn was still hot enough that the sprinkle parmesan cheese melted on it and in between the kernels, and while I knew that the parmesan cheese had not been available at the roasted corn stand's previous incarnation, I wish it had been, because I would have gone for this every time. Quite fitting for a final visit to Magic Mountain to discover the really good stuff. Only when we're getting ready to move do we get the nice things. It happened in Florida too. That's not to say that Florida was an awful state to live in (I will forever love it for growing up partly at Walt Disney World, and to be a dreamer where dreamers are always welcome), but we'd always find what hadn't been apparent when we'd lived in a particular area for a few years.
It was beginning to get dark, and I told Meridith I wanted her to have a picture in front of the Superman: Escape from Krypton logo before nightfall. We all trekked up the steep hill leading to Samurai Summit, which took longer for Mom and Dad, so Meridith and I hustled up the hill, and reached the Superman area. There were kids climbing on the fake ice crystals directly underneath the sign, where I wanted her to stand, so she stood in front of one of the ice crystals, almost under the Superman sign. I took a picture with her cell phone camera, and then she stood next to one of the red S logos which are on either side of the area in front of the ride. Then a picture of the huge "S" on the ground, and we were done. Time for the Sky Tower.
This time, it was getting darker when we got to the Sky Tower, where the elevator ride up takes 5-6 minutes, and this was the first time we had been up there at dusk. It has always been in the daytime, bright enough to see absolutely everything throughout the park, and there was the symbolism of our time in Santa Clarita hopefully ending. Inside the tower is the museum, which features costumes and maps and props from Magic Mountain in decades' past, including a time where there were many shows, such as a dolphin show, animal show, and many comedy shows. Had they kept all that, it would be a much better park than it is, more to do for others who don't want to ride rollercoasters all the time.
I looked out all the windows at all the sections of the park, paying special attention to where Ninja was located. If I had had a season pass this year, I would have been able to enjoy this sight all the time, get a different perspective, and see the Santa Clarita Valley differently, at least in location in the distance. My feelings on it wouldn't have changed, but to get a skewed sort of view of it would have helped me tolerate it more.
(I worked again today, and am feeling bushed. Final part of this day tomorrow.)
After finishing the fries, collecting the unused mustard packets (and there were many, since I'm always overzealous for mustard), and putting them back in the container behind the front counter, through the open window, I began walking past the food court, past Goliath, toward the Golden Bear Theatre.
The problem with this particular shop is that if it's doors aren't open, you miss it completely, pass right by it. The double doors were open this time, yet I still didn't notice it. I thought it was further up than where it was, and called Meridith to ask where the heck I had to go. She told me not past the arcade, I turned around, walked past the huge fake tree that you can walk through into Looney Tunes World, and saw Dad standing in front of the shop. I went in, saw the Thomas the Tank Engine toys still unclaimed, and noticed that the park's also still trying to get rid of Superman: The Escape t-shirts, which could be collectors' items if the ride hadn't been so rickety toward the end of its operation.
I also looked at the Batman, Superman and Green Lantern merchandise on display (The latter because of the opening of the Green Lantern: First Flight rollercoaster in the D.C. Universe section of the park), and then spotted a three-tiered metal display case full of toy cars, including fire trucks and school buses. I have an aversion to police and fire vehicles because they're fairly typical of any community, expected, and therefore not really all that unique to my working vehicles collection. I wanted the school bus, though, picked one up, determined that all the parts were intact, and paid for it at the counter.
One of the things to love at Magic Mountain as a once-in-a-great-while visitor is that they have package pickup, which means you can have your purchases sent to the Looney Tunes store right near the entrance and exit gates of the park, and pick them up later, though not until after 3 p.m. And that's what I did: I had a toy school bus sent over there to pick up later.
After Mom and Meridith had looked around, and determined that we had enough toy Thomas trains for our dog Tigger that we bought during our visit last year, we walked to Cyclone Bay, which most visitors don't seem to bother checking out unless they're there to ride Apocalypse, or drive go-karts, or try bungee jumping. There's also carnival-style games that require little effort, such as one you pay $5 for to hit a round metal platform with a mallet to try to make the bell ring at the top. You do that twice, and then you can pick any prize that they have there. Meridith did it and choose a Tweety cape for Mom that she had been eyeing for her last year.
Then came hell. Apocalypse. Meridith wanted to go on it since it was a wooden rollercoaster. You enter under the sign, then walk through a maze of a queue before reaching the first part of the building that has a pre-show video running of people under attack by some vicious force, and psyching themselves up to defend themselves and their families against it, but it's not really clear what it is, and, at this point in its operation after switching from being a Terminator rollercoaster to this, which required new pre-show videos to be shot, no one really cares. No one is required to watch the pre-show video. Once you're allowed in (We had to wait a few minutes while the small crowd in front of us cycled through the building), you just walk past those monitors and loud noises emanating from the sound system, pass through another room that used to have the top half of Terminator robot bodies, ignore another flat-screen monitor with more of that pre-show video, and then walk up a set of stairs to the loading station for the ride, choosing which "sector" you want to be in, meaning which part of the ride vehicle.
Also here, the ride vehicle currently in use rushes overhead and the screams are LOUD. I wish I had taken that as a clue to what I was getting into, because Apocalypse has major anger-management issues. You speed to the first lift hill, go swiftly up it, and then zoom right down and the speed never lets up. It's vicious. There's one really wide turn that's hell to go through, and there's also the turns that go through narrow wooden tunnels that let thin shafts of light through. It leaves you extremely shaken up.
After we got off and walked out of the Apocalypse area, I told Meridith that Apocalypse is one rollercoaster that could use some serious therapy to smooth out whatever makes it pissed off at the world. It should be torn down to make way for something different, but considering the major cost likely involved in building the thing, they're probably going to keep it. To me, it's a waste of space, but I guess it appeals to thrill-seekers much younger than me. Even when I was that young a decade ago, I didn't go for that kind of rollercoaster. I was satisfied and happy enough with the Hurricane rollercoaster at Boomers in Dania Beach, Florida, which closed a few months ago. That was a wooden rollercoaster too but it wasn't as abusive as Apocalypse. It was fast, but it didn't jolt you, and going down those short hills was pure sugar for the pleasure center of the brain.
After leaving the Apocalypse area, we found that Dad had gone on ahead of us and was in the Coaster Candy Company shop, where truffles are sold at the counter, and there's displays of various candy, including huge lollipops that are actually holders for 12 much smaller lollipops. M&Ms are prominently featured, and there's also bags of candy with the Coaster Candy Company label on them, most of it brittle, including peanut and cashew. What caught my eye was almond brittle, I was thinking of getting it, and I have no idea what stopped me. My attention was focused on getting a quesadilla at Los Cuates Mexican Grill nearby. As Mom and Meridith looked over the chocolates at the counter, and Meridith found a large chipotle-accented pickle in a pouch, I decided to go over there and get my quesadilla, but after standing in line for a few minutes, I had a closer look in the kitchen, and it didn't look all that great. Not that it wasn't safely made, but it didn't look like my kind of quesadilla.
After Mom, Dad and Meridith came out of the candy store, Meridith told me she had the pickle pouch sent for package pickup. Meridith's always been one to do the most wonderfully weird things, and this was one of them. A school bus and a pickle at package pickup. I still smile at that.
Dad remembered that Guillermo, one of the teachers at his school, works part-time at the Mexican food counter in the food court building near Goliath, so we trekked over here, walking under the part of the Superman track, that shattering noise out and about again, and Mom covered her ears as we walked under it. We got to the food court, and no Guillermo, as well as no quesadillas. Just burritos. Then, Mom decided on something better: Because of my generosity in buying the toys that we donated to get the free tickets, we'd stop at Chronic Tacos to pick up dinner on the way home. This meant a guaranteed great quesadilla for me, and I was thinking about a chicken-and-cheese one.
We crossed the courtyard near which is a three-point basket contest setup with prizes such as jerseys, and finally went into DC Universe for the roasted corn that we all worship. But first, The Flash: Speed Force, in which you sit in connected vehicles that spin around and around and around, the G-forces growing and pressing you against the left side of your vehicle. It used to be Atom Smasher back when the area was called Gotham City Backlot, and the two rides at the front (including what is now called Wonder Woman's Golden Lasso of Truth) were themed to Looney Tunes. It looks a lot better now with the DC Comics theming, brighter, with much more to see, and ever since refurbishing the Flash ride, it's a lot smoother.
The roasted corn stand was remodeled and expanded, and is now called Kent Farms, after Clark Kent and his earth parents. There's a large oven on the right side, the top door of which can be opened, revealing a revolving rack of corn in their husks, the ends of the husks blackened. The person behind the counter tears off the husk, and it's a beautiful, slightly crunchy, oh-so-good sight, especially when the corn is wrapped in paper, the majority of it dipped in butter, and many options with which to season it, including lemon-pepper seasoning, salt, pepper, barbecue seasoning (That one was new to me), as much as you want.
We were behind someone ordering, and the guy behind the counter opened the lid of a rectangular storage fridge, putting something on the corn, but I couldn't tell what. All I cared about at that moment was that the lemon-pepper seasoning was on the side counter and I needed it right away. Once we got our corn, and Meridith went to find out what Dad wanted on his (At the circular table we found with the Superman logo on it, across from Green Lantern: First Flight, so we got to watch the craziness of the spinning double seating), that's exactly where I went, but first surprised to find barbecue seasoning, and suddenly conflicted. Did I want lemon-pepper seasoning all over my corn this time? How much barbecue seasoning? I soon decided on half-and-half by the time Meridith came back and told me that Dad wanted seasoning salt and pepper on his, and Mom wanted part lemon-pepper, part barbecue seasoning. Meridith had lemon-pepper, and became very full by the time she was done with her corn, and I decided I wanted another.
After deciding to get one for Dad too (When he looks like he wants something, he always says "No, I don't want it," though I have no idea why and I don't have ample time in my world to analyze that one), I asked the guy at the counter what it was he dipped into for those other customers, and he said it was parmesan cheese. The kind you shake out of the container onto pizza and pasta, and what was going to make Meridith's jaw drop, because after she had seen parmesan cheese on roasted corn on some kind of food truck show, she wanted it, and said that if this roasted corn stand had parmesan cheese, she'd dump it all over her corn, give back the container, and say that they ran out and to refill it, after which she'd do it again.
The lemon-pepper seasoning wasn't as appealing to me now as it had been last year, so I asked for parmesan cheese on my corn. The guy poured it on, I asked him how much he was able to put on, and he replied, "As much as you want." I'm not as greedy as Meridith would be in such a situation (Though her greed is justified since she loves cheese as much as I love books), so I asked for it to the end of the corn and that was it. After I got back to our table, I showed Meridith what I had found, she asked shocked questions about where it was, and I let her have as much as she wanted, which wasn't much, since she was full.
And oh god was it wonderful! The roasted corn was still hot enough that the sprinkle parmesan cheese melted on it and in between the kernels, and while I knew that the parmesan cheese had not been available at the roasted corn stand's previous incarnation, I wish it had been, because I would have gone for this every time. Quite fitting for a final visit to Magic Mountain to discover the really good stuff. Only when we're getting ready to move do we get the nice things. It happened in Florida too. That's not to say that Florida was an awful state to live in (I will forever love it for growing up partly at Walt Disney World, and to be a dreamer where dreamers are always welcome), but we'd always find what hadn't been apparent when we'd lived in a particular area for a few years.
It was beginning to get dark, and I told Meridith I wanted her to have a picture in front of the Superman: Escape from Krypton logo before nightfall. We all trekked up the steep hill leading to Samurai Summit, which took longer for Mom and Dad, so Meridith and I hustled up the hill, and reached the Superman area. There were kids climbing on the fake ice crystals directly underneath the sign, where I wanted her to stand, so she stood in front of one of the ice crystals, almost under the Superman sign. I took a picture with her cell phone camera, and then she stood next to one of the red S logos which are on either side of the area in front of the ride. Then a picture of the huge "S" on the ground, and we were done. Time for the Sky Tower.
This time, it was getting darker when we got to the Sky Tower, where the elevator ride up takes 5-6 minutes, and this was the first time we had been up there at dusk. It has always been in the daytime, bright enough to see absolutely everything throughout the park, and there was the symbolism of our time in Santa Clarita hopefully ending. Inside the tower is the museum, which features costumes and maps and props from Magic Mountain in decades' past, including a time where there were many shows, such as a dolphin show, animal show, and many comedy shows. Had they kept all that, it would be a much better park than it is, more to do for others who don't want to ride rollercoasters all the time.
I looked out all the windows at all the sections of the park, paying special attention to where Ninja was located. If I had had a season pass this year, I would have been able to enjoy this sight all the time, get a different perspective, and see the Santa Clarita Valley differently, at least in location in the distance. My feelings on it wouldn't have changed, but to get a skewed sort of view of it would have helped me tolerate it more.
(I worked again today, and am feeling bushed. Final part of this day tomorrow.)
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Bliss for the Next Two Years
With a lot of time to walk around the La Mesa campus as a substitute campus supervisor, there's a lot of time to think.
I did a lot of that today, and you should forget what I said before about the next book I was working on (http://scrapsofliteracy.blogspot.com/2011/11/can-i-write-books-like-this-forever.html). That won't be my next book, because even those I was excited about it at that moment, I never acted much on the research. One week, then two, then three passed, and still I was reading what I wanted to read and not what I had to read for that project. I may still write it one day, but I need this one to determine where I go as a writer, what else I want to do, and to reacquaint myself with detailed research, which will happen often.
When I did research for What If They Lived?, I couldn't read any books about Brad Renfro, Aaliyah and Heath Ledger because there were none. Every fact in those essays came from newspaper and magazine articles I found online. I loved putting the puzzle pieces together, which today is just like sweeping up garbage on the campus grounds after brunch and lunch (One of the things the La Mesa campus supervisors are required to do), and organizing my DVD collection into a binder, which I did all day and most of the evening Monday and still ran out of room in that binder. I have to get another 400-slot binder the next time we go to Fry's.
I want to put more puzzle pieces together. With this project, I've found the opportunity because very little is likely to come from books. Maybe for background, such as with some actors who died in the early '90s after very long lives, but mostly, my research has to come from interviews, and these interviews will be bigger than what I did before. It's going to require a lot more finesse, and hope that the people I want to contact are willing to be interviewed about this particular point in their lives. There'll be nothing untoward about this and I'm not seeking anything controversial to juice up my book. I'm planning a straightforward history of the making of a series of movies I was obsessed with when I was a teenager.
Over the years, there are bits and pieces I've learned about this particular series that I filed away, and a memoir by an actor who was in all of those movies revealed yet another tidbit that was the impetus for this project. It stuck in my mind until today when it spread faster and faster through my mind, showing me that if I want to be published again by the time I'm 30, I have to be happy with what I'm writing. There is no greater motivation than that. This is that book. I know I'm being very vague about it, but I can't be more specific until I'm well into research and interviews. And even then I can give only little tidbits because I want to keep this close to myself. I have no publisher. It's just me now. But I know that I can write a pitch letter for this one. I can see many of the thoughts in that letter already about why a publisher should bring my book into the world. I'm really excited about this, and that helps the most in telling people what I set out to do with this book, for them to want to know more, to want to see the manuscript.
The next two years are going to be a lot of fun, and to kick off the research for this project, I get to watch that movie series again, taking notes this time to determine what questions I want to ask the actors, directors (One died in 2003, but his son is a director), screenwriters, production designers, composers (The music in the opening scene of one of the movies is an ominous, metallic throb that I love and I want to know how this composer did that), special effects people, and others who participated in the production of these movies. There's a story in all of it. I know it and I can feel it stronger than anything else I recently considered writing. I'm ready.
I did a lot of that today, and you should forget what I said before about the next book I was working on (http://scrapsofliteracy.blogspot.com/2011/11/can-i-write-books-like-this-forever.html). That won't be my next book, because even those I was excited about it at that moment, I never acted much on the research. One week, then two, then three passed, and still I was reading what I wanted to read and not what I had to read for that project. I may still write it one day, but I need this one to determine where I go as a writer, what else I want to do, and to reacquaint myself with detailed research, which will happen often.
When I did research for What If They Lived?, I couldn't read any books about Brad Renfro, Aaliyah and Heath Ledger because there were none. Every fact in those essays came from newspaper and magazine articles I found online. I loved putting the puzzle pieces together, which today is just like sweeping up garbage on the campus grounds after brunch and lunch (One of the things the La Mesa campus supervisors are required to do), and organizing my DVD collection into a binder, which I did all day and most of the evening Monday and still ran out of room in that binder. I have to get another 400-slot binder the next time we go to Fry's.
I want to put more puzzle pieces together. With this project, I've found the opportunity because very little is likely to come from books. Maybe for background, such as with some actors who died in the early '90s after very long lives, but mostly, my research has to come from interviews, and these interviews will be bigger than what I did before. It's going to require a lot more finesse, and hope that the people I want to contact are willing to be interviewed about this particular point in their lives. There'll be nothing untoward about this and I'm not seeking anything controversial to juice up my book. I'm planning a straightforward history of the making of a series of movies I was obsessed with when I was a teenager.
Over the years, there are bits and pieces I've learned about this particular series that I filed away, and a memoir by an actor who was in all of those movies revealed yet another tidbit that was the impetus for this project. It stuck in my mind until today when it spread faster and faster through my mind, showing me that if I want to be published again by the time I'm 30, I have to be happy with what I'm writing. There is no greater motivation than that. This is that book. I know I'm being very vague about it, but I can't be more specific until I'm well into research and interviews. And even then I can give only little tidbits because I want to keep this close to myself. I have no publisher. It's just me now. But I know that I can write a pitch letter for this one. I can see many of the thoughts in that letter already about why a publisher should bring my book into the world. I'm really excited about this, and that helps the most in telling people what I set out to do with this book, for them to want to know more, to want to see the manuscript.
The next two years are going to be a lot of fun, and to kick off the research for this project, I get to watch that movie series again, taking notes this time to determine what questions I want to ask the actors, directors (One died in 2003, but his son is a director), screenwriters, production designers, composers (The music in the opening scene of one of the movies is an ominous, metallic throb that I love and I want to know how this composer did that), special effects people, and others who participated in the production of these movies. There's a story in all of it. I know it and I can feel it stronger than anything else I recently considered writing. I'm ready.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Day 2, Part 1 of a Four-Week Pleasure Cruise: Would It Have Been Better If...?
The prevalent question during my Saturday at Six Flags Magic Mountain was: Would it have been better if I had gotten a season pass this year, readily able to disconnect myself from this valley? I'm not as incensed by the vapidness and plasticity of Santa Clarita as I used to be because you eventually resign yourself to this being what there is. It'll never change. What once may have been unique in this valley, whatever that might be, was paved over long ago.
Had I gotten the season pass, I wouldn't have needed to ride the rollercoasters all the time, because there is so much else to explore. There's the perpetually empty Golden Bear Theatre, of which I can see a section of the rows of rising benches while walking nearby. There's the front facade, a much smaller stage, with swinging saloon doors, and a reddish curtain behind that, what may have been suitable for comedy acts, or singers, or any other kind of act that the park used to have often a few decades ago, but no more. The rollercoasters will suffice.
There's also the trees all around, a lot to look at. Not only those that zoom by while riding Ninja, but also the ones you see while you walk up Samurai Summit and a relative nature-centered stretch of them while walking to the stairs that lead to just under the loading station of Tatsu where you can watch the trains being dispatched. It's also a shortcut to Ninja without having to walk the steep Samurai Summit hill. If you ever walk that hill, don't trip. You'll just keep rolling.
I stopped a few times on my way to those stairs, just looking at those thick and thin trees, thinking that I might be a better writer if I had had that scenery around me as often as I wanted, whenever the park was open. I felt completely at peace there, finding it remarkable that the only thing Six Flags Magic Mountain shares with the Santa Clarita Valley is its Valencia designation. That's part of its address, but that's it. No plasticity. Nothing shallow. What you see is what you get, from the cracks in the sidewalk, to Superman: Escape from Krypton running one track and train, and only later upon becoming more crowded, running both tracks and trains. It's a welcome change from when the previous Superman: The Escape used to run only one train and the adjacent track was used for storage. Back then, those trains were the most rickety things you could ever ride in an amusement park. Fortunately, times change.
After Mom, Dad, Meridith and I had given the toys over to the Toys for Tots toy drive, gotten our tickets, and walked through the metal detectors, the park gates opened (10:30 a.m. exactly) and Meridith wanted her funnel cake right away at the bakery right near the gate. I had had breakfast before we left, and so I began my trek to Ninja, first with a detour at the biggest souvenir shop near the main gates to get a Superman cape. Last year, I wore a Batman cape just because it was a cape and who wouldn't want to be a superhero for a day? My deepening interest in Superman in recent weeks compelled me to get the right cape this time, and $10 immediately went to Magic Mountain without hesitation. It was apparently a cape that played music if you pushed a button on it, but I noticed no button and nothing slightly bulky to indicate one. I thought that the paper tag that indicated that there was music was just put there for no reason at all. Maybe a mistake in the packing, but there was the same tag on the other Superman capes in the same section. Logic didn't apply at this moment because I just wanted to get to Ninja.
On the path to the shortcut of stairs past Tatsu and into Samurai Summit, I saw that Viper looked empty. No line jutting out on the stairs leading up to the loading station. One more time then. One more time so I could say goodbye.
Viper is a rollercoaster that's secure with itself. It has two vertical loops, a corkscrew toward the end, and it takes all of this in stride. The ride up the hill before the first major dip is easygoing, and even if you're toward the back, where it's expected to go faster because the cars in front of you have already gone over it, there's still that one moment of calm for all before the speed begins. Yet, it's not a frightening oh god-oh-god-please-make-it-stop-or-just-pluck-me-from-this-earth-so-I-don't-have-to-suffer-through-this-anymore speed, not like the hell I experienced twice, mid-afternoon and early evening. Going through the vertical loops is like gliding through an intersection. It doesn't seem that way when you're watching it from the ground, but it has that effect up there. This rollercoaster's just glad to have your time and if you want to go on it, it'll be here. I loved it for a few years because it was honest about what it was. Still is, but my tastes changed.
After the ride ended back in the loading station, I got out, gave it a farewell pat, and that was it. On to Ninja.
While walking to the shortcut to Samurai Summit, I thought about the season pass question, and it would have been nice to have one just because I would have been able to go on Ninja as many times as I wanted. I love Ninja because, as a suspended rollercoaster, it gives off a kind-of, sort-of effect of gliding through a forest. Tatsu gives the full effect of flying, but I could never do it like that, facing downward. All I need is to pass the trees, not look down on them.
As if it was apparent why I was there, I came to a completely empty loading station. I was the only one on the train for my first ride. No screaming from fellow riders. Just me rushing past the trees, enjoying that cold breeze coming off the waters of Jetstream, a water ride that Ninja seems to barely pass right over.
All in all, I rode Ninja seven times in a row, never screaming like the other riders, because I know it so well. I know where the two tight G-Force-laden turns are that trip the same pleasure center in the brain that produces the orgasm. I look forward to those every time, though strangely, those are the ones that evoke screams from fellow riders. After the seventh time, I needed a break, intending to go back on later in the day.
I needed my legs back, and definitely a restroom. I found it near Superman: Escape from Krypton, went quickly, and discovered that it didn't look like much of a line for Superman. This ride shoots you out of the loading station at 100mph, up the tower, and then back down, simulating the storyline of the infant Kal-El escaping from the exploding planet Krypton. Oh, and the ride vehicles launch backwards, so once you get to the highest point on the tower, you're looking down. Way down, before the vehicle speeds down and back into the station. This is also the loudest ride in the park, close to being a sonic boom without the actual boom. When you pass under the track while walking from the Colossus County Fair area that houses Goliath, you have to close your ears quickly if you hear it approaching. So yes, I'd do this. For Superman. It would undoubtedly be much safer than its previous incarnation which looked so run down, and without the red-and-blue paint scheme the tower now has. Before, it was white.
A few feet away from the entrance is a huge "S" shield. Across from it, on either side, are benches. With a season pass, I could have sat on one of those benches, watching people head to Superman, the line sometimes getting longer, interested in how long people are willing to wait for a ride that lasts 28 seconds. Strapping yourself in and waiting for the attendants to make sure everyone is strapped in takes longer.
Entering the Superman: Escape from Krypton structure is entering the Fortress of Solitude. That's the theming, with lighting that glows green above the doors that open into the loading station. Four people per row, three in the front row, for a total of 15 people in one vehicle. It takes some serious waiting for this.
I eventually reached the door to the second row, still wearing my Superman cape. Before I continue, I should say that I apparently have this effect on people that makes them want to talk to me. Whether it's by way of a calming presence or just something that they sense about me that they're curious about, I don't know. But it's always been there.
When I wait in a line somewhere, or I'm just walking past people, or supervising kids at La Mesa during brunch and lunch, I'm always listening. I hear snatches of conversations, weighing whether they benefit me in any way, possibly something to include in a book or a play one day, or something to include in a novel if I ever decide to write one. Hence, in those situations, I have become really good at listening without making it seem like I'm listening.
Behind me, two guys and a girl were chatting. I didn't listen much to their conversation, and in fact, I can't remember a thing from it. But my attention perked up when I heard, "Look, a new Superman," a reference to my cape. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned around, and the guy who had tapped me joked that he had Kryptonite. "Circumcision after birth is a Jewish person's Kryptonite," I joked back. I meant it as if a person got it done long after their birth. Mine was done barely a few days after I arrived.
Then he asked me why Superman, and I told him that Batman doesn't interest me because he's gloomy, depressed, and Gotham City is just gray and joyless, whereas Superman came from a different planet, has to discover who he is and where he fits in, and to me, there's more of a story in that, more to explore. The guy reminded me that Bruce Wayne lost both his parents on the same day, and I jokingly replied, "Eventually, a therapist." We also talked about if Bruce Wayne has any relatives, and I said the only person who comes close to being a relative is Alfred.
The friend of his chimed in occasionally, as good-natured as he was, but I didn't notice much compared to that girl, who must have been his friend's girlfriend. She was incredibly beautiful, with a soft face and demeanor about her, who could easily joke with the guys. Many comments and jokes I made got her smiling, reminding me of Emmy Rossum. Truly, the female sex can surprise you when you're not looking.
When the doors opened and we got into the ride vehicle, she had to put her pocketbook on the other side, and I didn't mind getting up and standing to the side at all. Sitting next to her was an honor, though I didn't let on about it. I'm subtle in my appreciations, not so subtle in my appreciation for a much better restraint system in this new incarnation. This time, the ride vehicle has over-the-shoulder restraints that are very heavy, and therefore a bit of a chore to put down, though very necessary so no one flies out. And once that restraint is resting on you (I was at the end of my row, so there was the added bonus of more protection next to me, like half a box made of fabric and metal, which sounds strange, but is the only way I can think of describing it), you take the seat belt buckle hanging down and insert it into the clasp, which is located right over your crotch. Like I said, excellent protection.
I don't have any fear of looking down 415 feet below me. It only lasts for about four seconds, and the way down is smooth. No jerks, no curves. I agreeably felt the wind rushing past me, and then the slowdown into the station, and that was it.
I didn't make a new set of friends with those three. It was one of those conversations that only lasts as long as you're waiting. Lucky guy with that girl. I could also tell that they were avid readers, not only by that same guy noticing my t-shirt, which says, "All You Need is Books," and commenting, "So true, and so many problems could be avoided if that were commonplace." Comments on wars and presidents inevitably followed. Plus, the girl obviously had a vast collection of books where she lives. There's just that look, sharpened, amused, passionate. She had it.
Next, I found out that Mom, Dad and Meridith were heading for Cyclone Bay, where there's bungee jumping ($35 for a single person, $25 for double, $20 for three people, who all can fit in one harness), go karts, and a few lost-looking carnival games, including throwing something into the hole of a vase that turns out to be very far away (It always seems that way), and hitting the circular platform with the mallet to try to make the bell ring.
I wasn't going to start out for Cyclone Bay so fast. I was hungry, and I needed french fries, one reason I had been excited about this day. There's nothing particularly remarkable about the fries served up at the Fresh-Cut Fries stand in Colossus County Fair plaza, but it's just that they're there, served nacho style with cheese and salsa and jalapenos, or spicier styles, or plain, that makes them appealing.
I ordered the half-pound of regular fries, not minding paying $5.29, and when the guy at the counter put ketchup packets on top of the fries, I told him I didn't need them, because there were mustard packets sitting there. I grabbed a handful, went to a table next to the stand and sat down, focused solely on my fries. I opened packet after packet of mustard to squirt on the fries, made a mess of a few packets, wiped the mess off the table, and dove in.
When I'm eating something I really like, it's only me and the food, as it was with these fries. A steady stream of people were walking out of Colossus County plaza across from me, and I hardly noticed. I had french fries and that's all that mattered. And the mustard. Rarely do I eat fries without mustard; well, fries that aren't from McDonald's or In-N-Out.
Before reaching the french fry stand, I stopped at the food stands at Water Tower Plaza, across from the Gold Rusher rollercoaster, curious about if they sold french fries as well, and whatever else was there. In the order window was an ad for pumpkin pie, $3.25 a slice. Pumpkin pie is my favorite, so I immediately wanted it (especially since the frozen pumpkin pie we put in the oven for Thanksgiving was shoddy, and only mildly good after being refrigerated), but not before I had my fries. I'd have my fries first, and then walk back for pumpkin pie.
(More tomorrow. I was a working man today and I'm a working man again tomorrow, with a shot at a full night's sleep tonight instead of the four and a half hours I got before the automated sub system called with the job at 7 this morning.)
Had I gotten the season pass, I wouldn't have needed to ride the rollercoasters all the time, because there is so much else to explore. There's the perpetually empty Golden Bear Theatre, of which I can see a section of the rows of rising benches while walking nearby. There's the front facade, a much smaller stage, with swinging saloon doors, and a reddish curtain behind that, what may have been suitable for comedy acts, or singers, or any other kind of act that the park used to have often a few decades ago, but no more. The rollercoasters will suffice.
There's also the trees all around, a lot to look at. Not only those that zoom by while riding Ninja, but also the ones you see while you walk up Samurai Summit and a relative nature-centered stretch of them while walking to the stairs that lead to just under the loading station of Tatsu where you can watch the trains being dispatched. It's also a shortcut to Ninja without having to walk the steep Samurai Summit hill. If you ever walk that hill, don't trip. You'll just keep rolling.
I stopped a few times on my way to those stairs, just looking at those thick and thin trees, thinking that I might be a better writer if I had had that scenery around me as often as I wanted, whenever the park was open. I felt completely at peace there, finding it remarkable that the only thing Six Flags Magic Mountain shares with the Santa Clarita Valley is its Valencia designation. That's part of its address, but that's it. No plasticity. Nothing shallow. What you see is what you get, from the cracks in the sidewalk, to Superman: Escape from Krypton running one track and train, and only later upon becoming more crowded, running both tracks and trains. It's a welcome change from when the previous Superman: The Escape used to run only one train and the adjacent track was used for storage. Back then, those trains were the most rickety things you could ever ride in an amusement park. Fortunately, times change.
After Mom, Dad, Meridith and I had given the toys over to the Toys for Tots toy drive, gotten our tickets, and walked through the metal detectors, the park gates opened (10:30 a.m. exactly) and Meridith wanted her funnel cake right away at the bakery right near the gate. I had had breakfast before we left, and so I began my trek to Ninja, first with a detour at the biggest souvenir shop near the main gates to get a Superman cape. Last year, I wore a Batman cape just because it was a cape and who wouldn't want to be a superhero for a day? My deepening interest in Superman in recent weeks compelled me to get the right cape this time, and $10 immediately went to Magic Mountain without hesitation. It was apparently a cape that played music if you pushed a button on it, but I noticed no button and nothing slightly bulky to indicate one. I thought that the paper tag that indicated that there was music was just put there for no reason at all. Maybe a mistake in the packing, but there was the same tag on the other Superman capes in the same section. Logic didn't apply at this moment because I just wanted to get to Ninja.
On the path to the shortcut of stairs past Tatsu and into Samurai Summit, I saw that Viper looked empty. No line jutting out on the stairs leading up to the loading station. One more time then. One more time so I could say goodbye.
Viper is a rollercoaster that's secure with itself. It has two vertical loops, a corkscrew toward the end, and it takes all of this in stride. The ride up the hill before the first major dip is easygoing, and even if you're toward the back, where it's expected to go faster because the cars in front of you have already gone over it, there's still that one moment of calm for all before the speed begins. Yet, it's not a frightening oh god-oh-god-please-make-it-stop-or-just-pluck-me-from-this-earth-so-I-don't-have-to-suffer-through-this-anymore speed, not like the hell I experienced twice, mid-afternoon and early evening. Going through the vertical loops is like gliding through an intersection. It doesn't seem that way when you're watching it from the ground, but it has that effect up there. This rollercoaster's just glad to have your time and if you want to go on it, it'll be here. I loved it for a few years because it was honest about what it was. Still is, but my tastes changed.
After the ride ended back in the loading station, I got out, gave it a farewell pat, and that was it. On to Ninja.
While walking to the shortcut to Samurai Summit, I thought about the season pass question, and it would have been nice to have one just because I would have been able to go on Ninja as many times as I wanted. I love Ninja because, as a suspended rollercoaster, it gives off a kind-of, sort-of effect of gliding through a forest. Tatsu gives the full effect of flying, but I could never do it like that, facing downward. All I need is to pass the trees, not look down on them.
As if it was apparent why I was there, I came to a completely empty loading station. I was the only one on the train for my first ride. No screaming from fellow riders. Just me rushing past the trees, enjoying that cold breeze coming off the waters of Jetstream, a water ride that Ninja seems to barely pass right over.
All in all, I rode Ninja seven times in a row, never screaming like the other riders, because I know it so well. I know where the two tight G-Force-laden turns are that trip the same pleasure center in the brain that produces the orgasm. I look forward to those every time, though strangely, those are the ones that evoke screams from fellow riders. After the seventh time, I needed a break, intending to go back on later in the day.
I needed my legs back, and definitely a restroom. I found it near Superman: Escape from Krypton, went quickly, and discovered that it didn't look like much of a line for Superman. This ride shoots you out of the loading station at 100mph, up the tower, and then back down, simulating the storyline of the infant Kal-El escaping from the exploding planet Krypton. Oh, and the ride vehicles launch backwards, so once you get to the highest point on the tower, you're looking down. Way down, before the vehicle speeds down and back into the station. This is also the loudest ride in the park, close to being a sonic boom without the actual boom. When you pass under the track while walking from the Colossus County Fair area that houses Goliath, you have to close your ears quickly if you hear it approaching. So yes, I'd do this. For Superman. It would undoubtedly be much safer than its previous incarnation which looked so run down, and without the red-and-blue paint scheme the tower now has. Before, it was white.
A few feet away from the entrance is a huge "S" shield. Across from it, on either side, are benches. With a season pass, I could have sat on one of those benches, watching people head to Superman, the line sometimes getting longer, interested in how long people are willing to wait for a ride that lasts 28 seconds. Strapping yourself in and waiting for the attendants to make sure everyone is strapped in takes longer.
Entering the Superman: Escape from Krypton structure is entering the Fortress of Solitude. That's the theming, with lighting that glows green above the doors that open into the loading station. Four people per row, three in the front row, for a total of 15 people in one vehicle. It takes some serious waiting for this.
I eventually reached the door to the second row, still wearing my Superman cape. Before I continue, I should say that I apparently have this effect on people that makes them want to talk to me. Whether it's by way of a calming presence or just something that they sense about me that they're curious about, I don't know. But it's always been there.
When I wait in a line somewhere, or I'm just walking past people, or supervising kids at La Mesa during brunch and lunch, I'm always listening. I hear snatches of conversations, weighing whether they benefit me in any way, possibly something to include in a book or a play one day, or something to include in a novel if I ever decide to write one. Hence, in those situations, I have become really good at listening without making it seem like I'm listening.
Behind me, two guys and a girl were chatting. I didn't listen much to their conversation, and in fact, I can't remember a thing from it. But my attention perked up when I heard, "Look, a new Superman," a reference to my cape. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned around, and the guy who had tapped me joked that he had Kryptonite. "Circumcision after birth is a Jewish person's Kryptonite," I joked back. I meant it as if a person got it done long after their birth. Mine was done barely a few days after I arrived.
Then he asked me why Superman, and I told him that Batman doesn't interest me because he's gloomy, depressed, and Gotham City is just gray and joyless, whereas Superman came from a different planet, has to discover who he is and where he fits in, and to me, there's more of a story in that, more to explore. The guy reminded me that Bruce Wayne lost both his parents on the same day, and I jokingly replied, "Eventually, a therapist." We also talked about if Bruce Wayne has any relatives, and I said the only person who comes close to being a relative is Alfred.
The friend of his chimed in occasionally, as good-natured as he was, but I didn't notice much compared to that girl, who must have been his friend's girlfriend. She was incredibly beautiful, with a soft face and demeanor about her, who could easily joke with the guys. Many comments and jokes I made got her smiling, reminding me of Emmy Rossum. Truly, the female sex can surprise you when you're not looking.
When the doors opened and we got into the ride vehicle, she had to put her pocketbook on the other side, and I didn't mind getting up and standing to the side at all. Sitting next to her was an honor, though I didn't let on about it. I'm subtle in my appreciations, not so subtle in my appreciation for a much better restraint system in this new incarnation. This time, the ride vehicle has over-the-shoulder restraints that are very heavy, and therefore a bit of a chore to put down, though very necessary so no one flies out. And once that restraint is resting on you (I was at the end of my row, so there was the added bonus of more protection next to me, like half a box made of fabric and metal, which sounds strange, but is the only way I can think of describing it), you take the seat belt buckle hanging down and insert it into the clasp, which is located right over your crotch. Like I said, excellent protection.
I don't have any fear of looking down 415 feet below me. It only lasts for about four seconds, and the way down is smooth. No jerks, no curves. I agreeably felt the wind rushing past me, and then the slowdown into the station, and that was it.
I didn't make a new set of friends with those three. It was one of those conversations that only lasts as long as you're waiting. Lucky guy with that girl. I could also tell that they were avid readers, not only by that same guy noticing my t-shirt, which says, "All You Need is Books," and commenting, "So true, and so many problems could be avoided if that were commonplace." Comments on wars and presidents inevitably followed. Plus, the girl obviously had a vast collection of books where she lives. There's just that look, sharpened, amused, passionate. She had it.
Next, I found out that Mom, Dad and Meridith were heading for Cyclone Bay, where there's bungee jumping ($35 for a single person, $25 for double, $20 for three people, who all can fit in one harness), go karts, and a few lost-looking carnival games, including throwing something into the hole of a vase that turns out to be very far away (It always seems that way), and hitting the circular platform with the mallet to try to make the bell ring.
I wasn't going to start out for Cyclone Bay so fast. I was hungry, and I needed french fries, one reason I had been excited about this day. There's nothing particularly remarkable about the fries served up at the Fresh-Cut Fries stand in Colossus County Fair plaza, but it's just that they're there, served nacho style with cheese and salsa and jalapenos, or spicier styles, or plain, that makes them appealing.
I ordered the half-pound of regular fries, not minding paying $5.29, and when the guy at the counter put ketchup packets on top of the fries, I told him I didn't need them, because there were mustard packets sitting there. I grabbed a handful, went to a table next to the stand and sat down, focused solely on my fries. I opened packet after packet of mustard to squirt on the fries, made a mess of a few packets, wiped the mess off the table, and dove in.
When I'm eating something I really like, it's only me and the food, as it was with these fries. A steady stream of people were walking out of Colossus County plaza across from me, and I hardly noticed. I had french fries and that's all that mattered. And the mustard. Rarely do I eat fries without mustard; well, fries that aren't from McDonald's or In-N-Out.
Before reaching the french fry stand, I stopped at the food stands at Water Tower Plaza, across from the Gold Rusher rollercoaster, curious about if they sold french fries as well, and whatever else was there. In the order window was an ad for pumpkin pie, $3.25 a slice. Pumpkin pie is my favorite, so I immediately wanted it (especially since the frozen pumpkin pie we put in the oven for Thanksgiving was shoddy, and only mildly good after being refrigerated), but not before I had my fries. I'd have my fries first, and then walk back for pumpkin pie.
(More tomorrow. I was a working man today and I'm a working man again tomorrow, with a shot at a full night's sleep tonight instead of the four and a half hours I got before the automated sub system called with the job at 7 this morning.)
Sunday, December 11, 2011
A Sign Pointing Firmly to the Future
Still not ready to write about a weekend that could rival any of my future weekends in Las Vegas and Henderson. Tentacles of pain are still reaching inward from the sides of my feet, the result of basically walking for three days straight (Friday was work, remember), and after I'm done compiling job listings for that freelance writing newsletter, I don't want to move until at least mid-morning tomorrow. I've got three episodes of Jeopardy! Tivo'd (Two from Game Show Network, Saturday and today at 6 in the morning that originally aired a few years ago, and a rerun on my local ABC station last night) and I'm looking forward to vegging out while calling out answers I'm surprised I knew. But this I must mention.
Before going to IKEA, we stopped at Fry's, where Mom and Meridith wanted to look at waffle makers. I thought only about the DVD section, which is a lot of fun to go through because they stock DVDs that you'll never find at Best Buy, such as The Straight Story, and the Ethan Hawke Hamlet for $6. I stood where that DVD was, with that in my left hand, and the Royal Shakespeare Company production of Hamlet, starring David Tennant and Patrick Stewart, released by the BBC, and therefore $14.27, though for a three-hour production, it was somewhat understandable. But if I was to buy either of these, and possibly not like them (I'm nuts for the Kenneth Branagh-directed version, though that wouldn't color my view of either of the other two), then I'm out $20. I can take that risk with books because that's who I am. But for DVDs right now, until I have a library card again, I prefer to only buy DVDs I know I can benefit from because they tap into some interest or that I need back in my DVD collection, such as Dick Tracy, the Warren Beatty one, which I bought. I'll wait for those versions of Hamlet, when I can also have the resource of finding other Shakespearean productions on DVD wherever those libraries have DVDs available.
I stopped in the documentary section of DVDs, finding one called Over Florida that's entirely of footage shot from the air. I was born and happily raised there, with much in the state that fired my imagination and led me to who I am now, who I'm looking to be as a writer. Perhaps it would be nice to watch that footage and remember those landmarks that were so important to me.
That didn't happen. As I always do, I slightly shook the DVD case up and down to make sure the DVD was securely in place and this one wasn't. It rattled. At the same time I decided not to risk $9.95 on a DVD that may be completely scratched up, I found a two-disc DVD set called Vegas: The City the Mob Made, 10 episodes about the history of Las Vegas. Shaking that DVD case, I found that those DVDs didn't move.
I bought it, because from this comes everything else I'd want to read about Las Vegas history. I want to know everything. I will leave nothing out. And it was definitely a sign, not to forget Florida entirely, but to leave it behind now and focus on what will come and make me happy every day. It's like my favorite song from the '90s: Runaway by Janet Jackson. The memories it evokes of growing up in the '90s are still active in my mind, but the impact has faded. I think it's to make room for what's ahead, to be where I truly want to be, and what it can fan out to include, such as my desire to travel to New Mexico, and my eventual presidential library travels. By finally having a home base again, I can add more to what I am in reading, writing, and in living.
Before going to IKEA, we stopped at Fry's, where Mom and Meridith wanted to look at waffle makers. I thought only about the DVD section, which is a lot of fun to go through because they stock DVDs that you'll never find at Best Buy, such as The Straight Story, and the Ethan Hawke Hamlet for $6. I stood where that DVD was, with that in my left hand, and the Royal Shakespeare Company production of Hamlet, starring David Tennant and Patrick Stewart, released by the BBC, and therefore $14.27, though for a three-hour production, it was somewhat understandable. But if I was to buy either of these, and possibly not like them (I'm nuts for the Kenneth Branagh-directed version, though that wouldn't color my view of either of the other two), then I'm out $20. I can take that risk with books because that's who I am. But for DVDs right now, until I have a library card again, I prefer to only buy DVDs I know I can benefit from because they tap into some interest or that I need back in my DVD collection, such as Dick Tracy, the Warren Beatty one, which I bought. I'll wait for those versions of Hamlet, when I can also have the resource of finding other Shakespearean productions on DVD wherever those libraries have DVDs available.
I stopped in the documentary section of DVDs, finding one called Over Florida that's entirely of footage shot from the air. I was born and happily raised there, with much in the state that fired my imagination and led me to who I am now, who I'm looking to be as a writer. Perhaps it would be nice to watch that footage and remember those landmarks that were so important to me.
That didn't happen. As I always do, I slightly shook the DVD case up and down to make sure the DVD was securely in place and this one wasn't. It rattled. At the same time I decided not to risk $9.95 on a DVD that may be completely scratched up, I found a two-disc DVD set called Vegas: The City the Mob Made, 10 episodes about the history of Las Vegas. Shaking that DVD case, I found that those DVDs didn't move.
I bought it, because from this comes everything else I'd want to read about Las Vegas history. I want to know everything. I will leave nothing out. And it was definitely a sign, not to forget Florida entirely, but to leave it behind now and focus on what will come and make me happy every day. It's like my favorite song from the '90s: Runaway by Janet Jackson. The memories it evokes of growing up in the '90s are still active in my mind, but the impact has faded. I think it's to make room for what's ahead, to be where I truly want to be, and what it can fan out to include, such as my desire to travel to New Mexico, and my eventual presidential library travels. By finally having a home base again, I can add more to what I am in reading, writing, and in living.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
My Very First Royalty Check
I'm too tired to write anything about my day at Six Flags Magic Mountain, except to say that I'm done with rollercoasters, save for my personal requirement of riding Desperado when we reach Primm just across the state line into Nevada from California (Home state pride!). Some people are cut out for roller coaster enthusiasm well into their thirties. I won't be one of them, not after the double hell that was Apocalypse and Colossus. But more on that either later Sunday evening or Monday.
The day itself was incredible, everything I expected. Then I came home, got the mail (including the complete series DVD set of Nero Wolfe, starring Maury Chaykin, one of my favorite actors, and Timothy Hutton), and found something momentous: My very first royalty check! This was for What If They Lived?, and it's quite a coincidence because while walking throughout Magic Mountain, I thought about how I don't want to let What If They Lived? be my only book. I have to start moving more swiftly on what I want to write. And then after getting off Colossus and ending my interest in rollercoasters, I thought about how not only am I gradually reaching 30, but I will be getting older and older and I don't want to let the years pass without having books to show for them.
When I saw the envelope in the mail and had an inkling that that's what it might be, I thought to myself, "There's a kick in the ass when you need one." After I showed it to Mom, Dad and Meridith, I loved that feeling not only of them being proud of me, but amazed that after all the work I did, here is this check. Here is money for my work. It's not a bizarro, I-can't-believe-they-pay-me-this-much-for-words amount, but it does make me want to write lots more. It'd be nice to see my name on more checks related to my work.
For now, work. More work. Still more work. It's the only way I'll get to that point again.
The day itself was incredible, everything I expected. Then I came home, got the mail (including the complete series DVD set of Nero Wolfe, starring Maury Chaykin, one of my favorite actors, and Timothy Hutton), and found something momentous: My very first royalty check! This was for What If They Lived?, and it's quite a coincidence because while walking throughout Magic Mountain, I thought about how I don't want to let What If They Lived? be my only book. I have to start moving more swiftly on what I want to write. And then after getting off Colossus and ending my interest in rollercoasters, I thought about how not only am I gradually reaching 30, but I will be getting older and older and I don't want to let the years pass without having books to show for them.
When I saw the envelope in the mail and had an inkling that that's what it might be, I thought to myself, "There's a kick in the ass when you need one." After I showed it to Mom, Dad and Meridith, I loved that feeling not only of them being proud of me, but amazed that after all the work I did, here is this check. Here is money for my work. It's not a bizarro, I-can't-believe-they-pay-me-this-much-for-words amount, but it does make me want to write lots more. It'd be nice to see my name on more checks related to my work.
For now, work. More work. Still more work. It's the only way I'll get to that point again.
Friday, December 9, 2011
A Friday with Pay and Then Rollercoasters
This morning was a surprise. I went to bed toward 3, completely failing at trying to get to bed much earlier on Wednesday night and Thursday night so I could ease into getting up early tomorrow morning for Six Flags Magic Mountain.
Mom woke me up at 10 minutes before 6. John, the head campus supervisor, put a call into the automated sub system, which called me. He needed a sub. Did I want the job?
I always want the job, no matter who I'm subbing for, because there's money. I need money. I love money. I need to let my savings account rise more, and I love buying books (at least until Henderson, when I'll have a library to go to again).
I wish John had decided this last night so I could have had time to get lunch ready and to get to bed earlier. That's not how this always works, though, so I went to the dining room table to get Lady Luck's Map of Vegas by Barbara Samuel (I finished The Goddesses of Kitchen Avenue a little after 1 this morning), went back to my room, saw that my clock said 5:52, and got back into bed for a few minutes. I was fully awake, but knew that I have to take it easy today. I'll do the job as professionally as I always do (I'm at the school right now), but I'll walk around the campus a little less during the class periods when there's not any calls to answer on the radio. I need my exercise, and I'll get that, but I also need to be sharp for the brunch and lunch periods, supervising the kids, since I'll be walking around. It's not like subbing for Alex and Carmen, standing near the lunch lines, making sure no one cuts in at the front of the line.
I didn't open Lady Luck's Map of Vegas. I just lay there wondering how I was going to make it through the day on little sleep, but I remembered that I had slept nine hours the previous day, and when I'm at home during the school week, I do a few chores after I get up, then spend my time on the couch reading, as I did yesterday. So there's not a whole lot of exertion there. That serves me well today.
I looked over at the clock again, saw that it was 6, and thought about if I should wait to take a shower after I got home, which actually wouldn't be until after we come home from school, pick up Meridith, go to $5 Friday at Pavilions (in which many items are $5 each, including fried chicken this week), and go home again. That wasn't going to work. It was time to just get it done. I don't think I would be able to think about one after all that activity, and I needed one.
What a relief a shower is when you're trying to wake up. It sets up a good mood for the rest of the day. I don't consume caffeine anymore, so I needed this.
During the shower, I remembered that today is the holiday luncheon for faculty and staff in the library. No need to make lunch to bring with me. Just three oatmeal raisin granola bars and three bottles of Arrowhead water. I had breakfast before Dad and I left the house. I hope for egg nog during this luncheon, but I doubt it. That reminds me that I still want my one carton of regular egg nog for the year. I've been drinking Silk Nog occasionally from the end of October to now, and I'll only partake of regular egg nog once this year. Copious amounts of regular egg nog, even the low-fat kind, is part of what got me fat over the years. Not again. Total moderation.
John's hours are 8:30-4:30, and even though it's later than I usually work, I'm very happy with it. 8 hours instead of 6. Money earned, and then Six Flags Magic Mountain tomorrow. It works out perfectly because I'll definitely crash later tonight and then be up by 7:30 or 8 tomorrow morning, well ahead of 10:30 when the park opens. We're all going anyway, not just Meridith and I, so we'll need to find a parking spot too. The weather is going to be warmer tomorrow, which means I can wear my "All You Need is Books" t-shirt (http://www.unshelved.com/store/Shirts/AllYouNeedIsBooks) with a white t-shirt underneath and a jacket.
So now I can buy my slightly overpriced Superman t-shirt tomorrow without feeling like I'm pushing my financial limit. And if they have a t-shirt that actually has the Ninja rollercoaster on it and not just an outline of a section of the park (as it is with the Ninja t-shirt I already have), I'll grab that too.
I just remembered that the Sky Tower Museum is open as well, in which you take an elevator up that orange tower to the first floor (The second floor is for storage, I imagine, though I heard rumors that there's a kitchen up there too) and there's memorabilia from decades past at Magic Mountain, in glass cases, on hangers, and even an old ride vehicle from one rollercoaster and a seat from another. It's a tradition of sorts for all of us, and before that, when that floor was entirely devoid of anything, we'd just go up there to see the view of the Santa Clarita Valley, which looks far better than the reality. We'll still do that, because that's really the main reason to go up there, and for me to see the Ninja track obscured by trees.
It's just like our tradition to go on "It's a Small World" together whenever we go to Disneyland, though that's not likely to happen again before we move because those tickets are so damn expensive now. When we went to Walt Disney World every weekend when I was a tyke, we went on "It's a Small World" often, and that carried over to when we visited the Magic Kingdom once in a while when we lived in South Florida years later. (Never EPCOT or then-Disney-MGM Studios. Magic Kingdom had enough for all of us, including Tomorrowland for me with Space Mountain (my favorite attraction there), Tomorrowland Transit Authority, and Walt Disney's Carousel of Progress. I only needed those, and the arcade next to Space Mountain, and I stayed there the entire day.)
Work is good, especially this work which lets me read at lunch, completely unperturbed. With Magic Mountain tomorrow, it's even nicer.
(Addendum at 8:11 a.m.: Dad came back from the office before going coffee-hunting to tell me that I have Alex's hours of 9:30-3:30. On days when John is absent, Alex takes his hours. I'm not disappointed, because 6 hours is better than no hours. Plus, that gives me an hour to lay on the couch upstairs in the teachers' lounge and rest up and read before I have to start. I think I'll be better, more awake than I thought I'd be when we got here.)
Mom woke me up at 10 minutes before 6. John, the head campus supervisor, put a call into the automated sub system, which called me. He needed a sub. Did I want the job?
I always want the job, no matter who I'm subbing for, because there's money. I need money. I love money. I need to let my savings account rise more, and I love buying books (at least until Henderson, when I'll have a library to go to again).
I wish John had decided this last night so I could have had time to get lunch ready and to get to bed earlier. That's not how this always works, though, so I went to the dining room table to get Lady Luck's Map of Vegas by Barbara Samuel (I finished The Goddesses of Kitchen Avenue a little after 1 this morning), went back to my room, saw that my clock said 5:52, and got back into bed for a few minutes. I was fully awake, but knew that I have to take it easy today. I'll do the job as professionally as I always do (I'm at the school right now), but I'll walk around the campus a little less during the class periods when there's not any calls to answer on the radio. I need my exercise, and I'll get that, but I also need to be sharp for the brunch and lunch periods, supervising the kids, since I'll be walking around. It's not like subbing for Alex and Carmen, standing near the lunch lines, making sure no one cuts in at the front of the line.
I didn't open Lady Luck's Map of Vegas. I just lay there wondering how I was going to make it through the day on little sleep, but I remembered that I had slept nine hours the previous day, and when I'm at home during the school week, I do a few chores after I get up, then spend my time on the couch reading, as I did yesterday. So there's not a whole lot of exertion there. That serves me well today.
I looked over at the clock again, saw that it was 6, and thought about if I should wait to take a shower after I got home, which actually wouldn't be until after we come home from school, pick up Meridith, go to $5 Friday at Pavilions (in which many items are $5 each, including fried chicken this week), and go home again. That wasn't going to work. It was time to just get it done. I don't think I would be able to think about one after all that activity, and I needed one.
What a relief a shower is when you're trying to wake up. It sets up a good mood for the rest of the day. I don't consume caffeine anymore, so I needed this.
During the shower, I remembered that today is the holiday luncheon for faculty and staff in the library. No need to make lunch to bring with me. Just three oatmeal raisin granola bars and three bottles of Arrowhead water. I had breakfast before Dad and I left the house. I hope for egg nog during this luncheon, but I doubt it. That reminds me that I still want my one carton of regular egg nog for the year. I've been drinking Silk Nog occasionally from the end of October to now, and I'll only partake of regular egg nog once this year. Copious amounts of regular egg nog, even the low-fat kind, is part of what got me fat over the years. Not again. Total moderation.
John's hours are 8:30-4:30, and even though it's later than I usually work, I'm very happy with it. 8 hours instead of 6. Money earned, and then Six Flags Magic Mountain tomorrow. It works out perfectly because I'll definitely crash later tonight and then be up by 7:30 or 8 tomorrow morning, well ahead of 10:30 when the park opens. We're all going anyway, not just Meridith and I, so we'll need to find a parking spot too. The weather is going to be warmer tomorrow, which means I can wear my "All You Need is Books" t-shirt (http://www.unshelved.com/store/Shirts/AllYouNeedIsBooks) with a white t-shirt underneath and a jacket.
So now I can buy my slightly overpriced Superman t-shirt tomorrow without feeling like I'm pushing my financial limit. And if they have a t-shirt that actually has the Ninja rollercoaster on it and not just an outline of a section of the park (as it is with the Ninja t-shirt I already have), I'll grab that too.
I just remembered that the Sky Tower Museum is open as well, in which you take an elevator up that orange tower to the first floor (The second floor is for storage, I imagine, though I heard rumors that there's a kitchen up there too) and there's memorabilia from decades past at Magic Mountain, in glass cases, on hangers, and even an old ride vehicle from one rollercoaster and a seat from another. It's a tradition of sorts for all of us, and before that, when that floor was entirely devoid of anything, we'd just go up there to see the view of the Santa Clarita Valley, which looks far better than the reality. We'll still do that, because that's really the main reason to go up there, and for me to see the Ninja track obscured by trees.
It's just like our tradition to go on "It's a Small World" together whenever we go to Disneyland, though that's not likely to happen again before we move because those tickets are so damn expensive now. When we went to Walt Disney World every weekend when I was a tyke, we went on "It's a Small World" often, and that carried over to when we visited the Magic Kingdom once in a while when we lived in South Florida years later. (Never EPCOT or then-Disney-MGM Studios. Magic Kingdom had enough for all of us, including Tomorrowland for me with Space Mountain (my favorite attraction there), Tomorrowland Transit Authority, and Walt Disney's Carousel of Progress. I only needed those, and the arcade next to Space Mountain, and I stayed there the entire day.)
Work is good, especially this work which lets me read at lunch, completely unperturbed. With Magic Mountain tomorrow, it's even nicer.
(Addendum at 8:11 a.m.: Dad came back from the office before going coffee-hunting to tell me that I have Alex's hours of 9:30-3:30. On days when John is absent, Alex takes his hours. I'm not disappointed, because 6 hours is better than no hours. Plus, that gives me an hour to lay on the couch upstairs in the teachers' lounge and rest up and read before I have to start. I think I'll be better, more awake than I thought I'd be when we got here.)
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