You Wanna Go For A Ride

The computer died this weekend and with it went my sense of place within the world. That’s not at all true, it actually took away any sort of guilt I had at the lack of attention I have paid to the blog, or emailing friends. I was absolved, Macbook died for my sins.

My brother-in-law, sister-in-law and their two young daughters were staying with us this weekend. It was great to see Rog and Reena again (it had literally been years) and to finally meet my beautiful nieces and watch my son manhandle said nieces. There was a lot of talk about Southern California life over beers and bourbon and a chilled bottle of limoncello. And while none of this talk revolved around amusement parks, that is what had come out after I let thoughts and conversations steep in a steaming cup of sleep deprivation sweaty summer evenings.

So that’s what you get…

Also, side note, side bar, hush hush side to side… I am remembering at this very moment an idea for a short novel about an amusement park. I should really get on that. Moving on…

Knott’s Berry Farm filled my mind this morning. Knott’s Berry Farm is an Orange County institution. Knott’s Berry Farm is like the malformed and socially inept younger sibling to Disneyland that should be locked away in a basement room, but is instead let out into the general public by well meaning parents. If the world were right, there would be a made for TV movie where Knott’s Berry Farm escaped from its home prison cell to murder the pretty amusement parks like Disneyland and Magic Mountain; maybe the cops would arrive to some dingy torture pit just in time to save a shapely water park…

Knott’s Berry Farm is, as I remember it, much like a county fair that never packs up. There is an infestation of gaming booths where you can win stuffed Snoopy dolls, there are shops to buy jellies and jams, and there was one major ride; Montezooma’s Revenge! Montezooma’s Revenge was a roller coaster that shot you through one (count it, one) loop before sending you back through said loop backwards. It was probably king shit of roller coasters back in the day, but pretty lame when you take a minute to compare the mild amusement to the hour plus in line.

This also got me thinking about other misguided uses for the misguided term “amusement park”. Up in this neck of the woods, where fairly inclement weather keeps most Disney knock offs at bay, there was and is the Enchanted Village. The Enchanted Village is now connected to a waterslide park to make for a fun summer day jaunt, but when my brother and I were children it was as if someone had set up carnival rides and giant plywood figurines in their sizable backyard, started charging admission. The whole thing revolved around a big fiberglass slide that you rode while sitting on burlap bags. Not at all trailer trashy in the slightest…

I looked at the website to see how things had changed at the ol’ EV as the kids are calling it (they’re not). It looks like they have added some “exciting” new rides, and have written into their website exciting new description of said rides. I got the impression that EV’s web guru got sick of wading through delusion when describing The Scrambler.

The Scrambler by the way is one of those rides that you can find at most county fair/carnivals. It looks like:

The description of the ride on the EV website asks us to:
Enjoy the exciting thrills on this circular motion, back-and-forth journey.

Back and forth journey… There’s a “your mom” joke in there dying to get out.

I have to get back to work, and as I don’t have a good or clever way to end this, I want to share a quick thought about the Zipper ride.

I have never actually been on this ride, and not for any sort of fear for life or limb, but because this thing is apparently a vomit manufacturer. Anytime that I have been to a county fair or carnival and there is one of these, invariably, some irritated attendant is hosing down one of the cars and ridding it of the pungent combination of cotton candy and bile.

Long live carnival rides! And thanks for stopping by R&R, I miss you guys. It was good seeing you!


Confidential to Mo Money Mandy: Happy Birthday, you’re 8 kinds of sexy – mostly because you were eight when I saw Depeche Mode live at the Rose Bowl.