dr. elsewhere here
I honestly don't know how Joe manages to keep up his posting pace at the level of depth and quality that he does. Me? The incoming leaves so dizzy and befuddled I can hardly get through a normal day, much less make sense enough of it to compose (odd word, that, there) thoughts on it. All it takes is one minor wrinkle in my day, and the dizzy cyber world is shoved to the back burners of my mind, mainly because it is such a demanding energy drain at times. One can only do so much. The more I do this, the more my appreciation for Joe's efforts, energy, product, and devotion grows. Not to mention his clarity of logic and reason; those of you who don't get that, you just don't get it. Your loss.
Anyway, this opening lovefest is actually my shameless intro to a shameful confession.
Friends, the timing could not be more bizarre, the situation more ironic, but the bottom line is, I must humbly beg your pardon and your leave for a few days.
Because, you see, I'm heading to (*gulp*, here it comes)...
Dizzyworld!
Yep. It's true. Totally weird, but true.
Short notice, long story, but I've been invited, all expenses paid, to spend a few days with my wonderful brother and his wonderful family - that just happens to include three wonderful wonderful kids - in the dark dungeons of Disney depravity and doom.
Could this have come at a crazier point in history?
So, let's just say (hand moves over my heart), I'm doing this for the children.
And, I promise, I will be taking notes. And names. And lots and lots of pictures.
Be nice to Joe while I'm gone (why? because we love him!). Or I really will be taking names when I get back!
6 comments:
I liked the scullery maid vision better :) Safe trip. We'll be here when you get back.
Miss P.
I want a pic of the Guantanamo Bay prisoner exhibit, right off the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad
Some of you may feel that this trip conflicts with my "Boycott Disney" campaign. Please understnad that the doctor will NOT enjoy herself in the slightest. This is a mission of infiltration and subversion. If you see TV footage of Mickey Mouse wearing a Randi Rhodes T-shirt, you'll know who gave it to him.
Since this whole thing got started, I've been having one long continuous series of "man, this couldn't have happened at a stranger time in history," moments myself, particularly as regards Disney. The day before I found out about Disney's role in the evil P-2-9/11 madness, I was asked to research some of the finer moments in the company's history for a blogger friend of mine, which spurned in me a desire to go dig out my old copy of "Fantasia," get drunk for the first time in four years and try to recapture a tiny bit of my childhood...maybe rewatch "The Aristocats" while I was at it. Then I went for my daily dose of Cannonfire and that threw a bucket of ice water on those plans. Sucked. I still have a perverse longing to go rent the 1949 short, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," which I formerly loved. Sigh. Goddamn you, Disney. 'Specially you, Eisner. Killing the last semi-fond memories of my youth. I didn't have so many of those, you know? Hate.
Good luck, dr. e.
The first film I ever saw in an "indoor" theater was "Fantasia." My dad took me to the old Carthay Circle theater downtown, where the movie played in stereo. It made a huge impression on me.
Although my father made his living as a scientist, he was a good artist, and after the film he spent the rest of the evening trying to teach me how to draw the characters in "Fantasia." I wanted to do ol' Chernabog from the "Night on Bald Mountain" sequence, but never could get him right.
My father was also a gifted musician (a jazz pianist, to be specific), and he dragged out some old 78s with the music from the film. That was my introduction to Beethoven. The Sixth is still one of my favorite pieces.
My father had his first heart attack not long after that. Less than a year later, the second attack killed him. He was 36; I was not yet 7. The night we saw "Fantasia" was my last perfectly happy memory of the time we had together.
they are going to get your fingerprint.
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