Saturday, October 21, 2017

50 for 50: 25 - Maze with Susan and Jeff

When I was a kid, I liked solving mazes.  The paper ones you solve with a pencil.  I always used to solve them in my head first, tracing the path with my finger, before I'd bother picking up the pencil and making the line.  Wouldn't want to actually WRITE DOWN me making a mistake, going down a dead end.

This, I'm sure, is an insight into my personality.

I think life-sized mazes you get lost in are fun.  I've done a couple of mirror mazes and one hedge maze, and have come to the conclusion that I kind of suck at them, but they're fun.  I do get lost easily, though.  I'm pretty good at remembering where I am when I'm in a city -- make a left at the McDonald's, turn again just past the gelato shop, that sort of thing.  But in a mirror maze, about all you can see is ... you.  And in the hedge maze, it's all hedge.  Hard to find landmarks when it all looks the same.  Each time I've stepped in, I've gotten pretty disoriented shortly after entering, and have only made it out by luck (or, at that hedge maze in England, the assistance of some kid yelling to her Dad to "follow my voice!")

Jeff and Susan initially found an 11-acre corn maze out in Temecula, which is, like, 100 miles from here.  And while we first considered getting our 'Murica on (the maze is mown in the shape of the Statute of Liberty, with the text:  "America - Land of the Free Because of the Brave.  God Bless Our Military") we decided to take a pass on the place because it was so far away (and because I was a little cautious of whatever the hell "Show your Patriotism on our Wall of Freedom!" meant in the advertising), and we ultimately settled on a 4-acre job which was much closer (and the pattern of the maze was a little farmhouse with the farmer in front of it, so I was pretty sure they'd let us in without us having to prove ourselves on the Wall of Patriotism).

But we also picked this one because (1) it wasn't one of the scary Halloween ones; and (2) it had jokes to solve!

We were a little late arriving (because I'm slower getting started on the weekends (I can hear my coworkers say "riiiiight, just on the weekends") and also the cat is snuggly).  We arrived at the local farm (Forneris Farms) ponied up our cash (but, sadly, not for the pony rides -- they had a weight limit of "ha ha, no"), got our wristbands, and made our way toward the maze entrance.

They give you a postcard which has a map of the maze on one side -- and also a phone number to call in case you get super lost.  On the back, the jokes.  Seems there are 12 little visual puns on numbered posts hidden in the maze.  You've got to find all the posts, solve all the puns, and match the post number to the solution on the back of your postcard.  When you're done, plop your card in a box at the end.  (Randomly chosen winner gers $100 and a big pumpkin.)  OK, then, we're in.  But we're not using the map.  Maps are for wusses.  It's only four acres; we're gonna do this thing ourselves.

We walk in.  Turn, turn, and ... a choice.  Turn right, or go straight and turn right ... or, further down there are actually three right turn options.  Now, afterward, looking at the map, I see that those three right turns are actually the sides of two squares which plop you right back on the main path where you started.  But, in the maze, that was utterly lost to me.

It was not lost to Jeff.

We had not been in there that long when Susan pointed out that Jeff is an Eagle Scout.  It was all corn to me, but Jeff was noticing that broken stalk over there, or that pile of mud I'd stepped in, or that bit of green fence, or the Cheez-Its some kid had dropped (ok, to be fair, even I saw the Cheez-Its).  I guess if you know what nature looks like, and pay attention, the landmarks are as clear as the McDonald's and the gelato shop.  But, for me, I would've been hopelessly lost in what we'll safely call no time at all.

We found our first little joke on a signpost, except it was numbered 2, rather than 1.  We then found 3, and -- having confirmed the damn things are in order -- realized we had to go back for 1.  From that point, our plodding through the maze was not geared toward, "Hey, let's find the exit," but "let's cover this whole thing from start to finish, so we hit all the jokes."  And we did.  Every one.  In order.  

This is what happens when you put nerds in a corn maze.

Slightly Type-A nerds.

(Shut up, all of you.)

The jokes -- or, actually, "CORNundrums" were things like a picture of a ducky on an office chair, which was "Sitting Duck."

I requested the 50 for 50 photo be taken in front of this one, figuring it wouldn't get better than this:


OK, you may have trouble making that out, what with the holy rays of sunlight beaming down on us, but that there is a deer in front of an outhouse (with a little green tractor behind it, just in case you need the extra hint).

Once we finished and dropped our completed cornundrum entry cards in the bin, we got some beverages and sat in the shade.  I got lemonade.  I don't even like lemonade.  I might drink lemonade, like, twice a year.  This was a lemonade sort of day.  You spend an hour walking in a corn maze, you drink some lemonade.  I shoulda prolly been pickin' my teeth with a piece of hay or something.

We talk more about mazes and getting lost.  Jeff concedes that he'd never looked at the map, and was just navigating us through that thing by mentally dividing the place into sectors and making sure we covered each one.  Rational.  Tactical.  If I even need a search party, I'm putting Jeff in charge of it.

We talk about families and growing up and how neighborhoods change (and how you're not going to find your way through the old neighborhood if the bookstore is gone and the McDonald's is now a Starbucks).  We talk about houses and HOAs and floods and plumbing problems and none of these things have anything to do with mazes, but are still things we have to navigate.

It's good to have friends to help you make your way through.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

50 for 50: 24 - Horse Races with Rashida

I have not been to the horse races since--

-- well, I was a first year associate at a law firm, and we went to Hollywood Park as a summer associate outing, but some of us were fantastically late to the races because we'd had to stay late to work on the final cite-checking on this brief.  And I'm pretty sure the brief was in the Boy Scouts case where they were trying to exclude an atheist scout.  And NOW I'm back at the horse races right after Boy Scouts announced they're letting in girls.  So, yeah, it was Some Time Ago.

I put it on my list because it was fun back in the early 90s, and also because I've lived this close to Santa Anita Park and HAVEN'T BEEN, and it was starting to feel a little wrong.  This was some sort of local culture experience that I felt I needed to suck up.



Rashida and I researched this greatly, and found a deal on package that gave us private(ish) box seats, race programs, lunch entrees, drinks, and souvenir pint glasses.  We showed up early because we didn't exactly know where to go.  This turned out to be a good idea.

We showed our tickets; we got hand stamped; we got in; we were directed to go up the ramp and to the right and someone would tell us where we had to go.  And even THIS astonishingly vague set of directions was soooo wrong.  We actually find the box seating -- and then learn that we have to go to Will Call to turn our package tickets into actual tickets and food vouchers and all that other crap.  Not at the entrance we went in; but the other entrance.  We finally make our way to Will Call (getting a decent tour of the club house in the process) and back to the box seats.  This time, now that we have tickets, we are directed to our box.  It's in the front row of boxes, against the rail.  There is a woman in it.  She actually belongs in the box next to us, but thought she'd spread out since there was nobody in our box.  She seemed polite enough about it -- gathered her stuff and moved back to her own damn box next to us, although her husband(?) was sort of "maybe stay out of other people's boxes?" about it.

We sit.  We enjoy our food voucher food and start looking at the racing program to figure out which horses we would bet on, were we betting.  There are nine races today, so we're in no hurry.  Particulary when the first race is a maiden claiming race and (to my great surprise, and Rashida's astonishment) I actually knew what that meant.  (Thank you, Dick Francis novels.)  First race was actually won by a longshot.  This was useful, in the sense that it proved, right up front, that the "Handicapper's Hints" in the racing program didn't really mean shit.  Our best under-educated guess was probably just as likely to be correct as Handicapper's Hints.  (Or as correct as the $100/bet gambler who had joined the folks in the box next to us, who, halfway through the afternoon, loudly regalled his friends -- and everyone in the vicinity -- with the tale of how he won $900 bucks on one race only because the "idiot" in the teller's booth accidentally placed his bet on the wrong horse.  So now he's up $500 on the day.  And while his takeaway was "Yay, $500!" my takeaway was, "So you were down $400 before that race and would have been down another hundred if she hadn't made a mistake.  So maybe we shouldn't listen to your brilliant racing wisdom?")

Rashida and I ultimately placed wagers on, I think, two races -- including the California Distaff Handicap, the one stakes race on the program.  We each ended the day a few bucks up.  (Much less than the idiots next to us, but possibly better as a percentage of what we'd bet.)  Here's us, with our little wager tickets for the big race.


For which Rashida picked the winner.  Yay!

Here's what I learned about going to the races at Santa Anita.  It is very much (VERY MUCH) a class system.  You could get the $5 infield tickets where you can stand around the infield and buy hot dogs and cokes.  At the other end, terrace seats -- behind glass, table service, gotta dress nice.  We were solidly in second class.  Box seating with TV screens in each box, but open to the air; counter service, but higher quality food than the food court (I had a corned beef sandwich -- sorry, I had Santa Anita's Famous Corned Beef Sandwich, which was hand carved in front of me and really quite tasty; Rashida had fresh tacos).  Our beverage coupons were good for a wine or "craft beer."  That's the class we were in, Craft Beer Class.

You needed a hand stamp to get up to our level.  Because Class System.

We ran downstairs between races to grab our free pint glasses at the gift shop.  On the way, we had to stop because the horses were parading out to the starting gate, and actually going down a path we had to cross.  It was sort of neat watching them go by up close.  (The infield patrons don't have our nice seats in the shade, or access to the craft brews, but they definitely get to see the horses more up close and personal.  We made a note that if we ever go back, we should wander downstairs more just to see the horses between races.)  Grabbed the glasses, headed back upstairs.  Showed our hand stamps, went back to our seats.

Some tall pretty blond woman in front of us walks right in, doesn't show her hand stamp.  Not questioned.

Rashida and I discuss privilege, and tall pretty blond ladies who probably get in a lot of places without showing hand stamps.  You know how sometimes men tell women they should smile more, and women get offended by it?  This is a woman who is used to getting what she wants with that smile.  I decide to hate her, just on principle.

Rashida and her husband have a little girl -- a cute little 7-year-old.  We've taken her to tea.  She's sweet and quiet and likes princesses and reading.  I like her.  And here's me and Rashida, talking about Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts and pretty blond privileged ladies.  And also rich kids who study dressage, and mothers who are as annoyingly clique-ish as teenagers.  And I think about the unlimited options a 7-year-old girl ought to have -- and how amazingly difficult parenting one must be.

Monday, October 9, 2017

50 for 50: 23 - House of Eternal Return with Bits and Karen

Thank you, Facebook.

Someone posted an article talking about Meow Wolf's "House of Eternal Return," which somehow ended up in my timeline, and in my consciousness, and, ultimately, on my 50 for 50 list.  Because this is my type of thing.  Here I am in front of it.  Inside it.  Whatever.


Yeah, OK, if you go to their website, you'll see a video where everyone says they can't describe wtf it is (beyond "immersive art installation") or compare it to anything.  I agree that it defies easy description, but I can come up with comparisons:  A Punchdrunk show.  The Beast.  The first time I played Myst.  I thought of all things while I was wandering the multiverse in the house in the bowling alley.  (And we now add THAT to the list of sentences I never thought I'd say.  Like, "Why is everyone going inside the ice machine?")  But, truly, at one point I thought you could do a Punchdrunk show in here and my brain kind of exploded.  Because, what with the interaction and the videos and the clues, it WAS a Punchdrunk show, except with the actors removed and us being allowed to talk and play and investigate and climb on everything.

I'm ... at the end.  The beginning is, yes, Meow Wolf is an immersive art installation in a converted bowling alley.  And when you walk in, you're faced with the exterior of a perfectly good Victorian house.  And you go inside the house and discover some shit went DOWN in the house.  High level paranormal shit.  "Little Girl Lost" shit.  (The "Twilight Zone" episode, not the TV movie nobody saw.)  Except it's a boy.  And maybe his whole family.  And he isn't in the wall.  But possibly the toilet.  And things have gone very, very wrong.

And you spend a good deal of time -- perhaps too much time -- reading the clues and looking at the photos and deciphering the symbols and trying to figure out what melted the chandelier (and the, um, wall), until such time as you realize this place is much MUCH bigger than you thought because there's a portal or two (or six) into another dimension or ten (or fifty) in the house.

And when you're walking through what we'll politely call the very bizarre rooms of this here multiverse (my favorite was a room in utter black and white -- with a convenient mirror on the wall for selfies!)


ANYWAY (hey, what's that green E doing in my picture?), when you're walking through the different dimensions you think, "the whole mystery of the house is bullshit; this is just about giving the Meow Wolf artists a bunch of rooms to design totally crazy stuff in."  And EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU THINK IT (seriously, it is timed to the second), you stumble upon another clue to the puzzle and you get interested in the mystery again.  And it's insanely well done and pitched right at the point where you can spend a good four hours in the place and feel satisfied that you understand some of the broad outlines of what went down; but still curious enough to want to come back again and play in it some more.  Because there are more puzzles than you think there are.  Hell, just when we got ready to leave, we started to realize that WE might not be on the side of this that we thought we were.  (And what the hell was going on with Not Morgan's Bedroom?)

Probably the coolest thing about Meow Wolf is that Karen and Bits agreed to go to this thing to humor me, but ultimately ended up enjoying it.  (Bits more than Karen; Karen got a bit of vertigo and had to leave the house -- me and Bits stayed inside and we ... you guys, we Found Out Where The Socks Go. (!) This, alone, was worth the price of admission.)

But, of course, the 50 for 50 part of this is that I was enjoying it with friends -- and the whole day was full of that.  The time I spent in Meow Wolf with Bits was fun because we were both into the mystery and really trying to piece it together.  And afterward, we came back to the hotel where Karen is refurbishing an old (1888) quilt.  Well, refurbish isn't the word.  She's tidying it up, but having friends and family add stitches and things that have significance for them.  So, back in the room, we're sitting on the sofa -- I'm adding some (easy) stitching around a little field of velvet on the quilt, while Karen is sewing something else, and we're talking about family and life and it's probably very similar to how things went back when ladies worked on quilts in the late 19th Century.  And THEN, I suggested Karen put the Yale Law School shield in the little blue velvet field I'd sewed around -- for to represent where we met and became friends. Which she's doing as we speak.  :)

Sunday, October 8, 2017

50 for 50: Pre-23. New Mexico with Karen and Bits

I'm gonna say right off that although the ACTUAL 50 for 50 thing is tomorrow, I'm going to just broaden the event out to the whole two days we're here, because damn.

The morning started at 5:00, when we drove to the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta.  There was a lot of stop and slow traffic for the last coupla miles, and a near miss at the parking lot we were directed to, but somehow we ended up at the balloon fiesta JUST IN TIME for the Dawn Patrol, which is a small series of balloons they send up in the darkness.

I took very, very few photos of Dawn Patrol.  This was due, in part, to the fact that I'm really big on EXPERIENCING a thing and not taking anything away from it to watch it on a screen.  And also, in part, to it being too damn cold for me to take off my gloves to operate my camera phone.  Here's, like, my one picture of balloons before dawn.


But my friends, Karen and Bits, wanted to take lots of pictures, so we were walking out on the field to find more balloons and better views, and eventually dawn well and truly happened.  And we looked around -- really looked around where we had walked in the darkness -- and discovered we'd walked nearly all the way to the other end of the balloon field.  (Which is something like 54 football fields in size.)  Balloons were starting to inflate around us.  We asked a nearby dude with a big camera (who looked like he knew what he was doing -- when it comes to zoom lenses, apparently size DOES matter) where we should stand for the upcoming mass ascension, and he suggested that we could stay pretty much where we were.  Because being there on the field, we would be SURROUNDED by balloons.  I did not necessarily believe this.  I probably should have.



Balloons are everywhere.  There were set spaces on the field for each balloon crew -- they come in a truck, unload the balloon, stretch it out, fill it up, light it up, and take off.  Then the truck leaves (doubling as the chase vehicle).  We found an open space -- either a crew didn't show, or it was a balloon that already left in dawn patrol -- and we stood there looking at the balloons around us.  Until some dude starts inflating on my left and another is inflating on my right and I have to run forward to not get squashed because THERE ARE SO MANY BALLOONS THEY CANNOT INFLATE WITHOUT PRESSING AGAINST EACH OTHER.  Holy fuck, that's a lot of balloons.



Seriously.  Don't get distracted by all the balloons in the air in that picture -- look at the field of balloons on the ground, pressing against each other, just waiting to go.


Here's us, grinning like idiots, with a bunch of balloons behind us.



(I just like this picture.)

Also, they had lots of balloons shaped like ... things that aren't balloons.  I got a really good picture of the Yoda balloon.  Also, I got pictures of the Boba Fett guarding the Darth Vader and Yoda balloon inflation -- with a lot of lens flare, which somehow seems appropriate.



We had paid a lot of money for access to the snooty area at Balloon Fiesta, which gave us the good parking, a breakfast buffet, and non-porta-john-toilets.  (I had sorta wanted this from the start, but didn't know if Karen and Bits would be interested in upgrading to the pricey tickets.  Said Karen, "You had me at bathrooms.")  So, after we watched all the ascending, we went back to the snooty area, had our breakfast, used our toilets, got our free lapel pins, and ... realized we had too much to do the rest of the day, so headed out of there.

Back to the hotel to change, then off to Kasha-Katuwe National Monument.  It was crowded.  It was so crowded, cars were being held at the entrance because the parking lot was full.  We waited our turn, ponied up our five bucks, and--  OK, while we were waiting our turn, the ranger gave us a little booklet about the Monument, and that's when Karen read about the two hikes or the "spectacular overlook" you could drive up to.  I'm all for seeing nature without the hike, so we drove up to the overlook and we were ALONE up there.  (Does nobody else read the little booklet?  Karen's the sort who always reads the booklet, so she always finds the stuff everybody misses.)

Overlook selfie!

And then we got in the car and drove PAST Santa Fe (that's for tomorrow) to Los Alamos.


It was pretty cool to have someone TAKE the obligatory photo for us, so we weren't trying to somehow get our three faces and that giant sign in there for the selfie, but Random Sweaty Man Going For A Run might have gone a little too distant on this shot.

We stopped at the Starbucks and I was totally annoyed that they only sold a New Mexico Starbucks mug, because I really wanted a Los Alamos Starbucks mug.  Like maybe with a little mushroom cloud or something?

We... couldn't find the Los Alamos History Museum.  Google Maps helpfully took us down a dead end, and we eventually parked at the Los Alamos Senior Center and wandered around a bunch of buildings which looked vaguely like the image Google was showing us until we found it.  (The dead end was actually the start of a path you should walk down -- it was a coupla buildings away and didn't front on the road.)  Felt like idiots.  Way too many advanced degrees among the three of us to not be able to find a damn museum.

I really dug the museum.  A bit of stuff about it before the Manhattan Project days, but, of course, the whole BUILDING AND TESTING A NUCLEAR BOMB bit was front and center.  (And the post-war Cold War Era stuff, too.)  Had a very ... ambivalent message.  They tried to be thought provoking about nuclear bombs and asked visitors to write down their answer to the question of whether scientists should be responsible for making weapons that kill.  They posted a few answers on the wall in the form of a silent dialogue.  Very interesting.

(Also had cool artifacts from the era, including a plastic mug which said "Los Alamos" and had a mushroom cloud on it and I was all, "See?  This is what Starbucks needed.")

On the way back, we stopped at a rock what looked like E.T. from one angle, but it's actually called Camel Rock.  In a surprising burst of respect, I decided to take the selfie from an angle which confirms its camelishness.


Driving back, we talked about family history and preserving it and ancestry and connections to the past and (for some damn reason) the National Anthem protests.  Got a little heated there on that last one, but, hey, we've been friends for almost 30 years -- not gonna let anything like that get in our way.

Saturday, September 23, 2017

50 for 50: 22 - Play Carnival Games with Peggy

Peggy delayed in picking a 50 for 50 thing -- her husband and son signed right up, but she left it for later.  I guess she was just waiting for the perfect thing to magically appear.

So, a coupla weeks ago, she suggests we go to the LA County Fair and play all the carnival games.  Great!  I'm in!

We did not play ALL the carnival games at the Fair.  They have about 40 of them and the cheapest is $3.  (Although they do their best to hide that from you.  They sell you a bunch of tickets for 50 cents each-- Actually, they do their best to hide THAT from you, too -- never actually saying the tickets are 50 cents each, just offering 40 for $20 and various other "packages" of tickets, all at the same price ratio which they never actually STATE.  And it isn't even tickets -- you just get a single ticket with a bar code on it, and every game just scans the bar code to subtract the amount of tickets you're paying to play.  And the games are all 6 or 10 tickets.  Frequently 6 tickets for one try or 10 tickets for two.  ALL OF WHICH is a fantastic way for them to avoid saying, "This game is $5.")  ANYWAY.  There's 40 games at a minimum of $3 a pop; we weren't going to play all of them.  But there were a lot of duplicates, and we did make a pretty good effort at trying one of (most) everything.

I should back up for a moment and note that GETTING TO the LA County Fair, on the last weekend, is an exercise in ... well, given how far you have to hike from the parking lot, it's just an exercise.  They charge $15 for parking or $25 for "VIP" parking; the distinction only being how freakin' far from the Fair you're actually parking.  (There was a nearby hotel offering parking for $30, which was much closer to the Fair, but not really closer to the carnival games PART of the Fair, so I'm glad I was too cheap to park there.)  I was meeting Peggy (and family) there, so we weren't even sharing parking.  I ponied up my $15 and commenced walking toward the Fair.  About, I don't know, halfway there, I saw a line for the little tram to take you to the entrance.  A guy in a bright yellow traffic-directing vest told me it was only another 1/4-mile, so I figured I'd walk it.  I looked at the crowd around me and it dawned on me that this should probably a test.  Assuming you're an otherwise non-disabled individual, if your heart isn't able to walk the quarter-mile to the Fair, you probably shouldn't get that deep-fried Oreo once you get there.

As it turns out, Peggy got there just a few minutes after me, so parked in an only slightly-worse location.  We found each other just inside the gate.  Which was conveniently right where the carnival games were.  I bought a ton of tickets.  Seeing as there were three of Peggy, Sabing, and Jacob, they bought a megaton of tickets.

We.  Played.  Everything.  We stunk at the rebound-ball-against-angled-board-and-into-laundry-basket-below.  We also failed miserably at beer-pong-hold-the-beer.  I did poorly at shoot-out-the-star-without-enough-ammo-for-a-massive-prize-nobody-ever-wins.  But there were some upsides.  Jacob won a small prize at Skeeball, and a medium (I think) at pop-the-balloon-with-a-beanbag.  Working together, the three of them got a fidget spinner at shatter-plates-with-baseballs.  Our first real breakthrough was at roll-the-ball-to-move-your-horsey-across-and-there's-a-winner-every-game.  We joined a game of that and Sabing won!  And I discovered I have a knack for shoot-the-water-gun-at-the-tiny-target-and-there's-a-winner-every-game.  I won that one -- and was pretty pleased about it, because the prize on that one was a stuffed Groot.  And then later, Peggy noticed that one of the other stands with the same game had a stuffed Deadpool as a prize, so I played that one and won me a Deadpool!  

There was also a vast amount of teamwork at one of the more "play it enough and eventually you'll win" games.  That was one where there was a big flat board covered with divots your ball could land in, and you just pitched balls onto the board.  If you landed on a blue divot, you'd win a small prize, and a purple divot gave you a large prize.  There were lots of divots that didn't win you anything, but 20 tickets bought you 15 balls, so you had a lot of chances.  Jacob picked up two small prizes and a large one.  I picked up something like 6 small ones.  It took 9 small prizes to trade up for another large one, and we were one shy, so Peggy bought another set of balls and, on her very lastest try, nailed our 9th small prize -- so we were finally able to trade up.

(At this point, Peggy and I noted that we very likely could have stolen the 9th small prize.  While, at most games, the people running them are keeping custody of the prizes and have to hand them to you, this was not the case with the crappy small prizes at, let's call it toss-the-ball-into-the-blue-divot.  The crappy small prizes were kept in a tiny bin which was just over the railing right near where I was standing.  As I was playing the game, whenever I hit a blue square, one of the game attendants just told me to reach in the bin and grab a small prize.  This repeated.  A lot.  I tried to make eye contact with them so they'd verify I'd hit the blue divot before I reached into the bin, but lots of people were playing and they were not paying super close attention.  When the whole thing was done and they added up my crappy small prizes with Jacob's crappy small prizes and realized we had only 8, it was very clear to me and Peggy that we could've easily sneaked a 9th one in there and nobody would've noticed.  But we didn't, because it would've been, y'know, wrong.)  

When all was said and done, we'd actually obtained a reasonable quantity of prizes.


We stopped for some food -- I made some bad choices, but somehow managed to leave the Fair without partaking of anything deep fried (or "onna stick!"), so I'm putting that in the "draw" column, if not an actual "win."  (We also took a brief detour into the Zoo part of the Fair, and saw an ostrich, a zebra, and a giraffe -- sharing the same enclosure, for some damn reason -- but they didn't seem real happy to be there, and the part of me that thinks zoos are probably a really bad idea took over.  Peg shared the same thought, so we departed the zoo while some keeper was getting started on a monkey show.)

We must also include this photo of Peg holding a bunch of the prizes while Jacob and I were playing Skeeball, because she made the fantastic discovery that the donuts double as fancy hats.


Carnival Games was one of those "50 for 50" choices that wasn't exactly a "bucket list" item.  I mean, I've played carnival games before -- although generally in moderation, keenly aware of the conversion rate of tickets into money, the cheapness of the prizes, and the ways in which most of the games are (if not actually FIXED) designed to be harder than they look.  This time, approaching Carnival Games as an end unto itself -- kinda like if we had gone to a casino to blow some money at the tables -- it was just a few hours of silly fun.  We got to play together and encourage each other (and team up to get the second donut) and we ended up with a bunch of a fun stuff (including my adorable Deadpool!) to remember it by.  Utterly satisfying.

Friday, September 1, 2017

50 for 50: 21 - Walk a 5K with Cousin Roni

Cousin Roni likes fitness.  She also likes Disney.  She comes to Disneyland every year to run the races.  5K one day; 10K the next; Half-Marathon the following morning.  A couple years ago, I met her at Disneyland after the Half, and she tried to convince me to run it with her the next year.  I negotiated this down to "walk the 5K."

And I wasn't even able to do that.  I trained and practiced and got fit and then went for a trial walk in crappy shoes and did some bad thing to a ligament and next thing I knew I was waving a podiatrist's note and trying to get a refund from the runDisney people.  (You cannot get a refund from the runDisney people.)

We agreed to try again this year.  I trained and practiced somewhat less.  I started late and didn't really discover (until I tried training) that the injury had never really healed -- I'd just avoided it by the simple expedient of wearing comfortable shoes and not really, y'know, WALKING.  I got to the point where I could walk the distance, although not as fast as Disney's desired pace.  And my selected shoes for the adventure -- the only ones with the necessary combination of arch support and NOT irritating the ol' injured ligament -- were a pair of Ecco walking sandals I haven't exactly broken in.  But a week before the race, I took 'em out for a test run (walk) of the necessary distance.  Result:  finished, but too slow, and some blisters.  OK?  I'm ... ready?

Packed a bag for the weekend with a stack of blister wraps and a rainbow assortment of post-race theme-park-walking shoes to choose from, picked up Roni up at the airport and drove down to Disneyland.

Some day I will look back on this blog and not remember the experience, so let me add right here what is totally obvious to most of my friends reading this:  OMG, it is so hot.  It is triple-digit heat.  It is "walk slower and stay hydrated so's you don't fall down" hot.  I don't know whether they'll do it, but it's the sort of weather where I almost expect Disneyland to have free water stations in the parks (not just on the race) just for safety.  "Fuck, it's hot" is what I'm trying to say here.

We sign our waivers, pick up our race bibs, have some dinner, and attempt to engineer Roni's costume.

We... didn't really think through costumes this year.  We'd toyed with this particular combination last year, and (in the absence of a workable blue hair spray that would have enabled us to go as Joy and Sadness) we fell back on it.  But we were doing this on the cheap, so we sort of engineered Roni's look out of some scarves and an old sarong.  Girlfriend was literally held together with safety pins.  Meantime, I looked amusing, but nobody knew who the hell I was dressed as.  (Although, once I told some racers we met, they were all, "Now that I see the Hamilton pin, I get it.")



Probably because of the heat, the races start at 5:00.  Which was FINE.  But they told you to get there at 4:00, which was substantially less fine; and we woke up at 3:15, which was just Hell No.  I am much more likely to see 3:15 from the "stay up late" side than the "wake up early" side, and the sad part is that -- despite efforts to go to bed early -- I kind of did.

Wake up; dress up; stretch; walk down to the start line; get in our corral (why does all this walking not count?) and ... wait.  We stood around for about a half hour listening to someone trying to entertain the crowd (we were in corral D; entertainment was near the start line at corral A -- the attempts to get us all pumped up did not travel all the way back to where we were).  Met some nice people in the corral, though.  Good costumes, too.

The best thing I can say about standing around for a half hour at 4:30 in the morning is that, by the time it's over, you actually WANT to start racing.

We here take a break for a small collection of phrases that came out of my mouth this morning, for what I can only assume is the first time in my life:
"Oh, it's 3:00.  Thank God."
"I've got beard on my hand."
"Is your skirt chafing?"
"For fuck's sake, start the race already!"

I was VERY worried about finishing on time.  Disney wants you to keep a 16 minute/mile pace (or 15, if you're actually going to stop for photos).  I've never walked a 16 minute/mile, much less 3.1 of them.  But they build in some level of a cushion before they sweep walkers.  The FIRST cushion is when you start.  They put the 16 minute/mile pace keepers at the back of the last corral.  I figured if we started in an earlier corral, that could buy us a few more minutes.  So we signed up to start with the 14 minute/mile crowd.  I had some visions of starting the race and immediately getting mowed down by racers who were solidly 5 minutes/mile faster than me.  This did not happen.  We started mid-pack and continued mid-pack.  Conclusion:  MOST PEOPLE in the corral lied about their pace.

But it was pretty clear that I'd finish this thing on time.  They say that they take video of the race from 5:00 to 6:20.  I didn't know how much after 6:20 they kept the finish line open, but I knew I could finish in an hour (a zippy 20 minute/mile pace).  Our corral started by 5:20, so I was confident I wouldn't get swept.  So, yay.

I concede a surprising amount of emotion at the race start and finish.  I'd been planning this for two years; got delayed by injury; was operating on no sleep; was getting strange looks for my costume; had blisters; had to pee since 4:00; really needed some tea; and, oh yeah, both me and Roni are fighting colds.  So I wasn't exactly my usual cool, collected, intellectual self.  In truth, I would've been hard-pressed to put together a compound sentence and remember where it started.  So, yeah, I got stupidly misty-eyed at the start and finish of the Disneyland 5K.  Don't tell Roni.

Because Disney was behind this, the whole race was very Disneyfied.  Through the parks.  California Adventure was lit up pretty; Fantasyland had a bunch of the rides going even though nobody was riding them (empty teacups spinning!  empty Dumbos flying!) and they had photo ops with many Pixar characters throughout.  (And race photographers taking pictures and telling you "Don't stop for selfies in the middle of the course" even though annoying people were stopping for selfies in the middle of the course.)  Roni kept stopping to take pictures of me (while I kept my steady pace going -- impulse power all the way) and then she'd jog to catch up.



But, also, along the way, lots of Disney employees and/or volunteers are cheering you on.  (At one point, the race gets kind of, er, smelly, as you walk in a "behind the magic" sort of area where the garbage is collected.  I had just started wondering why they walked us through the Disney Dump when I saw a cheerful sign encouraging us on from the Disney Custodial Staff and saw a couple of custodians, in uniform, waving at the racers.  And I totally did a 180 on it, thinking that it was genuinely cool that Disney included the custodial staff in the cheering-on-the-racers thing.)  Many of the Disney peeps were wearing Mickey gloves and offering the racers "High-Fours!" as we went by.  Spectators can also pay to be part of a ChEAR squad (see what they did there?) to stand along the race path and wave encouraging signs at you.  Found the nerds near the end, waving a sign that said "Basically, run!" with a little TARDIS next to it.  (Had a Harry Potter sign, too, but I couldn't read it.)  Love ya, nerds.

So, we finish the race.  (6:19 a.m. and 38 seconds.)



 The finishing area is where they give you all your free stuff, and I took one of everything.  (Free bottled water!  Free Powerade!  Free box o' treats!  Free cooling towel!  Free banana!)  Consumed Powerade and banana before we even left the finishing area/parking lot.  We weave through the crowds and back to Downtown Disney. ("I'm still walking.  Why am I still walking?") The race path takes you down Downtown Disney and we need to go back, so we're pretty much crossing the race path.  We have to wait for some racers to cross and, as it turns out, we are waiting for the Very Last Racer.  Big dude, just pushing himself as hard as he can.  Behind him ... RIGHT behind him ... is a golf cart carrying a few racers I can only assume were either swept or gave up.  Behind that is a golf cart with a Disney employee who has picked up all the cones along the race path.  The twenty or so of us waiting to cross the race path just let out a huge cheer for last racer guy.  Doing this race was no picnic for me, but it's unbelievably hard for him, and he's like 2 tenths of a mile away from finishing.  Roni and I are pleased that Disney is letting him finish.  (I check the clock to see how much time they really gave you.  Looks like they close the finish line right around 6:40.)

We stopped at the REAL happiest place on earth (the Disneyland Starbucks), filled up on tea, and came back to the hotel for, in no particular order:  bathroom, shower, blister-check, and utter crashing.

For me, the weekend is now a couple of a fun days at Disneyland with my cousin.  Cousin Roni has two more 5:00 a.m. races.

Saturday, August 26, 2017

50 for 50: 20 - Waterslide with Nicole

Upon leaving Knott's Soak City, I spotted the entrance sign that says you're not allowed in the pools if you're experiencing active diarrhea.  Now, call me crazy, but if I've got the runs, a six-storey gravity enema is not real high on my to-do list, but there's no figuring people, I guess.

Rewind a bit.  I met Nicole at her place, which is being packed up because she and her husband are moving to a house!  Much excitement!  (I also met her cats, and little Olive stole my heart -- don't tell Jasmine.  Well, it's ok.  We seem to have unlimited quantities of heart when it comes to the kitties.)

Drove over to Soak City, got easy parking....  I can't prove it, but it looks like they just took part of the Knott's parking lot and made it a water park.  (On the theory that they could make more money per square inch by charging $40+ admission per person rather than $18 per car.  They're probably right.)

Obligatory photo!


There are no further photos.  This (like Glen Ivy with Alice) is the second time where we followed website directions about cameras and cell phones only to discover there was rather more flexibility.  The website had been very particular about no loose items on the rides, but we saw a bunch of people who were told they couldn't wear their water shoes on the ride so just had to hold them all the way down.  I very likely could have kept my little plastic waterproof camera with me; hell, it had a rubber wristband (unlike the water shoes).  Sigh.

SO.  We got there when it was still early, and the park was still pretty empty.  I said I wanted to do at least one fun/scary one, and then we could just hang on the lazy river, or whatever.  (You'll note the 50 for 50 was actually "waterslide" not "water park.")

We're just trying to pick a slide at random.  The signage is less than helpful.  Nothing actually SAYS "enter here"; "grab inner tube here"; or "leave your damn shoes."  We sort of had to figure it out.  (And we went the wrong way trying to find the entrance for a slide on a little island.  "Where's the freakin' bridge?!")  But we finally found the entrance, grabbed, tubes, left shoes, and climbed the tower for the first water slide.  This one had three tubes heading down -- so we went down more or less simultaneously.  They were enclosed, and you didn't quite know what was happening; but along the journey, there were little openings in the top of the tube where water poured in on your head.  That was an attention-getter, but the ride wasn't particularly scary.

We decide that (despite them having called that one a 5 out of 5 action slide) these are not that big of a deal, so we'd ride another.  That one has 3 tubes, two closed and one open to the top.  We ride a closed one, and it's fun, so we go back to ride the open one.  Each is ridden with an inner tube.

While we're going up the stairs to ride the second time, we notice some people climbing the stairs without inner tubes, and they're passing the entry to this ride to go up ANOTHER flight to another landing where there's another ride.  It just shares the stairs.  Okay then.  We'd glanced at it coming in, and I'd thought it looked fun, so we decide to try that one.  It has two open slides and one closed one.  I'd enjoyed the open one last time, while Nicole preferred the closed, so that decision was pretty much made for us.  I hadn't actually, um, looked very closely at the two open ones, so I hadn't really thought through which one of the two open ones I wanted to ride.  Woman at the top of the ride offered me one, so I went for it.

I may have gotten a little nervous when she explained, "cross your ankles; cross your arms across your chest; lean back all the way down."  (But those other dudes were doing it while holding their water shoes, so it's ok, right?)  Feet first, assume position, slide down, and...

Holy Kittens!

Gravity, gravity, gravity, gravity, WATER!

I looked back at it.  Looked like this:


I'd apparently taken that orange-yellow one in the center -- the straight shot down without any little bumps to slow you down.  Now THAT, kids, is a Waterslide.  Mission Accomplished!

Somehow the whole "one big slide and then the lazy river" plan was shot.  We thought we'd try more fun ones instead.  We did a "family" slide which wasn't super scary, but we rode it together; and then a head-first one where you slid down on mats (and they sent six people down at once, so we could race!)  It went well, but about partway down the one with the mat, I realized I did not have proper form -- was supposed to have my arms straight in front of me (holding the handles on the mat) but instead my elbows were bent and my head was closer to the front.  Couldn't really adjust myself so I figured I'd just deal, at which second my sled hit the big pool at the bottom and the massive splash hit me square in the face.  Which was how I got more wet on the, easy, category 4 slide than on the six-storey category 5 speed drop.

There was really only one other category 5 slide left at the park; but by now, the place was getting crowded and the lines for that one didn't seem worth it.  So, we rinsed off and bailed.  Lesson:  You can pretty much do all the action slides in this park in about an hour and a half -- if you start early enough.

Then we went out for burgers and shakes, which was pretty ideal for two near-drowned rats.

Along the way, I learned a bit more about Nicole -- we're coworkers, but haven't had tons of time (other than lunches) to actually socialize.  So I learned that she and her husband were college sweethearts (awwww), and that they got their first kitty right after they got married, and where they'd moved, and how they found the house, and all that other good stuff.

(Then I came home, took what Peggy amusingly called a "Silkwood shower," and crashed on the sofa.  These 50 for 50 things seem to end with crashing on the sofa more and more.  Worth it!)