postingwhore said I should update LJ. I said, "What is LJ?" I think that means, "Ok."
I saw the World of Color water and light show at Disney's California Adventure Land. You should read the LA Times if you want to read about the World of Color. True story. Mostly because I saw World of Color from the backside of the actual viewing area so my review would be like, "And then Mirror Sebastian summoned rainbow jets of water on the wrong side of the screen. He's slightly retarded."
I don't think there is enough documentation on retarded crab behavior to make an entire entry about it, so instead I am going to talk about how fireworks almost struck me blind as a child.
In the late 1980s, my parents took me to the Queen Mary to see Fourth of July fireworks. I had never seen fireworks before. My parents told me that the fireworks would be like big bursts of color in the sky. Drawing on my limited preschool-ian knowledge, I imagined the big bursts of color as enormous, colorful paint splotches stretching across the vault of heaven like the kinds of fingerpaint splotches I used to enthusiastically slap all over black construction paper. I was going to see the biggest paint splatter art in the world. I could hardly believe it. I was going to have the best night of my life.
When it was almost time for the fireworks, my father placed me on his shoulders and I beamed in delight. I was so excited about the prospect of seeing the sky mark itself with paint, or of seeing God mark the sky with paint, or of seeing aliens mark the sky with paint. I didn't care who marked the sky with paint. I just really wanted to see how it was possible to keep the paint from falling to earth. Were fireworks like big, colorful, painted stars? Would they hang in the air like rainbows?
My whole body thrummed with anticipation as the lights dimmed. This was it. I was about to witness a visual symphony of shades and hues. For a little while, I thought I was going to experience something at least ten times better than Christmas.
Then the first firework went off.
All I can remember from this point is that every level of my consciousness must have congealed into a tangle of panicked terror. I really don't remember much of the firework show at all. There was a burst of color, just like my parents said there would be, but instead of the most beautiful paint splatter ever, it was on fire and I perceived that the charred remains were raining down on my corneas, and I thought I was going to die. I clawed at my father's hair and screamed at him to pay attention so he could at least witness the time of my demise. "They're in my eyes!" I pulled his hair harder. "I can't see!" I cried.
He didn't put me down, or hug me, or try to put an end to my spiraling despair. I think he told me to "stop it" or something. I don't know. I was too busy wailing and having flashes of what my eyes would look like burned and liquefied in the back of my skull.
I don't know how long the firework show lasted, but it was probably ten hours. I never wanted to see fireworks again. But since my vision recovered within a couple of minutes, my parents took me to another firework show the following year, and from what they tell me, I cried and screamed my way through that one, too.
California Adventure Land's World of Color doesn't have fireworks. Clearly this show should have been around two decades ago so my preschool self could claim some dignity.
In other news, OH MY GOD I am watching so many Gordon Ramsay shows. It is slightly damning.
I don't think there is enough documentation on retarded crab behavior to make an entire entry about it, so instead I am going to talk about how fireworks almost struck me blind as a child.
In the late 1980s, my parents took me to the Queen Mary to see Fourth of July fireworks. I had never seen fireworks before. My parents told me that the fireworks would be like big bursts of color in the sky. Drawing on my limited preschool-ian knowledge, I imagined the big bursts of color as enormous, colorful paint splotches stretching across the vault of heaven like the kinds of fingerpaint splotches I used to enthusiastically slap all over black construction paper. I was going to see the biggest paint splatter art in the world. I could hardly believe it. I was going to have the best night of my life.
When it was almost time for the fireworks, my father placed me on his shoulders and I beamed in delight. I was so excited about the prospect of seeing the sky mark itself with paint, or of seeing God mark the sky with paint, or of seeing aliens mark the sky with paint. I didn't care who marked the sky with paint. I just really wanted to see how it was possible to keep the paint from falling to earth. Were fireworks like big, colorful, painted stars? Would they hang in the air like rainbows?
My whole body thrummed with anticipation as the lights dimmed. This was it. I was about to witness a visual symphony of shades and hues. For a little while, I thought I was going to experience something at least ten times better than Christmas.
Then the first firework went off.
All I can remember from this point is that every level of my consciousness must have congealed into a tangle of panicked terror. I really don't remember much of the firework show at all. There was a burst of color, just like my parents said there would be, but instead of the most beautiful paint splatter ever, it was on fire and I perceived that the charred remains were raining down on my corneas, and I thought I was going to die. I clawed at my father's hair and screamed at him to pay attention so he could at least witness the time of my demise. "They're in my eyes!" I pulled his hair harder. "I can't see!" I cried.
He didn't put me down, or hug me, or try to put an end to my spiraling despair. I think he told me to "stop it" or something. I don't know. I was too busy wailing and having flashes of what my eyes would look like burned and liquefied in the back of my skull.
I don't know how long the firework show lasted, but it was probably ten hours. I never wanted to see fireworks again. But since my vision recovered within a couple of minutes, my parents took me to another firework show the following year, and from what they tell me, I cried and screamed my way through that one, too.
California Adventure Land's World of Color doesn't have fireworks. Clearly this show should have been around two decades ago so my preschool self could claim some dignity.
In other news, OH MY GOD I am watching so many Gordon Ramsay shows. It is slightly damning.