Whip the Pink Dragon

And other euphemisms for a day at PlayLand.

The kids from Victoria came over and we jaunted to the opening day at amusedom. Not as crowded as you might have feared, and the teenagers were less loathesome and reeking with unfocused hostility than usual.

 We rode the Enterprise, which we've renamed the Transcender, since riding on it is a religious experience.

You think I'm joking. No.

Maybe the rate of spin forces oxygen through your skin like skydiving does; or maybe there's a moment of weightlessness you get when you're upside-down; or maybe it's some ineffable combination of factors that puts you into the euphoric state -- a bit unsteady on your feet, happy and mellow. Without being an actual turn-on, it's an amazing sensual and emotional experience. Not joking. No.

We tried the new ride, Super Beach Party, which has the distinction of being the first ride to make me motion sick. It's a weird feeling  -- niether scared nor unhappy, but ready to hurl. I did not, however, hurl. I didn't like the look of that chicken sandwich the first time. The whole ride is covered with really badly proportioned Baywatch-style art, and it seems to have been manufactured in Germany -- the 'enter' and 'exit' signs are in both German and English.

I had the amazing foresight to put sunblock on my face, but not on my lips. So I got a sunburned mouth, which feels really weird.

I'm bailing on a party tonight, which always makes me feel simultaneously tense and relieved. I become convinced I am missing my one chance to be happy, cool, and chatted up by strangers at a party.

None of this is drawn from my actual party experiences. My actual party experiences involve either being humiliatingly drunk, or mind-numbingly sober, and hearing about all the making out everyone else did the next day while I was a) trying to crawl sideways up the stairs or b) staring moodily at a coffee-table book full of famous communist propaganda posters.

I can never decide whether to go to parties, or, well, anything, or not.

Once, when the co-conspirator and I went to Nelson, where artisans are thick as snowflakes on the ground, we came across a potter selling off a huge collection of tea bowls she'd made. She was moving somewhere else. I forget where. Somewhere not so steep.

The co-con quickly scooped up a bowl. I pored over them, dithering, until the last possible moment.

The thing is, I'm still pretty sure they were the two best bowls there. I try to look on that as hopeful. Two paths, same destination, blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Actually, there were three bowls in the end, but that spoils the symmetry of the story. But all three were good.

-rf

postscriptum

Right, the Pink Dragon. We found some extra prize tickets and a pink stuffed dragon on the "grabber" game. The dragon was later identified by careful sleuthwork (*not mine) as coming from the race derby game at the midway.

We collectivized our prizes for mutual benefit, which meant that I had enough tickets to win a light-up fibreoptic rod. This thrilled me and bemused others, who used it instead to chastize the dragon.

Hence our title.

And now, to bed.