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Thursday, March 25th, 2004
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7:42p - Acid in Anaheim
I had one friend who said that there’s something perverse about taking acid at Disneyland. For the two or so college years where I did hard drugs, I refused to see acid as a corruption of the holy temple of our childhoods. On the contrary, I saw Disneyland as the unique purpose of acid, the thing that the game of bridge is to a 52-card deck. Here you have a tiny tablet that heightens your senses for eight hours. All you want is a set activity, something besides your drab life, ideally a series of safe but unusual stimulations of light and color. Enter the Mouse House, with all its wild-eyed children, stressed-out families, and hand-crafted structures.
Acid doesn’t give off an aroma, darken your veins, or make powder fall out of your nose. With minimal decorum, there’s no way anyone can tell you’re on hard drugs, if you keep wearing your sunglasses. And there’s something about the house that Walt built that’s utterly psychedelic. If you’re going to do acid at all, it almost seems like a crime not to do it at Disneyland.
I have a long history with Disneyland. Mom took me there every Easter break during almost every year of my childhood. Mom would also pay for me to bring a friend, perhaps to obviate the loneliness of my only-child-ness. I associate Disneyland with some of the best times I ever had with my peers.
( lucy in the sky with disney )
(comment on this)
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