As much as I enjoy Disneyland, with its otherworldly reality that is much the same for years, it also has its dark sides, as does any Hollywood endeavor. They were very strict regarding employment, almost discriminatory, for years, and Walt's social conservatism is still on display in a passive way. I well remember minorities were almost invisible there for many years, I think due to the fairly steep entrance cost which wasn't done as a package deal for quite a while. The phrase "E ticket" really meant something back then, mostly because of the cost of the mandatory ticket booklets. Walt's predilection for "perfect" little girls and little boys as movie representations of his beliefs was one of the downfalls of the studio when its inability to change almost doomed it. Disney makes it hard to see a lot of its British production films and the U.S. films from the 60's that aren 't big-time musicals or animation, because I believe they would prefer to bury the past. Yes, they've done better lately, but I think they have ostrich syndrome regarding their idyllic view period.

It was frozen in time at Disneyland, and I have the rather curious distinction of being there the only day it ever closed earlier than scheduled - the glacier started cracking a little that day. August 6th, 1970 - the day Abbie Hoffman-inspired Yippies invaded to "liberate" Minnie Mouse and free Tinkerbell, had a mini-riot on Main Street, and the cops came in with nightsticks and handcuffs. I’m all for freeing Tink, she’s the hottest number Disney ever came up with – those legs (for years, the only ones showing on a Disney gal, animated or not!) and that scanty costume, that perky nose and that sidelong sloe-eyed look – she was hot, and with an atttude!! Remember when Disney tried to androgynize their own cartoon babes? They attenuated their figures and removed any hint of breasts in the advertisements and promotionals to the point where Tink looked like an anorexic cross-dressing middle-school boy. Sheesh! But I digress…. My cousins and I spent most of the day on Tom Sawyer's Island - the very place the Yippies used as headquarters! They supposedly raised a Viet Cong flag there, but the only flag we saw was a marijuana one. We had a blast following around the amazingly scantily clad hippie girls, (they must have burned their bras!), at least until they were "escorted" from the park. At one point we were in a cave with a bunch of college guys, (we thought!), who we later realized were A. stoned, and B. part of the plan. We were shocked to hear the announcement to leave the park, as we were looking forward to the fireworks, and hadn't seen any disturbances, unless you count the cops inability to keep their hands off some of the hippie girls as they were pushing 'em thru the exits - we were kinda surprised to see that, as we had no idea cops played that kinda nasty.

We all had to funnel thru Main Street to the exit and it was jam packed with sweaty mouth-breather tourists ogling the shoulder-to-shoulder cops that lined both sides of the street, billys out, with that screw-you-jack look, scaring the hell outta the kiddies. The fear in the air was palpable - I've never had that crowd-on-the-edge feeling again, and frankly I don't want to. Being in Disneyland magnified the absurdity of it all, and the calmest person we could see was one of our Tom Sawyer Island cave-dweller guys standing right behind us, just cool as a cucumber. About halfway to the exit, this guy suddenly leapt through the air onto the nearest cop, screaming something unintelligible to the un-stoned, and disappeared under a sea of riot helmets and flashing nightsticks! Whoa! This was a helluva lot more exciting than the Matterhorn any day! Best Disneyland visit by far! We saw only one cracked window, and other than the one Yippie-gone-wacko, nothing else that seemed to warrant all the cops. Sometimes when I’m on the Island, I can see those stoners and the girls, laying in wait for the unsuspecting Scandihoovian turistas, puttin’ the fear-o-gawd in ‘em at their most hallowed place, Uncle Walt’s American Dream.

As an added note - Walt would never give out just how he imagined Mickey, as in height, weight, etcetera, even going so far as destroying a planned animator-teaching-film segment because he had inadvertently held his hand out just over waist-high when talking about Mickey's look. There stands now in the Main Street Circle in front of Fantasyland a statue of Walt, and a life-size Mickey Mouse, just a little over...waist-high. If Walt wasn't dead, this just might’ve have killed 'im.

Watched the Garbo mini-bio on TCM, and the most interesting thing was the score, which was surprisingly well done. I've come to expect excellence from Kevin Brownlow, but the score was an added pleasure. The actual doc kind of glossed over many of the controversial aspects of Garbo, such as her bi-sexuality, and I would have wished for more regarding individual films. Sweep, sweep, sweep, must keep some things under the rug, now. Lots of nice paparazzi pics to reinforce the 'alone' element of her life. I always took her as a careful craftswoman, who owes a lot to Salka Viertel for transition to Hollywood, but also a bit of a one-type actress. Did like the postwar screen-test bit, tho - she still had it, and it's pretty obvious the Studios prefer to crush rather than to cherish; see Louise Brooks, John Gilbert, et al. I do realize there is an element of self destruction involved, but the will to do harm as punishment is far more attractive to the egotists who ran things, rather than nurturing fragile talents - there was always another face in a pillow just off the bus, right around the corner. As for those who don't believe in the "conspiracies" of the Studios and their system, I can only point out that episodes happened with depressing regularity, with the full if covert cooperation of such as James Quirk and his ilk. Okay, film rant over.

On another note, lately at work we've been getting in more of the local film crews for this & that, and one 'em had the most fantastic Panavision leather jacket on - I almost followed him outside and killed him for it, but hopefully the "Veronica Mars" guys can shmooze me into one for a price. Hehe!

Note three - Google Print is addictive.

Note four - I forgot what note four was. But did I say Google Earth was addictive? Not to mention Google Scholar?

Note five - Never in the history of mankind, via the Internet, has there been more access to words and more words, pictures and more pictures, people and more people, than at this moment - it's a bit overwhelming, but not quite all-seeing and all-knowing. Case in point:

Many, many years ago, after a grindhouse movie matinee in my misspent youth, my long lost film-girl and I were doing a bit of impromptu autocrossing in on of my old Minis thru a local suburb while trying to find a particular Mexican restaurant - I was young and foolish, and she was young and funny, egging me on, giving me wrong directions - when we went 'round a corner and almost ran over a little girl standing on... the sidewalk. I was going way too fast and loose, and the curbs were rounded rather than edged. I said "Shit!", and did the most stupid thing you could do - I stepped on the brake, and went into an almost fatal trailing-throttle oversteer. I spun twice, and somehow avoided a parked pick-up truck, ending up half on a lawn. I reversed, and cranked her around, left quickly and more than a little embarrassed. This episode was the primary reason I changed my driving habits around town, and I still remember the look on that little girl's face. Chills me even now.

The entire time we were spinning, my "navigator" was laughing so hard she couldn't speak - I got a little pissed off, and yelled at her. I was shaking, and after I was well clear of the place I had to stop and calm down. This was one of the scariest moments of my life, and all she could do was laugh, so I told her what had made me spin, and suddenly she sobered up - she hadn't seen the little girl, and thought I'd just lost it. She didn't talk to me while I got back on the road, lost ourselves once or twice more, found the goddam Mexican place, watched me eat, left, and were half-way to her drop-off point in a mall. We were going thru another suburban hell, and she was looking straight ahead, with these funky old-lady sunglasses from somewheres, lit a cigaret, and took a long drag. I looked at her quick, and she didn't even turn her head, she just flicked the cig out the window - she knew the rule - no smoking in the Mini. I slowed down 'til we were just idling along.

"You shouldn't have told me," she said so quietly, "I almost killed somebody, Rob."

She was rarely this serious.

"Shit, I almost killed her, you were just along for the ride," I said.
I was a little scared for her - she was really serious.

"No, we were both fucking around," she said, "and if you'd hit her... I couldn't have lived with myself. I've never felt so responsible in my whole fucking life. Dammit, I hate growing up that fast. Stop the car."

"You're not getting out, are you?" I pulled over quick beside a Circle-K parking lot.
She opened the door and retched on the sidewalk - and I realized that was why she didn't eat. I'm so fucking perceptive, huh? I always scarf napkins from eateries, and she took one of the Mexican ones and wiped her mouth carefully. I started down the road again.

"Thanks." She looked out the window. "When are gonna we get freeways in this fucking town? I hate having to go through all these neighborhoods just to get anywhere."
She hadn't smiled or laughed for more than an hour, which really started to make me nervous.
"When I was little, I loved riding thru these places - I used to wish I had a million lives," she said, "so I could live everybody's life, just to experience 'em all. We'd be driving through someplace like this, and I'd wonder what life was like inside each house, if there were other little girls, living other little lives, with different dolls, and different books, and maybe even a pony. I wanted a pony sooo bad. I can't say I've ever ridden a horse to this day. And no sisters or brothers. I was pretty hopeful, back then. I didn't know how bad things could turn out. Then I grew up a little, and everything got more and more difficult to handle. That's when I started making everything a joke."

We pulled into the Christown parking lot, where she planned to meet her parents for a ride, and I shut the motor off. We got out, she lit another cig, and leaned against the Mini's white roof.

She looked at me now, "Remember when we met in fifth grade? I was new there that year, and you were, too." I just nodded. "I was pretty annoying - everybody told me so. I must've been overcompensating something fierce. The school I used to be at was smaller, and I was, like, one of the cool people - twist parties, sleep-overs, I was a class officer. Now I was nothing, and girls can be so vicious, 'specially since I didn't know anyone. Did you get that feeling?"

"Yeah, some. I got lucky - Scouts and Little League kinda team you up, but even then I've always felt a little left out, too. I don't remember you being in the Girl Scouts or anything - were you?"

"Hmmph. I guess I'm too weird for that stuff. Somehow I can't imagine you in a baseball cap." - I was a long-haired outsider-type by that time. She cracked a grin at that, and I relaxed a whole lot right then.

"When did you turn into a weirdo - was it after hanging around with me?" She actually laughed again. All to the good.

"You know we always read too much," I told her, "and I learned too much. Blame the libraries - you know the high-school didn't have 'Catcher in the Rye', but they had 'Mr. Roberts' - that's where I learned what 'shacking up' was!"

"Don't get any ideas, or I'll tell your girlfriend." She looked at her watch, "Well-p, the wonderful mother and father are probably inside the mall looking at clothes rather than looking for me. I guess they're lucky I wasn't wiped off a sidewalk, do ya think?"
She went serious on me then, "If you ever want to shut me up, just mention that little girl, and I'm liable to start crying. I'm so thankful we didn't kill her today." She really was shook. "Thanks for the movies, Rob, I'll see you sometime."

She walked into the mall without looking back.

Needless to say, I never mentioned that episode to her again. I liked her way too much to ever do that. Driving with her to the movies was a tad more sedate after that, and then one day, she moved away, with no goodbye. A complete break, as was her wont, but she'd let out enough hints that I knew it was coming. I never quite got over that part. We were close friends with an interest in film and edgy things, and she memorized many lines from bad movies and would shout them out during the "boring parts" of foreign and 'B' movies at the grindhouses. The word "eccentric" was invented for her clothes, as in borderline sex-worker one day, and earth-mother the next. She drank rarely that I was aware of, but mostly lived on cigs, iced tea, and hot coffee with me around. Small and quietly sardonic, her nickname among her few girlfriends was "Mouse", due to her small size and mouse-brown hair, which she wore in a kinda parted Bettie Page cut, the first and only girl I remember seeing do that for years. She was way more cutting edge than me, I guess.

We never hit on each other - she knew my heart was meant for another, and I never could penetrate her other persona. She completely split her life into compartments, and I never met her family, even tho I knew her for years. She smoked only when out with me, which she knew I disapproved of, but her parents woulda punished her hard if they knew for sure, and she was nicely careful not to in the Mini - usually. She always smelled like rose water, which she believed hid the smoke smell from her mom, I guess. Altho not quite plain, or quite pretty, she looked good in a sundress on an Arizona spring day, and her bangs danced on her forehead in the wind when we did the twisties. Every so often I Google her name or image, but even with the explosion of info, no hits. She has vanished utterly, but I'll remember her wish as a little girl - a million lives to live. And maybe a pony, too.