saturday night smackdown: berries vs. mice

So some old friends drug me to Knotts Berry Farm yesterday, a place which, despite being a southern Californian, I haven't stepped foot in since maybe 1996. As a teenager, Knotts wasn't that bad. It's the perfect place for teenage mayhem and mischief if you're 16 and the most important things are hormones and bravado. But, as we slogged our sweaty selves in the heat (well, I slogged, the boys pretty much jogged from ride to ride) around the park, I realized there's a reason I haven't been back and also why that other theme park (YOU know, that one with the mice and pirates and churros, mmm churros. You know. Disneyland!) still gets my money time after time. A dad we met in line with his very hip little girl (she had a very chic angled bob and incredibly chi chi sunglasses) put it very well: Knotts is the poor man's Disneyland.

I couldn't have said it better myself. Let's examine:

Parking. At Disneyland, parking is not an art form, it's a science. The parking structure at the D-land is an OCD anal retentive's wet dream. So naturally, if I go to Disneyland, I take extra panties just in case. There is no confusion. You are directed along the incredibly structured parking route by the smiley people with the light-up airport flashlight swords directly to your spot just as everyone in front of you did and what everyone behind you will do. It's precision. It's a perfectly organized parking lot. *sigh* At Knotts, we drove around the entire park trying to find the lot, made more U-turns than I like to make in a year, and then battled Wal-Mart shoppers with strollers the size of small cars to find a spot which was ultimately just big enough for my vehicle that the guys had to get out before I parked and, as for me, well it's a good thing I exercised the day before, I'll tell you what.

Cleanliness. It goes without saying that one of the best things about Disneyland is how fucking clean it is. It's freakishly clean. If you happen to be lucky enough to spot a bit of trash on the ground, you'd better yell BINGO before some attentive employee cleans it right up so fast you're not sure it was there in the first place. And don't get me started on the bathrooms! They're. So. Clean! If I were a doctor and at all qualified to make absurd recommendations, I would recommend giving birth in a Disneyland bathroom. They're that clean. I mean, at least the women's restrooms are. I can't speak for the men. And thank god for that. At Knotts, we did spot two employees who seemed to be equipped to clean the streets. But they were talking, so there's no way to know if they do, if fact, employ people to clean. And don't get me started on the bathrooms. My advice is, if going to the Berry Farm, bring purell.

And that brings me to truth in advertising. Everyone knows that at Disneyland you're gonna see a giant fucking mouse. That is either the Mickey himself or his peckish girlfriend Minnie. It's a guarantee. And if you don't care for them, you can eat Mickey pancakes or Mickey ice cream bars or buy Mickey wear. Dude, if mice frighten you, steer clear of the Disney, but I absolutely know for certain that every human knows what they are getting themselves into when venturing into the Happiest Place on Earth. But at Knotts, do you think they have berries? Huh? DO YOU? Well, I didn't see a single one, that's for damn sure. And I like berries. Berries rock. I like berries on cereal and ice cream and in lemonade and in my mouth. You'd really think that someplace that calls itself a berry farm would sell berries. But no. You'd be mistaken. Like I was. Dammit. And somebody please explain to me how Snoopy became the mascot? Don't get me wrong, love me some Peanuts. It's fine holiday fun. I just love that Lucy. What a bitch. That's a girl after my own heart. But, I just don't see the connection. Somebody call Robert Stack.

And speaking of unsolved mysteries, nobody ever dies at Disneyland. No really, they don't. Nobody. Ever. Has. Like, it's a long-held legend that if you're about to die, they cart you off Disneyland property. That way your untimely death can sully the city of Anaheim instead of the Happiest Place on Earth. And while that is supremely creepy, doesn't it make you feel all cozy inside knowing that no one has died on a ride you are about to board? Nobody said anything about injuries, now, but to the Disney, death is just off-limits. Isn't that magical? *ahem* But, I'm pretty sure that many people have died at the Knotts. If the shut-down rides with little crosses and flowers around them (granted it IS Halloween Haunt time) aren't an indication, then I'm sure there has to have been a gang shooting or twelve. I just prefer to know that I'll leave the park alive, even if only briefly.

But, I will say this, unless you go to Disneyland in mid to late September or in January to mid February, it will be crowded as hell. And you pretty much have to pick your poison. Battle strollers and moms with no regard for the back of your legs or battle teenagers having sex in public and smoking? It all depends on your level of tolerance, I suppose. And I realize Disneyland is expensive. These days, if you hand over your first born child, you can visit both Disneyland and California Adventure. But, I guess you get what you pay for. And they let you have your child back at the end of the day. So that's not so bad.

I suppose this is the point in the blog where I write that I am not affiliated with Disneyland in any way and no one from Disneyland paid me to write this raving endorsement of the park, without which their revenues might grievously plummet. Because, you know, I am so influential and millions of people take what I say as gold. I'm like Oprah. Only white. And poor. And with better fashion sense. I mean, dude, if I had her money, I'd way cuter than she is. I'd have twelve personal trainers too, all from different countries. Wait, where was I? And Knotts Berry Farm, please don't sue me. When you get churros, I might go back. And clean bathrooms.