DISNEYLAND
                    (C)1998 Alan M. Schwartz

I live some miles down the road from the original Happiest Place 
on Earth - Disneyland.  (The House Appropriations Committee in 
Washington, DC is also revoltingly gleeful.)  Urban blight of 
Anaheim (Anna's Home), CA peripheral to a world class tourism 
cash cow slowly gives way to situational ethics of city politics.  
Government Welfare grants are manna from heaven.  Why tolerate 
niggardly droppings?  Orange County knuckle-walking political 
ogres are grasping satori, or are being displaced by duly elected 
counterparts with mouse ears decorating skeletons in their 
closets.  Disneyland is metastasizing, swallowing up adult motels 
and the last remaining strawberry farm.  Happy, happy.

The Southern California freeway system is being multi-$billion 
replumbed to drive in the mornings' fatted calves and speedily 
flush away cash-depleted offal at day's end.  Walt's creation 
boasts 63 attractions from morally sanitized carny arcades to 
morally sanitized Golden Horseshoe Stage, including 43 rides 
meticulously crafted to exude wonder and exclude boredom.  Even 
mammoth waiting lines are odes to joy.  The park is sneakily 
saturated with goodthought troopers, and not a screaming babe or 
gooey blob of discarded gum is tolerated.  Toilets are spotless.  
Distaff employees are whittled clean of moustaches and other 
seditious hirsutisms.  Earnings scrape hard by minimum wage, and 
woe unto any chipper cheerful Imagineer not beaming rapture at a 
typical fill of 50,000 repulsive day trippers.

Disneyland is first and foremost a grinning celebration of 
American Mid-Western values less drought, spring flooding, 
mosquitoes, tornadoes, heat and humidity, collapse of grain 
prices, manure spreaders, villainous preachers, grinding poverty, 
bank foreclosures, corn-fed Baptist women, and casual intimacy 
with livestock.  Every building in Disneyland is slightly scaled 
down from full size.  You walk through the place and subliminally 
feel like a god.

What was productive Caucasians' domain and briefly Government 
subsidized breeding grounds of Black reproductive warriors now 
hosts a sea of gutter Spanish-spewing Latinos/Hispanics/Chicanos 
and Officially cherished undocumented illegal aliens.  A scourge 
of pubescent Brown females apply mascara with trowels and sweat 
their way down Main Street, their luxuriant black upper lip hair 
all aquiver as their sloppy thighs anticipate augmenting La Raza 
and the One True Church.  If short, swarthy, and acne-pitted is 
your idea of a good time, make that 64 attractions at Disneyland.  
(Drive-by shootings and other homeboy stuff are not tolerated.  
If you get on the wrong side of Disney... The place is entirely 
self-contained for all utilities, including waste disposal.)

Knott's Berry Farm is a collection of stomach-churning rides.  
Disneyland is elegant and tasteful, a demonstration of "1984" 
without dissent.  That it accrues cash profits exceeding $1 
million/day starting at its turnstiles does not hurt.  They 
really, really do aim at a tinseled First Class for the masses.  

(Note some very exclusive, very hidden delights only accessible 
with a key card, like Club 33 at 33 Royal Street, New Orleans 
Square, above Pirates of the Caribbean.  If you do not frown upon 
a decade's wait to fork over $2500 in minimal annual member's 
fees, Walt's private club holds gustatory and other pleasures 
promenading well beyond stodgy luxury and vanity.)

Disneyland says a lot about America.  Armed guards are under some 
of those cute and fuzzy costumes.  Colorless transparent ear 
plugs decorate the crowd.  Solid state micro-cameras for visible, 
near-infrared, and starlight amplification are sprinkled about 
the grounds and within all the rides.  Chandeliers in Club 33 
conceal miniature microphones that the staff may "anticipate" 
patrons' every wish.  If you access the hidden elevator at the 
egress of Pirates of the Caribbean not only will you be expelled 
from the park, you will be permanently barred from reentry.  Do 
not eat fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

Disneyland's expansion to embrace ever larger coteries of people 
desperate to have their lives set right (and damn the expense) 
puts it right in the faces of Anaheimians decrying focused 
ruination of their afflictive lifestyles.  Urban blight, smog, 
unyielding vehicular gridlock, spare city budgets, and rapacious 
constabulary are halcyon echoes of venerable nostalgia.  
Reworking Anaheim into something larger, grander, and in better 
taste than the Crystal Cathedral devastate 40 years of zealous if 
inept peripheral tourist purse plucking.  It would streamline the 
process, increasing capacity and throughput while denying lesser 
crooks their due.  This is cultural trespass!

One more round of expansion mid 21st century ought to do it.  Ana 
will be extruded from her home, her lamented passage minimally 
lubricated with folding green.  Disneyland, CA is the E ticket!  
Now, on to the House of Representatives in Washington, and 
whistle while you work - or else.