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.