Wonderhussy

You may not realize this, but I come from a very close-knit family of eccentrics. My best friend growing up was my sister, who, despite being 18 months younger than me, has always been the “responsible” one with a good job, nice car, husband, etc. Truth be told, I always felt like kind of a loser around her, because she’s a total baller — six-figure salary, expensive clothes and all the other accouterments that make up the American Dream. But, come to find out, all along she secretly hated her bullshit lifestyle, and over the years it built up and built up and built up…until finally, last month, she quit her high-paying-but-loathsome marketing job and joined me in going full-bore bohemian!!!

To celebrate her newfound freedom, I invited her to join me on an adventure into one of my favorite corners of America…the farthest southeastern reaches of California, not far from the Mexican border. If you’ve never been there, it’s better than Disneyland — and much cheaper! And being as the desert out there is chock-a-block with off-the-grid eccentrics, artists and weirdos, it’s a GREAT place for a corporate detox! You’ll never catch anyone in those parts uttering bullshit platitudes about thinking outside the box — out there, folks are too busy THRIVING outside the motherfucking box! Fuck the box, maaaaan!!!

Our first stop on the 2014 Corporate Detox Tour was my #1 favorite desert hidey-hole, the Wonder Valley Cat Ranch — winter home-away-from-home to my kooky German artist friends. You may recall I was just out there March 1st for Rummelsnuff’s U.S. debut at the Palms Restaurant — well, I came back again because a) I wanted my sis to meet them, and b) some friends from Vegas were also going out there, so a little party was planned. And boy, what a party it was!

Aside from Käpt’n Rummelsnuff, his First Mate, my sis and I, my friend Fabian also came down from Vegas with his girlfriend…and then the neighbor lady from the ranch next door came over with a few more friends, including her latest boy-toy from the nearby Marine base (the neighbor lady is a wonderful cougar divorcée who enjoys picking up Marines at the local bars in Twentynine Palms). Käpt’n Rummelsnuff grilled up a bunch of steak, and we had a huge bonfire, drank gallons of wine, smoked a ton of weed and set off a bunch of professional-grade fireworks (the Marines are always blowing shit up on the nearby bombing range, so why can’t we?!). It was GREAT!

As we all sat around the bonfire, with fireworks exploding in the background, First Mate Christian began to sing a lovely Romanian folk song in his beautiful, crystal-clear tenor — it was part of Rummelsnuff (the band)’s latest single, “Salutare.” Before you know it, Der Käpt’n was joining in, intoning somber German utterances between verses of the Romanian folk song, and Fabian filmed everything for inclusion in the music video they were putting together for the song. Magical!!!

Because it was a full house at the Ranch, and all the beds were spoken for, my sis and I had towed out my trusty old pop-up camper and set it up in the open desert nearby…so when the party finally died down, we went out there to sleep. Then in the morning, after Fabian and his girlfriend journeyed on to Balboa Island for his wealthy matriarch grandmother’s 93rd birthday party, the rest of us drove down to The Palms Restaurant for brunch. Let me tell you something, for a dusty little podunk roadside bar, that place serves amazing food — I had a veggie omelet that was PACKED with kale and fresh green goodness. I definitely recommend stopping in for a bit if you’re traveling through that part of the country! Unfortunately, between the six of us we totally cleaned them out of eggs…so we didn’t get our pancakes, and the neighbor lady’s Marine boytoy didn’t get anything at all, and we had to order him a burger just so he didn’t starve. D’oh!

Speaking of The Palms, I heard through the grapevine that some douchey production company from L.A. went out there to film a “reality” show about the place…but the scuttlebutt is, bar staff isn’t too happy about the way they’re being portrayed (one super inaccurate character description was of a barmaid with “pouty lips and dead eyes”). But if The Palms drops out, those Hollywood fuckers already have a backup plan involving a different abandoned bar/restaurant off the Twentynine Palms highway. Lesson: never believe anything you see on TV — especially on so-called “reality” shows!!!

Anyway, after brunch we headed back to the ranch to film more footage for Rummelsnuff’s video for “Salutare.” This scene called for my sis and I to drive First Mate Christian around the desert in the back of my pickup truck, with the neighbor lady’s wayward Marine riding along as cinematographer. But before we shot a single frame, we all stopped for a quick workout so that Käpt’n and First Mate’s muscles were pumped full of blood for the camera. Then it was on, and let me tell you something…you haven’t lived until you’ve driven a pickup truck around the desert at golden hour with a greased up German tenor in the back!

All that filming worked up quite a thirst, so after we wrapped for the day, my sis and I made a quick run into Twentynine Palms for white Russian fixins. I’m here to tell you — that is one WEIRD little town! A smattering of flat little crackerbox houses scattered around the edges of this ginormous Marine base, out in the most desolate desert country you’ve ever seen (they use the base to practice desert warfare, as seen on TV in ops like Afghanistan™ and Iraq™). Around the base, Marine-friendly businesses have also sprung up to accommodate the local population, including Burger Kings, grocery stores and massage parlors….and a bizarre profusion of barbershops. There were at least two on every corner offering “$8 Marine Special”s — apparently, the boys are responsible for maintaining their own crew cuts, and it has led to a whole bizarre microeconomy.

Speaking of Marines, the neighbor lady’s poor wayward Marine was basically AWOL this whole time, sucked into the crazy Cat Ranch Freak Vortex, so since we were headed that way anyway, we gave him a ride back to the base before they cut off his nuts, or whatever it is they do to wayward Marines who exhibit bohemian tendencies! On the way back to the base, the poor kid opened up and confided some VERY unexpected information to us, which I won’t divulge here out of concern for his well-being (it was NOT “I’m gay”). Suffice it to say, you really can’t judge a book by the cover — not even a clean-cut manly-man one! But my guess is, that Marine base is a hotbed of homoeroticism. I mean, just look at that barbershop!!

Anyhoo, after all that excitement we spent the rest of the night boozing in the neighbor lady’s Jacuzzi — after a few white Russians (which are amazing with almond milk; why anyone even drinks nasty-ass cow’s milk any more is beyond me) we moved onto some champagne my sis had brought along. THIS is the kind of classy broad my sister is: not only did she bring the champers in a custom carrying case, but she had these amazing hibiscus flowers in a jar of simple syrup, and when you drop them into a glass of champagne, the petals open up and “blossom” into a beautiful (and edible) display of nature’s bounty! Astonishing!!

Alas, I couldn’t stay out boozing too late, because I had a photo shoot scheduled for the a.m. — a photographer from Flagstaff had hired me, but as he was on his way back from a seminar in L.A. it made more sense for us to shoot in Wonder Valley than for us to meet in Vegas. The neighbor lady let me wash my hair in her sink (the Cat Ranch doesn’t have running water), and then the next morning I met the photographer at The Palms and led him back to the ranch, where we spent a delightful few hours shooting fun photos and kibbitzing in the shade. He also gave me an AMAZING bracelet as a token of his esteem, which is now one of my favorite things EVER, and serves as a fabulous souvenir of my fun trip in the desert. Thanks, Dano!! <3 <3 <3

As soon as the shoot was over, my sis and I packed up the camper, said our good-byes to Käpt’n Rummelsnuff and his First Mate (promising to come back and visit next winter) and then took off down the road toward our next destination: the Salton Sea!!

If you haven’t heard of it, the Salton Sea is the biggest lake in California, but it’s in pretty shitty shape since, unlike other

lakes, it isn’t fed by any streams or underground sources — it’s just a big ol’ puddle of agricultural runoff (the lake was created by accident back in 1905, when water from the Colorado River overflowed a canal during a flood). Anyway, back in the 1950s and ’60s it was a beautiful resort area, with motels and restaurants, water sports and swimming — but now, because the water is so salty and crappy on account of its being purely agricultural runoff, everything has pretty much died off or run away. Nowadays all that’s left are a bunch of burned-out ruins and dead tilapia rotting away on the beaches — which aren’t even sand, they’re made of crumbled up fish bones and barnacle shells! OUCH!

In other words…it’s a magical place!!!

My intent was to camp out at Slab City, a sort of hippie homeless encampment on the east side of the Sea, near Niland…but my sis and I ended up wussing out in favor of the Fountain of Youth Spa and RV park, on the northern side. After a few days without running water at the Cat Ranch, we kinda wanted to take a shower and soak in the hot springs…ya know?

Besides…Fountain of Youth is one of the coolest spots ever! It’s basically an upscale trailer park where hundreds of retired Canadian snowbirds spend the entire winter — November to March, year after year. You can stay in your motorhome, or they even have mobile homes to rent — plus a boatload of fabulous amenities including the hot mineral spring Jacuzzis, swimming pools, and a steam room fed by hot mineral water. Also, because it’s mostly a 55+ resort, they have shuffleboard, bingo, aquaerobics, a poker room, a beauty parlor, an internet room and a library — plus talent shows every Friday, and stuff like clambakes and quilt-offs the rest of the week! It’s like summer camp, only in wintertime — and for old people instead of kids. Fuck, yeah!!

Because it’s all old people, the place is spotless — the cleanest public bathrooms this side of the Wynn hotel. And with a AAA membership, a dry campsite is only $17.10 — total bargain. The only drawback is, the dry campsites aren’t very picturesque. The other drawback is, because it’s all old people, you have to shut the fuck up at 10pm — at which time everything closes, including the pool. My sis and I tried to sneak into the steam room around 10:08, but the canny old campground manager busted us: “The facilities close at 10, girls!” (That’s the other good thing, we were so much younger than everyone else there they called us “girls” like we were 15!!) “Oops, we’re sorry, we’ll go to bed now!” “That’ll be fine.” That’ll be fine!!! Who says that?!?!?! Crusty old fuckers wary of traveling bohemians, that’s who!

Anyway, it was totally like staying at your grandparents’ place and it was awesome! If you’re thinking of taking a roadtrip down to that area, the F.O.Y. makes a great base because it’s totally close to all the local attractions…but has sparkling clean showers for super cheap. Keep it in mind!

So the next morning, we got up and had a quick soak and steam, and then went off to explore the fabulous Salton Sea. I had on this amazing new robe I’d made out of an old muumuu, yards and yards of flowing neon pink and orange polyester, and it really stood out against all the dull earth-tones of the landscape — everywhere we went people stopped to talk to us because of it, so I named it the Friendmaker. I also had this rainbow-colored scarf wrapped around my head like a turban, so I looked like a real freak. In other words…I fit right in.

Our first stop was legendary Salvation Mountain, everyone’s favorite monument to psychedelic religious folk art. Some old Christer kook built it by hand out of plaster-coated hay bales, then spent his lifetime painstakingly painting it…and now it shines like a crazy, colorful beacon, standing out like a sore thumb in the drab desert landscape. Kinda like my robe!

 

You can wander around inside the mountain, which is sort of like an anthill full of tunnels and alcoves with creepy little religious shrines in every nook and cranny. It’s a really wonderful place! It’s also a pretty well-known tourist attraction, thanks in part to the 2007 movie “Into the Wild,” so there were quite a few people there when we visited — an interesting mix of retired RVer snowbird looky-lous, Euro tourists, and traveling hippie vagabonds. FUN!

We spent an hour or so kibbitzing with some of the local kooks (note: when I say “kook,” it’s a term of endearment, not an insult. I’m the biggest kook of them all), and then headed down the road another quarter mile or so to Slab City.

Slab City is basically like the meth-head’s Burning Man, only it never ends — people live out here 24/7/365. It’s a wide swath of BLM land (Bureau of Land Management, i.e. gov’ment-owned land), which means you can camp there for free

up to 16 days, at which time you’re supposed to move 1/2 mile — but because Slab City is in such a remote and godforsaken part of the country, no one really fucks with it, and people have pretty much erected permanent campsites/fortresses/bunkers built from an astonishingly ingenious array of discarded and recycled materials. They call it Slab City because of the bare concrete slab foundations scattered about — remains of a long-demolished WWII-era Marine barracks. In any case, the slabs make great campsites, and tons o’ eccentrics and hobo-types live out here all year ’round.

My sis and I kind of cruised around, checking stuff out: there’s a primitive infrastructure of dirt roads throughout Slab City, so we drove around checking out the various bizarre and wonderful camps/fortresses/whatever you want to call them. It really was like Burning Man, only more authentic and with fewer fake-titted ninnies in platform boots dancing to shitty raver music.

There’s an internet cafe, a library and a main stage area called the Range, which hosts an open-mic night every Saturday that is said to be one of the kraaaaaziest parties around. I have to go back on a weekend!!! There’s supposedly going to be a big party on April 5th, but I think I’m working that day so I probably won’t make it 🙁 I really want to come out and set up a campsite, and stay for a MONTH sometime — it would be so relaxing and peaceful out there, I could just get up and do Tai Chi and make mosaics out of bottle caps all day, ya know? I bet my insomnia would be cured in a jiffy, in that dry desert air! THIS is why I need that Scamp trailer, everyone!!!

My personal favorite thing was the library — we went in, and it was totally silent except for some very quiet New Age music softly playing on an old transistor radio, while a sinewy hippie woman peacefully raked the dirt floor in a Zenlike fashion. If/when I camp out here, I’m making the library my second home!

 

After cruising around awhile, we spent a good hour chatting with some of the toothless crackhead locals, who filled us in on what really goes on in Slab City. To my bourgeois dismay, it seemed as though Slab City’s heyday has passed, and most of the truly interesting artist types had long departed for greener pastures, leaving behind a skeleton crew of methheads, winos and assorted other on-the-lam no-goodniks. But then the chief methhead told us to go down the road a bit and check out East Jesus.

East Jesus is sort of like a cool, artsy annex to Slab City — equal parts Burning Man theme camp, outdoor art museum and hippie commune. There is NO WAY I can post all the amazing photos my sis and I took here, so you’ll just have to check out the Facebook album I created.

 

I’m telling you, this place is amazing. Everywhere you look is astonishingly weird, creative, kooky, subversive art created mostly from found/recycled objects and trash — but it’s really cool shit, not like the dumb crap you see at local art fairs. A lot of legit artists come out here from L.A. and other parts of the U.S. and create crazy monuments to the insanity of man, and it’s REALLY worth checking out.

As we were bumbling about in open-mouthed wonder, one of the East Jesus caretakers came out and gave us a tour of the grounds. He even took us backstage to the living area, where all the East Jesus regulars live when they’re staying onsite. Sometimes they get hundreds of guests, but in the summertime it’s so freaking hot down there that only one or two brave souls hold down the fort. Either way, it’s a working commune, so every guest has to

pitch in and do chores — they even had a job board posted, with all the task assignments listed. Fascinating! This one bad-ass chick was in charge of the vegetable gardens — that’s right, in the middle of this barren desert they had veggies growing in lovingly-tended raised beds, which were harvested and used to supplement the communal meals. Really cool!

Every square inch of that place was covered in art — Persian rugs on the desert floor, mannequins with ducks for arms standing guard in front of bedazzled trailers, charred and blistered baby-dolls’ heads mounted on wooden crosses, VW vans covered in bottle caps and Barbie doll limbs…even the outhouses were art-encrusted! The women’s outhouse had this bad ass little cabinet where you could stash your “skeletons in the closet” — there was a little notepad inside where you could write down your deepest, darkest secret, then pin it to the inside of the cabinet among all the other sad secrets. I’m telling you, you HAVE to check out my Facebook album! It’s INTENSE!

We spent a good hour or two hanging out touring East Jesus and chatting with the crew out back, but eventually it was time to move on, as we had a lot more Salton Sea to cover that day. But I’m telling you, East Jesus was the COOLEST thing I saw all day, and I really want to go back sometime and stay for awhile. Fuck, I’ll pitch in and clean the toilets or whatever…I don’t mind!!

 

Let me tell you, those hippies at East Jesus were MY kind of hippies; they had an agenda, and spent their time making BAD ASS SHIT. Down the road a piece, we ran into a bunch of the other kind of hippies — you know, the kind that drop out of some bourgeois mid-level state college to sit around on a Monday afternoon drinking cheap whiskey and banging out shitty music on a beat-up guitar, singing off-key songs about stupid shit that means nothing to anyone, hula-hooping and smoking tons of weed while babbling meaninglessly about stuff no one cares about. Blah!!!

 

Where were these other hippies, you ask? Why, at the old mudhole, of course! Before leaving the area, my sis and I stopped at the local hot springs, which is basically a mudhole with a lovingly carpeted bottom (installed by those go-getter hippies from East Jesus, of course)…but it also serves as the bathing area for all the squatters/campers/freaks/crooks who are dry camping in the area, so there’s always quite a crowd around. At the time of our visit, there were two giant-carbon-footprint-leaving schoolbuses parked nearby, home to two crews of traveling hippies and their hula hoops, children and chickens (yes, they had a flock of chickens pecking in the dust). It was equal parts Manson Family and Grapes of Wrath — interesting, but in the end depressing. We had a brief convo with a dreadlocked young psychobabbler who claimed to be named Jester, but his inebriated jibberish was so insufferable that we left after only a few minutes and went on with our travels.

I can totally see why some people are so down on hippies — while those middle-class shirkers were wallowing drunkenly in the mud like piggies (how ironic), meanwhile around the rest of the Salton Sea, hordes of Mexicans were slaving away, picking produce and pumping gas and basically easily evading the insane amount of Border Patrol agents cruising around the area like a bunch of buffoonish Keystone Kops. I’m telling you, it was CRAZY how many Border

Patrol agents we saw whizzing around on the lookout for illegal immigrants! Meanwhile, I had a truck full of weed and mushrooms, but I’m not Mexican so they waved me right on. Really bizarre. I just read a whole book about the Chinese immigrant smuggling trade, and they say Chinese smugglers regularly pay Mexicans $100 apiece to run across the border and distract the Border Patrol, while the Chinese sneak across undetected. The cops send the Mexicans back, but they’re $100 richer and don’t give a fuck — they’ll just try again tomorrow! The very definition of insanity.

Anyway, after that we cruised around the entire perimeter of the Salton Sea, stopping at the ruins of each and every shitty abandoned town along the way — it was incredible. Most of the towns still had about 20% of the population hanging in there among the decay and burned-out ruins; in one town we saw two Mexican women power-walking along a road at sunset, getting their daily workout despite the thick miasma of rotting tilapia and hopelessness hanging in the air. Life goes on, I guess!

Salton City, Salton Sea Beach, Desert Shores, Bombay Beach, Mecca…we hit them all, and they were all astonishing. I guess the cost of living is dirt cheap down there, so it’s worth it for some people. But talk about a food desert!! We went into a market in Bombay Beach to try and buy some lunch, and the only produce they had was a few wilted cucumbers and a couple onions. Meanwhile, there was an entire aisle stocked full of Coca Cola — in fact, the Coca Cola deliveryman was there with a fresh shipment!!! I ended up having Coke and peanuts — breakfast of champions! But seriously, it was fucking depressing.

Anyway, after that fabulously fascinating day we cruised back to the comfortably bourgeois Fountain of Youth and had another soak, then went to bed. But my poor pop-up camper was on its last legs, and wouldn’t even crank open all the way, so all night long I was afraid it was gonna collapse on us — it was a really windy night, and the fucker was swaying to and fro like the devil. After a shitty sleepless night, we gave up and packed up camp, and headed back to Vegas.

Part of our route took us along this extremely lonely road — CA-62, what has got to be one of the loneliest roads in America. It was really cool — nothing but sand and sagebrush, sun and blue skies…until all of a sudden, in the middle of nowhere, there was this giant signpost with signs pointing to all corners of the Earth. Fun!

Anyhoo, along the way back to Vegas we were trying to decide what to do next — we had several options for the upcoming weekend, and finally decided we would go to L.A. and surprise Rummelsnuff at this concert they were booked for in some janky little club in Glendale. It was their first OFFICIAL U.S. gig, so we figured we should go support them.

We had a place to stay — my sis has some friends who have an amazing spread in Tujunga called Gay Gardens, because it’s this sprawling old Victorian-type house on a couple acres of overgrown woodland, right in the middle of town…and they’re a gay couple. Meanwhile, we decided that since we were going to be in L.A. anyway, we might as well eat shrooms and go to Disneyland, too — something we’d always wanted to do!

So Friday afternoon we drove out to L.A., and my sister’s husband flew down to meet us. Being from Israel, he’d never been to Disneyland, and was super excited. My sis and I drove out to L.A. separately, so that way she and her husband could just cruise back up to the Bay Area afterward — my sis got there before me, and picked him up at the airport and got settled in, while I hauled ass from Vegas late as usual, after getting in a quick weight-lifting session at the gym.

I got to town just in time to chug a glass of wine and head over to Glendale, where we witnessed one of the most amazing concerts I’d ever seen! I couldn’t believe how many crazy little Goth kids crawled out of the L.A. woodwork to come see Rummelsnuff — it was really touching and amazing! My sis and I got to hang out in the backstage area and eat bratwurst with the band, because we’re so cool like that, and then after the show it was really amazing to see all the fans line up to take photos with Der Käpt’n and his First Mate. I guess they’re really popular in Germany, and with a certain Goth/New Wave-y demographic (even though they describe their style as electro-pogo).

The only bummer was, the show didn’t even start til midnight, and meanwhile my brother-in-law was on our nuts about getting up early so we could be at Disneyland by 8 or 9 am. WTF!!!!! It was open til 11pm that day; how fucking long do you want to spend there??! We didn’t leave the Rummelsnuff show til like 2am, and then had to drag ass out of bed at 7:30 to be in Anaheim by 9. UGH!!!

Now, I hadn’t been to Disneyland since like 1996 or so, so I was pretty excited. You know — Disneyland!!!!! The fucking APEX of fun and good times, right?! Well, I was so tired and grouchy after no sleep, that I was really dragging ass. Plus, that fucking place is just one fucking line after another — wait in line to get in the parking garage, then wait in line to get on the tram that takes you to the front entrance, where you wait in line AGAIN to buy tickets….so that you can go inside and wait in more fucking lines to go on the rides. Really?!?!?

Thankfully, we had a bag full of drugs with us…so my mood soon changed 🙂 Tip: it’s really easy to sneak shit into Disneyland. They do a bag check, but it’s the most cursory of cursory bag checks I’ve ever been party to. You don’t even go through a metal detector! All we had were some mushrooms and pot cookies, but being paranoid, we had camouflaged them in amongst a bunch of other candy, with a story at the ready about how we were hypoglycemic, and needed to keep our blood sugar elevated. No worries though — they waved us right through.

So there I was, in a 45-minute line to ride the Jungle Cruise, surrounded by shrieking whining brats and sad fat couples in matching Mickey Mouse shirts (Disney is like a cult with some people, sadly). The sun was broiling down on my head and I was so fucking tired I just wanted to crawl into the bushes and SLEEP…and then even at the end of the wait, the reward itself (the Jungle Cruise) was so lame and hokey that it wasn’t even worth it!!!  I spent $100 on this?!?!?! ARRRRGH!!!!!

But then we each ate half a pot cookie, and shit got much better. The drugs kicked in right as we boarded the Pirates of the Caribbean, and it was wonderful — all the weird lights and smoke and creepy animatronic pirates and shit were really, really fun while high. I definitely recommend it!

But the problem was, we didn’t realize how strong these cookies were — each had 50mg of THC, and we ate half apiece…which was enough to send us into orbit! For the next few hours I’m not exactly sure what I did, aside from wander around in a haze, baking in the relentless sun, stumbling from ride to ride but too scared to go on anything more intense than the stupid steamboat and that railroad that circles the park. We did sack up and ride the teacups, but my brother-in-law was so high he freaked out when we started to spin them, so we just sat there like grinning idiots, going round and round in pointless circles (ahem). It was one of those occasions when I really wished I was sober — I was SO HIGH it was painful, and I was sure everyone was staring at me.

Finally, after about 5 hours the cookie wore off, so we had some lunch, waited a decent amount of time, and then ate the mushrooms. When those kicked in we rode Space Mountain and a few other rides, but then we got the munchies and the whole thing pretty much degenerated into a stoner foodfest orgy of junk — rice krispie treats, ice cream sundaes, frozen banana, etc. etc. etc. Bad!! We ended up standing around in a sugar-fueled food coma watching some horrible, god-awful fireworks show about Following Your Dreams, where that dumbass moron Mickey Mouse waved a baton around as Ariel, Cinderella and all the other idiots sailed around on barges waving and smiling and probably muttering curse words under their breath. Meanwhile, hundreds of shiny-eyed slack-jawed bozos stood by watching and videotaping the whole fucking thing like it was high art. WTF?!!!!

It astonishes me that this shtick is what is universally considered to be the “happiest” place on Earth — every day, thousands upon thousands of people save their money to travel to L.A. and pay out the ass to pay more out the ass (once inside, all you do is stand in line to spend more money). Everywhere you look, it’s emasculated dads shuffling around in Mickey Mouse t-shirts that match their fat wife’s Minnie Mouse t-shirt, pushing strollers full of snot-nosed brats in mini-Minnie Mouse t-shirts, sweating and sighing and inwardly dying while Making Memories™ by standing in hour-long lines. This is the yardstick by which we measure happiness??? HOW? WHY? It’s bizarre!!

Earlier in this post, I said something about how the Salton Sea area is like Disneyland — but cheaper! See?? Even I myself am guilty of holding Disneyland up as a paragon of fun times and happiness….I can’t really help it, it’s so ingrained in me as a societal norm, I guess. But now, having been there as an adult….I will never compare something to Disneyland again, unless it’s something depressing and shitty and fake. I can see enjoying it if you have little kids….but even then, it just seems like there are so many cooler places to go in the world!!!

Like East Jesus!