Putting my usual anti-Disney attitude aside, I have to admit their little hospital, the one right behind that pink and white striped patio birthday-restaurant venue which is adjacent to the Star Tours ride, is pretty neat.
The high temps and humidity were one thing, but I got run over by a woman with two crying kids in a two-seater stroller, then minutes later a Northern European guy practically sat on my lap and undid the wrapping on a stinky sandwich right under my nose. I'm not making much of a comment about the Northern European guy especially because I am one, too (sort of, but not a guy), and I like stinky sandwiches as much as the next person, but he stood outside the usual behavior in that he nearly sat on my lap to stay out of the sun. Most of my friends from Helsinki, Denmark, or your general Scandinavian vicinity are good about that Personal Space thing, but he wasn't having anything to do with the sun, and boy, his hip bones sure were pointy and his sandwich stunk to high heaven. I haven't heard any new news on the TV on the Munster d'Alsace or Limburger fronts, but woweee wow wow. Someone needs to tell the world about this particular stinky stuff because it is truly rank.
Back to Hospital Disney: I had been on Space Mountain, or whatever the heck they call it these days a ton of times several years ago, but I guess I didn't get the email that they changed it. Used to be, you'd hear the crank of the gears and see the tracks as you went through it. Heck, I even think they used to have an audio of some Shakespearean poem reciter or maybe Vincent Price saying things like, "whoooo. Whhooooooo! . . . WhhooooOOOOO!" overhead while we sauntered around paper cutouts of the moon, old-skool roller coaster style. Plus, when I was riding that thing in the early days, it was like purling to me. You know, something I did nearly everyday and certainly not as sexy or scary as, say, cabling without a cable needle. The ride yesterday, it was horrible and all the swirling lights and darkness while riding a roller coaster was the wrong thing to do since I recently recovered from all That Vertigo.
Disneyland, I'm compelled to give it a rave review: It sure has a nice little hospital there. And they treat panic attacks very well, all cheerful-like. It took me only four or five hours to recover, just in time for the 3:30 p.m. parade and a Dove Bar re*treat*. Wow. What a trip, and boy, do I feel old.
On the knitting front, I started the socks for that new friend of mine, the one who didn't recognize me because I looked better than the last time he saw me, the one with the cold mom I made those other Charades for. I'm making him size 11's! I actually like the Charade pattern in a solid yarn even more than in the variegated. The texture is gorgeous, and with this particular yarn, the Gems Pearl, the slipped stitch doesn't yield a sock that's "thick." Shoot, I even think the crunchy stinky pickle eater at my LYS would approve of these.
BTW: The Crocheted Shawl that Shall not be Named: Remember that one? The one that starts with a "C"? I'm actually considering picking up that thing and finishing it for my MIL. That Space Mountain ride must have rendered me total and complete nuts, or, maybe, just maybe, I'm simply happy to be alive.
(Plus, I got that book, The Rowan Story Book of Little Knits, and in spite of a missing chart on my favorite pattern in the book, I have to give it a good review. Although it's typical "Rowan," the kid's knits are inspired and a little bit less traditional than usual. When I say "typical Rowan," I mean, it's, you-know, "typical." Nice stuff, but usually the same stuff over and over with some different styling. Still, I like it and recommend it--as long as in the next re-print they include all the graphs with the patterns.)