Space Mountain

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Space_Mountain  

Amusement park rides always bothered me with a bad case of "mal de mer", and so for many years I avoided them unless I took the over-the-counter meclizine pills that are sold here in the States for motion sickness. I often thought the dizziness was related to my hearing loss, and that the damage to my middle ear bones heightened the vertigo I felt during fast-spinning rides, but my father is more imapired than I am and he has great "sea legs". Oh, well. After experimenting with rides both on-and-off the pill, I knew it was best to take it an hour before any rollerocaster rides, which was about the length of the wait on the line in the summertime.

But, Disney was different. The whole place is one big tourist attraction, which meant double-dosage every morning, in anticipation of the day's events. I also had to take it while flying, which meant I arrived in a sleepy haze and stayed that way for the whole trip, before the manufacturer suddenly discovered that excessively doped-up sleepiness was a bit too much for anyone to handle well, let alone traveling children. Years later, the non-drowsy version offered me much better results. It wasn't like I had a choice about it, either. I went wherever my family decided to go, whether I wanted to or not, and they don't have the best tastes in travel, preferring easy Americanized experiences over authenticity.

With the park in Florida, everyone around me was way more excited than I was. Once I hit the water slides at our hotel, I had no idea why anyone in their right mind would choose to wait for several hours on a line in the brutally hot Floridian sun. We had all the fun we needed at the hotel pool. Why not just stay there? It was designed to funnel tourists through a series of highly choreographed "events" that eliminated pesky things like choices, because the tram to the park was right outside of our hotel. Wasn't that neat? Uh, sure. Like the subway is above ground, but with too much sun and heat. It seemed pointless.

At the time of our big family vacation that cost too much money (hence the drive towards the park everyday, with a reminder about how lucky we were to see other pale flabby tourists from New York wilt sickly in the heat), the biggest sensation was a ride called "Space Mountain"; so secretive in its marketed allure that no one at the park would disclose what the ride actually was. *SPOILER ALERT* It's an indoor rollercoaster, btw. Just like horror movie hits like "The Exorcist", we were given a build-up worthy of hell itself with caution signs like "Don't ride this if you have a heart condition", and warnings to pregnant women about the stress.

It started to freak my mom out, and then me, too. I didn't want to die. I just wanted to go on a friggin' vacation I could have fun with. I was a kid! But, once we'd passed the point of no return, and we needed to pick buddies for the ride, everyone but my dad bailed on sitting with me, in case I threw up during the ride. They debated backsplash, too. My dad just laughed at me the entire time, hitting my arm around the turns, and taking both of his arms out from behind the bar to make it extra scary, in defiance of the signs that cautioned us not to do so repeatedly. The photos of us taken during the ride were disastrous, too. My dad had on an angry red-faced smile while I looked like I was crying, as did my brothers and my mom. I was just glad it was over.

Afterwards, we talked about how the ride was just an indoor rollercoaster in the dark with some flashing lights. The hype had made it seem much scarier than it was, and I felt like I just passed a bravery test. My dad and my brothers were eager to try other scary rides, but me and my mom had enough boyish thrills for the day. We went on a pleasant little choo-choo train that offered a nice slow ride around the park, giving us a chance to see how pretty it was, without whizzing by at a blurry hundred miles an hour. The boys laughed at our "gay kiddie ride", boisterous to go around the mountain again. They'd later complain about the lines they abandoned in their search for more scares, while me and my mom went for ice cream, iced tea, and souvenir shopping. It was the best ride, yet.

Georgian Court

Welcome to Georgian Court.

Last week, while photographing a enigmatic stone house, I noticed a "For Rent" sign parked on the lawn of a 50s mod building. Stylin'! Prominently displayed on the brick front is a gorgeous, cheerful script of a logo, emblematic of the kind of "can-do" energy that sparked the post-war Baby Boom, fueled by an economy pumped full of spoils and profits from a war won well. 

Seems very quiet and quite safe.

In an effort to regain some of the normality that was lost during war time, conformity was key. A soldier in enemy territory stands out much more by not blending in, and it was a lesson learned well. After looking at the grounds, I walked up the small hill to a surreal picture of similarity: each and every apartment was exactly the same, and I mean, down to the very last detail. 

It's well-manicured. Each bush is the same.

There are no anomalies of any kind in the small, handkerchief-sized lawns; no wild, weird decorations, no decor at all, actually. Everything had a comforting, bland sameness to it, and that's exactly the point: to be the same, to have the same things, to live the same day over and over again, without any traumas, shocks, or surprises, as a relief to a post-traumatic life. In it's own way, it's a lot scarier than the dark, mysterious house next door, for the sheer effort it makes to present a unified front, like a artificially fake neighborhood in Disneyland, unmarked by any sort of identifying characteristics whatsoever. 

I bet nothing ever really changes around here.

There's a desperate quality in maintaining that kind of approach, which stands out in stark contrast to say, an overblown, badly decorated kitschy style. A slight, warm wind swirled through the leaves that day, as I left the apartment grounds exactly the way it has always been, and will always be, for here on out, until it crumbles to the ground. How's that for a good scare?

Creepy. Nothing moves but the leaves. Where the people at?