Kate's Point of View

That’s what’s fun about being alive is being late to the party.

Fred Armison on WTF with Marc Maron

I love this quote from Armison, a man I associate with Portlandia and this scene specifically:

The scene is really poking fun of enthusiasts of the farm to table movement, but to my it also embodies a lot of hipster tendencies. Hipsters, the people who, you know, were listening to that band before you ever saw them. (Admittedly, I’ve said basically that about bands. But anyway…)

Wonder Boy and I tried to watch Portlandia for a while and I just couldn’t get into it. I appreciated that it was funny, but just not my cup of tea. Maybe too hip for me? So for me to hear this actor, that I think of as a hipster, saying that it’s nice to come to the party late? Now I’m interested.

So why is it good to be late to the party?

According to Armison, it’s great to be late to the party because you can consume media, information, entertainment all at once versus waiting for it to be gradually released. You can read the whole series of books in one go. You can binge watch your favorite television shows. When you hear music references you don’t know, no problem! Check out the back catalog!

I love this. It’s the anti-hipster approach to things. Like, “Oh, that’s good? Cool. I’ll wait until it’s all done and then check it out. In about five years. Thanks for the heads up.”

Some things are just as pretty in one color. And yet, in the sea of green that makes up this photograph, the little splashes of fuchsia are what grab my attention.

inspired by.

When I was younger I worked at amusement park. (More on that here.) For five seasons I worked the rides. That time, and specifically that place, hold a special place in my heart. The jobs was dumb but the experiences and friendships shaped me.

When I finally left there in search of summer jobs that paid more than minimum wage, I left the park for good. That was in 2001 and I had no intention of going back.

Until my employer forced my hand.

We’re having a work retreat at that same amusement park in a few weeks. It’s a fun place for a meeting and there are easy opportunities for fun and team-building. But. That place.

I knew I had to go back on my own before the work event. With Wonder Boy at my side, I set out down Memory Lane last Friday.

And it was terrible.

Ownership of the park has changed hands so the children’s rides are no longer Hannah-Barbera-themed. My favorite ride to work is gone. My favorite ride to watch – miniature handcars on a miniature railroad track – is gone. The no longer have the same two Raffi albums on repeat so I couldn’t hear my favorite song from my park days over the loudspeaker.

Most of all, I was struck by just how small the park felt. It’s so, so much smaller than I remembered.

While my general reaction to the outing was not great, there were nice parts. I had forgotten about some rides. And seeing them brought back such odd memories. Swings: standing in the rain talking to someone working the bumper cars. Bumper cars: starting the ride when a squirrel was on the electricity-laden roof and watching sparks fly as it tried to race away. Petting zoo: there used to be a Gong Show performed on that stage.

After walking through the children’s area and getting Wonder Boy some Smurf Ice Cream (no longer named that but definitely still the same thing), we headed out to adult rides. And there we confirmed that Wonder Boy and I were made for each other. Two giant chickens.

At one point we were on the swings – a pretty tame ride – and he asked me, “Is this more thrilling than you anticipated?” He sounded like a chicken from 1850. But since I was also white-knuckling it, all I could do was nod. We rode all of the dizzy rides and looked at every roller coaster (road none).

When we road the train, then felt like home. My last two years at the park I was a train conductor, crossing guard and station worker for that ride. The speech has changed and the on-ride music seems louder, but otherwise it was familiar.

Thanks goodness something felt the same. It was weird visiting a place I associate with my teens and at the same time be forced to recognize how far away those times are.

He showed them magic beans, and a pen that would write only the truth, and a mouse that aged backward, and a goose that laid eggs in gold, silver, platinum, and iridium. He spun straw into gold and turned the gold into lead. 
It was the end of every fairy tale, all of the prizes for which knights and princes had fought and died and clever princesses had guessed riddles and kissed frogs.
The Magician’s Land by Lev Grossman

Drinks were a lot like books, really; it didn’t matter where you were, the contents of a vodka tonic were always more or less the same and you could count on them to take you away to somewhere better or a least make your present arrangements more manageable.
The Magician’s Land by Lev Grossman