I know what I was saying. It was on the history of Astoria and these are the rejects!

September 1, 2011 Comments Off read Attractions, Oregon, Pacific, Travel, USA, West

During this year’s long beach weekend, we made it a priority to visit the Goonie Museum, as we just missed it last time and had to settle for being bitten by the Goonie cat at the Goonie house. This museum is located inside the old county jail, which had been donated for this purpose by the city. Realizing that a museum dedicated to the Goonies alone might come up lacking, it recognizes many of the films that were shot in and/or featured Oregon, though it is still generally referred to as the Goonie Musuem.

Tell the Goonies why you’re here:

Up until this point in my life, I’d never really bothered to conceive what the inside of a jail might be like, and I’ve never had the misfortune to be forced into the experience. (Yes, once when I was in junior high, I was brought home in the back of a police car, and at one point I did attempt to visit a boyfriend who found himself incarcerated, but both of those are stories for another time, and neither resulted in me actually being inside a jail.) Still, it smelled exactly the way one might imagine a jail smells: a bit like sweat and pee and desperation. The walkways themselves were narrow and claustrophobia-inducing, and while I suppose that makes sense in terms of preventing prisoner escape, it’s less than comfortable for people visiting of their own free will.

Although it has been up and running for over a year now, it suffers from exhibits that are either not ready for the general public or are broken. In the cell area of the jail, you are supposed to be able to send your friends the link to the museum’s website so they can watch you rattling around a cell, moodily resting on a bed, or yelling for chow. That was broken. In the other section of the museum, you’re given access to video cameras and sets with greenscreens, one of which was broken. You’re supposed to be able to record yourselves through the camera and edit everything together. That was broken. We had a lot of fun fooling around and photographing ourselves in flattering light, but it wasn’t everything it could have been. But like I said, we still fooled around. Everyone’s natural ham came out in front of the camera, and we’ve taken this as a sign that we should own video equipment of our own while simultaneously knowing no good would come of it. It’s like going to a pet store and falling in love with a nervous tinkling dog named Stainmaster 2000. You love his cute face, but can you change his nature? Probably not.

After a while, we noticed a face-size hole cut into a door, which I assumed was there for me to recreate a scene from The Shining. I have no idea why it was actually there, though I suppose it could well be there for this purpose as the front exterior of the building was filmed in Oregon.

While having my Shining moment, I realized that fortuitously I was wearing my ET/Shining shirt mash-up and I had the opportunity to take an extra creepy photograph, if only I was willing to cram my boobs through a hole in the wall. As always, I was up for it.

At least, it was creepy until this happened.

After we’d done all of the fooling around in the museum that we could muster, we made our way to the gift shop and realized that each of the cameras they’d given the public to play with feed directly to a monitor on the gift shop screen. At least three faces turned beet red, and there were some strong mutterings of “Thank god we didn’t get our tits out”. There should be a warning! It’s not like we’re all of a sudden going to learn decorum on our own!

Stuffed with Wiener Art

December 31, 2010 19 Comments read Attractions, Masticating With Mellzah, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

The day after Christmas, Tom, Emily, Evan, and I took a daytrip to Leavenworth, a tiny psuedo-Bavarian tourist-trap town nestled on the other side of the Cascade mountains. We spent the trip there singing loudly and obnoxiously–there may, in fact, be video evidence of us singing/screaming “Paradise City” by Guns N Roses. I was still running really low on sleep, but high on caffeine from the mega-gulp-size Americano I chugged on the way over. By the time we got to Leavenworth, I had to pee really, really, really, really badly. I had mentioned it at one point in the car, and Emily snipped at me to “Hold it!” so I dutifully held it and fantasized about blasting over the snow-and-ice-covered landscape like some sort of urine-stuffed jetpack anime nightmare, cackling wildly and leaving a trail of yellow snow in my wake. I never claimed that my fantasy world was a good place. Regardless, by the time we got there, I was getting pretty desperate to find a restroom, so we barged into the first store we came upon after we parked, begging to use their facilities. After my moments of blessed relief, I came to and realized I was in the tackiest place I’d ever been in over the course of my life, and this includes Tijuana. I didn’t realize this last time I’d been here, as everything was closed, but the knowledge that I was now entering Tackyville, USA, settled about my shoulders like a bedazzled cloak. It really struck me when I looked up at the wall and saw a truly terrible painting of a nude woman. It was clear from this painting that the artist wanted to solely paint some breasts, based on the way they were carefully rendered and lighted, but ultimately decided he needed to add the rest of the body as well, the aspects of which he was obviously less familiar as the face resembled nothing so much as a melted candle. Nearly everything in the store was tagged “I love junk”, so I suppose at least they don’t believe they’re getting anything over on the visitors.

^{I wonder what sort of “goods” they “sell” here?}

We hit the tacky tourism jackpot with a store dedicated solely to Christmas, which particularly specialized in a series of “life-size” elves ripped straight from my darkest nightmares. These elves did not grin jollily, they leered. They were not gesticulating merrily with their hands, they were groping. I’m certain their mouths were frozen in place while mouthing satanic curses. Their eyes follow you around the room, piercing you, letting you know they’re watching, always watching. I did not like these elves, and, in fact, wanted to set fire to the store in a bold act of heroism.

As I progressed through the store, flicking my bic, I discovered that just about anything can be turned Christmassy to turn a profit on this, the most profitable holiday of the year.

Really, nothing says Christmas like a fiber optic angel. Unless it’s a glittery boobed, hairy-chested army merman.

They also had a statuette of Santa praying over the baby Jesus’ manger, that moved and played music when you turned a key at the bottom. The problem was, the movement involved the baby Jesus’ cradle rocking back and forth into Santa’s lap in a terrible religious travesty blowjob.

^{Santa is always watching. Even from dark hallways, always watching}.

More tourist trap tackiness under the cut

A little nostalgia

August 26, 2010 15 Comments read Masticating With Mellzah, Travel

Ten years ago today, I left San Diego for Taipei, with layovers in Seattle and Tokyo. There are so many subjects that I never even touched upon. One of these years, maybe I’ll finish writing about it. Is there even any interest in hearing the rest of the stories?

It’s strange, the things you miss. Yes, I would love to go back and revisit the National Palace Museum and see festivals and check out temples, and of course I miss all of the wonderful exchange students (though they wouldn’t be there, should I return)…but the thing I’ve been actively craving for the last decade? Street food. Not even high-quality Taiwanese restaurant food, but street food. The spicy beef noodle soup I used to bring home in a clear plastic bag, the bubble tea, the long, rectangular crispy dumplings, candied haw, green onion pancakes, red bean-stuffed pancakes, EVERYTHING ON A STICK…the list goes on. Some things, like bubble tea, have taken off in the area and I can acquire them when the craving turns into a desperate need. Other things, I’ve been futilely trying to purchase or make myself ever since. Sadly, the closest thing I’ve found to the beef noodle soup is a frozen food version from the 99 Ranch Market–whenever I’ve spied something that might be right on a Chinese restaurant menu, the noodles have been wrong or the broth is wrong, and the tastebuds searching for that particular sensory memory are disappointed again.

I can hardly believe it’s been ten years. It doesn’t nearly feel that long ago! If it were more recent, I’d stand a chance of finding the instant noodle commercial that Beth and I were in on youtube…but sadly, ten years is a long time tech-wise. I don’t even know whom I might contact to try to get a copy for myself. As it stands, I don’t even know what the hell noodle company it WAS. But I still totally endorse their product. 100%!