LeeGoon

I'll keep this adventure short and sweet because that's all it ever was.

Setting:

Lee and I both have season passes to Lagoon (park of amusement). We've been there twice together. It's creepy for oh so many reasons.

1. We are both kind of seedy looking guys.
2. We are the oldest human beings at Lagoon without child accompaniment.
3. Lots of vaguely homosexual contact from two heterosexual men.
4. Teens girls realizing their sexuality in public with acne riddled boys wearing oversized black clothing.
5. The embarrassment of not being able to win one another a large stuffed animal.

Some rides require straddling. Take for instance the Jet Star II:




It's a great little coaster built in the 1970s for the price of $500,000.00. Lots of lateral g's and a double helix you could lose an arm on. However, every section of the car requires two riders.



I'm not small, and Lee is of a larger carriage than I. We've been through this twice and it doesn't seem to matter who goes in back or who sits up front. The two of us don't really fit. Ride operators generally stare working up the nerve to ask us to leave, but the give up after about five seconds of non-action.

Our best ride together, as a team, is probably the Tilt-a-Whirl.

Enjoy:





Lagoon is a hard place to get a picture taken. Pictures aren't the objective. Lagoon is for fun. But I didn't tote my camera around, sealed safely in a zip-lock bag, in too tight jeans all day for nothing.

As we left I snapped a few more photographs.





Goodnight, Lagoon. Goodnight, blog.

Mona, UT---Lavender Days

Sitting in front of a computer resizing pictures and formating blog entries is not an adventure, and since I've been trying to cram my remaining days before law school with as much adventure as possible, I haven't been around here much. Now law school is upon me, the adventures have been had, and hopefully I'll get at least three or four of those adventures up here before Jesus comes.

In the past three months or so I took approximately 700 photographs of various adventure. Big adventures in far off countries. Little adventures at local amusement spots. Many pictures. Many adventures.

So where to start?

To me there is no question about it: Lavender Days.

This was the quintessential adventure because it was all adventures rolled into one.

Lavender days can best be described as a small town fair, renaissance festival, old west shoot-out, bad high school play, and creepy multilevel marketing party all rolled into one.

Don't believe me? Behold!

We arrive at 12:00, just in time to catch the Wild West Shoot-Out. Now I don't know about you, but to me the ideal shoot-out should go a little like this:

Step One: Poker table gets thrown over.

Step Two: Guns are drawn and shooting ensues.

Step Three: All present join into the fight regardless of association.

Step Four (optional): Town drunk falls into trough of water.

Step Five: The black-vested, silver-starred sheriff picks off the last of the ne'er do wells, who happens to be standing in front of a second story window, or possibly on a balcony, and gracefully falls into a serendipitously placed hay wagon.

Unfortunately, what we witnessed was five minutes of poorly improvised generally escalating dialog followed by a single unimpressive cap burst. Repeat for 60 minutes.

I don't know why I didn't take any pictures of this. Probably because in still frame it would have looked like a normal gunfight, except the players were wearing Van Huessen shirts.

But we got bored, and two of my friends went to sit in a wagon that was slightly back stage. Made sense to me.





"Sitting in a wagon hardly constitutes adventure!" you say. I respond, "Hey, where did you ever sit that was so great?!?" Unless you've ridden a mechanical bull or a falling a-bomb, I don't want to hear it.

Besides, check out this Olde Barrel of Fune that I sat in!





Whoaaaa!





Sitting isn't your thing? Lavender Days offers many options for the vertically inclined patron.





A woman, totally unbidden but not totally unwelcomed, started flogging me from behind.





She didn't quite have the vocabulary to be a convincing time traveler. When I tell her that the stocks aren't "that bad" she corrects me in haste.

"Aye, not at all! Sometimes ye wouldst be in the stocks for day, perhaps even a fortnight. Ladies and gentlemen would fill the olde towne square and wouldst pelt you with rotten produce, and perchance even spit upon thee."

Without thinking I say, "Sounds a lot like working in a cubicle."

It doesn't really sound like working in a cubicle, but it was still one of those jokes people laughed at, including this wench. She should have been more careful. I know the cubicle wasn't invented until after the industrial revolution and her cover is blown.

But suspension of disbelief isn't the only thing disappearing. Behold Erik the Red!





I think in that picture he had just summoned some children from the nether realm while his son stands confidently behind him.

Erik has a vaguely Scottish, Irish, Euro, Mr. & Mrs. Howell accent. It's not shared by anyone in the family. So apparently Erik immigrated from his homeland. He claims to be a gypsie, so his story checks out.

At one point he asks for some burly men from the audience. I don't swear, but darn this beard! I'm about to come toe to toe with one of my worst fears: being called into a magic show.

The trick is me and this other (fat) dude supposedly pull a rope "through" Erik. It was kind of a crappy trick. Without further ado, here are the photographs. Please notice me gagging after having to examine Erik's sweaty, gypsie vest.














Don't clap. Say huzzah! (Erik insists.)


After this, there is only one thing that would make me feel better.





A little peasant boy gives me a pig to kill. I don't think he thought I would destroy it. I felt bad when the blacksmith had to come and help pull the lifeless, stuffing knocked out, burlap animal off the end of my spear, but I had a lot of aggression to work out.








The End.