<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d3640593\x26blogName\x3dHugo+Stop\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dSILVER\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://hugostop.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://hugostop.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-2903925045748676271', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

 



I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

I Approve Of These Links

- A Blog Supreme
- AdamRiff
- AdFreak
- Hermitology
- Losanjealous
- Piano Jazz


Monday, June 27   >>

DISNEYLAND CAN ROT IN HELL

I'm kidding.

On the Saturday that just passed, The Girlfriend, The Sister, The Cousin From Ecuador Who Eats Burgers With A Fork And Knife, and I went to Disneyland.

It was the second time in, like, 7 weeks since I've been there. We all went to show The Cousin [...] around. It wasn't the happiest place on earth that day.

There were lots of people. I did not like that.

What I did like was the stuff I'd never seen. For the first time, I went into A Bug's Land (boy, I felt SO small!) with The Girlfriend, and we got on all the rides aimed at the 2-7 demographic.

The Girlfriend and I split from the group to listen to some jazz music in the fake Bourbon Street area. I always want to sit and listen, but never get to because I'm always at Disneyland with people who don't give a shit about jazz. Finally, this time, I did.

We sat through two sets, and the guitarist handed us some show-us-your-tits beads for supportin' the music, man. He was a cool cat (yeah, you heard it, "cat") and pretty much jazzed the house (notice I did not say "rock the house").

On the Monorail ("monorail!"), 3 monks had sat next to me. These were the same monks I had seen just hours earlier on the other side of the park. Orange clothing caught my eye, and I had thought:

I'm sitting on Disneyland's Monorail, the most unride-ish ride on Disneyland, next to three monks.

As I was swinging my new beads all over like a kid whose parents forgot his Ritalin, I had struck the monk right on his chest.

He gave me the biggest, mean-spirited, scariest, most "I'm going to do something extremely monk-ish/magical/biologically alterting on you" look.

I was terrified, and I turned to The Girlfriend who responded with "WHAT? WHY ARE YOU WHISPERING TO ME?!"

Next time you're on the Monorail, don't sit next to the monks.

Don't sit next to the monks.

In other news, I've grown a tail overnight. Bye.