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Out-of-state experience
I covered Disney's new theme park, California Adventure. It made me miss the Golden State.

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By David Vernon

Feb. 15, 2001 | It's hard for anyone to live in Southern California and not be touched by the shadow of Disney. Half the struggling screenwriters I know are temps or work full-time in various Disney offices. I recently ran across an old friend who had been working in animation for Disney. She was assigned to the latest Dalmatian movie: Since the lead dog was supposed to be a female, her job was to spend the whole day digitally erasing its male genitalia.

For the last few months, I'd been hearing whispers from my friends about Disney's latest theme park, California Adventure. For two years, it was this gigantic hole in the ground -- a view from the monorail didn't give much more information. It seemed big, but not really that big.




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Then I was invited to cover the opening of California Adventure, to get to the bottom of the hole, as it were.

The first thing I found out was where I fit in on the food chain of journalists. (No, I couldn't bring a guest, I'd have to come alone. Yes, I would be invited to the premiere of the latest Muppets 3-D movie, but no, I could not attend the Wolfgang Puck party.) I was invited to attend the Media Day and the park's grand opening.

Mostly I was concerned about having to go alone. I'd seen people alone at theme parks and they always seemed a little bit sad. They often turned around and tried to befriend the people standing in line with them. They showed off their Disney pins and talked about the long conversation they had with Roger Rabbit. I didn't want to be one of them.

Then it turned out that I wasn't going to be alone. I was going to have my own media host. This seemed like a fun idea. But then another fear crept into my head. What if I didn't like my media host? I'd have to spend the entire day with them. After about an hour or so, like a blind date that wasn't working out, could I say something? ("You know, this isn't about you ...")

I started thinking about the kind of media host I'd want. Someone upbeat, but not too upbeat. Someone who wouldn't resent having to spend the entire day in the park with me. Someone who had stories, but not too many. Someone who liked Ben Folds Five and the films of Pedro Almodóvar, and long walks on the beach would be nice too.

When the day of the media event finally came, I met my media host, a vivacious woman named Wendy Johnson. She admitted that this was her first time as a media host and I admitted that this was the first time I'd had a media host. Wendy then helped get me through crowds and catered to my every selfish whim. (Want me to go get you a fruit smoothie while you're at that press conference?) She even brought some rain ponchos from home for us both to wear during the water-raft ride. It occurred to me that this is a woman who should be protecting the president, not schlepping fruit smoothies around for a lowly writer such as myself.

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