Toluu

Disney Diaries

Tales From Behind the Fur

Waiting Just Around the RiverbendAugust 23

Tranny, T-girl, shemale, chick with dick, shim, gender-bender, gal with bells, transgender, ladyboy, pre-op . . .

She is the hottest Pocahontas I've ever seen. Full pouty lips set in an angular jaw. Deep brown eyes with long lashes that generate actual wind-speed when she blinks. She has long, tanned legs, shaped from hours of volleyball on the sands of Ipanema. And perfect, small breasts.

In her leather tunic, she casts the perfect image of a proud Native American princess. I've been attracted to her since I first saw her in Camp Minniemickey, crouched in a circle of children, showing them how to feed birds manageable crumbs of hot dog bun.

"Not too much," she cooed, offering a pinky-nail-sized bite to a curious squirrel. "They shouldn't learn to depend on us." Her slightly broken Portuguese accent made the whole scene adorable.

When I met her at the party last night, I'd already had a half dozen Pooh-psicles - a whimsical mix of rum, 7-Up, mint leaves and Pooh-berries (which looked suspiciously like blueberries, but who am I to complain - they were free) - so the filter between my brain and mouth was pretty non-existent.

"You're a good person," I declared, ha

I Am Deformed/ And I am BeautifulJuly 20

I didn't want to accept the news that Disney is shutting down Pleasure Island. It felt like a cold blood murder to me, the senseless destruction of something wonderful in the name of consumerism? Barbaric.

When I first landed in Orlando from LA, PI was my purgatory. The ultra-pristine lands of Disney World were too contrived, too pristine, too orderly. But there was a gentle chaos in PI that appealed to my baser anarchic nature. The crooked turnstiles were a welcome sign, inviting me into a park whose theme was discord and frivolity. It was Pan's park, and Dionysus and any character who made the world a little more interesting by virtue of his inability to conform.

For anyone who doesn't know it, Pleasure Island is a life force. It writhes like a rabid animal, pinned to the ground by white hot shafts of light that drop from the thick clouds overhead. It chatters like an angry squirrel, mutters like a lecherous outpatient stranded in the swamp in a garish wheelchair. Bucking and shivering against the surrounding golf courses and retirement resorts, it refuses to lie quietly. It spits. It groans. It struggles with a resolve that intensifies as the night goes on, cackling and squealing, grunt

Like a Snowflake In a Fiery GripJune 2

Whether it's deliberate distraction or accidental osmosis, I find myself learning more than I ever cared to know about the characters that make up the animated films of Walt Disney. I've learned Sleeping Beauty’s real name (Aurora) and which prince goes with which princess. Splinters of trivia stick in my memory and refuse to dislodge.

“Where’s the bathroom?” a guest asked me one day.

“Just up ahead on your right,” I said, pointing naturally with two fingers. “Just past the Tree of Life, where you’ll be interested to know there are 325 animals carved into the trunk and branches.”

I cautiously watch The Eyes And Ears for reports of a Guest passing at one of the parks, but that news never comes. Disney World remains immune.

About a month ago, I began researching death, bookmarking web pages that outlined the possibilities of immortality: Taoist sites with hopeful messages of reincarnation, discussion boards about stem cell research and nanotechnology, dark magic. I've spent entire nights researching cryonics, the historically disastrous “science” of freezing a body into a state of suspended animation, which, ironically, supposedly attracted Walt Disney (Ther

Pink Elephants On ParadeApril 22

I've been feeling really sick the last couple of days - congestion, nausea, burning fevers at night. It's rare that I get sick, so I'm always a little bit in denial when it happens. "It's probably just allergies," is my stock blow-off response. After a sleepless night of the sweats, however, I finally decided I had to do something.

I didn't want to miss work, so instead, I brought a little bottle of Robitussin to DAK with me. I haven't had cough syrup since my raver days, “strobing” behind the speakers, so dosage is completely foreign to me. I simply decided that every time I felt a cough, I'd take hit from the bottle. In hindsight, I'm pretty sure that wasn't how it was meant to be used, but it certainly took care of my symptoms. In fact, by 11 am, most of the bottle was gone and the park was starting to melt into an Impressionistic Wonderland.

I began to see Animal Kingdom as a living organism, a creature that pulsed and grew with its own energy. Each of the lands became an extremity - Camp Minniemickey an arm, Dinoland a leg, the Tree of Life with all its carved totems became the womb of Animal Kingdom. The animals in their habitats were excited little organs, cleaning and eating and perfor

Drink Up Me 'Earties Yo HoApril 9

Maybe I wear too much black. Maybe I sketch too many skulls or obsess over E.A. Poe and Morrissey. Or maybe I'm just in a spiritual cul-de-sac right now, looking for double chocolate relevance in a vanilla circumstance.

Whatever the case, I can now confirm the rumors. I was on the Pirates ride at Magic Kingdom yesterday with an adorable greeter - dirty blond hair, pouty lips, a Scottish accent. We were light petting in the boat when the solitary woman in the back row, right behind us, pulled out a mason jar. I probably wouldn't have noticed her since she was almost completely smothered by a black dress, but at the time, I was half-turned around nibbling my greeter's ear, and I couldn't help but notice a gleam of light as she unscrewed the tin cap. Over the Jolly Roger BGM, I could hear the woman sobbing, her shoulders shaking out of sync with the drunken sailor tack of the boat's track.

I positioned my date's hand in my crotch (as you do) to keep her distracted while I watched the woman through a veil of dirty blond hair. Very carefully, she dislodged the contents of the jar into her hand. Under the dim light of the caverns, it looked like dirt, but I've seen her brand of sorrow before, and I knew