Cultivate a friendly sense of competition. In other words, talk trash. Only one team can win—and you want it to be you, right? Right.

You’ll need a few basic strategies: don’t waste time running from land to land. Inasmuch as it’s possible, stick with the rides around you. And bring snacks. No food breaks. Minimal potty breaks. You are in it to win it! It’s a race, after all! The point isn’t merely to ride all the rides—it’s to be the first team to do it.

Get to Disneyland about 30 minutes before it opens. You’re going to have to wait in line, but it will be worth it. They’ll let you into the park, and then queue everyone up in Main Street until the minute the park actually opens. You want to be at the front—right up against the rope to get into Fantasyland.

That’s right. Fantasyland is the place to start. BOOK IT—and I mean a no-holds-barred, leap-over-wayward-strollers-and-small-children kind of booking-it—to Peter Pan. Once the line for that ride starts, it will never wane. You definitely want to be first in line for that. From there, hit up the other popular Fantasyland attractions: Toad’s Wild Ride, the Teacups, and Alice in Wonderland. In the first 20 minutes, you can have ridden 4 rides.

While you’re in line (or even on the rides), plan the rest of your strategies. Send one person to get FastPasses for rides while the other waits in line. (The rules allow this; the rules state that both teams must leave each ride together. So you can avail yourself of single-rider lines, you can go to the bathroom while one person holds your place in line, etc. The only thing you can’t do is ride different rides at the same time.) You cannot win this race without making good use of FastPasses and single rider lines. They can save you hours ultimately—particularly on rides like Indiana Jones, Splash Mountain, Space Mountain, Roger Rabbit, and Star Tours. As often as you can get FastPasses, get them. From now on, this is how you roll:

There’s a total of 33 rides in Disneyland Park. Okay, wait. That’s not true, officially. Officially there is only one ride in Disneyland Park (Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride)—everything else is called an attraction. But attraction also includes shows, and for the purposes of this race, you aren’t interested in that. You’re only obligated to ride things that can be ridden. Like Peter Pan. And the Mark Twain riverboat. Or the Matterhorn—but you’ve picked a year that it’s closed for renovations. C’est. La. Vie.

click to enlarge

Another thing you have to remember is that some rides close after dark. That’s right. Mark those out, and don’t forget! Storybook Canal, the Main Street carriages, Alice in Wonderland. Don’t forget!

Once you have your first FastPass, ride other rides nearby to fill up the time. Again, no aimless wandering. Stay focused!

But no running! If they catch you running, the cast members will glare at you like an old-fashioned schoolmarm and tell you “Walk, Please.” Generally, the ride operators and food vendors won’t care, but the official/corporate-looking Disney folks (the “Disney suits,” as you might start calling them) will. Learn to run frantically—and abruptly stop and hiss “suit” to your partner when one comes into view. Perfect the fine art of speed-walking and smiling innocently.

Also, make use of your super cute t-shirts. Tell everyone who asks about the race. Convince them that they want your team to win. You’ll find that many of them will offer to stall your opponents should they meet them. They’ll offer to talk to them, to block line entrances, to push their strollers in the way, and so on.

Also make friends with ride operators. One of them might even be so amused by your quest, that he’ll offer you three carte blanche fast-passes, to be used on any ride you want.

Ha! Who’s unstoppable now! Save those passes for the end, though; you have plenty of time still. And you might need them later.

Get used to the Rivers of America—you’re going to have to circle that island (and Mike Fink’s cabin) four times: once on the Mark Twain riverboat, then again on the Sailing Ship Colombia, again on the canoes, and finally back and forth on the rafts. And, you’ll get a view of the cabin again (in case you miss it) when you ride the train.

Listen to the ride operators while you’re in line—you might be able to skip ahead in ToonTown by virtue of being the only “party of 2″ that’s paying attention. The ride operators just need 2 people to fill the roller coaster before it takes off. Race ahead to the front of the line; you’ve just saved yourself 30 minutes.

As it gets dark, you’ll want to pull out special fun stuff—like glow bracelets. Because who doesn’t love those?

At the end of the day, with the last few rides remaining, whip out those special passes. Save yourself 25 minutes on Finding Nemo’s Submarines and 20 minutes on Pirates of the Caribbean.

Then at last, head to your final ride: the Haunted House. Turn in your special pass only to find there is no line and you wasted it. Oh well. Get into that old creepy elevator, scream when some random janitor jumps out and cackles insanely, and then truly panic when—moments before the win is yours—the ride breaks down.

Impatiently sit with that hitchhiking ghost while the ride is repaired. Make it out only a few minutes later than planned.

Check with the other team—confirm that they aren’t quite done yet… Victory is yours! A whopping 10 hours and 20 minutes!! Woot.

Kiss the ground beneath your feet. Only not really, because do you have any idea how many dirty feet have trampled that ground today? Gross.

Finally, make sure you ask for a prize. Head into one of the Main Street shops, explain your exploits to the shopkeeper, and ask if he has any nifty badges he can give you. We were made honorary citizens of Disneyland, and given “I’m celebrating” badges with “riding all the attractions” written in with a sharpie.

And that’s how you do it: ride all the rides in 10 hours and 20 minutes. Obviously, this is no lightweight competition. You’ve got to want it bad. You’ve got to be willing to give an arm and a leg for it—because, really, that’s about what it’ll cost you. After the race, you won’t be able to move your legs or left arm (thanks, canoes) for a day or two, and you’ll have a behemoth blister on one foot.

But it will be worth it. It will totally be worth it.

Here’s a picture to keep your spirits up:

the 2012 (maybe annual) disney dizzy day race.

32 rides
1 park
2 teams
1 day
GAME ON!

Can we ride every ride in disneyland in one day? Can we do it before the other team? WE MEAN TO FIND OUT!

Stay tuned! I’ll be tweeting throughout, too. #dizzyday
LET THE GAMES BEGIN

no matter how lovely you think curls are, there is no way around the fact: curls do not make for good bangs.

and that’s all i really ever wanted.

#almost

“I’m a gypsy in spirit only,”
she confessed.
“I travel in gardens and bedrooms,
basements and attics,
around corners,
through doorways and windows,
along sidewalks, up stairs,
over carpets, down drainpipes,
in the sky, with friends,
lovers and children and heroes;
perceived, remembered,
imagined, distorted, and clarified.”

- Tom Robbins

When I say super excited, I mean super super excited. Pumped. Floored. Stoked. Psyched. Whatever the new cool, hip way of saying completely and entirely beside myself with anticipation, excitement, and delight is, that’s what I was. I was going to actually get to interview my Congresswoman! I was pumped. Way way way pumped.

Imagine then my utter disappointment when I arrived at Ms. Sanchez’s office and was treated with complete disdain, incivility, and even hostility. Yes. Really.

I was ushered into Ms. Sanchez’s office by her aide, but Ms. Sanchez was rifling around her desk. She didn’t greet me, she didn’t smile at me—she didn’t even look up. A few minutes passed, and I wondered if I was supposed to introduce myself first (where’s my copy of Debrett’s Guide to Meeting Congresspeople?). I took a step forward, and the aide intervened, told me to take a seat.

More time of being ignored passed. Finally, Ms. Sanchez came over. I extended my hand; we shook. I introduced myself briefly, thanked her for taking the time to speak with me, and told her I counted this as a real privilege. She stared at me blankly: no response, no words, no smile, nothing. She just sat down.

Before I run through a few specifics of the interview, let me say this:

Throughout the entire session, she was cold and unresponsive. She stared at me unblinkingly, and I was consistently made to feel like a waste of her time and an inconvenience. At no time did she encourage me, nod in understanding, or seem remotely interested in my questions. The atmosphere was hostile, heavy, and intimidating. Her manner was wholly dismissive, ungracious, and bordering on impolite. Had I been a journalist or someone in an antagonistic position, I might have expected that. However, as a mere graduate student from her alma mater, I did not feel that I warranted that degree (or any degree) of hostility. As a constituent, I feel that I warranted quite a bit more civility—at the least.

Overall, I was left with the impression of a woman without a leadership philosophy, a woman who is just sitting at the right desk. She spoke with little or no conviction about leadership. Her most inspired statements were the ones when she spoke about herself and her accomplishments (“I’m the only one doing the right thing,” she said—several times. The only one. The only one in Congress, the only one in Orange County) or against her dissenters (she freely denigrated those who did not agree with her, without remorse or caution). It may be that Ms. Sanchez has done a fair job voting and passing laws on the Hill—I do not know—but I have to say, I am ashamed to have such a person representing me.

On to the nitty-gritty:

One of my questions had to do with diversity and how to bring people into a shared vision. Ms. Sanchez ignored that aspect of the question and focused on how she deals with people who openly disagree with her views. Many Congresspeople, she told me, just avoid talking to the dissenters, but she believes that everyone has a right to speak. “Everyone gets a mic. Everyone gets their 3 minutes,” she said. And then she shrugged.

She went on, and while I have no exact quotes, the meaning I took away was this: you let people talk because once they have been given a chance to speak, they no longer have a right to complain. She never mentioned her desire to hear what people were saying, to see or understand their viewpoint, or to be remotely conciliatory toward them. She seemed rather like a demigod who, having thrown a favor down (the 3 minutes at the mic), is utterly indifferent to dissent.

Furthermore, in speaking about her dissenters, her tone—and even her words at several times—was mocking, dismissive, and just plain rude. I was incensed by some of the things she said. I was appalled that she was even saying them. Firstly, whether or not her constituents all support her, they are still the people she is supposed to represent—not people she is supposed to ridicule, generalize, and scorn. Secondly, she needs to hire a new PR person. Someone should have told her that, whatever her personal views on her constituents are, she can’t display that sort of vitriol publicly. #PRfail #yourefired

At another point, I asked how a leader in her position navigates between personal conscience and the will of her constituents. Surely some balance is required, I suggested. I have always been interested in the fine line that our representatives must walk, the line between representing the people and following their own conscience. Ms. Sanchez stared at me like I was an idiot, like I was from another planet—and an idiot on that planet. “If all my constituents decided that they wanted to line up all the 15-18 year-olds in front of a firing squad and shoot them, I would vote against it,” she informed me flatly. “I have a strong moral compass.”

I wanted to ask exactly how often that situation had arisen, but decorum prevailed, and I just nodded politely. (Clearly, she has a really high view of her constituents and the issues we might try and raise. If you’re in CA-47, you might want to think about that.)

Toward the end of the time, I asked what leadership quality she would most like to see in today’s young leaders. She thought for quite a while, hemmed and hawed (she did a lot of hemming and hawing throughout, actually, in a manner faintly reminiscent of a stereotypical “valley girl”). When she answered at last, she spoke of the need for selflessness, for service above self. You cannot have a leader without followers, and people don’t want to be led by selfish people. Also, a leader doesn’t always have to be a leader, she told me. She proceeded to say that, although she is a leader in politics, she is not a leader in church. “I don’t want to be the guy who hands out the bread things,” she told me flatly.

Would that be the “bread things” that other Catholics call “Christ’s own body”? I wanted to ask, but didn’t. #stupiddecorum

Funny as the quote is, though, it’s very telling about her view of leadership. Clearly she views leadership as a hat to be worn, something tied exclusively to formal position. In my class, we talk a lot about leading from any chair, about being a leader despite your official position, leading by example in whatever we do, etc. The current trend in leadership studies is toward empowering people to empower others, leading in the small things as well as the big things.

Her thoughts on selflessness were somewhat in line with the kind of leadership I am studying, and those thoughts might have carried more weight if she hadn’t answered my last question the way she did. I told her we were compiling a list of role models and leaders, and I asked who she admired and sought to emulate, who had shaped her into the leader she is.

“Is there anyone you think should go on the list?” I asked.

“Me,” she said.

I thought she was joking, but she wasn’t.

“Her head of hair was something, a labyrinthine, billowing wreath of spirals and ringlets, fuzzy as twine and large enough for use as Christmas ornamentation. All the disquiet of her childhood seemed to have passed into the convolutions of her sinuous thicket of hair. Her irreversible hair. You could polish pots with it and no more alter its construction than if it were harvested from the inky depths of the sea, some kind of wiry reef-building organism, a dense living onyx hybrid of coral and shrub, perhaps possessing medicinal properties. For three hours she held Coleman entranced by her comedy, her outrage, her hair, and by her flair for manufacturing excitement, by a frenzied, untrained adolescent intellect and an actressy ability to enkindle herself and believe her every exaggeration… But when he got her back to Sullivan Street that evening, everything changed. It turned out that she had no idea in the world who she was. Once you’d made your way past the hair, all she was was molten.” -Philip Roth