One Sight, No Sounds - Disneyland

Yep, this picture is the sum total of my trip to Disneyland last weekend. One goofy photo. Or one photo of Goofy. Take your pick.

Oh, I had fully intended to make this a full-blown blog piece with pictures, videos, the whole nine yards. I had my digital camera with me as well as my Flip Video.

Except for this singular instance shown above, I never bothered to take them out of my fanny pack.

And, at the end of the day, I didn't really care.

Me and Disneyland. It's now an uneasy relationship. Given that, when I was a kid, I'd tune into the Sunday night Disney show and fantasize about going there. I dreamt of spending days flying like Peter Pan, shooting like Davy Crockett, and puking my lunch up on one of those spinning teacups.

Now that I live in Southern California and in close proximity to the alleged "happiest place on earth," I really only venture down to Anaheim when there's an out-of-town visitor who needs to be amused at totally exorbitant prices. Such was the case last Saturday, so my chum from Dallas along with Mr. Anonymous from the Barbara Judith Deluxe Apartments on Hollywood Boulevard made the trek to the land of trams and overpriced churros.

Up to now, I can get my fill of Disneyland in one visit a year.

I'm thinking now that gets extended a bit. To perhaps one trip per decade.

I've become my father. He used to take me and some other youngsters to whatever local amusement park was the rage at the time. While we ran around like lunatics from one ride to another, Dad would stay on the ground.

"I'll be sitting on that bench."

"I'll be over by the bathroom."

"I'll be getting something to drink, except I don't think they serve beer here."

That's probably me the very next time I go to Disneyland. Oh, yeah, in ten years or so. And they definitely don't serve beer there.

A good deal of my newfound disdain is physical. A chronic arthritic right knee no longer makes me the greatest thrill ride companion. I'm no longer what you call "easibly loadable." The cars or boats or logs or spaceships are more suited for Billy Barty and it's tough for me to scrunch up into whatever awkward sitting position is needed for my fun-filled journey with Indiana Jones, Captain Jack Sparrow, and Brer Rabbit.

By the end of my visit, it became painfully obvious that my better days at Disneyland were in years from the previous century. I looked longingly and most inappropriately at folks tooling around in those motorized wheelchairs. Can I use that when you're done, miss?

Aside from my cartilege-less right knee, there was something else missing last weekend at Walt's backyard. The sense of wonder and spontaniety. Everything seemed so rehearsed. There was no surprise when the boulder rolls toward your jeep on the Indiana Jones ride. I saw all the sharp turns coming on the Matterhorn. And, on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, that dog still won't let those three jailed scalawags have the key to the prison cell.

Yawn.

Oh, there were some interesting new tidbits for me during my visit. For instance, the apparently new and already exploited "single rider ticket" scam. There are Disneyland-o-philes out there who canvas all the available websites and blogs to uncover new ways to launch their Magic Kingdom attack. For them, it's the invasion of Normandy all over again.

Well, Mr. Anonymous has found a wonderful way to beat the ever present Disney-lines. You cut to the beginning of the line with a "single rider ticket." It's supposedly ideal for those traveling alone and have nobody to talk to during the hour they are waiting to ride Space Mountain. Except few Disney ride personnel seem to check. We were three people last Saturday and were "single riders" every time. Is it "single" as in "by yourself?" Or "single" as in "not married?" I rationalized my participation in this scam by voting for the latter. When we were standing at the head of this very special line, I looked around to find myself surrounded by folks in wheelchairs. Is it "single" as in the "use of only one limb?" I rationalized even more. Heck, my right leg was giving me problems. I qualify to be here. I'll ride in the back seat of the log, thank you very much.

I rarely venture onto the well-traveled "It's A Small World" attraction, mainly because I can get the very same experience by driving crosstown on Olympic Boulevard. But we gave it a spin last Saturday to see their new conveyances. Much publicity was accorded several years ago when they closed the ride for renovations. It seems that, since 1965, America's weight proportions have doubled and the Small World boats were scraping the bottom of the river. Except the new boats have not taken into account America's vertical growth either. It's truly a small world with even smaller legroom.

Meanwhile, inside the tribute to the world, I noted that the largest selection of single dolls were found in the part of the ride saluting Mexico. Or was that Arizona? Hard to tell. So, is Disney now allocating these robots to the demographic proportions of the U.S. population? I tried to do a quick count but my knee, scrunched up against my elbow, kept getting in the way. Meanwhile, when we sailed past the United States, I couldn't help but notice that all the American dolls were in overalls and standing in front of a barn. Is that what Disney thinks of the youth in this country? That they're all in a Mickey Rooney-Judy Garland musical? Hell, we're not all blue collar hicks. After all, it would cost a family of four over 300 dollars just to get into the park.

The highlight of my day was a sit-down meal at the Blue Bayou Cafe in the heart of the Pirates ride. But, then again, I could have enjoyed an equally fine meal elsewhere at a place that doesn't charge me 76 bucks to walk into the restaurant. Still, the food was delicious and the air conditioning was on full blast. The Disney wait staff, manufactured by a subsidiary of the company that created the Stepford Wives, flashed smiles that were so phony that they could all run for Congress. Except Kristin, our waitress, wonderfully let her guard down for a moment. When she told us that she would be going on her meal break in a few minutes, we asked what she would be dining on.

"Oh, I bring my food. I don't eat here."

A-ha. A really honest moment with a Disney employee. She quickly backpedaled away from her faux pas with some vegan explanation. It probably didn't help. Disney surveillance cameras likely caught her and she was undoubtedly shot by a firing squad on Sunday morning someplace in the bowels of Frontierland.

It's also been a while since I saw the Abraham Lincoln exhibit which was orignally housed at the New York World's Fair. Lincoln, as lifelike as ever, sounds nothing like Raymond Massey but still makes more sense than any President in the last century. In our American society today, Abe's words seem even more poignant as our nation has traveled so far away from those ideals. When you exit the theater, you run smack into a portrait of Barack Obama. Patrons are immediately bitchslapped back to reality.

At the end of every Disney day, there are the requisite fireworks over Sleeping Beauty's Castle and how she can continue to doze amid all that racket is a mystery to me. A real life Tinker Bell soars around to several of the usual Disney soundtracks and I paid attention only to see if any exploding shell got too close to one of her wings. The crowd oohs and aahs at all the right moments as tunes from Disney classic films play in the background. Oh, look, it's Mary Poppins flying around. Or was that a giant garbage bag sliding up and down a wire? I was too far away to tell.

But, also far away enough to soak up one wonderful moment. Tinker Bell flying around the castle. Just like when I was eight and watching the "Wonderful World of Color." Dreaming about a visit to Disneyland itself.

Oh, okay, I'll come back again.

Just as long as I can sit down.

Dinner last night: Bourbon Street omelette at the Cheesecake Factory.