SEARCHING FOR MY INNER CHILD
Unheated, the congealed Cinnabon rolls didn't taste nearly as good as I had remembered from the New Jersey Turnpike. Ever the improviser, the Blue Light Special heated his with a hair dryer. We'd also bought some milk and orange juice the night before which we left in a sink filled with ice, again his idea.
Eating breakfast like this saved time as well as money. Sticking out like sore thumbs, we joined the line of 50 other early birds, all of whom were young families with children and strollers, for the bus to Disney MGM Studios. Upon arriving at the park gates we were instructed to insert the Disneycards we had picked up the night before into the turnstiles and to press our index fingers into the scanners. The cards included our pre-paid admission and worked just like credit cards for the duration of our visit. Not having bags helped us get in more quickly than most of the families.
Although rain had been predicted, the weather was more chilly and cloudy than wet. We rushed to the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. It featured a lame Rod Serling tie-in and an out-of-control elevator that induced thrills when the car dropped several stories at a time while the front of the building opened to gray skies.
Because the lines for most of the attractions were relatively short, we didn't have as much time to study the interior details that keep the cattle from getting too restless during peak periods of attendance. In fact, I don't think we ever had to wait more than 20 minutes even when we didn't have a Fast Pass which allows guests to reserve their entry time for most popular attractions, one at a time.
At the Aerosmith Rock 'n Roller Coaster, I couldn't believe that Ileana Douglas, whom I've always associated with hip independent films, would appear in a Disneyworld attraction, but there she was, playing the band's manager in a video. Steven Tyler barely had time to tell her to arrange for transportation to a free concert before we were ushered onto the loading platform. The Blue Light Special asked if we could wait to be seated in the first row of the first car. The cast member, who didn't look entirely awake, politely but firmly refused.
While I never would ask for special treatment myself, I nearly bellowed "moo." Disney bills itself as a place where "your dreams come true," a claim that might have greater resonance if you've ever fantasized about being a cow. The well-oiled operation is designed to get the maximum number of people to spend as much money as possible on merchandise and food in between long waits for rides that rarely last longer than 2 minutes. But as P.T. Barnum once observed No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.
In spite of my cynicism, the Blue Light Special provoked some long dormant patriotism by announcing It's better in Germany as we exited, a phrase that I already had heard earlier that morning and one that I would hear over and over again until I finally blew up.
You Europeans are all the same I raged. How come you're so eager to become citizens of this country when everything always is so much better in yours?
His ingratitude and insensitivity really stuck in my craw. Access to all four parks in the complex via a two-day hopper pass had been the second half of my Christmas gift. I guess German parents don't teach you that you should keep your mouth shut if you don't have anything nice to say.
Perhaps my expectations regarding the Blue Light Special's maturity were a little high. After all, he couldn't wait to see the attraction based on The Chronicles of Narnia, one of his favorite movies. It turned out to be nothing more than an extended, stale promo accompanied by a live performance of the Ice Queen. Like every other cast member, she must get awfully tired of repeating exactly the same lines over and over again to different herds of people.
I began to despair of ever finding my inner child.
At least the Extreme Stunt Show gave us the opportunity to sit down for nearly an hour while we watching a car chase that included trucks, motorcycles, personal watercraft and a cameo by Herbie, the VW beetle, along with an explosion in a faux French village. And wouldn't you know, the announcer credited Disneyland Paris, for the idea?
As we left, I indulged in my own kind of annoying comparison When I first went to Disneyland in southern California in the 60s, the stunt show featured cowboys on horses. It required more skill and less technology.
Fodors had recommended The Magic of Disney, our next stop. The Blue Light Special insisted he already had seen the brief film about the creative process behind characters such as the dragon voiced by Eddie Murphy in Mulan. More enjoyable were interactive opportunities using touch screens to color or give voice to Disney characters. 
I suggested that Beauty and the Beast had greater relevance for our relationship. After blaming me for flubbing our initial recording of a sing along, the Blue Light Special shocked and embarrassed me by changing the lyrics and accusing the Beast of being gay, very loudly.
This isn't the kind of place to make jokes like that I warned, moving away from him and the booth as quickly as possible.
Silently, we approached the Great Movie Ride. I don't know what I expected but the animatronnic recreation of classic movie scenes were pretty lame aside from the Wizard of Oz. Disney does much better with witches, lions, scarecrows and tin men than characters from a black and white movie, no matter how beloved. Who really needs to see a Humphrey Bogart puppet uttering Here's looking at you kid? Still, I had to give props to the cast member who narrated our tour with cringe-inducing brio. Even at Disney, some people do their boring jobs much better than others.
To avoid the grazing masses, we ate a late, lousy lunch at the ABC Commissary where the Blue Light Special added packet after free packet of mayonnaise and catsup to his gluey asian noodle dish.
Making sure to get my money's worth, huh? I said.
Outside, he insisted on taking my picture for the first time in front of a Desperate Housewives poster.
I am NOT the housewife in this relationship I insisted.
Yeah, but you are desperate he rejoined. Touche.
Walking from New York to San Francisco on the Streets of America is conceived to make you feel like you are on a movie back lot but somehow I don't associate themed eating and shopping opportunities with the art of cinema. On to the Magic Kingdom!
We returned to the main gate and boarded a bus to ticket central where we transferred to a monorail that whisked us to Main Street, U.S.A. After we inserted our Disney cards and the scanner read our index fingers, the Blue Light Special decided to ask a security guard when they started checking guest bags.
September 12 he responded. I guess Disney never does close.
Cinderella's Castle, framed by clearing skies, loomed ahead of us at the center of the park, as recognizable a landmark as any America has to offer.
It's so much smaller than Neuschwanstein in Bavaria observed the Blue Light Special.
Maybe so but there is something undeniably magic about this structure, especially during the fireworks display, even if it exists in my adult mind more to encourage consumption than dreams. It brought back vivid memories of watching The Wonderful World of Disney on our first color television set in El Paso. Kindly Uncle Walt reminded me every Sunday night at 6 p.m. that my parents hadn't taken me back to The Magic Kingdom since an early childhood visit in the late 50s. He practiced visionary synergy even before it had a name using our homes as his platform and children as his salesforce.
We had scheduled our arrival to coincide with the 3 p.m. Disney Dreams Come True, an event that I expected to hate. Instead, my inner child finally awakened as if Rip Van Winkle from his nap. With the Dreams Come True refrain playing repetitively over loudspeakers camouflaged as lamp posts, floats featuring impersonators of all the most famous Disney characters marched past waving cheerfully in all directions. The delighted smiles of the children and parents who surrounded us were almost as irresistible as the fresh faces of the attractive young male dancers and bicycle riders who pretended to be animators.
All the guys are gay whispered the Blue Light Special as we both tried to make definitive eye contact with all the cute princes and other guys who weren't required to wear masks. Apparently, cruising is forbidden on Main Street because neither of us could manage even a flicker of recognition.
Since the crowd at the Magic Kingdom was much larger than the one at the Disney/MGM Studio, we plotted our ride strategy with a map and picked up our first Fast Pass at Big Thunder Mountain Railroad before getting in line for Splash Mountain, a roller coaster ride.
I don't vant to get vet whined the Blue Light Special. He always mispronounces his "w"s when he's tired.
There's more than one way to skin a cat. I mentioned that the ride was inspired by Song of the South, the only Disney movie not available on video or DVD because of its reputation for racism. The Blue Light Special loves having ammunition to fire back at me whenever I bring up German anti-Semitism.
We got in line. Even with the magnification of political correctness, we didn't find any obvious evidence of racism (aside from blinding whiteness of the crowds in the park), though he did get wet.
More than five hours had passed since our last thrill ride, so we left Splash Mountain happy. As we exited, we noticed our images on a computer screen. Mine wasn't particularly flattering but I marveled at how the Blue Light Special manages to smile even for hidden, automated cameras.
We detoured to Adventureland for a no-wait ascent into the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse, a lifestyle that still appeals to me as much as it had when I was a kid. Then back to Frontierland for our Fast Pass reservation on the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Because we arrived between 4 and 5 p.m., we were able to cut the longest line we had yet seen without encountering any hostility from the other guests. Way to go, Disney!
Our third roller coaster ride of the day didn't feel much different from the others, but the camera did capture the whites of Blue Light Special 's eyes in a pantomime of fear that tempted me to fork over $20. I managed to resist the memory extortion.
Although the grounds of the Haunted Mansion allowed me to make some additions to my cemetery photograph collection, the interior proved hardly scary at all. The Blue Light Special, however, confessed that he loved these quaint old rides and put his arm around me once we climbed into our private "Doombuggy." Snuggling closer, I thought immediately of the Tunnel of Love sequence in Side Show and realized that my experience of this particular phenomenon--amusement park romance--previously had been limited to movies, television and Broadway.
Our romantic interlude came to an abrupt end when the Blue Light Special had a temper tantrum during Mickey's Philharmagic, a concert presentation that had been highly recommended by Fodor's. Although the auditorium was only half full, an usher asked us to move from our center seats all the way to the end of the aisle. I feared that the Blue Light Special would make a scene. Instead, after we put on our 3D glasses, he sulked almost until the end, when he couldn't resist singing along to A Whole New World from Aladdin as the magic carpet passed right in front of our eyes.
It would have been much better if we had stayed in the middle he said when I told him I had enjoyed the concert as much as anything we had done all day.
Tomorrowland beckoned. Even after getting a Fast Pass for Space Mountain, we had to wait nearly two hours before we could return. In tribute to the Blue Light Special's passion for public transportation--he's never more engaged than when trying to figure out how to get from Point A to Point B as quickly as possible paying the least expensive fare--we boarded the Tomorrowland Transit Authority which offered a lovely view of the park at twilight and a relaxing opportunity to bicker about what we would do next.
How old are you? I teased, a little wearily, when he demanded that we go on the Mad Tea Party in Fantasyland.
OK, but only if you'll do the AstroOrbiter.
I couldn't quite believe how much energy he put into what I had thought would be a completely girly ride. As he spun our teacup around, quite madly, a lot of the little kids enviously looked our way, perhaps wondering why their daddies weren't quite so energetic or muscular. We betrayed our gayness again at the Astro Orbiter: no two straight men other than luge athletes would stuff themselves into cylinders that were barely long enough for an adult and a small child. I don't think I imagined the discomfort of the people who averted their eyes when we rode down in the elevator afterward.
Space Mountain, where we were able to fly our rocket ships solo in the dark, diminished the level of my self consciousness considerably. Afterwards, I was more than ready to find a spot to watch the fireworks and then escape the middle American family oppressiveness but the Blue Light Special was determined to take advantage of the additional "Magic Hours" for registered resort guests. We picked up our pink wristbands that allowed us to stay in the park until midnight instead of leaving with the hoi polloi after the conclusion of the 8 p.m. fireworks.
Our long day had just gotten a whole lot longer. I dragged my feet to the Pirates of the Caribbean where the Blue Light Special once again refused to understand how a theme park attraction had been transformed into one of the top movie grossing franchises of all time.
How did they develop the script? he asked.
They didn't I snapped, amazed that he could be so clueless about American pop culture.
We got separated when a cast member urged us to use the empty entrance. I got out of the line and waited for him at the exit, unable even to sit down because it deposited you into what must be the most successful merchandising effort in the park given the number of hats and swords on sale.
Ready to make him walk the plank, I informed him we were heading back to the castle to get a better view of the fireworks. En route, I recalled a family anecdote that an uncle still loves to repeat as if it holds the key to my personality.
We took you to see a fireworks display at Rye Playland he begins. When you didn't seem to be paying much attention, I asked you why. You said 'I've been to Disneyland and the fireworks much better there'.
I stand by my childhood opinion. As far as I'm concerned, it takes a castle backdrop for fireworks to achieve their maximum effect.
Now, only J.M. Barrie stood between me and dinner. When we had asked Chatty Kathy how crowded the park would be she told us lines on Saturday had been long only for Peter Pan's Flight. This information made it a must-see for the Blue Light Special. Bereft of a Fast Pass, we joined the long snaking line that didn't seem to have diminished since we first passed it six hours earlier.
Perhaps nostalgia accounts for the enduring appeal of a ho-hum ride through Edwardian London, which is based on one of Disneyland's original attractions. Most of the adults looked young enough to be children of baby boomer parents and now that they had their own families maybe they were going back in time.
The Blue Light Special offered to ride Pirates of the Caribbean again. I thought what the hell, we might as well since there was no wait and it was on our way out of the park. Floating in a boat somehow made it more enjoyable than the other "dark rides" though I still have no desire to see the movies.
We probably should have stayed in the park to eat. Although the restaurant in Cinderella's Castle was tempting I wasn't taking any chances. No prices were posted on the fancy script menu and the food would no doubt be inferior to views we already had seen courtesy of the Astro Orbiter and the Tomorrowland Transit Authority. Nor did I have any desire to visit Downtown Disney. Instead we drove back to Kissimmee knowing that our options would be extremely limited at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night.
I'm convinced that Disney deliberately makes the signage and roads confusing so you'll stick close to their cash registers. What had been a five-minute ride the night before took nearly half an hour when we couldn't quite remember the unmarked route. We were forced to settle for salads at Chili's and the Blue Light Special, no fool, made good on his promise to "invite" me to dinner a second time. It would have meant a lot more if he had offered to pay at the Castle. I wouldn't have accepted but he still would have gotten major brownie points. No pleasing me, is there?
Labels: Disneyworld, gay travelog, Magic Kingdom, MGM Disney Studio
