SorcererMickey
February 15th, 2005, 19:30
Disney is still a thrill for adults
By Todd Lewan
The Associated Press
Posted February 14 2005
LAKE BUENA VISTA -- Adults I know who go to Disney World have this annoying tendency to describe how the theme park has helped them bond with their children, or how important it is to have the little ones teach them how to feel young again.
Now, although I'm a grown man with no spouse or little ones to snuggle, I can appreciate those sentiments. I just don't get one thing: Why is it that over-30s need kids to bring them back to Disney in the first place?
See, I'm one of those silly grown-ups who, on occasion, goes to Disney without kids -- on my day off from work, or when another someone from out of town comes to visit the Sunshine State, or, say, on a holiday weekend.
I suppose I could spend my free time more productively than getting nauseated from zooming in the pitch black on a high-speed roller jet called Space Mountain, or dropping five stories into a wet briar patch aboard an artificial log flume, or dining at a restaurant that looks, smells and costs like some eatery on the Quai d'Orsay in Paris, when, in reality, it is only a replica within a world of replicas.
But there is something about deciding to be childlike, silly, even for a few hours -- without having to entertain a loving child or a pack of ornery brats -- that is liberating, rekindling.
The last time I did Disney was on my latest birthday. A fair lady had flown in from the West Coast and wanted to spend some quality time together. I said how about the Magic Kingdom? She asked me if was kidding. I said not really.
She asked me how she should dress to meet Mickey.
We stopped first at City Hall, where a "Today is my Birthday" button was pinned to my shirt pocket, and continued on up Main Street, USA. Everyone -- the boys selling balloons that look like cellophane, the men playing trombones and trumpets, the ladies in Mrs. Potts' Cupboard -- all wished me a happy birthday.
"That button has made you pretty popular," my lady friend said. "Is everyone going to do that?"
"You're just jealous," I said.
Now, I'll confess: Inside the gift shops, where your vision quickly gets saturated with a kaleidoscope of colorful, tastefully crafted gobbledygook -- from slip-on Minnie bedroom slippers and Winnie the Pooh soap dispensers to Tinker Bell crystal balls -- the dour, cynical side of my being did rise up in a snit and whisper into my brain:
"Beware! Theme parks are mass-marketed, scripted experiences designed, quite sublimely, to lull the visitor into a consumeristic trance."
She picked up the beer bottle-top popper. The one with the chromed Mickey ears. "Oh, isn't this cute?"
"Uh..."
"Hey!" she said, and then plopped a tan golf cap with a blue, embroidered Mickey silhouette on my head. "Now, THAT looks really cute on you."
I looked in the mirror. "Hmm ... Think so?"
When it makes perfect sense to plunk down 20 sweat-and-blood dollars for a Mickey Mouse golf cap, and when you stroll about in public wearing such a thing free of embarrassment -- that is a sign that you have abandoned all logic and are truly ready to let go.
By Todd Lewan
The Associated Press
Posted February 14 2005
LAKE BUENA VISTA -- Adults I know who go to Disney World have this annoying tendency to describe how the theme park has helped them bond with their children, or how important it is to have the little ones teach them how to feel young again.
Now, although I'm a grown man with no spouse or little ones to snuggle, I can appreciate those sentiments. I just don't get one thing: Why is it that over-30s need kids to bring them back to Disney in the first place?
See, I'm one of those silly grown-ups who, on occasion, goes to Disney without kids -- on my day off from work, or when another someone from out of town comes to visit the Sunshine State, or, say, on a holiday weekend.
I suppose I could spend my free time more productively than getting nauseated from zooming in the pitch black on a high-speed roller jet called Space Mountain, or dropping five stories into a wet briar patch aboard an artificial log flume, or dining at a restaurant that looks, smells and costs like some eatery on the Quai d'Orsay in Paris, when, in reality, it is only a replica within a world of replicas.
But there is something about deciding to be childlike, silly, even for a few hours -- without having to entertain a loving child or a pack of ornery brats -- that is liberating, rekindling.
The last time I did Disney was on my latest birthday. A fair lady had flown in from the West Coast and wanted to spend some quality time together. I said how about the Magic Kingdom? She asked me if was kidding. I said not really.
She asked me how she should dress to meet Mickey.
We stopped first at City Hall, where a "Today is my Birthday" button was pinned to my shirt pocket, and continued on up Main Street, USA. Everyone -- the boys selling balloons that look like cellophane, the men playing trombones and trumpets, the ladies in Mrs. Potts' Cupboard -- all wished me a happy birthday.
"That button has made you pretty popular," my lady friend said. "Is everyone going to do that?"
"You're just jealous," I said.
Now, I'll confess: Inside the gift shops, where your vision quickly gets saturated with a kaleidoscope of colorful, tastefully crafted gobbledygook -- from slip-on Minnie bedroom slippers and Winnie the Pooh soap dispensers to Tinker Bell crystal balls -- the dour, cynical side of my being did rise up in a snit and whisper into my brain:
"Beware! Theme parks are mass-marketed, scripted experiences designed, quite sublimely, to lull the visitor into a consumeristic trance."
She picked up the beer bottle-top popper. The one with the chromed Mickey ears. "Oh, isn't this cute?"
"Uh..."
"Hey!" she said, and then plopped a tan golf cap with a blue, embroidered Mickey silhouette on my head. "Now, THAT looks really cute on you."
I looked in the mirror. "Hmm ... Think so?"
When it makes perfect sense to plunk down 20 sweat-and-blood dollars for a Mickey Mouse golf cap, and when you stroll about in public wearing such a thing free of embarrassment -- that is a sign that you have abandoned all logic and are truly ready to let go.