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Author Topic: Disney-philes
fugu13
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http://www.laweekly.com/ink/03/42/features-davidson.php

It's circling the blogs . . .

That people like these exist both scares and fascinates me.

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Toni
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Isn't this Icarus and Cor? [Smile]
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fugu13
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I don't think they're quite the same as the people in the article . . .
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Erik Slaine
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[Angst]
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Dan_raven
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My wife and I are adopting children from Russia hopefully. Last weekend we had a big party to announce this decision to my family and a few friends.

My father, survivor of two strokes, stuck in a motorized wheel chair and barely able to speak smiled. The first broken words out of his mouth...

"When can we take them to Disney World."

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zgator
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Most jaw-dropping line in the article.
quote:
Doug and Benji don’t date anyone.

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Toni
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I didn't really read it. I just saw going to Disneyland everyday.

edit: Sorry, fugu. That was rude. :/

[ September 05, 2003, 03:12 PM: Message edited by: Toni ]

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cyruseh
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I had to read the whole article. I seriously cant believe how crazy some of them guys are. its insane! [Smile]
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fugu13
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Oh, not rude at all, I didn't mind, thought it was funny even. My droll wit just doesn't come across in my posting [Wink] . Imagine me saying that in an Elaine (as in, Seinfeld) voice, only more manly.
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Ryuko
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Whoa. There's a Japanese word for that. Otaku.

They are Disney Otaku.

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sarcasticmuppet
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quote:
Jim Henson’s MuppetVision 3-D
I wish they'd asked me. I'm really not comfortable with that sort of thing...
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Annie
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quote:
Benji says he was once a Trekkie. “There’s no difference,” he says, then adds, “Disney fans are crankier.” We walk in silence for a moment. Benji laughs. “I had a girlfriend once.”
I find all of this fascinating. And it's so easy to call them freaks... but how far off are we? I mean, we know the names and ages of all of the children of our favorite author, and even when and who they got married to. We call ourselves Jatraqueros and spent a disgusting proportion of our day discussing meaningless stuff with other dorks we've never met.

I'm a nutcase myself. I know the birthdates of all the members of U2 and the names of their wives and children. I debate with people about the meanings of lyrics written before I was born.

We're all mad here...

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zgator
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I wonder if they would be impressed that Walt Disney's frozen head posts here?
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Kayla
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Dude, it would suck if one of them were this guy. [Frown]
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Hi
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Man, I hate these articles where the author depicts a group of people (feminist, Harry Potter fanatics etc...) as a freaky pack of creatures to be analyzed. In these type of articles, the author, unless he happens to belong to that specific group himself- nearly always comes off as arrogant and attempts to assert his or her views on how these type of people are wasting their lives etc...

As if they are somehow more superior? [Roll Eyes]

It just irks me. Who are they to judge how others are?

[ September 05, 2003, 05:57 PM: Message edited by: Hi ]

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Annie
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And if you're gonna be eccentric, it's probably best to be harmlessly eccentric like these fine folks
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Carrie
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I actually found myself admiring the guys described in the article. To have such devotion to anything is nearly incomprehensible to me. I mean, I have "obsessions" and the like, but nothing to this extreme. Sometimes I wish I could devote myself entirely to one thing, but then I realize that I get too distracted to do any single thing.

::tips hat to Disney Nuts::

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Dragon
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[Eek!] [Angst] [Eek!] [Roll Eyes] [Eek!]

Wow!

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Dragon
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in related news [Angst]
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Kayla
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Gee, that looks familiar.
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Leonide
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I wasn't disturbed by this article so much as envious and deeply amused. I would totally buy an annual pass to Disney World/Land if i lived near either. I wouldn't go there as many nights of the week as these fans, but i sincerely love that place. Both places!

Disney! [The Wave]

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Mama Squirrel
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Just to let you all know that Icarus and Cor are fine. Pop called their cell to confirm that they were not anywhere near Big Thunder Mountain Railroad when the accident happened. They were at Disneyland's California Adventure at the time and did not even know about the accident until Pop called them.

-Mama

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Ryuko
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Good. That's terrible, that's my favorite ride.
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sarcasticmuppet
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Wanna know a funny story?

I've been to Disneyland dozens of times in my lifetime. Anyway, when I was ten, we visited relatives in Calif. for Christmas and we decided to go to Disney Land and let my then 5-year old little brother go for the first time. On the day we decided to go, it was a constant drizzle. Nothing to worry about, just really wet. We decided to go anyway and thought it would be great that the lines wouldn't be so long. Anyway, my little brother is miserable. He's cold, wet, and waited about five hours to see Mickey at some indoor place. To cheer him up, we decided to go ride Thunder Mountain. For some reason, this ride terrified him. When we were in line he was begging not to go. He loved Space Mountain, and we kept telling him it was the same kind of ride. As we passed the pond-like area, my dad gave us both a penny to throw into the pond. We did so. About ten minutes later, we find out the ride is having problems. We're upset because we are this close to boarding the ride, and we have to try again later. Jeff has got the biggest smile on his face you've ever seen. He told us his penny-wish came true.

Stupid penny. [Grumble]

For some reason, Jeff just doesn't share our love of Disneyland.

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Icarus
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quote:
I couldn’t help thinking that this whole life project of theirs was an absurd waste of time, that there were so many more worthwhile things to care about.
It's called a "hobby," and it beats the heck out of doing drugs, watching TV for six hours a day, or playing computer games 200 hours a month. I agree with Hi, of course. Smug, arrogant SOB. Kinda like the professor from NYU who came a few years ago to do an anthropological study of all the fruitcakes who live in my town--I read his book, and it never did explain just what role giving pot to our teenagers played in his study, but then, I'm just another flake . . .

Oh, and we're fine, as you can see. We're both sad, of course, for those killed and injured in the accident. [Frown] We tend to take Disney's outstanding safety record for granted, so actually being at Disneyland when an accident occurred was pretty freaky. I think it says a lot about Papa Moose that he quickly called to make sure we were OK.

-o-

[Razz] @ Toni

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littlemissattitude
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Why are these people any stranger than those guys who know all sorts of sports stats? I personally am not interested in either memorizing sports stats (although I love baseball and basketball) nor in knowing every little detail about the daily life of Disneyland.

But, I do love Disneyland. Used to live sixteen and a half miles (by actual measurement, my driveway to the old front entrance on Harbor Blvd.) from there, and I've lost count of how many times I've been there - I was not quite two years old the first time, and I still have quite specific and vivid memories of that visit. If I still lived close enough, I would have an annual pass (and not the wussy kind that has blackout dates when you can't use it). I doubt that I would go multiple times a week, like the people in the article. But I'm sure I'd be there often, even if it was to just enjoy the ambience, read a book, and watch the ducks. I always factor in duck-watching time, as well as people-watching time, when I go to the park.

By the way, Icarus or Cor, what did you think of California Adventure? I've only been there once, and I wasn't particularly impressed. Maybe I'm just a traditionalist. And I'm sure that part of it was that I really miss the old parking lot that used to occupy that space. [Dont Know] What can I say; I had adventures on that parking lot - like the time we were leaving the park at one in the morning and couldn't find the car. It looked a different color under the lights and we walked past the stupid thing at least five or six times before we had the brains to start reading license plates.

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Icarus
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quote:
By the way, Icarus or Cor, what did you think of California Adventure? I've only been there once, and I wasn't particularly impressed.
Me neither. I mean, it was fun and all, but it was not Disney. It seemed like they were trying to compete with Six Flags on their own terms, and that's just not Disney's strength. I thought California Screaming was awesome, but I missed the theming that is usually a strength of Disney's. It was pretty much absent except on the raft ride. Paradise Pier is "themed" like an amusement park. Huh. Some theme. An amusement park that pretends to be . . . an amusement park. I was also disappointed with the number of attractions that were not in operation. Disney World takes down attractions for maintenance all the time, but they space them out so that no guest shows up only to find several main attractions gone. I enjoyed the Magic Kingdom much more, but again I was disappointed at how many major attractions were down at the same time. Granted, they had no choice with Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, but Space Mountain and Splash Mountain were both down as well, and the Haunted Mansion was supposed to be closed, though thankfully they thought better of it, given the three major attractions that were already down.

You know, it occurred to Cor and me that if we had grown up in California, we would probably not be the Disney freaks we are today--and not because of the size of the parks. In Florida, they do so much so well. In California, we found our hotel (Paradise Pier) to be nothing special. The layout of Disneyland as a whole was disorganized, with no signs to tell pedestrians (including guests at the Paradise Pier) how to get anywhere. We wandered around for thirty minutes before finding the resort entrance to DCA, and we really struggled to get into the Magic Kingdom, because we walked up Disneyland Drive, and there was no way in from there! Apparently, we were supposed to go up by the Disneyland Resort or through the Grand Californian Hotel, but nobody told us and there was no sign. Instead, suddenly the sidewalk ran out, Downtown Disney was above us, and there wasn't a set of stairs or anything that would allow us to get up there. All the rides being shut down at the same time was also annoying, and we just didn't find that the service was up to Disney's legendary standards, with exceptions, of course. Oh, and the hosts of Who Wants to be a Millionaire just sucked.

It's also interesting flying into the LA area, because Orlando basically would not be what it is today if not for Disney, and so everyone is conscious of Disney all the time. LA existed and was important long before Disney came along. There are dozens of movie and TV studios, and many amusement parks, and Disney seems to just not be that big a deal to most locals.

Incidentally, we're not as big freaks as the people in that article. We don't go everyday. When we had more money (right now we're broke since the long summer without a paycheck, and this trip helped keep us off our feet), we would go once a week or so, often just for a meal. Since admission is free, we can go in just to do one attraction, or, as lma said, to soak up the ambience. We do obsess with Who Wants to be a Millionaire every month, when our blackout period (from being in the Hot Seat) ends and we are again eligible to win prizes. It's only a matter of time before I win that cruise!

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saxon75
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Interesting.

Well, you're not the first Floridian I've heard be unimpressed with Disneyland. Unlike most of the people I've talked to (Californian, Floridian and otherwise) I rather liked California Adventure. I hope I don't sound rude, but I think you may have missed the theme. The overall theme of DCA (never used that acronym before, but I'm lazy and besides, engineers love us some TLAs) is California. For example, Paradise Pier, which you dismiss as "an amusment park that pretends to be . . . an amusement park" is actually meant to be reminiscent of a California beachside amusement park, such as the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. But, having never been to Santa Cruz, you'd have no way of making the comparison. When I walked into Paradise Pier, I thought it was an awesome theme, and it made me feel like a kid again much more than anywhere in the Magic Kingdom does.* Similarly, there are other areas areas representing the LA studio cities, the Bay Area, wine country, etc. As a purely Disney theme park, it may be a bit lacking, but I think of it more as a California theme park with a Disney twist.

And I have to admit that I'm a little puzzled by your characterization of the Millionaire hosts. Maybe you just got a bad one, as when I was there, the lady who was hosting seemed to be pretty much the same as Meredith Vieira. ::shrug::

-----------

* My understanding is that people in Orlando refer to the entire resort, including EPCOT, the hotels, golf courses, etc as Disney World, and refer to the Disney theme park as the Magic Kingdom, but I've never heard Californians use that appellation. I'm not sure what names the people in the above article use for which parts of the resort, but in my experience the park itself is called Disneyland, but you can also use that term to refer to the overall park. Actually, I don't think I hear many people refer to the overall resort very much. Most often people talk about Disneyland, California Adventure, or Downtown Disney, and don't really include the hotels. Of course it could be that I'm just talking out of my butt right now.

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Leonide
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I hear ya, Icarus. If I lived on the West Coast instead of the east, Disney would not be one of my all-time favorite things. Disney World, though not the "original" is so great. So perfect.

And about the closing-down-of-rides...my family and I went to Disneyland in January one year, and they had closed down both the Matterhorn and the Pirates of the Caribbean. Annoying. Very, very annoying. I've never been to Disney World when anything's been "shut down for repairs"...obviously Horizons is gone, but that's because it's GONE, not because they're fixing it. Annoyance.

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Juliette
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Icarus, Have you ever been to Disney Paris? You haven't seen awful until you've been there. The place is so dirty, garbage cans were over flowing everywhere.
I went with my friend who really wanted to see the Alice in Wonderland Maze because they don't have it here and, of course, it was closed.

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Zan
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I'm a much bigger fan of Universal Islands of Adventure here in Orlando, but that's because I love the thrill rides. I do know what you're saying about the theme. One of my favorite things about DisneyWorld is how well they maintain the illusion that you're in another place. They go to great lengths to try and prevent you from seeing ride mechanics and such.

At IOA, when you get to the top of the coasters, you can see storage buildings, equipment, maintenance vehicles, etc. It's not a big deal and it doesn't really detract from the ride, but it is a step down from Disney.

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Redskullvw
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I could'nt resist. I originally posted this on Ornery and my trip to Disney will be repeated again this year except that now, the Dictator will be married with a child signifigantly older than her marriage. But thats another story. Anyway will go back into lurker mode.

You know it has been awhile since I took a vacation. I may need another one after this one is over. You see I am in Florida at Disney World, or maybe Land. I have not ever been able to get that straight. I do know it is not Euro-Disney since I have not come across snobbish Frenchmen, and I know it is not Disney Japan because I would have committed Hari Kari by now. I can say for sure that I am certainly at a temple of high worship to the invincible Mickey Mouse. In the early 1980’s movie “Enemy Mine,” Dennis Quaid told Louis Gosset Jr’s character that the highest god on Earth was Mickey Mouse. I found that comment humorous at the time. Now I know Mickey to be one of those “vengeful” gods who demand blood sacrifices.

This worship started so innocently. Back in May, Alricurn’s Mom decided it would be nice to celebrate the impending retirement of her husband by taking the clan to Disney. I learned that if I was still a shiftless and useless boyfriend, i.e., out of work, that I would have no choice in the matter of going along as well. To all those people who never even bothered to read my meticulous cover letters and resume I condemn you to worship futility at the high alter of the black mouse. A simple damnation to Hades is too good for you.

Anyway, when I agreed to this Devil’s bargain back in May, I was certain that by the time October appeared that I would be again gainfully employed. Months passed by, and frankly, I forgot this bargain. I continued as if this particular Sword of Damocles was not directly over my head. I concerned myself with Microsoft Certifications, painting a house and putting up crown molding. By the time September came around, I was more freaked out about being unemployed and unable to buy an engagement ring than I was about visiting a mouse in Florida.

Sadly, Alricurn’s Grandfather died at the end of September. He was certainly the foundation of her family and is now deeply missed. It seemed that a visit to Disney was the least likely event to happen after such an untimely circumstance. Even Alricurn was certain that the trip was off and suggested that maybe we would be better off visiting Disney some time in the coming year. That she and I were also attempting to overcome a severe gastric flu/bacteria problem also served as a final point in the case against visiting the mouse. Put bluntly, we were too busy worshipping the “Porcelain God” even to consider being 40 feet from a toilet, let alone 467 miles away in another state.

Well, I had not counted on Mickey’s evil agent from Colorado. Alricurn’s aunt, make that “crazed” aunt had driven from Colorado to be a pestilence upon the funeral proceedings. This is the woman who informed us that she needed to “clip her toenails” at the pre-internment viewing and abandoned the service in less than five minutes. To put it bluntly, this woman drove my future father-in-law to the point of near insanity with her incessant spending sprees and demands for her entire inheritance before her mother had even had a chance to mourn her loss of her husband of fifty years. To put it bluntly my future father-in-law was at wits end in dealing with his idiotic sister.

After the funeral, the subject of the black mouse was brought up. Initially Alricurn’s mother agreed that they would probably not go to Florida, and if they did go, it would be for only part of the time they had booked for their vacation. We drove back home to nurse our GI tracts back to health on PowerAde and Jell-O. Imagine our surprise when we learned that they would be in Florida on Monday. We were going to Disney and nothing would prevent it. It seems that the crazed aunt had pressed one too many buttons. My future father-in-law could not even escape his sister by playing games on his new retirement Xbox video game in peace. Dolby 5.1 digital audio explosions were insufficient to drown out the incessant demands of his sister from Colorado.

We were dealing with a command performance. We had to attend. Neither of us wanted to attend. We tried to use the excuse “We have no one who can care for our furry dog children.” It did not work. Thankfully, Alricurn had a doctor's appointment on Monday so we avoided having to carpool with her parents when they drove down on Sunday. My future father-in-law thinks fifty-five mph in a seventy mph speed zone is a suitable travel speed. Furthermore, he has a predilection to slamming on his brakes in caliper warping panic stops. Finally, he dose not smoke so I would have been even more of a bag of nerves than normal when having to be the alien force which has captured his daughter’s heart and attentions. I never thought I would say this, but thank God, for the illness which required Alricurn’s doctor appointment.

The journey to visit the mouse began on Monday with preparations. I spent the day doing battle with the pile of laundry, and attempting to clean red clay off the white kitchen floor from Hell. Alricurn went to the doctor and ran errands around Athens to finish a week worth of responsibilities in only one day. We finally had dinner around 9:00 PM. Then we sat around like giddy kids dreaming of cartoon character overload. Even our sitting in the hot tub for hours until 3:00 AM could not calm us down enough to sleep. Some time around 4:00 AM, we finally managed to sack out. I did wake up at 6:00 AM but was told to go back to sleep.

It was now Tuesday 11:30 AM, and I was still in Athens, very sleepy, looking for my glasses, and wondering why it was so bright outside so early in the morning. Then it dawned on me that I was supposed to be half way to the mouse. Being a good sport, I decided to ignore the time penalties which staying in a hot tub until 3:00 AM had caused. I also noticed the two messages on the answering machine that had been left at 7:00 AM. It was her sister checking to see if we had left yet. Apparently, one is not allowed to delay visits to the mouse.

By 1:30 PM, we were on our way from Athens, Georgia to Orlando, Florida. In addition, as an aside I would like to say that Microsoft Map Quest gave us excellent and accurate directions. It was an auspicious start to what would turn out to be a nightmare reserved for condemned criminals. David Bowie, Macy Gray, and Rush Limbaugh kept us company as we headed towards Macon to pick up Interstate 75. Even taking into account that the first two hours of our trip were on back roads, we were averaging a nice sixty-two miles each hour. I drooled with the expectation of getting to go seventy mph on the interstate. The drool was obviously a precursor to my impending doom of enduring highway construction.

Mickey must have been displeased with our delayed travel time. The sun and blue skies had been our ally in travel, but for some freakish reason unassociated with any weather front; the skies began to darken. However, our immediate problem was the Georgia Department of Transportation. It has been easily two years since I traveled the interstate below Macon. The last time I was traveling this way, the shoulders of the road were lined with bright shinny and new orange highway cones and barrels. Imagine my shock when I saw the same cones and barrels, just that they were now two years older. Yes, the GDOT had apparently managed to make a few holes and look busy without doing anything of substance for two years.

The true horror was that I was now traveling in a single file line on the sole lane of the interstate. I did see two other lanes right next to me that looked unused and rather freshly painted. In fact, these lanes appeared to be perfectly serviceable, except that they were on the opposite side of the orange perimeter wall. I also happened to be stuck behind a Winnebago. Forty-Five MPH for sixty-five miles. I think that if I had interpreted the oracle correctly that I would have realized that my home state was attempting to turn me back and prevent me from attaining Orlando. Nevertheless, I foolishly stuck to the mantra of having to meet Mickey in the off-season so I could have him to myself.

Then it began to rain. When I say rain, I am not talking steady and minorly annoying rain or mist. We are talking about primordial monsoon levels of rain. Rain so evil that windshield wipers and Rain-X window treatment could do nothing. As we crossed the Georgia-Florida border, we had now slowed to a creeping thirty MPH. We should have fled back to Georgia. However, we were heartened by the fact that if we could just make it to the Florida Welcome center we could relive ourselves, wait out the rain, and have some complementary orange juice. We got there at 5:30 PM. They close at 5:00 PM. Moreover, it was raining even worse.

Even with a nice golf umbrella, we were soaked walking the seventy-five feet from the car to the welcome center pavilion. The only thing open was the bathroom. My bathroom was out of toilet paper. After waiting until 6:00 PM, it had become apparent that the rain did not intend to slack off. We drove on and hoped for clearer skies. Finally, as we passed through Gainesville, it let up. We were supposed to be in Orlando by 6:00 PM. We were late.

By 7:30 PM, we were on the Florida Turnpike. It was the home stretch. Alricurn brought up the fact that we needed to get tickets for Disney. We were both delighted when we saw a prominent sign informing us that Disney tickets were conveniently available for purchase at every turnpike plaza. Although we did not need to stop, we decided that we would stop just for the tickets at the plaza that was between our exit into Orlando and us. I felt like I was in my childhood New Jersey and traveling its turnpike. My childhood memories of how New Jersey’s turnpike works were bolstered as we pulled off onto the Florida plaza. I was certain that our problems were behind us.

Before we went in to the building, Alricurn decided to call her parents and tell them that we were less than forty miles from them and to see if they needed anything. Her sister answered the phone. She wanted sunscreen and she proceeded to give us detailed direction on how to get to the condominium. The problem was that the directions she was giving were from US Highway 41; we were on the Turnpike and following a different set of directions from Map Quest. Suddenly we were late because we had not used the Disney “approved” travel directions that her sister had used. The phone was disconnected with a disgruntled “click."

Realizing we were on her sister’s shitlist, we decided that we could make up for the lost time by already having the tickets for Disney so that we would not have to buy them in the morning. We followed the prominent signs that said we could buy tickets for Disney in the plaza gift shop. It was 8:00 PM. We asked the nice and helpful attendant if we could purchase Disney tickets. The nice lady looked at us as if we were smoking crack. She then informed us that this particular location had not had Disney tickets in a month. She then picked up a display rack and placed it behind the store entrance. We then asked her where we could get the tickets and she said that the turnpike plaza at Turkey Creek had them. We thanked her, looked at our map, and saw that Turkey Creek would only be 32 miles out of our way. We decided that we would go and get the tickets there.

As we passed by our original intended exit to Orlando, we had no idea that we were wasting our time going to Turkey Creek plaza. We pulled into the plaza at 8:35 PM. We went inside and saw a large unmanned ticket sales booth. We also noted that the gift shop next to the booth had its security gate down and was closed. We then found out that the ticket sales and gift shops closed promptly at 8:30 PM. We had just been sent on a wild goose chase. Desperate to make this goose chase a little less than a complete waste of time, we decided to get at least something to eat. Since the Sabbaro Pizza stand was closed, we advanced on the Burger King stand. It was then that we saw three B.K. Thugs and their manager standing at the counter with aggressively crossed arms. Apparently, they were about to close in twenty minutes and hoped to scare off any more customers. Deciding that having our food spit on by disgruntled thugs was a high likelihood; we retreated. Cursing the woman at the first plaza, we returned to the turnpike and our original exit and made our way to the condominium.

We arrived just in time to let her father win a bet that we would be there before 9:00 PM. Her sister was attempting to sleep on a living room couch because she had declared that a “ghost” was upstairs in her bedroom. Her body language indicated that everyone should be attempting to sleep just like her. She had chosen to sleep on the couch in the living room. We announced that we had not eaten yet and we were going to get something to eat so that we did not disturb anyone by cooking something in the kitchen. We heard a barely audible disgruntled sigh from her sister. We had seen a Publix grocery store on our way in so we made our way to the store with the intention of getting one of their excellent sub sandwiches. As we pulled into the parking lot, it was apparent that Publix was closing at 10:00 PM. So, we switched to plan “B," Taco Bell. Actually Taco Bell was more like plan “G," since everything in Florida apparently closes at 10:00 PM. Pulling up to the drive through, I was amazed that Ricky Ricardo’s sister was taking orders in a thick Spanish accent. After several abortive attempts to get an order placed, we finally managed to get an order placed. Feeling lucky to have this horrid food we were nearly T-boned as we exited the parking lot by a Suzuki Sidekick going fifty MPH in a fifteen MPH zone. We carefully returned to the condominium. Sitting in the dinning room, we were obviously eating too loudly for her sister to be able to sleep. After abortive attempts at conducting conversation with her mother, everyone took the hint and retired to their bedrooms.

At 5:30 AM on Wednesday, the hurting began again. To the sounds of aggressive showering by my future sister-in-law, I awakened from sleep. I ignored it for a few minutes and even managed to fall back asleep. The next trick up her sleeve was the ever-increasing volume of TV noise. Also coupled to this was the growing decibel volume of “I wish they would get up because we are going to be late.” I wish I had ignored that mantra by playing dead. However, being the trooper I was I went and took a shower and dressed. At 7:00 AM, I woke my future bride. She was most displeased that I had chosen to wear my Oxford pinpoint instead of a less expensive shirt. She demanded that I save the shirt for job interviews and put on a Polo shirt. I, seeking to please her, immediately opted to change shirt choices and put on the much heavier shirt. It was a decision that I would regret.

By 7:10 AM I was awake dressed and downstairs. Her parents we very nice to me but her sister greeted me not with a cheery “Good morning” but instead with “We need to be leaving very soon." I still said ‘Good morning” anyway. They served coffee. Let us just say that my future in-laws think two scoops of coffee to 12 cups of water makes superior coffee. I realized that hot water just would not cut muster. So I decided I would have to get a Coke. But being sociable, I decided to avail myself of their TV and chitchat while Alricurn was busy waking up. It soon became apparent that her sister was miffed that we were not already at Disney. I decided I needed a paper to read to avoid having to talk with her about how woeful my sleeping pattern was where visiting Disney was concerned.

Therefore, I grabbed some change and went newspaper hunting. I found an Orlando Sentinel newspaper box and deposited 50¢ into the box. Door will not open. I smack it about a bit, still no paper. Miffed, I put two more quarters in. Same result again. Finally I began kicking the box and loosing my temper. Still no paper came out of that horrid little blue box. Giving up I went over to the soda vending machines. In the Coke machine, I see it will take $1 to get a can of Coke. I only have 50¢. Next to the coke machine is a no-name brand vendor. I skip the more exotic formulations and opt for the root beer. It is now 7:35 AM.

Walking back to the condominium, I make the acquaintance of a young boy and his grandmother. While calming my nerves with my Camel and drinking the god awful ersatz root beer, the little boy informs me proudly that he is to have breakfast with Cinderella. Apparently, this has been a bribe. I say this because as the little boy acted like a hyperactive child, his grandmother would say phases like “Cinderella would not want to have breakfast with a boy whose hands are dirty” or “Cinderella wont have breakfast with you unless you are a good boy.” I should have recognized the complete futility of existence when I saw the boy’s haggard parents emerge from their condominium and coaxed their child into the car with visions of sharing culinary delights with Cinderella. This was my first exposure to the effects of the Disney “March of Death.”

Feeling unjustifiably happier, I went back into the condominium and related to everyone the cute tale of the boy eating with Cinderella. My future sister in-law quipped that maybe I would be an early rising mouseketeer if I had reservations to eat at Disney. I bluntly replied that I do not eat breakfast, and that if I did eat breakfast I would not eat it with a cartoon. By 8:00 AM, we were on our way to Disney.

The planning began as the car door shut. While her father and mother seemed to be indifferent to planning the day at Epcot, her sister was adamantly looking at Epcot maps and planning the campaign. Mind you, this woman is in her late twenty’s, but she had the same dreamy and feverish look in her eyes as the little boy I saw earlier. It was apparent that she had a plan for the day and we were doomed to follow it. By 8:30 AM, we were parked in K-6 and walking rapidly to the front gate.

Of course we had to get tickets still so while we waited in line, Alricurn’s sister stood glaring at us because she already had her tickets. By the time we had purchased two days worth of tickets, which were much cheaper than I thought they would be, the sister was already planning where to eat. Now Alricurn and I have this book at home about being a tourist in Disney and it covered extensively those places either to patronize or to avoid when dinning on Disney property. I remembered that the German Beirgarten had gotten top marks for Epcot, and what is more important I knew it was one of the places that would serve beer. Having listened to the plan of my day, I had realized that by 2:00 PM I would probably need a beer. I was right. I thought that because my choice had been adopted that democratic choices would be the rule of the day. I was wrong. It was now 9:00 AM.

Ironically, I was to become oblivious to the passage of time for the rest of the day. It was not that I was enjoying or not enjoying myself. Why my conception of time became whacked was because I was about to embark on the Disney March of Death. Try to imagine two future-in-laws, their daughter and her boyfriend being lead through Epcot by a sister who equated only movement to rides, planning to move to rides by consulting maps, or actually riding a ride to be appropriate activities. Also, add to this incessant movement that only she was permitted to determine how the maps were to be interpreted, what the order of riding was to be and what the speed of the journey to each ride was to be. Here begins the origin of the Disney Death March.

Now I consider myself a rather flexible person when it comes to building consensus and making group decisions. In fact, I can usually guide groups to adopt my point of view. Because of this, Alricurn had told me that “Redskull” needed to take a break for the day and he was not to show his face. So I was rather attuned to the fact that polite manners and acquiescence were to be my role for the day. Besides, I had won the choice of where lunch was going to be. I could afford to be gracious. After all, I still had my sanity and my health and I was here to have fun. In hindsight I needed a nicotine patch, or several, and an unending supply of pure caffeine to have even a fighting chance.

The gates opened, and after the security screening <these guys were good and could teach airport screeners a trick or two> I found myself in the entrance plaza to Epcot. Loud music was blaring and Disney mascots were life-sized and everywhere. As I began to identify them, my future family passed me as they trotted along towards the Guest Relations building. Apparently, lunch reservations were a priority beyond getting a picture taken with Pluto and Goofy. To my future sister-in-laws horror, the counter person she had to converse with was from Japan and was part of some exchange program. She was here to interact with Americans and sharpen her English speaking skills. She gets high marks from me, but she takes forever to comprehend what we want and what she has to do to fulfill our wishes. The future sister-in-law was beginning to look like a ticked off Latin American dictator.

Once outside Guest Relations with our 2:00 PM reservations, I was taking in the entire scene. I was impressed but apparently did not have time to look at anything. The Dictator was advancing at full gallop upon the geodesic globe and the ride it contained. I vaguely remember this ride. I know AT&T sponsored it, and it had something to do with phones. As we exited, we were in some sort of festive plaza. Alricurn and I thought that now would be a good time to snap a few pictures, her sister was already leading the charge to our next ride.

I decided that it was pointless to run from point “A” to point “B” just to ride some attraction and skip attractions that are more “adult.” Seeing a hall of wonders, I suggested we go through it before we resumed our break neck speed to the next ride. The dictator was less than impressed with my reasoning. Alricurn and I pressed the issue by entering the pavilion. Inside there were tons and tons of incredibly cool stuff. The first exhibit was a demonstration and interactive exhibit of the Segway. Talk about cool. Alricurn’s father was mesmerized by it, as was I. The Dictator was not. We were deviating from incessant marching. She led the way deeper into the pavilion towards the exit. We tried to delay our exit by going inside the Motorola exhibit. As I exited, I realized that the Dictator was already exiting the pavilion and that I was not going to see any other of the twenty exhibits including the one with the new Honda Asimo Robot.

Outside the pavilion it was announced after consulting the map that we were headed to the General Motors test car ride. Leading the pack, the rest of us hobbled along after her. I felt sorry for Alricurn’s father and mother because after having walked at a breakneck pace in Sea World the day before, they were clearly showing signs of cardiac arrest and athletic zombiosis. The Dictator however had legs of steel. Being a walker of a normally tamer speed I refused to jog through the park. I soon found myself in tail dog and looking far ahead to see the rest of my party. I finally caught up with them at the GM pavilion. The line was huge.

According to the Disney time guesstimate, we were about to spend two hours in the line. Two hours of impatient glares and grunts from our rabid leader was not something to look forward to in my opinion. Luckily, everyone presented a unified front and vetoed the wishes of the Dictator. We agreed to come back later. The Dictator then announced that it was time to relive ourselves and broke off at a break neck speed towards the farthest restroom she could find on the map. Off we went jogging though the park dodging Disney strollers and lost guests. There was a line in the men’s restroom. As I exited the facility, I caught the glaring eye of the Dictator. I had taken too long to excrete urine. This was a black mark against my performance. I would have to do better.

We were standing now on the border between Epcot proper, and the walkway that lead to the International pavilions. I made the proposal that we simply continue clockwise around the park and avail ourselves of attractions as they presented themselves. Everyone seemed to like that idea. The Dictator did not. She announced we were going to the Exxon dinosaur ride and took off before we could vote on it. Soon she had built up a fifty-foot lead over the rest of us. It was march or die time. Unfortunately, we were traveling to the opposite side of the park. We ran.

We shortly arrived at the Exxon exhibit to find that we were dripping wet with sweat. The stupid white polo shirt I was wearing acted like a medieval torture device. It was then that we found out that the Exxon exhibit was not open yet. The Dictator announced, after consulting her accursed map that we were going to the “Body Wars” ride. Jogging again ensued. Soon we entered the pavilion and saw an incredible array of interactive exhibits that we apparently did not have time to see. We struggled to stay close to the Dictator as she mercilessly marched into the line for the body wars. Funny I felt prepared for war owing to all the boot camp drill in marching that I had had so far.

I will admit that the ride was cool. It was a little predictable but over all something worthwhile. The Dictator was obviously disappointed that we had not done triple loops backwards. As we left the ride my future father-in-law could not find his drink, which had been stored in the under seat cargo net. The Dictator did not wait for him and was displeased at his inability to march quickly. Back out in the pavilion I was just about to get to examine one of the exhibits when I learned it was time to see the Braintroop movie. Off we went. And for a pleasant fifteen minutes I have to watch a cute show about just how whacked out a twelve-year-old boy’s day could be. More importantly, I was able to sit.

As we exited that ride, the Dictator was already marching towards the door. Thankfully, we all serendipitously had to go to the bathroom at staggered intervals. Each of us went one at a time to the bathroom while the others were looking at the cool exhibits dealing with sensory perception. The whole time we did this, our sensory perception informed us that the Dictator was not pleased by the delay. We were not efficiently marching to rides. Finally, we ran out of bladders to empty and we were aggressively marched out of the building. As we exited, the Dictator informed us that the Exxon pavilion was now open and that we were riding it next. While Alricurn attempted to take pictures of the park, the Dictator was already entering the building.

Having to endure her sister’s harsh stares for dilly-dallying, we managed to form up behind her and enter the ride in an organized fashion. This was another seated ride. Able to relax my burning leg muscles, Alricurn and I exchanged whispered plans on how we could assassinate the Dictator. I think the ride was about energy, but the whispers in my ears and the screaming of my leg muscles made active perceptional enjoyment of my environment impossible. We soon found ourselves exiting the pavilion. I attempted to look at the endangered tiger program exhibit with Alricurn’s father, but the Dictator was already marshaling her reserves for another death march across the Epcot park again back towards the GM ride. Like a shot, she was off, only slightly concerned over whether we could keep up.

At this point, I am sure you are all wondering how bad this walking pace could possibly be. After all, when you visit a theme park you enter knowing that you are going to have to walk from point to point. You are possibly attributing my distress to being out of shape. I inform you now that I am a fit and trim 32-inch waist 5’11” 155 pound male. I used to run cross-country and I do not ever remember being so winded. The temperature was a nice steady 80 degrees. A light wind blew. Even with the auspicious weather, I was sweating like a slave picking cotton. All I can say is that my future family and future wife were also in the same condition. Only the Dictator was immune. She was a steel-legged ice princess.

She leads us back across the Epcot Park to the insipid GM pavilion. Ride wait time was now three hours. We were allowed to buy water while she demanded a map to determine what ride was next. I was loosing it. I smoked a Camel while having to view the Dictator’s obvious disgust. Two drags later, we were off to the International pavilions. I think the first one was the Netherlands. However, we were pretty much prevented from doing an in-depth investigation. We were only delayed slightly on our march because her father bought a fruit pastry and because the Dictator had to determine our next ride because the Viking Ship ride was closed for renovations. The Dictator took us at break neck speed to Mexico.

Constructed like an Aztec pyramid, the entrance alone had a ton of interesting things to look at. While Alricurn took pictures, I read the information on the exhibits. My future father-in-law appeared at my side and informed me that the Dictator was ready to ride the Mexico ride. Slightly pissed we joined the Dictator and her mother for a thoroughly pointless water ride. Trust me when I say the good stuff was in the exhibits and not in the ride. As we exited the ride, we stopped at a table selling Patron Tequila. You have no idea how much Alricurn wanted that bottle so that we could deaden the pain in our bodies. However, before we could take out our Yankee dollars, the Dictator had marched out of the building.

This was getting ridiculous. The dictatorship was obviously not working. The citizens were being marched to death and experiencing Epcot as if we had blinders on. I said as much to Alricurn. She told me that although she completely agreed with my diagnosis, Redskull the arch fascist was not allowed to make an appearance. Unable to get her to agree to a simple assassination, we suddenly found that we had to play march or die again to catch up with the Dictator who was now in China.

Somehow, we caught up and out of desperation announced that we were going into the shopping pavilion to look at cheap Chinese plastic toys and bricbrak. Her mother and father eagerly revolted to our cause. The Dictator fumed. She followed us into the shopping bazaar and served as a chaperon, whisking us away from the merchandise and towards the exit. As a delaying tactic, we scattered into the dark recesses of the bazaar. For at least thirty minutes the ruse worked. Then we learned that we were going to be late for lunch if we did not begin marching again.

Cowed, we assembled as a group outside the Chinese pavilion while the dictator consulted a map and determined the path of the next death march. We soon began jogging towards Germany passing at least two pavilions entirely. Luckily, Alricurn’s mother brought us to a stop in front of the American Pavilion. She wanted to see the main exhibit and needed to see when the next showing was. Winded, Alricurn and I took the opportunity to take a few pictures. Since Alricurn is an amateur photographer of considerable skill, part of her Epcot experience was to take interesting black and white photos. Her sister had no such concerns, had soon marshaled us into formation, and was dragging us towards Japan.

We valiantly attempted to divert into the Italy Pavilion, but were balked by her sister who refused to enter. Her mother in an attempt to cool her daughter’s hot temper stayed with her. Her father made movement to join us in Italy but submitted to the icy stare of displeasure of his daughter. Feeling rebellious, I entered Italy followed by Alricurn. We could have spent an hour in Italy alone. All told, we spent maybe ten minutes. Her father informed us that the Dictator was ready to move again.

March, march, and march. We were now in Japan. Nothing interested the Dictator about Japan. There are no rides in Japan. No ride means no need to stop. Noticing the faltering of her mother’s pace, we demanded quarter and begged to look in the Japanese gardens. The Dictator soon let it be known that looking at Koi and plants was not something she found to be purposeful. Shortly we found ourselves back on the main walkway.

The Dictator marched us to Germany. I was beat and needed a beer. We had thirty minutes to kill. While father and mother collapsed on a bench, Alricurn went to the edge of the lagoon to take panoramic pictures of Epcot. I fumed and smoked a Camel and wondered when I would be allowed to lose my temper. The Dictator must die.

We made our way to the German Beirgarten. It was everything it was cracked up to be and then some. Shouts of “Prost” and German festival music greeted our ears. As we were seated, I enjoyed the hundreds of raise beer glasses and smiling faces of other patrons. Then I looked at the Dictator. She was displeased greatly. Besides being disgusted by human sexuality, she is most disgusted at the prospect of alcoholic beverages. This Beirgarten was full of hops and barley. I also think she was unaware that Biergarten means “beer garden” in English. Smiling a secret internal grin, but feigning surprise that the mouse would permit such satanic beverages, I sat down at the table across from the Dictator. The Dictator ordered, “Water with Lemon." Her mother ordered the same so as not to offend her daughter. Being somewhat braver, her father ordered "Tea with Lemon." I asked what was on tap. Withering stares of death hit me. The Southern Baptist Dictator did not realize my ties to the Pope or that I was Catholic. I choose Beck’s Oktoberfest. Then to my pleasant surprise Alricurn added gasoline to the fire by ordering what I did. From the looks of the Dictator, we were already burning in Hell.

Then we made our way to the banquet buffet. Not one example of American food was offered. Consternation flashed across the Dictator’s mug. What could she possibly eat? Loading my plate down with wursts, spaatzle, and schnitzel, I was in heaven. Alricurn was amazed at the variety and loaded down as well. In fact, upon returning to the table, everyone except the Dictator had a mound of food. We also found that we had another couple now seated with us who had ordered beer as well. The Dictator gave them icy stares. Then the ompah band began singing in German. The Dictator was pissed. I must say that never in my life has a glass of beer tasted so good.

Nevertheless, the auspicious environment of the Beirgarten was not to be had for long. The Dictator announced that we had to leave or we would miss the show at the American pavilion. We were a ten-minute march from the pavilion. The next show did not start for forty-five minutes. In spite of this, delay was contraindicated according to the Dictator. In seconds, we were marching to America again. We sat in front of the American pavilion for the next thirty-five minutes. The whole time the Dictator made it evident that we should be marching to a ride. She also voiced displeasure over the strange food she had eaten. I offered to walk to the GM ride and scan our tickets for an afternoon ride. The Dictator scowled at the idea of one of the party being out of her visual sight and declared she did not want to ride it anyway.

I must say that Alricurn’s mother had excellent taste in wanting to see the forty-minute show in the American pavilion. I enjoyed it immensely. Unfortunately, Alricurn’s mother was so tired from the death march that she fell asleep five minutes into the show. After the show, we were consulting maps again. The Dictator was displeased. She wanted a ride and she wanted one now. I proposed that we simply continue our direction of travel, see the remainder of the pavilions, and return to Epcot on the opposite side of the lagoon. This made sense to me. I was wrong. The Dictator announced we were returning to the accursed GM ride.

Fueled by inedible German food in her stomach and her hatred of anything not associated with rides, the Dictator instituted a quick time double march back the way we came. Strung out by the insane pace we eventually found ourselves back at the same stupid ride. The wait was now two hours. The Dictator glared at us. I suggested we scan our tickets and move on to something else. Her father agreed. The Dictator scowled some more and suggested that we were wimps. We scanned the tickets. Then we noticed that the Floridian sky was about to drop buckets of water on us. We started looking for shelter. Her father suggested the huge complex in the center of the park. I agreed since we could go into the exhibit halls and huge Mickey Mouse shop we had bypassed earlier. The Dictator was insisting we go to the Aquarium on the other side of the park in spite of the rain. That was when the monsoon hit and made further debate impossible.

We made it to shelter. Everyone except the Dictator, wanted to go to the exhibits. The Dictator wanted us together and ready to move on the Aquarium as soon as the rain stopped. She proposed that we wait under a pavilion and not go into any of the exhibit halls or shops that way we would be the first to make our way to the Aquarium when the rain let up. For twenty minutes, we sat there. Finally, Alricurn and I announced that we were going into the Mickey Mouse shop instead of just waiting for the command to march. The Dictator was not pleased. We went shopping anyway.

We had been inside the shop for ten minutes when the Dictator appeared. She told us her mother wanted us to come back because it had stopped raining. Wanting to appease her mother, we exited the store. It was still raining outside. Her mother had not requested our return. The Dictator smiled at having stopped our shopping experience. After another fifteen minutes of rain, the Dictator announced that we were moving whether the rain had stopped or not. We were off to see the Aquarium. She soon had at least 150 feet worth of lead on us. I considered simply abandoning her. So did everyone else. The thought that we might abandon her also crossed the Dictator’s mind as she entered the Aquarium. She paused briefly and peered back over her shoulder to see if we were still following.

I cannot tell you much about the Aquarium. I do know that we were given a choice by Disney to enter the ride in one of two ways. The Dictator wanted to go directly to the ride; I preferred the opposite of what she wanted. Alricurn agreed with me. Rebellion was brewing. She attempted to lead right and we all went left. However, she would have the last laugh. It seems that the ride portion of the Aquarium is a fake elevator ride to the “underwater” laboratory. Feeling shortchanged by the ride, the Dictator herded us out of the building.

Now at this point all of you have to be asking why I had not killed the Dictator. Believe me I wanted to. I know Alricurn wanted to. I suspected her father wanted to. Her mother was simply too tired from marching to have the strength to kill her. However, what is hard to convey is the Dictator’s normal role in the family when not at Disney. It is easier to appease her than it is to go against her wishes. Her family has adopted this approach as a coping mechanism. I was forced to adopt it because I am the outsider. Resistance was futile.

The Dictator had us marching again. I was certain that the friction of my denim pants was going to cause heat rash on my thighs, a suspicion that would be proven correct later that night. I was also suffering the sweat drenched Polo shirt from hell. Generally, I was miserable. I half hoped to find a working time machine in Epcot so I could travel back to a time before Disney World was built and kill the Mouse and Uncle Walt. We arrived at the ride called “The Land." To say that this was a Greenpeace Eco-Terroristic inspired left-wing ride does not describe it enough. To say that it was what released Redskull does.

We waited in line for a good twenty minutes. Then we were ushered onto a boat and begun our journey. There was a live female announcer on our boat. Presumably, she was on the boat to provide a running commentary. She had a Lisp. She also Stuttered. Who in their right mind hires someone to be a tour guide who lisps and stutters? Lets just say that it was quite ironic and coupled with the warm fuzzy logic of eco-propaganda I began laughing. By the time we exited the ride I had a huge grin on my face and was actually laughing out loudly. The Dictator was miffed that I was enjoying myself. Alricurn explained away my sudden good mood. She was also worried. She realized Redskull was free and that things were about to get interesting.

The Dictator was in the midst of making an executive decision when I cut her off. I announced it was time to go to the GM pavilion and ride the ride that the Dictator had been denied so far. No one wanted to go including the Dictator, however I had a trump card to play. Our tickets had been scanned and we were using them. I then began a sane and moderated walking pace to the ride. Everyone was just slightly amazed that the Dictator could be overruled so easily. As I lead us towards the Pavilion, the Dictator caught up with me and attempted to retake lead dog. I stopped and said that we should wait for her parents to catch up and that there was no need to rush since we had a scheduled ride time. Miffed the Dictator silently waited. Everyone enjoyed the new pace. Well, except for the Dictator.

We arrived at the ride and the Dictator and her mother got in line. The rest of us went into the exhibit hall and spent the next forty minutes leisurely inspecting all the cool displays and automobiles. My mood was progressively improving. Amazingly after she exited the ride even the Dictator was smiling. Since my coup was going so well I decided to announce the next place we would journey to in the wonderful land of the mouse. I had the brass balls to ask what everyone would like to do next. On cue, Alricurn chimed in lets go back and see the parts of the International district that we skipped. The Senators of the republic voted for this choice and the Dictator, not wanting to lose face also agreed, taking lead dog position.

We were back to the old ways of dictatorship. We rapidly crossed Epcot again. Entering Canada, Alricurn and I saw a neat longhouse that looked like it came from British Columbia. We announced that we were going in and were followed by her mother. The dictator declined. While the girls sampled perfumes from Canada, I looked at the hockey display. After a few minutes we exited and all sat on some benches. The Dictator came up and smelled the perfume. She told Alricurn that her choice in perfume was very bad today. Her mother announced that it was just from the samples in the shop. The Dictator announced that we were departing. We had little choice but to follow her to England.

Once in England Alricurn tried several times to look at booths in the open-air market. No luck. So finally, we announced we had to go to the bathroom. Once done, I suggested that we split up, investigate England, and meet at the border with France in thirty minutes. I did not wait for an answer; I disappeared into a toy store followed by Alricurn. For thirty minutes, I saw some of the coolest stuff. Alricurn then wanted to look in the English tea store. As we were enroute, we saw her parents standing on the street corner under the baleful eye of the Dictator. It was obvious that they had been cowed. We cut our explorations short and met back up.

The Dictator announced we were going to France. Off again at a ridiculous march. Alricurn had had enough and she speed walked past her sister to take lead dog. She was presented with two walkways that both seemed to lead to France. She chooses right. It was a dead end. Gloating, the Dictator indicated that she should lead because she knew all the secrets of Disney and the rest of us did not. We sullenly followed her to the correct path. It just was not worth trying to outsmart the Dictator. Once in France, her father decided he wanted pastries from the bakery.

Alricurn and I also wanted coffee. That was when for the first time something besides a ride caught the Dictators eye. A person was wearing white body paint and looked as if she were a Greek statue. The Dictator was mesmerized. She refused to leave the vicinity. Alricurn, her mother, and I all beat it for the pastry shop. For the next thirty minutes, we enjoyed a cup of coffee and some excellent pastries. The Dictator finally showed up and simply raved over how cool the “statue” was. We grumbled a bit because she had passed tons of similar things all day. With an hour to go before the closing fireworks display the Dictator announced that we needed to claim a viewing spot.

Again, we were off marching. By the time we found a spot that suited her there was still forty-five minutes left to the day. Alricurn and I decided that we would go and browse the shops of France. Considering how low my opinion of France is in general, the idea of willing shopping for French gifts being agreeable to me lets you know just how disagreeable I thought spending forty-five minutes with the Dictator was. For the first time all day, we were finally allowed to look touch and feel at our own pace.

The Fireworks display was incredible and I do not intend to spoil it for anyone who has not seen it. I will say that in spite of the near constant marching, and general hostile experience of the day, the fireworks alone were worth all the pain and suffering. Apart from one final death march to the parking lot, the remainder of the day went off without a hitch.

There is a second day worth of Disney World to be told, but that will just have to wait for another time. I just figured the rest of you would enjoy this little story. My question is do any of you have a Disney Nightmare too?

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Kayla
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That's not a Disney nightmare. That's a generational family nightmare. Mom and Dad are wimps. Apparently, they learned this behavior from their parents, as evidenced by Dad's sister. I hope if you have kids, they don't learn the same behavior. I can't believe you went, much less put up with it. You and your fiancee really should talk about that kind of situation before you get married ans decide how large a role her family will be playing in your lives.
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Ryuko
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I was going to correct your spelling of 'Hara Kiri' in the first part... But man, your story was too sad.

I would have ditched the Dictator within minutes of getting into that park. Disney is family fun and all, but she just seems nuts to me...

At the very least, you had SOME fun, right? And you got to drink beer, so the thing wasn't a total loss. I agree to talk to your fiancee about never ever seeing the sister in law from He-Colorado, I mean.. Again.

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Icarus
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O_O

I think that was longer than my thousandth post.

-o-

Saxon, I actually did get the theming, and that it was patterned more after Boardwalk style amusement park. Don't misunderstand me: when I say I was not as impressed with DCA, I mean by comparison to how other Disney parks hit me. I don't mean to be the snide tourist who puts everything down; I'm sorry if I came off that way. In fact, I wouldn't have mentioned it at all, except that lma made the comment and I was agreeing. I was thrilled to visit the original, and I can't convey the excitement of being in a Disney park, and yet having things be new and unfamiliar. It's kind of like how I felt at the beginning of Phantom Menace, except that that experience went horribly, horribly wrong. [Smile] But, back to the point, while I got that theme, I just didn't feel quite as absorbed into the whole experience at DCA.

All three of the Millionaire hosts I saw were guys, so I didn't have the pleasure of seeing your Viera clone. They were all a bit snide about the whole thing. The most annoying was the one who asked Cor, when she was in the Hot Seat, if Celebration was "that cookie-cutter town." If you don't know what the hell you are talking about, as this person quite plainly did not, then at least have the sense not to insult your guests. Can you imagine if the person in the Hot Seat was French, and the host said, "Oh, yeah! That place with all the rude cowards, where nobody bathes?"

Magic Kingdom counterparts of Disney World rides were generally a little more intricately designed (a compliment, in case my prejudices aren't clear), but the park was not as well maintained (and no, I am not referring to the tragedy). When we took the train around the Magic Kingdom, we were suprised and amused to find months worth of cobwebs covering the bodies of deer and other "live" creatures. There were places on Main Street where the paint was old and chipping, and garbage cans that were so full as to not have room for more. All of this was unusual to me.

Truly, we had a wonderful time at the parks, and were only disappointed that we didn't have time to do the parks justice. We were also disappointed that we didn't have more time with the SoCal clump, and that what time we did have was cut short by Cor's migraine. She suffered from migraines on and off the whole time we were in California; apparently the climate there was not favorable to her. We really enjoyed talking with you all, though, and hope you weren't too bored hanging out in the bar with us instead of doing the Downtown Disney thing. Hopefully, next time we will be up to more.

[Smile]

EDIT TO ADD: It's kind of funny that this is my four-thousandth post. It seems fitting that one of my x,000ths should be about Disney. So what do you think: should I ask the mods to archive it?

[Big Grin]

[ September 10, 2003, 09:40 PM: Message edited by: Icarus ]

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Ryuko
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Poor Cor... It must have been the air. That's the reason I'll never be able to visit SoCal... (Or at the very least I'll be completely miserable much of the time if I do...)
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