I love Disney, but really, they should just post a big sign when you enter the grounds that says, "Gentlemen, check your gonads at the door."
That's right, hand them over, both of them. There's really no need for you to keep those nasty things hanging around. Don't worry, we'll keep them safe and protected for you, here at the front desk, for when you're ready to leave.
You see, everything instantly becomes nice and lovable, at Disney.
Gonads just get in the way. No need for all that nasty male testerone, around here. It's all about cute furry animals and make believe and fairy tales. Fun rides and good food. That's it. Even thinking impure thoughts is strictly forbidden...they spray an invisible gas that banishes all such nonsense from your head.
Although my favorite place in Disney is the Magic Kingdom (and, most especially, my beloved mecca, Splash Mountain), this time around, I think I've really enjoyed Epcot more. We went there Monday and Tuesday, and I don't think we've seen everything, yet. Just on the first day alone, we spent about six hours going country by country through the World Showcase.
This may sound strange, but we actually had a lot of fun watching the different promotional films for each country. I actually wish there had been more of them. Why, for example, isn't there a film for England? Or Italy, for Pete's sake? You coould do ten films about Italy. Or even little Monaco. What the heck, why not?
The only one that seemed rather lifeless was the Norwegian film, because it seemed more like an infomercial then anything else. Seriously, I wouldn't have been surprised if they had chosen to have it hosted by Billy Mays. I guess they spent all their money building a Viking water ride, and couldn't be bothered spending much more on the film after the ride.
All of the films, really, have an infomercially feel, which I think becomes more evident if you see them all in a row. They're clearly all done by the Tourist Councils for their particular countries. Even so, most at least try to make them somewhat entertaining...or at least, consistent with the spirit of the country. The French film is all smarm and sneer...and, well, French. "Ah ha ha! We French, we are so much better than all the rest of you stinking countries! We came up with eating snails! We eenvented cheese! And now we shall show you images of France, and you shall truly see how much better we are than you lowly non-French pieces of merde..."
The one I like best of all is the last one that we saw--and the only one I'd really seen before--at the Canadian Pavilion.
Why? It's the stupid song at the end of the film, of course. Come on, I'm a gay male, I'm all about the songs. And Disney World has a whole slew of songs that grab you by the...well, gonads that you didn't check at the door...and never let go. It's a Small World, After All...There's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow...A Pirates Life for Me...
But the song at the Canadian Pavilion tops them all, for me. Even now, it's going through my head, continuous loop. In the theater, amidst gorgeous aerial views of the Canadian landscape, synthesized music swells up, and suddenly, a singer who sounds NOT UNLIKE Celine Dion starts singing. Sometimes, she even sings in French! I tell you, I was hooked, from note one.
Oops! Just looked it up. it's actually someone named Eva Avila. Ha! I'm not convinced. I think it's really just Celine Dion assuming a fake name, so we don't think that the only Canadian female singer that ever existed is Celine Dion. YOU CAN'T FOOL ME, CELINE DION!
All week long, out of nowhere, Corb and I will start singing the song, randomly.
"Canada," Corb will sing, out of the blue, as we're walking to Splash Mountain
"Canada!" I'll sing, as an echo. Usually, I pretend to sing it in the voice I use for our cat, Oliver.
"My Canada," Corb will warble.
"You're a lifetime of wonder..." we'll both sing, from the heart, and then sigh, contentedly.
There have been so many things that I've actually never seen at Disney. Either I've never had the time, or simply, I knew the kids would have absolutely no interest in going to see them. Take, for example, the Hall of Presidents. My kids wouldn't be caught dead setting foot in there! And yet, I love it...have seen it twice, already, and would have seen it a third time today, if Corb hadn't threatened my life.
There are animatronic replicas of all the the American presidents on one stage. All of them, nodding and bowing to the audience. Imagine, Rutherford B. Hayes, practically live! It boggles the mind.
Just recently, I learned, they installed an animatronic replica of Barack Obama. And say what nasty things you want, my Republican friends (and believe it or not, I actually do have a few), but sitting in that theater today, in front of a family of African Americans, and hearing the passion in their voices, cheering loudly when his name was announced and his voice came over the loudspeaker, reciting the oath of office...well, it was awfully hard not to be moved.
So for the past four days, we've been visiting Epcot, and Magic Kingdom, and Disney Hollywood (we tend to avoid Animal Kingdom). We've been going on rides, eating vast quantities of food...oh, and of course singing endless rounds of Canada. It's been great fun.
Any down side? Well, yes, actually. It happened last night, when I called Josie up, to wish her a happy birthday, and asked to speak to the kids.
"How's Grandpa?" asked Ashes.
"Ummm...he's doing well," I said.
"Where is she now?" she asked.
"He went out for a bit," I lied.
Oh yes, the little white lie I told, to get here. That I was traveling to Block Island for five days, for a week of male bonding with my father. And yes, Mama Sue, I did feel a bit guilty, perpetuating the lie, even though I keep telling myself that they're going to have a wonderful week in Vermont, as soon as I get back, and we're going to take them to Disney next year, again. Still, all those years of being raised Catholic makes me feel just terrible inside, about lying to my sweet innocent kids like that.
Well, really. What is vacation without a little guilt? Work, family, the size of your ever-expanding waist. These are all necessary evils, I suppose. Things to feel bad about, to worry about, and to bemoan. At least, until the next distraction comes along.
Like, say, the next chorus of "Canada."
Hey, I think I feel a song coming on...
Ted and the Giant Lawn Gnome: Separated at Birth?