M-I-C-K-E-Y

Disney World is the happiest place on earth.  It says so on the sign.  However, after spending a few days there I have decided that this statement is not so much a slogan as it is spatial reality. You see, if a place’s “happiness level” can be quantified, which, for the sake of this discussion, we are assuming it can, this assessment must be based somewhat on the amount of smiling people per square yard.  Disney World, thus, has to win, because there are just so many people there in the first place.  Using this formula, though, I guess Disney World might also be the angriest place on earth, too, and perhaps even the creepiest, but neither of those comments are going to sell very many tickets.

Speaking of tickets, we bought ours almost a year ago, and we knew all along that this family discovery event was going to be much more detailed than our others.  We had a good time, though, and that is partially due to low expectations.  “You need to have low expectations,” I was told on more than one occasion.  “Yes, you’re spending a crazy amount of money, you’re going to devote a tremendous amount of time and energy just physically moving around the park, but remember, Disney World is for kids.  Don’t lose them.  A successful Disney World trip is returning home with the same amount of people you left with, preferably the same ones.”

The reality of it, though, is that I actually did enjoy myself.  Seriously.  Did I enjoy it as much as the six-year-old who met Elsa the Snow Queen and had the audacity to ask her for some ice powers?  Probably not.  Did I enjoy it as much as the four-year-old who left the Seven Dwarves mine train with a giant smirk on his face?  Not a chance.  But it was fun.  Disney World, even in hot, busy July, was a good time.  A month ago I saw the trip as a once-in-a-childhood adventure that our kids had better enjoy or else.  Now, though, because of good planning and great advice, I can absolutely see us returning in five years, which brings me to the actual topic of today’s column.

Agendas.  Disney World absolutely has to have an agenda.  You have to go into the place with a plan, a schedule, and a map.  For example, part of our plan, much to the chagrin of some sleepier members of our party, was to get up early enough to be at the park before it opened each day.  Another part of our plan was to actually know what rides we wanted to enjoy before we saw them, and to know when the lines for these rides would be the shortest.  Here’s a hint:  Most lines are shortest right after the park opens each day.

Another crucial component was our strategic use of the Disney Fastpass.  Every Disney patron is allowed three Fastpasses per day, which basically allows a person to jump the line.  These can save you anywhere from fifteen minutes to two hours.  These are free, but they are also scheduled, which is usually done weeks in advance.  This might sound silly and perhaps even antithetical to that “family oriented vacation experience,” but there are few things less “family oriented” than standing in a muggy line for ninety minutes with strangers and their desperate children.

Because of these strategies, our trip, although not perfect, was certainly worth repeating.  After three full days at various Disney parks, after dozens of rides and multiple character meetings, we probably stood in line for less than three hours.

This is all entirely dull and useless, though, if you have no plans on going to Disney World in the near future.  Some of you are probably even thinking, “What?  I’ve just read six paragraphs about Disney World?  I hate that stupid mouse.” And that’s cool.  I get that.

However, there is a much simpler, much more universal application to all these Disney-themed specifics: Seek wise counsel.

From the very moment we knew we were going, close to two years ago, we—and by “we” I mean my wife—began to talk to Disney veterans.  Hours were spent discussing the specifics with those who had gone before and who had returned with all their people intact.  Multiple three-ring binders were offered up by various experts.  We were even blessed with a detailed, family-specific itinerary conjured up by a cousin who wanted our experience to be as enjoyable as hers.

As I get older, the more I appreciate the sincere input and advice of others.  It might be a small world, after all, but we should never let it get so small we don’t ask anybody for help.

Civilization Goes Boink, 2015

According to my wife’s doctors, she will give birth to our third child mere days before my 40^th birthday.  This seems like pretty bad timing on their part, but I didn’t go to medical school, so what do I know?

It’s still a bit too early to know the baby’s tie-breaking-gender, but, thanks to previous experiences, I already have a pretty good idea how many people will respond.  If it is a girl, I will receive a lot of “oohhhs” and “awwws,” and, “Oh, more pink dresses, huh?”  If it’s a boy, I will most likely get something like this:

“Well, I hope you’re ready to get peed on again.”

For the most part, I’m not.

I have been peed upon, of course, but this is not the same as being ready for such an event, and so I think the question, in and of itself, assumes quite a bit.  As we know, baby boys, due to anatomical specifics, simply “go” on things more often than girls. Even I, apparently, once “went” on my grandmother many decades ago during a routine diaper change, and thus the karmic implications are clear.

I have it coming, and I have been warned.

Despite all this, though, it is important to note that most boys outgrow this tendency in practice, if not always in theory, which leads us rather clumsily into the actual focus of today’s column:  comic strips.

Many years ago, during the zenith of American history more commonly known as the 1990s, an immensely talented man named Bill Waterson wrote and illustrated an immensely entertaining comic strip by the name of Calvin & Hobbes. Calvin, named after the 16^th century French theologian John Calvin, possessed a galaxy-sized imagination that he often used to escape his humdrum life by exploring space, fighting monsters, or building dozens of decapitated snowmen. 

Hobbes, on the other hand, named after the 17^th century English philosopher Thomas Hobbes, possessed the wonderful ability to change between a rather normal stuffed tiger into a wry, philosophically-gifted real tiger that was prone to spastic bursts of intense, good-natured violence. Together these two ruled the world of late 80s and early 90s newspaper comic-strips.

Watterson was an artist, though, and, like many artists, he often let his integrity get in the way of good old fashioned commercialism. Fed up with the hounding of his employers to market Calvin and Hobbes and weary of newspapers throughout the country voicing their own annoyance about his strip taking up so much space, Watterson left the comic world in the winter of 1995. He accomplished, thus, what very few entertainers ever do: he retired on top with an unsatisfied fan base asking for more.

A few years later, as many of you might recall, a decal of Calvin began appearing on the back windows of cars and trucks. This twerpy little doppelganger looked almost exactly like Watterson’s version except this character was relieving himself on the number 24. Or the number 3. Or a Ford emblem, or a Chevy emblem, or just about anything you might imagine a person would secretly want to pee on but could not because of our society’s draconian laws forbidding such behavior. Thus, if you did not like Jeff Gordon the racecar driver and needed a straightforward way to express your disgust, you simply bought a decal of this kid doing what he did on top of Jeff Gordon’s racing car number. Problem solved.

What this said, in effect, was this: “My contempt for Jeff Gordon is so profound I really, really wish I could just go to the bathroom on him. But I cannot, both because it is illegal and  I’m not certain where he lives, thus I will instead verbalize this contempt by placing a decal of Kalvin P. , (who represents my inflated Id) peeing on the number 24 (which represents that nasty NASCAR driver I despise so much.)”

At first I assumed that the decal was an anomaly, a trend that would eventually go away. Unfortunately, the sticker has turned out to be much more harbinger than quirk.  That decal, I’m afraid, is totally us.  As a people, we have become cartoon versions of ourselves pretend peeing on whatever it is we find annoying, offensive, or rude, entirely oblivious to the fact that we, ourselves, are often being annoying, offensive, and rude.  Most angles and sides of almost every single issue you could ever wish to imagine have become so bloated with pride and self-righteous indignation that there’s practically nothing left to talk about.  Only yell about.  Only pee upon.

With this in mind, I’d like to end this column by asking Mr. Watterson a favor.  Come back.  We need you.  Our civilization has gone absolutely “boink.”  In all my years, I have never met someone who didn’t like a good Calvin and Hobbes comic strip. Watterson’s artistic talent and integrity, combined with Calvin’s enthusiasm and Hobbes’ wisdom, are sorely needed in today’s public discourse.

In the meantime, I’ll reread some of his old volumes.  Starting in December, I’ll reread them to a new audience.