lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
He’s the all-night working cat.
Eats but one in every ten
leaves the others on the mat.
…And the mouse police never sleeps

     Jethro Tull, ‘…And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps‘

I was going to tell this story as part of an entry or a series of entries about my Disneyland trip this week, but I don’t feel like writing about all that and sorting pictures today. I should be outside doing something with my last vacation day bit I’m more in the angry, sit and brood sort of mood, sort of like when you feed a kid too much sugar and red food coloring; bouncing-off-the-wall wired and then a steep slope down to crash-and-burn.

So we’ll start with my last day (lastday I wanted to say, which is the sorta geeky sci-fi reference spcknght will get).

Let’s start with what I looked like, but imagine it angry. Big and angry. I’m not that tall, but I tend to look a lot bigger when I’m pissed off. Black kilt, black combat boots. And yeah, that’s a mohawk.

Now a little background. Post 9/11, Disney started security checkpoints. Used to be inside the park after you pass the gates, and it included a pat down and a wanding, I think. Which was fine, we were all a little spooked just after 9/11.

Later, they moved it outside the gates; you’d get a check-over if you had a bag. But no wanding and no pat down, and no check at all of pockets. Even cargo pockets like on my kilt, which could easily hide a hand grenade or a .45 on each side. And certainly not on the pockets on my army BDU’s which could hold a human head on each side. Yet bum bags and purses get a check. So – fine. You pass by if you have nothing to check.

Now though, they’ve moved the checkpoint to a bottleneck point between d-land and the new California Adventure park, so there’s a queue you get into – along with everyone else, strollers, backpacks, and everything. So you wait with nothing to check behind people with hummer-wide strollers and packs big enough to tour Europe with.

To put it simply, it’s a terrible system. And for a company that’s so goddamn good at queue management, it’s a fucking disgrace. It’s a mass, a mob, not a line.

Now let’s state the obvious; the check is pointless. I could walk in with a jacket made of c5 and they’d never stop me as long as I’m not wearing a bum bag. They’re not looking for anything. They’re making a show. It costs the visitor time, and the people doing the checks are not security people, they’re just standard park employees (‘cast members’), the same people who run the monorail and work the gift shops by the gate.

So I’m stuck in line behind a big Suburban of a stroller, and in front of a big Suburban of a stroller. With only a water bottle in my hands. I know what happens when I get up to the head of the line, I walk by the geezer doing the checks and he doesn’t even look at me when I don’t present a bag. So I slide around the stroller in front, lift my heavily tattooed arms to show I’m not carrying anything, and off I go.

At which point, the checkpoint guy starts yelling at me. Yelling, not the usual Disney politeness. Yelling at me to get back in line. So I stop, and turn around. And we have this conversation:

     Gate-geezer: : Sir, get back in line!

    &nbspMe: I’ve got nothing to be checked.

    &nbspGate-geezer: : Everyone waits. Get back in line. Now.

    &nbspMe: Why? (Starting to get a little irritated. This is rude, for Disney)

    &nbspGate-geezer: Sir, you must get back in line, and you much get back in line NOW!

    &nbspMe: Why? What for? (Now getting really irritated)

    &nbspGate-geezer: : Now. Right now! EVERYONE WAITS IN LINE!

    &nbspMe: WHY? I’ve got nothing to be check for. I’m stepping out of the way. (Losing my temper and starting to show it)

    &nbspGate-geezer: : EVERYONE waits in line!

    &nbspMe: WHY AM I WAITING IN LINE WHEN I DON’T NEED TO BE CHECKED? (my hands are now in fists. I’m starting to feel the man’s teeth breaking when my fist connects with his face)

    &nbspGate-geezer: Security! Security! Someone get security!

At this point, in my head, I’m taking him down, putting a combat-booted foot on his chest and explaining exactly how stupid this pretend security is, real as the gunfire on the Jungle Cruise. I’m ready for security to show up, and I’m ready to tell the motherfuckers, yeah, bring it. I’m ready to point out that this asshole pretending to inspect bags is doing nothing other than irritate guests.

I’m ready to get hauled the fuck off to mouse jail. No problem. This fucker is NOT going to tell me what to do, and if I have to take down two or three d-land guards, I’m ok with that.

It was a near thing. I was ready to go. And then I had one of those grown-up moments. I pictured the actual cops showing up, and my last vacation day spent in the Anaheim city jail. I pictured getting barred from Disneyland. And I was ok with that, until I pictured my kids having to bail Daddy outta jail instead of riding Pirates of the Caribbean and Indiana Jones.

And I’m tellin’ you, it was fucking close. I could taste blood and had a moment of tunnel vision.

Good sense won out. God dammit, sometimes it sucks being a grownup.

Later, it occurred to me that the man may have reacted to my appearance. Mohawk, tattoos, skull rings, skull t-shirt, black and silver kilt that has a leather/biker look to it, combat boots. Everything about me says ‘Fuck The World‘, and I forget that. Still, it was the single rudest person I’ve ever encountered in all the years I’ve been at Disneyland. My one regret is that I didn’t manage to store the asshole’s name in memory for a later report to management. It took me a good hour to stop wanting to do someone bad harm, and pretty much the rest of the day before I stopped needing to do someone good harm. Though I managed to not get any actual fights the whole rest of the day.

…Actually come to think of it, I still pretty much need to do someone good harm.

I had this whole plan for daily blog entries while I was down here, only I always forget how whipped I am when we get back from the park each day. I didn’t have the juice to even think about writing.

Still, I had pictures I wanted to post, so last night, after a couple martinis, I sat down while the kids were winding down and got set to upload pictures from the camera.

And of course, the cable that I’d so carefully packed turned out to not be packed.

I am still somewhat puzzled over this, but it kneecapped my plan to post. So, you know, nevermind.

Heading home today – we had a vague plan to stay another night in SoCal and do something post-mouse but none of us really feel like it, so I’ll be home and back on line tonight, maybe in time for an HNT post and everything.

Plus, I can tell a little story of almost popping a disney security guy in the mouth, and almost spending my last day in Mouse Jail.

But that little story can wait.

Now that my boss owns the Mouse, I figure I better check up on that little rodent.

Which is to say, I’m headed south to visit Disneyland.

I’m gonna try n’ blog from down there – I’m taking the cable to upload pictures and everything. We’ll see if that actually happens, I didn’t do any blogging on my last Disney trip; but that was Florida. This is back to the original in Anaheim.

It’s been a long three weeks work-wise, though a good three weeks. I’m re-engaged with what my team does, and back to making a significant contribution. I’m ragged, and so very ready for a vacation.

I had planned to get tattooed while I was down there but I just never got around to making the arrangements; but I’m gonna try to hook up with Jack Rudy to plan a tattoo, anyway. It’ll give me an excuse to get back down there again in a few weeks. It’s not that far, after all.

Anyway if updates are few, it’s because I’m busy feeling up Minnie and tryin’ to get a little tail from Ariel.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.
We pillage, we plunder, we rifle, and loot,
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.
We kidnap and ravage and don’t give a hoot,
Drink up me ‘earties, yo ho.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.
We extort, we pilfer, we filch, and sack,
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.
Maraud and embezzle, and even high-jack,
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.
We kindle and char, inflame and ignite,
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.
We burn up the city, we’re really a fright,
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.

We’re rascals, scoundrels, villans, and knaves,
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.
We’re devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.

This is long since I’ve got the whole trip in one entry. Click the extended entry for photos and a full trip report.

Almost twenty years ago, I realize now, since I’ve been to Walt Disney World in Florida. late ’86.

It’s like a fucking country now. An entirely self-contained world.

To a California kid, it’s simply amazing. I’m used to Disneyland, which until recently was one small park absolutely engulfed in motels and suburbia. Even now, now that The Mouse has bought up a lot of the surrounding property and expanded with another park (California Adventure) and a lot more, it’s a fairly small space, a few city blocks, and still, surrounded my non-Disney commercial properties.

Contrast this with WDW; about 47 square miles, I don’t know how many lakes, 8500 acres of wilderness premenantly preserved, four theme parks, two water parks, a huge mall and nightclub district (how many hotels?). I can only imagine how much power all this uses, how much waste it produces. And with all that, the feeling is of isolation. The real world is far away, the parks are far from each other, the resorts and hotels, mostly, cannot be seen one from the next.

When I was last there, it was much, much less elaborate. Two parks (Magic Kingdom and Epcot). Three, maybe four hotels. Nothing else. They’ve been busy.

We (Olivia, (11), Ruby (6), Barb, Me, and the In-Laws) were there for three and a half days; nowhere near enough. The parks (MGM, Magic Kingdom, Epcot and Animal Kingdom) each need at least a day, and Epcot could use two. We barely scratched most of the parks.

Read more “WDW – twenty years later”