I think that is the case

Obviously, I love the whole of WDW, but if I had to rank the parks from favorite to least, Magic Kingdom would be tops by a ginormous margin and Animal Kingdom would bring up the rear. I don't hate Animal Kingdom and usually spend the better part of a day there on my trips, but generally, it's not a repeat stop like the other parks.

Since Buster is slightly enamored with animals I figured I'd spend a bit more time there this go around. We did. Just not looking at animals. Sure, we did the safari and gawked at all the animals, even took a few pictures along the way. For some reason, Buster has an odd fear of rhinos and was fearful they would come after him if he left the safari vehicle. Being as Disney and good, old common sense frowns upon leaving the vehicle, I assured him we were probably safe if we followed the rules. Maybe not as much adventure that way, but it greatly increased our chances of walking out with all limbs intact and our skeletal systems free of any fractures.

But what really grabbed Buster's goat was the new Expedition: Everest roller coaster. He'd been rather geeked up about it all along. I had told him before we left that I would ride anything he wanted to ride, but honestly figured once he saw Everest, he'd back out. I think Custer guessed more correctly at Little Big Horn. We did it once, which was fair enough. My eyes shut most of the way, praying he'd never want to do it again. My prayers were answered for about 10 minutes. And then we hit it 5 times in a row whilst Marisol patiently waited in the gift shop. Thanks, Mom. Somewhere in the middle of the second ride, I was able to open my eyes and maybe, almost enjoyed ride #3. The fourth spin found things getting a little dicey in the stomach region and on the fifth I vowed I would not ride Everest again on this trip. Had we not told Buster firmly that that was it for the day, he'd probably still be riding it right now.

Everest was not reserved just for fun, however. I also used it as an opportunity to drop some knowledge on him, telling him all about the real Mt. Everest. I know all about it since I watched both seasons of Everest on Discovery Channel; not because I actually read a book or really cared. Though it took some convincing, he did finally accept that this tall structure, for WDW, was not, in fact, the highest peak in the world. That there was an actual, real Everest and it's taller than all the buildings put together on the entire Disney complex. His mind was blown and he scarcely said much the rest of the day. I suppose a crack about his silence being a blessing would be a bit too predictable.

Speaking of predictable, there is the Florida weather. In the summer, it's always going to be hot, humid and one can count on an afternoon thunderstorm just about every day. This trip was no different, except that I discovered that when it rains really, really hard Disney has really, really bad drainage. So I squished around Hollywood Studios and Epcot on subsequent evenings wondering how they could bring Abe Lincoln to life, but put enough of a slope on walkways for water to run off. I vowed to fire off a nasty letter to the powers that be about such matters, but have thus far resisted the urge. Like most white folk, I find civil disobedience and community activism ain't all that important once you get home. Unless its something really important, like the cable going out or McDonald's getting one's order wrong. Then it is on.

Hawaiian gospel music is something

It was about this time last week that I was heading down to the Volcano pool at Disney's Polynesian Resort. I suppose when I pulled out of Marisol's driveway shortly after 4:30 am, I didn't really figure our first stop in Disney would be the pool, no matter how volcanically impressive it was. But then, I never fail to underestimate the pull a giant hole full of chlorinated water has on a 7-year old. So when my somewhat leading question of "What do you guys want to do first?" was answered with "Go to the pool," it was all I could do to shrug.

Pools have never been my thing. I'm far from hydrophobic and am actually quite competent with all the major swim strokes. Admittedly, the Butterfly generally doesn't see a whole lot of action. I'll go so far as to say I've only regretted a handful of my swimming excursions. However, were I offered the choice of going to a pool with a really cool slide or "the happiest place on Earth" I'd pick "the happiest place on Earth" every time. I would have presumed most people not named Andy would take that option as well. Apparently, Buster's super secret lost middle name is Andrew. So with Magic Kingdom beckoning in the distance, we headed for a swim.

One of the more pleasant aspect of being poolside is that females tend to wear fewer clothes. Likewise, one of the more unpleasant aspects of being poolside is that males tend to wear fewer clothes. And at a family resort like WDW, the overriding characteristic of both sexes could best be described as sagging. The French Riviera this ain't. Thanks to all the running, I don't sag quite as much as I used to, but I more than make up for that with my complexion, which could best be described as White Out on a particularly white day. Given the pummeling my eyes take at the pool, I suppose it's only fitting that I blind everyone else.

Though the swimming segment lasted a wee bit longer than I'd had hoped, we did leave the same day we arrived which was no small feat. Every time I'd suggest to Buster that there was even more fun just across Bay Lake, he'd throw water in my face. He found this funny for some reason. Finally, I'd had all I could take and ordered the lifeguards to remove him from the pool area. Sure, this upset him but we were at WDW to have fun, not swim and by gum, we were going to have fun even if it meant scarring him for life. I knew Buster would admit his error when we saw Cinderella Castle and apologize for wasting such precious, precious time on something so frivolous as a swimming pool. I'm still waiting.

We still had plenty of time to hit all the high points. Actually, we had enough time to hit them a couple of times, except for Splash Mountain. This water ride is one of my faves and since it's normally closed during January, I haven't been able to ride it on my past few trips during the marathon. Therefore I was pumped. Pumped is a tad strong and a bit scary, but I was eager for Marisol and Buster to experience a soaking at the hands of Brer Rabbit. Perfect sense that for this I left the pool.

Alas, the 110-minute(!) wait assured we would not be thrown into the briar patch until another day. Other families were not as fortunate and I could see the pleading looks coming from the queue, begging for the sweet release of death. Feeling the queue's pain beginning to assail our joy, I ushered Marisol and Buster towards Pirates of the Caribbean because what's more uplifting than pirates pillaging unsuspecting villas?

For the rest of the day we gradually made our way around Magic Kingdom and nothing of interest to the world at large really happened. Forgive the assumption that something of interest had already happened. Though the crowds were large as expected, they were not overwhelming. Or at least nothing a swift kick in the pants couldn't take care of. Buster was offended by the pirate giving rum to the kitten on Pirates and vowed never to ride it again. Marisol did her best to get sick on Big Thunder Mountain and vowed never to ride it again. For my part, I continued to be amazed at how miserable "the happiest place on Earth" makes some people, but then I like to assume that if they're miserable at WDW then they're probably miserable everywhere. Except Andy. He's usually pretty happy at Tech games.

Laziness pt. 17

Attention, Please Note, Etc.: If you stumbled upon here through a Google search expecting to hear of my meeting with Captain Beefheart, prepare to be disappointed. I've never met him. Ever. I am somewhat of a fan though I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I exist. *sigh* But just in case, "Hi, Don." I accidentally published my working title of this post (How I Met Captain Beefheart) before it was changed to Laziness pt. 17.

Look at the other posts around here, the titles are generally non-sensical or somewhat cryptic. This one was no different. Except. Said working title was apparently immediately entered into every search engine known to man and now anytime anyone searches "meeting Captain Beefheart" this is what they get. My mistake. So...sorry I can't give any clues as to how he really felt about Zappa or what his favorite brand of cola is. Probably Coca-Cola, Beefheart's pretty all-American.

And now the actual post.

I promised I would return, and for the most part, I'm good at keeping promises. As expected, WDW still charges for internet access. I still refused to pay. Perhaps on my next trip I'll organize a protest against this ridiculous policy. Until then, I'll continue to bear a burden only people with nothing much else to complain about can understand. Never fear though, I'll give a complete rundown of all the parts of the trip I choose to run down over the next few days. And probably a word or two about Seth's, Bonnie's & my delightful evening with high-quality yukster, Paul F. Tompkins, in Atlanta. Maybe even a random tale from my past. Oh, there's so much to look forward too. In fact, the only thing that gets this combo more excited is some good old-fashioned, white-bread Dixieland. Well, that and clear cutting.

Guilty of caring too much

Tomorrow, or more accurately, tonight is departure time for WDW '09 round 2. This is the first trip in 3 years that will not be centered around running a marathon. Accordingly, I've actually been able to look forward to this trip as a vacation and not an exercise in stupidity. So to speak. Which is not to say those recent trips haven't been fun and filled with much levity involving reasonably sane adults interacting with folks dressed as cartoon characters. It's just that before the marathon there's the fact that knowing I've got a good 5-hour run ahead of me which sort of puts a damper on my whimsy. The bulk of the post-race visit is spent trying to recover the energy I left somewhere between mile 18 and 21. The energy is usually found huddled in a corner, shivering and cursing me.

In order to squeeze the maximum amount of hap, hap, happiness into this trip, I have informed Marisol that the bus will be leaving at 4 am. Her response: We can leave earlier if you want. What a gal. My heart skipped a beat. But no, a 4 am call should put us through the gates around lunch. More to the point, it also means that my companions could (they won't) sleep much of the way down there, and no stops will be needed. Snacks will be provided and any major hunger issues will be dealt with via drive-thru. Should nature call, there will be a bottle. If privacy or discreetness is required, I recommend Depends and will roll down the windows. If we have a blow out, God forbid, I'll drive on the rim until we get there. Roadblocks? I'll be driving a Tahoe, 'nuff said. In short, my attitude towards driving is like being on the lam but without the danger of guns and knowing that I'll be headed to federal-pound-me-in-the-ass prison when I get caught.

I did surprise myself yesterday by going ahead and packing. I'd like to think it was to get ahead of the game, but it was really so when asked if I was packed I could say, "Indeed I am." Right on cue this morning, the EPJ had scarcely closed the door before the inevitable was asked. "So Jerms, are you packed?" She had already started the follow-up, "Well, when are your going to?" when I cut her off. "Yep, yesterday afternoon while you were probably taking a siesta. So in yer face, EPJ. I am unstoppable." She then fired me.

So while the world is sleeping this evening, I'll be heading out for Florida. I will be taking my laptop, but may not have internet access. Disney used to charge for in-room access which is ridiculous. Andy would say it's par for the course. Hopefully, there are some free wi-fi spots around. I love my readers dearly and generally don't put a price on our relationship but $10 is $10. If I was made out of money, it's all gone into this trip. With any luck there will be daily updates, but who knows. Regardless, I'll give a wrap up when I get back because if there's anyone who deserves to know what I did on vacation, it's random strangers or folks who stumbled on here through an internet search for learning French. In the meantime, world, please do not blow up.

What if it is cheese, indeed

In all the hubbub surrounding my car blowing up, deciding to get a new car, talking with actual, real, live salesman, deciding which car to purchase, eating several delicious bowls of tapioca pudding, entertaining second thoughts on a decision (cars, that is. When it comes to pudding, Je ne regrette rien.), ignoring obtrusive phone calls from overeager salesmen, wondering why I thought spending 5 figures for a new vehicle made more sense than spending barely 4 figures to get my Jetta fixed, and ultimately, scrapping the whole idea in order to better enjoy the Tour de France, I neglected to mention that I'm going to Disney World. In fact, one week from today that's where I'll be along with Marisol and Buster.

Sometime ago I had this crazy notion that I would try to take them this summer. Partly because they'd never been and partly because I'm always looking for an excuse to go back. I was not particularly demanding in my planning but did have a few modest goals in mind. Namely, go when the crowds would be their largest and the Florida temps would be their most hellish. I figure what better place to be miserable than "The happiest place on Earth." After much thought and prayer, I chose the final week in July. Yes, I am awesome. I know.

As this is Marisol's & Buster's first to Mouseville, I wanted them to get the full experience. And that includes long lines, tired feet and screaming kids. I can't lie. It's great fun when you can hop on rides with little wait or march right up to Mickey and shake his hand without having to kick a rugrat or two out of the way. But in order to truly appreciate those moments, one has to earn it. To be in the shit, as we said back in 'Nam. Admittedly, even on the best of days at WDW, Andy would probably rather be in Vietnam but then he's not invited. He (and us) will get our chance with Baby Zeigler in a few years. Andy's already started popping Valium for that trip.

Much like last fall's trip abroad, the EPJ has been expecting my bags to have been packed sometime ago. Each morning for the past 6 months, I've been asked if I was packed. Much like last fall's trip abroad, I expect my bags will get packed sometime Monday night. Unless the EPJ comes over sooner and does them, of course.


Yeah, I know I'm a day late. It took that long to clear the publishing clearing house. Which is not the same as Publisher's Clearing House, just so you know.

Finding out your birthday is wrong

It had been pretty slow around here today which is generally the way we prefer it. It's not that we're lazy, but after all these years we've found that a boring workplace is a happy workplace. Sometimes work must be done though. Even on Friday afternoon, especially when there's a wedding to be held.

I've never thought of Friday after lunch as being the optimum time for a wedding. I've also never really had dreams of getting married in the friendly confines of these concrete walls either by the EPJ. I'm the first to admit she does a bang-up job giving the vows and the happy couple do save a fortune on all those cute cocktails wieners and booze. Plus, a moderate amount of amount of our weddings stick. Not sure how our figures stack up with the national rate, but we've only had one that didn't make it through the honeymoon. As a result, we briefly considered implementing a "first week free" policy but ultimately went with "all sales final." It's all about the benjamins with us.

The couple just now were a gregarious enough bunch, full of life. The groom even mentioned they'd have a stripper tonight and I was invited over. I thought this quite neighborly and was definitely intrigued. Unfortunately, he never said where "over" was. Dang. My evening would have been set otherwise. I did mean to ask him if strip clubs give group discounts for wedding receptions. My guess is yes. A recent survey of newlyweds found that the one thing most missed at their reception was the pole dancing of Kandy Kane. Surprising.

Before I could get the full details on the post-wedding throwdown, he started telling the assembled throng about how he'd just gotten Season 1 of Alf on DVD. Like most dudes, I loves me some nekkid women. But when you start talking Alf, we're talking a-whole-nother level of bliss.

Since some of the assembled throng were unfamiliar with Alf (whatup with that?) a brief explanation was in order. He's "like an anteater but an alien" was all that was offered. It's doubtful a career as a Hollywood pitchman awaits, but I can't argue with his succinctness. This was enough to grab the assembled throngs attention, and he continued on telling exactly how he got Season 1 of Alf on DVD. It involved a van or something. Seriously. Feeling a connection with me since that whole stripper business, he asked me if I liked Alf. "Does the Pope poop in the woods? Melmac (Alf's home planet) is like my second home." We then high-fived as I wondered just how my life had arrived at this point.

Alas, his bride-to-be didn't share his enthusiasm. A development that could present trouble later on after the stripper and everybody else leaves, but right now I think he's OK. May want to hold off on Season 2 of Alf on DVD for right now though.

Regardless, he knows how to save face. He quickly added to no one in particular that he's also got Season 1 of Walker, Texas Ranger on DVD as well. Whether or not this involved the same van as Season 1 of Alf on DVD I don't know, but it definitely lifted the bride's spirits. That's understandable. I often think of Chuck Norris' moustache when I feel blue. A hunch that she'll be thinking of that moustache a lot in the coming days, weeks and months.

I no longer have a feel for my automobile

Hopefully the blogger godz won't destroy this post. Still not sure what happened yesterday but I'm pretty sure someone just didn't want my truth to be heard. Please know that even though the posted post was short, I spent much time crafting a much better one that probably said even less.

Since this car-buying process has dragged on for a few weeks, i.e. too long, I'm coming close to pulling the plug on it for now. Maybe I'll just get the compressor on the Jetta fixed and drive it for a few more years until the rest of the engine explodes, taking me and half of the town with it. There's something to be said for going out in a literal blaze of glory. That you'd be dead is probably what I would say, but others may have a different take. I digress.

While nothing is set in stone, that's the direction I'm leaning towards today. This time yesterday I was lining up the finances. So who knows what tomorrow holds. By then, I may be in the market for a hovercraft or the Earth may have exploded. I suspect neither will be the case.(There seems to be a recurring theme of explosions today) Ultimately, I guess I decided I couldn't make Sophie's Choice after all: Taurus or Aztek. Both are of such a quality that to purchase one, or both, would be to deprive some other sad, sappy sucker of the thrill of driving the median of what Detroit has to offer. I just can't do that. I love people too much.

And while I was prepared to throw around the mad sums necessary to procure such a vehicle, my miserly ways appear to have won this battle. The war is by no means lost. It's just going to be more of an Israeli-Palestinian millennia spanning conflict than Israel's uber-concise Six Day War with Egypt, Jordan and Syria. Maybe I should get Netanyahu to help me buy a car.

The EPJ was reading of my car search the other day and though her opinion was not requested, offered "Germs, I really like that Aztek." These words speaks for themselves on a number of different levels. However, it was with great gentleness and humility that I told her I'm not really looking at the Aztek or Taurus. I need something hipper, brasher, bolder. A Toyota Camry, for instance, which is also not on my list. I hated to add to an already broken-hearted EPJ that no Ford Taurus' have been sold in 3 years though the line is still in production. As for the Aztek, Pontiac halted the line in 2005 after selling approximately 17 units. Apparently, they could have sold 18 if they had just held on 4 more years.

P.S. The EPJ has a sore throat. She wants you to pray for her. She actually requested I put that notice in this post. Not sure if the prayer request is for throat healing or just to help her be a more awesome person. It might as well be for the latter because I'm pretty sure the sore throat is God's punishment for liking the Aztek.