Disneyland

Mimi and I spent eleven hours at Disneyland yesterday and had an immensely good time for pretty much all of them, even the final fifteen minutes when we were wandering around the Mickey level of the vast “Mickey and Friends Parking Structure” trying to find our rental car.

I was surprised how much I enjoyed myself; I’d been the Magic Kingdom several times before, once as a precociously jaded twelve year-old, when I spent most of our stay in the Main Street Arcade playing pinball, and on a couple of occasions as a young adult living in LA when compelled to shepherd out-of-town guests there, so I rather expected to find it a teeth-grinding experience from start to finish.

But this time, I resolved beforehand to try to have fun, and after our first ride, “Space Mountain,” I was hooked. Never have I been on an amusement park ride that so fully transports you to another realm; (and never have I been so close to hurling on one and not.)

For the rest of the day, we basically alternated standing in long lines and riding roller coasters, particularly enjoying “Splash Mountain,” whose subtle admonition, “You May Get Wet” might well qualify as the understatement of the year.

And of course, we braved the eerily creepy (and upon close examination, rather tawdry—time for some touch-ups, Walt) “It’s a Small, Small World” which Mimi dubbed by far the scariest amusement in the park.

At a meta-level, I was fascinated by the Disney Corporation’s sophistication in getting their money from your pocket into theirs; these guys make the forces behind Las Vegas look like pikers. Every square inch of the park is devoted to getting you to turn over more of your hard-earned cash to Uncle Walt and we certainly did our part.

But as the fireworks exploded over the Magic Castle to the strains of “When You Wish Upon a Star,” it all seemed worth it.