The Battle For My Wallet IV: Return of the ZZUBs (Addendum, p.85; 07/12)

[kmebee]

Well, Zzub, Loved this chapter. It made me get all teary eyed at work. Good thing no one saw me so I didn't have to explain what I was really doing. I certainly couldn't convince them I was teary eyed over all of the financial statements I was looking at. Except of course because they made me cross eyed. ANYWHO...it was another great chapter. Full of emotion as usual. I am definitely hooked on Zzub reports now. But, uh, could you watch the Buckeye remarks...they hurt a little. You really know where to get a person...

 

[Montana Disney Fan]

I want whatever HappyHaunt is takin'. Hopefully, I can smuggle it in from Canada.

 

[DJR]

Your latest chapter got me to thinking about our Disney experiences. While we haven't had to deal with a split family, almost all of our trips have invoved our DD who is now 17 and a junior in high school. We have one more big family trip scheduled for Christmas, but since she'll be heading off to college, that will probably be the last time we visit WDW together, at least for a while. It' s going to be very different going without her then. Guess we should be thankful for the memoires we've made so far and try to make some lasting one's this year.

 

[New England Eeyore]

I let 3 installments pile up before I read them. Thank goodness, I could just gloss right over the TMI section and move onto the next.

Here's a tip for you - wait until your DD is old enough to drive the boat and then come back and tell me if the boats are too slow. I rode one last week as the passenger for my 13 year old driver. It was seriously the scariest ride we went on all week.

 

[ncseric]

Here's a tip for you - wait until your DD is old enough to drive the boat and then come back and tell me if the boats are too slow. I rode one last week as the passenger for my 13 year old driver. It was seriously the scariest ride we went on all week.

No potential drowning was involved, but I let my five year old drive the Tomorrowland Speedway with me riding along. I'm still recovering from whiplash.

 

[jmay127]

I've lurked here for quite awhile just thoroughly enjoying your tremendous writing style. This time I had to speak up as this installment just brought tears to my eyes for that little boy longing for those happy family times at Disney - at least once more and with the notice it would be the last time. It also made me think about what my children will remember as their best family times when they are grown.

 

[HaleyB]

Zzub that was sweet.
Who wrote it for you?

Now I have the theme to Miami Vice stuck in my head along with an image of this guy behind this

 

[angelmav]

Zzub that was sweet.
Who wrote it for you?

Now I have the theme to Miami Vice stuck in my head along with an image of this guy behind this

Best part about my own recent move, catching up on two of your trip reports!!

 

[luvmyboys]

I would have also done Script Ohio but I’m a Bama fan and we in the SEC enjoy beating the hapless Buckeyes too much to want to dot the i.

Except for this jibberish (what language is that anyway?), another excellent installment!

I think the real reason that you couldn't pull off a script Ohio is because they don't teach cursive down in 'Bama-- too loopy & complicated for already heat-addled young minds....

 

[mikymouse]

Ahhh... back to work and lunch with Zzub. Funny how a little Zzzubness can make my day go faster and more pleasant and one of the only things I was looking forward to this week. I even saw a script Ohio embeded in the lawn on my way into the office, which by the way, is completing normal in these parts. Go Bucks!

Tell Mrs. Z I said Hello. When exactly are you planning to take the newest family member back home? Please stretch out this trip report a little longer until you can start writing about the next trip planning. We are planning a first birthday at Chef Mickey's!! I could finally have a ticker with under 12 months on my signature if I knew how to get one of those things.

 

[mikymouse]

I think the real reason that you couldn't pull off a script Ohio is because they don't teach cursive down in 'Bama-- too loopy & complicated for already heat-addled young minds....

 

[1000thhappyhaunt]

But...


WAKE UP MAGGIE!!!

I think I've got sumpin' to say to YOO. Hoo.


I've got a long and carpy weekend ahead of me. And, I was thinkin'... it might help to have something good to read.

Because:


These words [of yours] are lovely, dark and deep.

But... don't you have promises to keep?

And miles to go before you sleep.

And miles to go before you sleep.


So... maybe... you could stop by the Dis on a Spring morning?!!!!



Cheers, Mel.

 

[Liz]

Zzub! Still reading your report out loud as a family and enjoying every installment!! When we're finished with this one I guess we'll go back and read about your previous trips. It'll be kinda like how they came out with the early Star Wars movies after we knew how it all came out!

And I wish you'd make eye contact with that dang DVC dude! I would love to join DVC and would appreciate a Zzub perspective on the whole thing!!!

You are awesome Zzub!

 

[riopooh]

Every trip I hope to go on the boats and everyyear we miss them. My memories of the boats as a child is my Brother and sister zooming around and then my brother grudgingly taking me along and then scaring the daylights out of my by pretending to play chicken with one of the ferries. Good times.

 

[M&M's]

I am responding to let you know that I have read the previous three Battles and enjoyed them immensely. However, the fourth battle is my favorite so far. Thank you for sharing your trips with all of us.

Thank you for posting in my TR with your thoughts. I hope that I can keep it up and that in the end, it will be half as good as your TR.

We have no Tide here in MA (other than the actual tide) and my college stomping grounds have a mascot that does not even exist (riverhawk). So for you, I hope that the Tide will indeed Roll.

 

[1000thhappyhaunt]

BUMP!


Bumpy bump bump.

 

[mikymouse]

Only a bump! I thought for sure if a malstromer had responded that a new chapter was up. Zzub I think you are exceeding your self imposed two week installment record... more please

 

[Grammyof2]

To the Mrs!!!

 

[ZZUB]

Chapter Twenty Three: The Ride to Peter Pan

My daughter loves Peter Pan.

The character. The movie. The Ride. The peanut butter.

Preferably without salmonella.

I promised her we’d catch the parade so she could see her man Peter Pan. And although I was a two-time gold medal winner, and I was expected to appear for the medal ceremony, I also needed to get my family to the Magic Kingdom.

So I cut short the medal ceremony.

Sue me.

It’s not like I walked off the podium during the National Anthem or anything. I just didn’t take the traditional victory lap. I didn’t have the time. And neither do you. So I’ll stop elaborating on this fiction.

I headed up to our room, shed my medal and ceremonial flag, and quickly showered and got changed. Then we all headed down to the take the boat to the Magic Kingdom.

As I’ve previously written, the boat ride to the MK is fairly pleasant. We found a seat and settled in for the ride. My daughter and my niece were sitting by the window poking their heads out. Talking about stuff that only they understood.

The boat was pretty crowded for that late in the day. There were lots of people on board. My wife thought the man in the gabardine suit was a spy. I said be careful his bow tie was really a camera.

In other words, we’d all gone in search of Peter Pan.

And on the way, got stuck in a Simon & Garfunkel song.

Which is better than getting stuck on a street with no name, or on a stairway to Heaven or living on a prayer, or forever young, or in the middle, or on a free bird, or in a long December, or in a month of Sundays or going to Graceland. Which brings us back to where I began.

We got to the MK a few minutes before 3:00 and people were lining up to watch the new parade which is a lot like the old parade. Only different.

But not much.

I quickly moved our party to an empty spot on the curb and everyone began setting up shop. Unfolding towels and blankets, opening back packs. Granting interviews to the media.

But I wasn’t happy.

Sure we were on the curb. Unobstructed view and all that.

But we were also in the sun.

Like idiots.

So I left my family and ran ahead to see if I could find us a curb spot in the shade. I called my wife and told them to head over to me. They did. And we set up shop again.

And then the wait was on.

Like the heat.

It was also on.

And the boredom.

My nephews took our park passes and headed to Space Mountain to get us fastpasses.

I looked at my watch and realized we had about 15 more minutes before the new/old parade was coming down Mainstreet.

15 minutes.

Time for a snack.

If only there were a place to get a snack nearby. I looked across the street at my old nemesis.

No, Mike Shula was not standing over there. But the Mainstreet Confectionary was. The scene of the most unspeakable horror since the 1994 SEC Championship Game when Florida beat Alabama by one point. Sending us, an 11-1 team, not to play for a national championship. But to the Citrus Bowl.

Where we beat Ohio State.

Again.

And so I stared across the street at the Confectionary. Wondering whether Suzie Helpershoes and the frequently invoked, if oft misplaced, register journal would again cause me dyspeptic fits.

I told my wife I was heading over there for treats. And to have my daughter’s hat monogrammed. Earlier, in the French-like surrender at the World of Disney, one of the several things we purchased was a hat for my little girl.

It’s a Peter Pan hat. Haven’t you been paying attention?!

I charged across the street, dodging small children and the overly chipper CMs trying to entertain them.

The Mainstreet Confectionary is either connected to or next to a place where you can have hats monogrammed. Ignoring common sense and the gnawing anxiety of looming disaster which rivals that felt by the soon-to-be ex-convict Paris Hilton, I handed my daughter’s Peter Pan hat to the CM and asked to have her name put on it. My daughter’s. Not Paris Hilton’s. She’s a word that rhymes with slut.

Can we say that here?

If not, then she’s a morally ambiguous, narcissistic debutante cum Jenny Craig spokesperson.

Or is that Monica Lewinsky? I get those two confused.

My daughter’s hat was monogrammed in short order and I then moved like a man in need of Canada’s facilities through the Mainstreet Confectionary scooping up Mickey pops, candy and Powerade. I handed my Key to the World to the CM and . . .

Nothing happened. Did you think I was going to get stymied by the register journal again?! What is this? Shrek the Third?!

Hat and goodies in hand, I hurdled the crowd on that side of the curb and ran over to my family. Firmly perched in the shade. I gave my little girl her hat and she promptly put it on her head. Then I handed out the goodies and broke out the camcorder to ready myself to film the new/old parade which was coming round the hub headed our way.

I aimed my camcorder at the Castle. The first floats were upon us soon enough. They looked familiar but the music was different. It was largely forgettable, something about dreams. Predictably. It’s a year of a million of them or hadn’t you heard?

I instinctively reached into my wallet and threw a five spot into the street. Soon enough I spotted the Peter Pan float coming our way. I leaned down to my daughter and shouted over the impossibly loud music that Peter Pan was coming. My little girl strained to see him. Her man Peter Pan. I got a shot of her sitting on the curb, her Peter Pan hat on her head, working on a Mickey Mouse pop, waiting for her hero to ride by. Then I trained my camera back on the Pan float now headed our direction. As the float was almost in front of us, I got Peter Pan’s attention and pointed down at my daughter in her Peter Pan hat. He followed my direction and met my daughter’s eyes. He smiled right at her and pointed at his hat to let her know he liked the one she was wearing.

She waved back huge.

Her man Pan had noticed her and gave her a big wave. The grin on her face was priceless. Although I have plenty of receipts to show for it. My work here was done.

I packed up my camcorder and moved to stand next to my wife in her wheelchair which was identified at that moment as belonging to S! The rest of the parade was mind-numbingly trivial. Like the Democrats' hearings on the fired US attorneys. I missed the old-old parade. Before they took the snow globes off and changed the music. I liked it when one of the villains said, “What on earth is there to smile about?” Reminded me a little of my high school trig teacher. The evil genius.

Soon enough, some clouds covered up Mainstreet and a storm began dumping rain. We moved back from the curb to the little scrap of awning in front of whichever store we were in front of. Mercifully, the parade finally ended and we sought refuge in the stores of Mallstreet USA.

Which is exactly the way Disney planned it.

I really do think they’re controlling the weather.

Halliburton!

Sorry, it’s a reflex. Don’t all conspiracies emanate from George Bush, Dick Cheney and the evil cabal they run out of the west wing.

If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention.

And other bumper stickers which are no substitute for critical thinking.

Once the storm passed, we beat a path for Tomorrowland. I took my nephews and we headed for Space Mountain with our bevy of fastpasses. I don’t remember where the girls went but I’m sure it wasn’t as much fun as Space Mountain. My nephews are teenagers and both are very witty. In a random, Napoleon Dynamite/Airplane/Seinfeld kind of way.

By tradition, we are not satisfied to giggle on Space Mountain and Rock’n Rollercoaster. We also shout things. One year we rode Space Mountain and kept shouting, “I’m gonna die! Oh my God!!!! I’m gonna die!!!!” Then we’d laugh harder because we were shouting so loudly. This is actually funnier when you do it in less scary rides, like say Goofy’s Barnstomer. Or the Hall of Presidents.

Another time, during bowl season, we shouted various football related taunts (Roll Tide, Hook ‘em Horns!, Go Big Blue and Smear 'em Colgate!). But more recently, we’ve been shouting lines from whatever movie we had just all seen and were currently enamored of. This year it was Anchorman. Which I confess I didn’t find nearly as funny as ND, or even Benchwarmers. Nevertheless, it did have some quotable lines, most notably, “You’re not Ron,” and “I love lamp.”

This was especially funny on the part of the ride where you’re clicking up the lift hill and another car goes whizzing by in the opposite direction. I’m certain there are a few people walking around wondering why those guys yelled at them. And who is this Ron that they were mistaken with?

We had enough FPs to ride Space Mountain three times, but after the 2d time, my stomach was giving me agita.

I’m getting old. (No offense, John McCain).

Two times on Space Mountain is the limit of what my stomach could handle. As we stood in the Space Mountain dump arcade, I popped a piece of gum in my mouth and worked out a belch or two to relieve some of the pressure.

Too much?

It’s not like I had to frantically search for a bathroom.

Or a planter.

Or borrow anyone's fanny pack. Perish the thought.

Two or three expressions of intestinal pressure and one disdainful glance from a passing tourist later, we met up with the rest of our party and headed to the Puppies of Progress.

We parked my wife’s wheelchair and the strollers and walked up the ramp to the Puppies. We were in the front of the waiting area when the doors to the theatre opened. We started walking inside, heading in a line down the side aisle towards the front of the theatre so we could be close to the stage.

I was leading the pack. My daughter and niece were holding hands, right behind me.

We got down to the first full row of seats and moved to the center (there was no admonition to move all the way across because there were hardly any people waiting to get in). We started putting our stuff down and I was counting out to make sure we had enough seats for the rest of our party.

Which was all together in a line.

As I’m watching the rest of my family come down the aisle, two demon possessed eldies literally pushed their way past them and shoved my wife in the process.

You would have thought there were half priced day-old bagels to be had.

Mr. and Mrs. Rudely VonShovestein elbowed their way to the front and then planted themselves in the seats next to my daughter and niece.

The theatre, I remind you, was virtually empty.

I politely asked them if they would mind moving so our family could sit together.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. VonShovestein asked as if I had just told her the pair of shoes she was holding were not on sale even though she found them on the sale rack.

”My family would like to sit together. Would you mind moving to the other side of me so we can all sit together?”

“Why should we move?”

“Because we’re sitting here and we would like to sit with the rest of our family.”

To which she uttered, “Well you should stay have stayed together then.” With that, they got up and moved.

I was incredulous.

To recap, incase you got lost: We were together. In a line. The VonShovesteins pushed their way into the middle of my family, elbowing my pregnant wife out of the way, sat themselves in seats I’m clearly trying to save and then had the audacity to suggest we should stay together.

I was speechless. I was without speech.

It was such an outrageous and stunning display. We all just stood there. Staring. Eventually, one of us turned their direction and stated defiantly,

“Well, you’re not Ron.”

And with that, the episode was over. Except as soon as we got ourselves sitchiated, my wife leaned over to me and said, “you need to put that in your trip report.”

“Done and done.”

We love the Puppies of Progress. It’s one of my daughter’s favorite rides because she likes to see the dog in each scene. I think she still thinks he’s real. It probably doesn’t help that each time he looks her direction I tell her he’s looking at her. She waves goodbye to him each time the theatre rotates to the next scene. It’s sweet. Like tea. With lemon.

The Carousel of Progress is dated. Cheesy. Tired. In desperate need of a rehab to repair the colossal leap in time between Acts 3 and 4.

But.

I can’t help loving it. It evokes the best memories for me. It smells like Disney in the Carousel, too. In there, it is still 1978. And it’s not just my family that’s happy. The Carousel Family is ideal. The world they live in is filled with the hope and possibilities that little kids whose parents haven’t divorced yet still believe is real. I’m a dreamer. Or hadn’t you noticed that? Yet I live in two worlds. The one in my head, the one where I continue to believe I can do great things if I try hard enough. That my words can impact people for good. That it’s not too late for me. But I’m firmly planted in this world. With thick files which never seem to move out of my office, cynical colleagues, mounting pressures, yard work I can’t seem to get ahead of. An expanding forehead.

But for 25 minutes or so, I can sit in the Carousel of Progress and visit with someone I used to know and miss terribly now that I’m one of the rats in the race. And I can tease with my daughter that the dog is looking at her. And I can rest.

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.

Are not just spices. They’re lyrics in a song. I just found out what that song is about and why those spices are listed in it. And it made me at once sad and nostalgic. More than a little grateful as well. For what I’ve been given. For what I have. Yeah, sure, I miss some of what I lost. Who doesn’t? But I also know that I am shaped by those things. The losses, the hurts, the failures, the long hours stuck in my office, the birth date that never came. Those things are as much a part of me as meeting my wife, seeing my daughters being born, the times I’ve won, the times I've achieved something great, the times I’ve laughed so hard my cheeks froze. Being blessed. I don’t balance my life like a checkbook. I can’t tell you whether I’ve had more good days than bad. I can only tell you that I’ve had both. I had a really happy childhood and then that was ripped away from me when my mom and dad went their separate ways. I went on to marry a beautiful woman who makes me feel strong and respected. Would I love her any less if my parents hadn’t split on me? Probably not. But because of that, we are committed to protecting our marriage. We lost a child and then had a baby a year later. Would I love my little girl any less if we hadn’t lost Samuel the year before? Of course not. But I know I appreciate her life more. I’m less annoyed by the loss of sleep. I have a keener understanding of who God is and what it means to trust Him. I wouldn’t choose to have my parents divorce or to have missed knowing my son in this life, but I know that I’m a better man because of those experiences.

There is no dark underside to the Carousel. No irony to speak of. It’s 25 minutes or so of the best parts of life in a family. The show lacks a conflict. The only conflict comes from sitting in a revolving theatre and reflecting on who you were when you first saw this show and what’s happened since then.

Which isn’t exactly what I do. I don’t go to Disney World for a catharsis. I don’t walk around the Magic Kingdom consciously thinking about how great it was to be a kid there and then how sad it was that we stopped going but how great it is to be back with my wife and kid. I’m not that guy. Usually, I’m walking around thinking about how much more of my money that stupid Mouse has sucked out of my wallet, how we need to get to the next thing, the blister on my toe and whether the elusive Dole Whip is as good as people say it is. I only think about this other stuff later. When I’m trying to figure out why we keep going back year after year. After year. And why I spend so much time writing a Trip Report on a Disney-related message board.

Anyway, we love the Puppies of Progress, so we were glad to get to watch it again. When the show was over, we exited back out into the glaring daylight and I double checked my watch. Pan was doing a meet and greet in front of Pirates of the Caribbean. But only for a little while longer. This was a our last day in the Magic Kingdom and my daughter’s last chance for her face to face meeting with Peter Pan. We had to move. She hopped into my wife’s lap and I pushed them at reckless and dangerous speeds across the Magic Kingdom.

Shouting directions at people in front of us as we went. It was just like EPCOT the night before. Only without the red poncho. Or the rain.

I wasn’t entirely sure where in front of Pirates we would find Peter Pan. Actually, I was a little anxious about this because it was all riding on me being able to find the right spot. As we approached the Pirates area, I noticed Hook and Smee out in front of the restaurant that is never open anymore. I pressed on a little further and there we saw him. Peter Pan and Wendy. I was so excited and relieved to see them. We joined the line and waited for my daughter’s chance to finally meet her friend face to face.

I was worried that he was about to take a break. You know they way they do. And the excuses their handlers give to disappointed children and raged up parents: he was going to have his shadow sewn back on. His feather re-died. His tights re-woven. Something. But it turned out, Peter Pan didn’t have to leave. No. He didn’t have dinner at Teppanyaki. He had plenty of time to meet my daughter.

My daughter, however, told him to talk to the hand. The back of her hand.

We got up to the front of the line and not only did she refuse to hop out of her mamma’s lap, she refused to even look at him. She buried her face in her hands and buried her hand covered face in my wife’s chest. No amount of coaxing, prying or begging could make her look at, let alone talk to, Peter Pan.

This is Peter Pan trying to get her attention.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

It just made me laugh. Sure I was a little frustrated. A little annoyed that our day was built around getting my daughter to this side of the park in time to meet Peter Pan. Who she was suddenly afraid to meet. Turns out there was no there there. There seldom is. In my life, the getting there is always the better part. The adventure for me isn’t in realizing the goal; it’s in working towards it. And so it was on that day.

Yeah, it would have been nice for my daughter to have taken her picture with Peter Pan. I suppose. But it wouldn’t have made our trip any more special. Do I regret planning our day around this meet and greet, racing to get there for her to refuse to talk to him after all?

Not one bit.



__________

Click Here For Chapter Twenty Four

 

[EEyorelover22]

There is always next time for a photo with Pan

I'm a math teacher...you didn't like math did you??? that's your second reference to math in a negative light