We’re taking the two chilluns to The Happiest Place On Earth (TM) tomorrow. Ages 7 and 5, height over 50″ and over 40″, respectively. Neither makes the Autopia height requirement, and Hannah’s too short for Indiana Jones, but they both apparently qualify for Space Mountain *and* Thunder Mountain Railroad.
I’m not thinking it too likely that either will be featured, however. Still, kids can surprise you. Odds are that Tom Sawyer’s Island will play large, though, as will Pirates. I’m finally going to see the retrofitting that was executed to make the ride more like the movie it inspired, I’ll perhaps be inspired to write a post about self-referential retconning later.
In spite of the fact that we live in SoCal, this will be the first visit, because by all that’s holy Disneyland is mofreakin’ expensive. Thankfully, we have an “in”, and admission will be comped… so the day will probably only cost a godly amount of money instead of an ungodly amount. I’m sure the mouse-ear hat with the embroidered name is going to come home with us.
There’s an absurdity to visiting Disneyland, but somehow in spite of Disney being Disney, there’s a simplistic idiotic cheer to the place that’s particularly American in that “everything that the Boomers experienced growing up is a tradition” way.
I already have the teacup music stuck in my head. Now you do, too, if you know what it sounds like. And you probably hate me for it. I admit, I did that on purpose.
So… what was Your Amusement Park growing up?