The last time I went to Disneyland, I was an eye-rolling, headphone-wearing, anti-establishment 17-year-old, and at the end of the day, I vowed never to return. This was back in ’05, on a springtime school trip in high school with the ASB and journalism classes. It was one of those trips where the main part was for the popular ASB kids to hook up on the back of the charter bus.
That being said, I wasn’t part of ASB, but was with the journalism class ““ we seriously lacked in the hooking-up mechanism but did possess an intellectually superior attitude toward the ASB kids that was fairly unwarranted. We didn’t really “get” Faulkner ““ we were just good at pretending we did.
Anyway, for me and my high school newspaper cohorts, going to Disneyland with these brainless ASB kids was just going to be another social experiment for us to roll our eyes at and chastise “the masses” for enjoying such a capitalistic, immature entity. That day, I made it my mission to find reasons to hate Disneyland, and I found them. It’s really not that hard.
But college has made me more open-minded and accepting of evolving opinions and (in ways other than considering four bowls of “Peanut Butter Puffins” in one day to be an OK diet). In fact, now, I don’t hate Disneyland at all. I love it.
I visited the Happiest Place on Earth this past weekend for the birthday of one of my best friends from home, so the mood was already pretty good. This girl and my other friends gathered to celebrate her birthday by spending a couple of nights in a nice hotel and enjoying each others’ company amidst the company of screeching children, overpriced everything and depressing 27-year-olds who make their livings as Jungle Cruise tour guides.
I knew the trip was going to be better overall because the first thing we did together was hit the hotel bar for some ironic cosmos. A fine start, I thought. This definitely couldn’t have happened on the ASB/journalism trip. Maybe for the ASB kids who knew how to get drunk, but not for the rest of us.
When we actually got to Disneyland, I immediately knew I was going to have the best day ever because everyone in our group was in such a good mood. I think the company you keep when going to D-land is highly important. When you’re with a half-dozen angsty 17-year-olds who are way too cool for something so corporate, your mood could be lower. When you’re with a half-dozen 20-somethings who are elated to not be at work, the overall attitude is much more relaxed and fun.
Especially if you know there are cosmos waiting for you back at the hotel.
People like to complain about how loud and crowded Disneyland is, and one of the first things my friends pointed out was the “theme park music” that’s constantly played throughout the park. Normally this type of thing would drive me off the wall, but it seemed so right at D-land; so right, even the “It’s a Small World” ride’s diabolical soundtrack didn’t really phase me.
Knowing Walt Disney and his sneaky entrepreneurial trickery, it could be some hypnosis-like ploy to get visitors into the Hungry Bear for $10 chicken nuggets, but whatever. They were good anyway.
The attention to detail that gets put into the aesthetics of the rides is pretty astounding, and definitely something I didn’t appreciate as a teenager. The rides may not be as “xtreme” as other roller coasters, but for people who enjoy kitsch, a bit of history and a sprinkling of magic, the Disneyland rides cannot be topped. Those ride designers had to be on psychedelics to create such kaleidoscopic treasures. Some rides are legitimately fun and kind of scary, and you can come away with hard evidence of your fun. My friend Diego had to ride in a car in Space Mountain by himself with one other lady who resembled Margaret Thatcher, and the in-ride photo that got taken is magically weird and priceless.
We all agreed that the majority of our time at Disneyland was spent waiting in line for food. We joked about it like it was kind of unreal and revolting how much food we ate, but honestly, it was part of the fun.
With my Peanut Butter Puffins diet waiting for me in Westwood with the routine, the stress and the windowless walls at work associated with it, getting ridiculous with ice cream sandwiches and clam chowder was another way to dispense with maturity and common sense. In hindsight though, it was still pretty revolting.
Disneyland may be overpriced, crowded and pretty racist when it comes to international portrayals of the Earth on “It’s a Small World” (more like, “It’s a Small Europe”), but it’s still super fun.
The rides are hilarious and when you’re with your friends, it’s a good escape from the monotony and somber realities of being a mature adult. I think that my bitterness toward Disneyland as a teenager was really just a mark of my immaturity that cared more about mocking the ASB kids for having fun, over trying to have fun myself. Now that I’m an educated college student, I have learned that part of growing up is knowing that it feels great to take a break from the Puffins diet and stacks of reading to enjoy a day at the park with your friends.
The possibility for the Sheraton Anaheim’s cosmos at the end of the day isn’t a bad thing either.
If you shared a Space Mountain car with Margaret Thatcher and loved it, then e-mail McReynolds at dmcreynolds@media.ucla.edu.