Monday, December 21, 2009

get down polyester



Disney World reminds me that I don't understand money. Not real money, money of scale. Everything here makes me wonder: is this really necessary? All of this?

I don't mean that in an existential sense; Disney completes a weird but crucial part of what America sees in the mirror when she brushes her teeth, nor do I mean the shocking OCD with which Big Mouse does everything. They know their shit at such a deep level that most of the skits are engineered so that they appear to be flying by the seat of their brass buttoned red pants, just to inject some humanity into the machine it has become, or perhaps, that we ask it to be.

Maybe that's why I have been itching for a Mickey Mouse watch the whole time I was here, besides the fact that this place will make the sorest miser wanna spend some money: they get organization like I never will, and money is just a manifestation of that organization.

For instance, they figured that our resort, one of the cheaper ones, would be best festooned with catch phrases from various decades, as seen from the oversize foosball court in the above photo. Or that a mammoth theatre like this


is best utilized to run the same hyper-elaborated Indiana Jones show, re enacting the stunts from movies etched in all our brains and going into a ton of industry minutiae about how these stunts are done. For a place that puts so much stock in magic, they sure do like to take us backstage a lot.

Is that the passive-agressive truth of American culture? Does it only count if everyone knows how hard we've worked and are working and will continue to work? Is that how The Man (Mouse) likes it?

I dunno. All I do know is the despite being dog tired from walking the contours of the dramas surrounding the meta-dramas that distracted me from the big messages here, I still love it. I love the big stupid yo-yo that comprises our hotel stairwell


as well as the giant 8-track tape that I see from it



I love the fireworks over the castle even when it becomes an eye looking down upon us all, like a real life Sauron,



And I get that they are making me love it through years of grooming. I like to think I'm the type of guy that resists such programming but there I was in line to see one well-oiled fake fiasco after another with thousands of other suckers, cheery and wide-eyed. It wasn't until the late bus ride back that we were tempted to knife a bitch who was wound up and accused us of cutting in the final line of the day. Lady, don't get yr polyester in a bundle, the Mouse has a plan for each of us. Get down with it or get out.

Also: it should be noted that the Osbourne Family light show a Hollywood Studios is straight up unironic Xmas magic, fake bubble snow and all. Ho ho ho, y'all!



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