Your front-row seat to my nervous breakdown
“Hey Dad, what the hell is this website we found containing tons of pictures of, and stories about, us? Also, you’re an asshole and we hate you.”—My children, circa some day in the not-too-distant future
Dear Twitter,
Listen, we need to talk. I don’t want you to get all freaked out, but I have a few things that I’ve been meaning to say to you, so I’m just going to say them, and I’d appreciate it if you’d just listen, m’kay?
Take a look at this screen capture and tell me what you see:
Chances are you see the homepage of Zillow.com, a site where one can go and look up the supposed value of any given home. That’s what I used to see, too.
Now? Now I see this:
Allow me to explain.
[Click here for Part 1 | Click here for Part 2]
One day. Just one short day. That’s how much time we gave ourselves to tackle Disneyland … a place some folks spend a week exploring.
And because we had just one short day, I decreed well in advance that we would be visiting only one of the two Disney amusement parks that sit side by side in Anaheim. The classic Disneyland Park contains more than enough rides and attractions to fill a day, and it is the quintessential Disney experience, so it was a no-brainer to make that our park of choice. The newer Disney California Adventure complex would just have to wait until our next family trip to California … which, with any luck, will take place some time prior to never.
One park. Not two. Because both parks in a single day? Sheer madness. Utter lunacy. Totally fucking bonkers.
It was a sensible plan. A practical plan. A reasonable plan. Which is exactly why it was destined to fail.
There are many downsides to being a hypochondriac … but it does have its benefits. Take yesterday, for example. Yesterday, I headed to my doctor’s office for the third time in about two weeks … which, for me, is unprecedented, since my immune system is basically on par with Wolverine’s. And yet, despite my mutant healing powers, I’ve had a persistent cough for, like, a month now.
How do you land a job whose description is “Build completely humongous Lego sculptures at Disneyland”? Because I’m pretty sure that’s the one I want.
“Is there any chance of us getting a room with a view?” I asked using my best “I’m a really nice guy and we’re a really nice family so maybe you could hook us up with a really nice room?” voice.
“Well, view rooms are extra,” replied the nice young lady checking us in.
Hmmm. What madness was this? The power of my nice-guy charm is second only to the Jedi mind trick. Clearly, she wasn’t human. I suspected Disney was beta testing some extremely lifelike animatronic employees.
“Oh, OK,” I said … nicely. Charmingly, even. “We’ll just stick with what we booked.”
The extra fee for a view room wasn’t news to me. I knew that an upper-floor room with a view of Disneyland cost significantly more than the standard room I had booked for us … and while I was willing to splurge in order to stay “on property,” I couldn’t really justify shelling out an additional couple hundred bucks for a park-view room … especially since we’d be spending hardly any time in said room. (See, Dad? You didn’t sire a completely irresponsible lunatic after all!)
“I have a room for you on the third floor,” she continued, apparently still impervious to my charm. “Let me call up and make sure it’s ready.”
Turns out it wasn’t … which was fine with us, because we had arrived early, and we were planning to go get some lunch anyway.
“I’ll give each of you your key cards now, and when your room is ready, I’ll text you,” she said.
So, with our bags stowed at the Bell Desk, it was time for lunch in the Downtown Disney District … and, once again, my online reconnaissance paid off, because this place that I had scoped out weeks in advance?
Best pizza I’ve had outside of Boston, and certainly better than any I’ve tasted here in Pennsylvania. Also? Beer.
Unfortunately, we don’t let the kids drink beer in public, so they had to settle for balloon animals.
my wife and I—OK, mostly I—devoured the pizza, Jayna raved about her macaroni and cheese, and Zan sang the praises of his spaghetti and meatballs. Basically, it was the happiest, most delightful lunch ever … because, not only was it delicious, but we were having it at Disneyland, where I’m pretty sure they spike the food with Ecstasy, because no one should be this excited about lunch.
Of course, our excitement might have had more to do with our surroundings:
The weather was beautiful, the setting was eye-popping, the kids were out-of-their-minds excited … and, to tell you the truth, so was I.
And then came the text …
Your room is ready. Room 900.
Hmmm. Room 900? That doesn’t sound like it’s on the third floor. Perhaps my nice-guy charm hadn’t failed us after all.
We returned to the hotel, boarded the elevator and rode it up to the third ninth floor.
We proceeded down the hallway, searching for 900, which we found at the very end of the hall. A corner room. Nice. Things were looking up.
We entered and threw open the curtains.
I’ll be honest with you: I got a little choked up … because giving my kids such a special experience felt pretty incredible. Everything was going just as I had hoped it would during all those many hours of planning and months of anticipation. Naturally, I feared I was dreaming.
I wasn’t.
Yay!
After spending a few minutes exulting in our good fortune, we donned our bathing suits and headed to the rooftop pool, where they just so happened to be serving these:
Now that we’re all properly boozed up, howzabout we hit the waterslide?
After our aquatic fun, we cleaned up, had a quick dinner, and then retired to our room for the night, where we watched the sun set and the moon rise over Disneyland.
Thanks to the three-hour time change, we were sound asleep rather early … which was just as well, because wake-up time for the recently patented Jon Zal Totally Psychotic One-Day Assault On Disneyland™ was set for 5:30 a.m. … and there would be absolutely, positively no fucking around.
Listen, I don’t know if it’s because I don’t get much time off, or because we rarely travel, or because the smog blanketing Los Angeles is actually laughing gas, or because the comparative horror of spending all day trapped in a windowless cubicle makes anything seem glorious by comparison … but, whatever the case, I have never had more fun with my family than I did during our recent California vacation.
It is a massive relief to be able to say that … because I planned my ass off for this trip. I spent hours searching for the right hotel and reading an endless stream of reviews and poring over Disneyland messageboards and plotting our every move with the kind of near-maniacal zeal that only a borderline-OCD-sufferer can muster.
The thing that vexed me the most — the thing I downright agonized over — was where we should stay while visiting Disneyland. Should we stay at one of the three Disney hotels? Or should we stay at one of the many “Good Neighbor” hotels?
“Jon, what are ‘Good Neighbor’ hotels?”
I’m glad you asked. “Good Neighbor” hotels are the hotels you stay at when you don’t wanna dish out the kind of cash it takes to stay “on property” (which is Disney parlance for “at a Disney owned-and-operated hotel”). And I convinced myself that we should go that route … because we don’t have a ton of dough … and the kids wouldn’t know what they were missing anyway … and, hey, I never stayed “on property” when I was a kid, so what’s the big deal?
Except, here’s the thing: I knew it would be more fun, and more special, to stay “on property” … and I had always told myself that I would do just that when it came time to take my own kids to Disneyland. But let me remind you here that the loudest voice living in my head is the voice of my father, and “Woe be unto he who splurges to stay ‘on property’ when there’s a perfectly good homeless shelter just up the street!” boomed that voice.
So I found, and booked, a “Good Neighbor” hotel that seemed decent enough … and then spent days reading the latest guest reviews of said hotel. Here’s how those went:
“What an AMAZING hotel! The room was modern, clean, spacious and well-lit! There were unicorns and free puppies and waffles powdered with complimentary organic cocaine. The ghost of Walt Disney even served us breakfast in bed while singing an original song titled ‘You’re So Smart for Not Staying On-Property!’ Best vacation ever!”
“What an AWFUL hotel! The rooms were run-down, filthy, cramped and dark. The roaches were so big and vicious that we initially thought they were velociraptors. One of them ate my 2-year-old, and the manager refused to compensate us for the funeral. As if that wasn’t bad enough, we also had to pay for parking. Worst vacation ever!”
Inconsistency abounded, and the odds of my family having a great experience versus the odds of my family having a bad experience seemed to be 50/50 at best. Needless to say, I was filled with hotel-roulette-induced anxiety.
Meanwhile, reviews of the “on property” lodging I had considered (Disney’s Paradise Pier Hotel) went something like this:
“What a WONDERFUL hotel! We loved the beach theme, the kids had a blast on the rooftop waterslide, the rooms were spacious and clean, the customer service was fantastic, and the little Disney touches made us feel like we never left the amusement park!”
“What an OVERPRICED hotel! We loved the beach theme, the kids had a blast on the rooftop waterslide, the rooms were spacious and clean, the customer service was fantastic, and the little Disney touches made us feel like we never left the amusement park … but we could have saved a lot of money by staying at the velociraptor-cockroach place!”
“See?” said my father’s imaginary voice. “The velociraptor-cockroach place is the way to go!”
And that’s when I shoved a sock in his imaginary mouth, canceled the “Good Neighbor” reservation and booked us a room at the Paradise Pier Hotel … because I suddenly remembered that I’m a 43-year-old man who doesn’t have to listen to my father’s imaginary voice, and that my family is worth spending a few extra bucks on in order to guarantee a wonderful experience during a once-in-a-lifetime trip. So there. (In related news: Thank you, psychotherapy!)
And I couldn’t be happier with my decision … because guiding the minivan off of the freeway and onto Disneyland Drive, and then remaining on Disneyland Drive all the way to the Paradise Pier Hotel, was so much more fun and exciting than it would have been to leave Disneyland Drive and head down So-Totally-Not-Disneyland Drive to a “Good Neighbor” hotel. I wanted the kids to have a full-on Disneyland-immersion experience … and that is just what they got.
In the weeks and months leading up to our trip, I would often sit on the couch between Zan and Jayna, the three of us sightseeing our way through the Disneyland Explorer app, which features a graphical representation of all of the Disneyland attractions, hotels and shops … and as we began to spot those now-familiar sights in person, Jayna blurted out, “PEOPLE, WE ARE IN THE IPAD!”
Yes, we were. And it was fucking awesome.
TO BE CONTINUED …