The Di$ney experience

Chad Strawderman Arizona Daily Wildcat Disneyland will make you feel like: a) a kid (again!?!?), b) a pawn in some sick commercial game, c) you're experienced (in that Jimi Hendrix way), d) all of the above. Read on for the correct answer.

Funny how cartoon characters have become shorthand character statements. It's not that you must wear a Disney character. You could wear a Hanna-Barbera character, you could wear a Warner Brothers character. As long as you wear a recognizable character. In the line for Splash Mountain, Pinky and the Brain are cheek by jowl with Scooby-Doo and Sailor Moon. This type of personal identification eliminates the need for interaction, and in a place as crowded as this one, you want to limit your interactions (Stay away from that guy, he's a Jafar).

That's the thing about any large-scale theme park - the people are inevitably more fascinating than the Imagineered surroundings. Nothing will stop a young couple in love from even entertaining the idea of reproducing like a quick spin through Fantasyland. Disneyland is supposed to be the place where everyone's a kid again, or at least that's what it says on the One Day Passport. Practically speaking, this means that playground rules are in effect, regardless of your age or designated cartoon character. Standing in line for the Teacups, a mother spends five minutes settling her children in their cup, then goes back to bring more of her brood forth from the end of the line. The mob tenses; one must suppress the urge to cry out "No cuts!"

The ideal group size for a day in Disneyland is, according to our calculations, exactly four. Any more than that and you're better off with one of those cute little flags the tour group guides carry. Or, just for fun, steal one of the tour flags and hijack your own pack of tourists for the Alternate Version Tour of the Park. On your left is Tom Sawyer's Island, where, in 1992, the anti-government Shere-Khan Militia engaged in a ten-day stand-off with Disney forces. And coming up ahead is the It's a Small World ride, the opening of which was protested by members of the John Birch Society holding placards which read "Get US Out of Small World!"

And speaking of revisionist history, the changes to the Pirates of the Caribbean do strike one as odd. Though those drunken rapscallions now chase women for the food they carry, wenches can still be purchased down on the bayou.

This, of course, brings up an important point. Disneyland is not a museum. If you want your kids to learn something take them to ... well, there's gotta be something cultural in Southern California.

Folks, Disneyland is there for one reason - to sell stuff. And sell they do. Imagine yourself on a mission to find a princess hat. Something pink-ish, lace-ish, ribbon-y. Where better to look than the Princess Store, conveniently located in Sleeping Beauty's Castle? Be warned: Every female who walks into this place is immediately reduced to a squealing 5-year-old. You may find yourself rationalizing the purchase of Snow White Enchanted Apple Shower Gel. You may ask the fetchingly attired sales clerks if they carry the Ariel costume in adult sizes. You will find the princess hat and pay good money for a garland of ribbon and tinsel. And you will leave happy.

Or you may find yourself in need of eggs. And, if you do, you may find yourself spending $7 on eggs that are not very good. You will be denied the potatoes promised on the restaurant's sign. You will not be happy.

Smoking in the Magic Kingdom is frowned upon, but not yet illegal. It makes you feel like an ambassador from the Tragic Kingdom. But you can't feel that bad, because every time you throw down a butt, a man with a broom and a dustpan sweeps it up. Maybe that's what the tobacco companies need, more janitors. More denial. Honesty is for poor marketers.

The mass market experimentation that goes on is incredible. Every gift shop smells the same as it did when you were 10. Every sound is manufactured. It is the quintessential unreal experience.

Which brings us to drugs. You don't need them. You probably don't even want them. Somehow seeing the hanged man in the Haunted Mansion while in a chemically induced state would be traumatizing at best.

To that end, the butler in the Haunted Mansion, we must say, was really into his job. He was spooky, all bugged-out eyes and monster finger puppets. He drove the 13-year-old girls next to us mad. They screamed in the way that only people cranked up on hormones can. It was piercing. Sobriety is a good thing.

You, gentle reader, may notice a recurring theme here: the French Quarter. We believe that the French Quarter is underrated as a Disney land. The name may not be as catchy as, oh, say, Tomorrowland or Toon Town, but it's a nice, genteel place. It attracts a whole different type of crowd. We spotted a gaunt, pale young man in the Blue Bayou Cafe. His hair was dyed black and he appeared to have fangs. Apparently, unable to finance a trip to the New Orleans, this young man had chosen to play out his Lestat fantasy in the French Quarter. Sweet.

There were some disappointments in Disneyland. The Hall of Presidents is no more. One can only wonder where all those animiatronic extras wandered off to. The Skyway is also defunct. The entrances and exits remain, blocked off and desolate as the soul of the man who wrote "It's a Small World." Tomorrowland now looks a lot like Everydayland. The future didn't live up to its potential. Though you can still catch Michael Jackson with his second nose and original pigmentation at the Captain Eo attraction. And, upon reflection, the unisex racing suits of Tomorrowland employees smack of Huxley.

For the Disneyland classicists among you, we must mention Space Mountain, brought to you by Federal Express. As you walk through the line you are entertained by Mario Lopez, formerly of "Saved by the Bell," letting you know about the excitement that awaits. If you look close, you can see the pain in his eyes, the actor trying to get out.

No matter how old you get, riding through a dark room at high speeds spells excitement. In fact, one of our party's mom thinks it's the scariest experience of her life. He was never allowed to ride the ride as a youngster. He bears the scars of being excluded from such an important rite of passage for so long.

We liked Mickey's Toon Town. Fun for all ages, from the wobbly Jolly Trolley, to the candy-colored surrealism of Mickey's House. It was almost as if those slick, safe, touchable walls might melt at any moment.

Mickey actually lives there, and you can find him in his Movie Barn. On our visit, the more irascible member of our party took time to tell the mouse, "Loved your work in 'Basic Instinct,' man."

We were promptly escorted out.

Don't tell anyone, but the best Disney souvenirs are not found in the gift shops. Disneyland is as vulnerable to entropy as anything else; things come loose, and if you're there at just the right time, you may be able to help the process along.

On one memorable trip, a group of wacky young coeds snagged not only a piece of the barricade at Gadget's Go-Coaster but the true golden fleece: a doorknob from Mickey's House. Sadly, everything on this trip was nailed, glued and welded down securely, so we had to make do with swiping a Stroller Parking sign from outside the Roger Rabbit ride (Toon Town's answer to Mr. Toad's Fucked-Up Crack Deal, another bad idea on drugs).

Now if there is one thing that can exhilarate the prepubescent boy in all of us, and there is one in all of us, it's the relatively new Indiana Jones ride. It takes you on a tour of the Temple of the Forbidden Eye. It's the next generation of the pirates ride, without pesky women to interfere with your enjoyment. It's all desexed male adventure, with skeletons and blow guns and the boulder.

And Sala, who somehow has developed a not very convincing, but fairly stereotypical, vague mideastern accent.

Brought to you by AT&T.

If there's one thing that never changes, for the young and old, it's the need to leave Disneyland eventually. We cannot understand why anyone would take advantage of the re-entry option.

Human senses can only take so much input. At some point you will long for the comfort of a compact car and the Southern California highway. Long to get away? Check out San Diego.

It is, again, time to reflect. Time to say, "We'll always have Disneyland."

So what have we learned, class? Celebrate your inner child, preferably with cash. If you must eat in the Park, do so in the French Quarter, but watch out for Anaheim vampires. And remember, when the shit goes down, and all the books are burned and the masterpieces cast aside, one thing will bind us together, as humans. Disney.

They own everything.