Carousel of Progress
A friend of mine and I recently took our fathers to Disney World in Orlando. We told them that we would do whatever they wanted all day. We arrived as the park opened and both our dads immediately walked with purpose. Their destination (after the bathroom): The Carousel of Progress.
For those of you not familiar with the Carousel of Progress, it's not a carousel with horses that you ride up and down. You sit sill. In seats. And watch an animatronic family "progress" through the 20th century in 4 parts. A full rotation takes about 20 minutes. And let me tell you that after the Hall of Presidents and the Country Bear Jamboree (which gives me an erection for some odd reason), the Carousel is easily the least interesting attraction in the Magic Kingdom. And that includes just sitting on a bench all day watching Latino kids get physically abused by their parents.
We settle into the Carousel. When I say "we" I mean the four of us and the two other people who were probably looking for a restroom. We go around, our dads enjoy it on a level usually reserved for sex and revenge.
When the rotation was complete, my friend and I stood up. Our dads did not. "Let's go again," they said. I tried pointing out that we hadn't gone anywhere, but gave up. We sat back down for round 2.
A quick note on the Carousel of Progress. It's not like THE SIXTH SENSE, or THE USUAL SUSPECTS. When it's over, you don't feel like it got you. You aren't filled with a need to see it again and point out all the hints you missed. It just goes back around again. The dog barks and cousin Orville won't get out of the damn bathroom. By the time the Grandmother gets the high score on the video game, you find yourself pulling out your eyebrows. And showing them to your friend.
2nd rotation is done, we head out. Both Dads grab a Mouseketeer bar, sit down and begin to - I kid you not - discuss the Carousel. Appliances they grew up with, similar relatives, etc.
"What's next," we ask.
"Maybe one more time around," they say.
I think that our Dads' favorite thing - next to actually experiencing the Carousel of Progress - is waiting outside to be let in. Because this provides them both a chance to further discuss the Carousel with whoever is unlucky enough to be working there. Now, I'm married, so I've seen some eyes rolled before. But I swear when my dad asked this girl how many times a day she "experiences" the Carousel, I actually saw her brain.
We go inside. 1 turn becomes 2. 2 becomes 3. 3 becomes 6. We finally stumble outside and it's like leaving a strip club in Vegas. You have no idea what time it is and you feel kind of dirty and full of shame and the sunlight burns like you're a vampire.
We head for lunch and end up eating for 2 hours, listening to our Dads continue to discuss the Carousel in detail that Walt Disney himself would not believe. Suddenly, and without warning, an argument breaks out and gets heated. The trouble? The dog's name in the Carousel of Progress. The debate reaches friendship ending levels.
Thankfully, there was an easy way to solve this problem. And that's a full afternoon spent seated on the Carousel of Progress. In case you're curious, they were both wrong. The dog's name is Rover. Very imaginative. I suppose technically my Dad was closer. He said Max, which is actually a dog's name. My buddy's Dad said Martin, which is a name I've never known any pet to have.
During what was probably the 7th consecutive time around, my Dad begins to wonder if the Carousel is rotating faster this year. I suggest that maybe the breaks are out and we might be slowly rotating to our deaths. This prompts my Dad to get up in the middle of what was easily our 14th showing of the day and go ask an employee. When he comes back after a minute (the answer was no), he completely blows my mind by having the audacity to ask: "What did I miss?"
I can't respond. My hesitation results in a much needed 8th consecutive spin around the carousel.
We leave to stretch our legs. The sunlight burns my eyes. Our Dads being looking around for someone, anyone with whom they can discuss the Carousel. It doesn't have to be an employee, an elderly person, or even someone who wants to talk about it. What they're basically looking for, is someone who can't get away.
What I've noticed that men aged 60+ love to do, is share information. Or rather, tell people things. Random facts, or instructions mostly. They actually started to tell my friend and I about the Carousel, as if we hadn't just spent the last 8 hours sitting on it with them. So our Dads sit down next to this guy waiting outside a souvenir store, buried in bags, and start telling him all about the Carousel of Progress. They guy looks confused, and who wouldn't be. After about five minutes of what was basically a lecture, the guy stands up, turns to our dads and says something in Spanish.
For dinner, there was apparently no time to sit down. The park was closing in a little over an hour and that was only time for 4 or 5 more Carousel turns. So we grab an oversized turkey leg and get right back into our regular seats.
"Hurry," my buddy's dad says. "I don't want to miss anything." I don't need to remind you that it's not a live show. It basically waits for you. There's nothing to miss. Well, nothing to miss inside. Outside there's a whole world of things going on to miss. And miss them all we did.
Something strange happened as I passed my 20th carousel of the day. I would have expected the kind of disorientation that people suffer at high altitudes or at beauty pagents. But no. I found myself starting to look forward to different parts of the show. I was reacting more. I realized that day's lack of sunlight, nutrition and circulated air had somehow caused my brain to think these animatronics were alive. And part of my family. It certainly didn't help matters that my dad insisted on frequently addressing the characters. And interrupting them. But suddenly, cousin Orville was my cousin Orville. I was concerned with how long it took to do the laundry. And the daughter was starting to look a little too good to me.
Thankfully, we got the call that there was only one more show that day. Disappointment hung in the air like it was opening night of Phantom Menace, or like it must everyday at the Kardashian's house. So the four of us sat there and sadly bid farewell to our animatronic friends for the 23rd and final time.
They weren't completely gone, though, because I still can't stop humming or whistling that damn theme song.
So in conclusion, if you ever take your parents to Disney World and let them plan the day, bring a book. Or some booze.
For those of you not familiar with the Carousel of Progress, it's not a carousel with horses that you ride up and down. You sit sill. In seats. And watch an animatronic family "progress" through the 20th century in 4 parts. A full rotation takes about 20 minutes. And let me tell you that after the Hall of Presidents and the Country Bear Jamboree (which gives me an erection for some odd reason), the Carousel is easily the least interesting attraction in the Magic Kingdom. And that includes just sitting on a bench all day watching Latino kids get physically abused by their parents.
We settle into the Carousel. When I say "we" I mean the four of us and the two other people who were probably looking for a restroom. We go around, our dads enjoy it on a level usually reserved for sex and revenge.
When the rotation was complete, my friend and I stood up. Our dads did not. "Let's go again," they said. I tried pointing out that we hadn't gone anywhere, but gave up. We sat back down for round 2.
A quick note on the Carousel of Progress. It's not like THE SIXTH SENSE, or THE USUAL SUSPECTS. When it's over, you don't feel like it got you. You aren't filled with a need to see it again and point out all the hints you missed. It just goes back around again. The dog barks and cousin Orville won't get out of the damn bathroom. By the time the Grandmother gets the high score on the video game, you find yourself pulling out your eyebrows. And showing them to your friend.
2nd rotation is done, we head out. Both Dads grab a Mouseketeer bar, sit down and begin to - I kid you not - discuss the Carousel. Appliances they grew up with, similar relatives, etc.
"What's next," we ask.
"Maybe one more time around," they say.
I think that our Dads' favorite thing - next to actually experiencing the Carousel of Progress - is waiting outside to be let in. Because this provides them both a chance to further discuss the Carousel with whoever is unlucky enough to be working there. Now, I'm married, so I've seen some eyes rolled before. But I swear when my dad asked this girl how many times a day she "experiences" the Carousel, I actually saw her brain.
We go inside. 1 turn becomes 2. 2 becomes 3. 3 becomes 6. We finally stumble outside and it's like leaving a strip club in Vegas. You have no idea what time it is and you feel kind of dirty and full of shame and the sunlight burns like you're a vampire.
We head for lunch and end up eating for 2 hours, listening to our Dads continue to discuss the Carousel in detail that Walt Disney himself would not believe. Suddenly, and without warning, an argument breaks out and gets heated. The trouble? The dog's name in the Carousel of Progress. The debate reaches friendship ending levels.
Thankfully, there was an easy way to solve this problem. And that's a full afternoon spent seated on the Carousel of Progress. In case you're curious, they were both wrong. The dog's name is Rover. Very imaginative. I suppose technically my Dad was closer. He said Max, which is actually a dog's name. My buddy's Dad said Martin, which is a name I've never known any pet to have.
During what was probably the 7th consecutive time around, my Dad begins to wonder if the Carousel is rotating faster this year. I suggest that maybe the breaks are out and we might be slowly rotating to our deaths. This prompts my Dad to get up in the middle of what was easily our 14th showing of the day and go ask an employee. When he comes back after a minute (the answer was no), he completely blows my mind by having the audacity to ask: "What did I miss?"
I can't respond. My hesitation results in a much needed 8th consecutive spin around the carousel.
We leave to stretch our legs. The sunlight burns my eyes. Our Dads being looking around for someone, anyone with whom they can discuss the Carousel. It doesn't have to be an employee, an elderly person, or even someone who wants to talk about it. What they're basically looking for, is someone who can't get away.
What I've noticed that men aged 60+ love to do, is share information. Or rather, tell people things. Random facts, or instructions mostly. They actually started to tell my friend and I about the Carousel, as if we hadn't just spent the last 8 hours sitting on it with them. So our Dads sit down next to this guy waiting outside a souvenir store, buried in bags, and start telling him all about the Carousel of Progress. They guy looks confused, and who wouldn't be. After about five minutes of what was basically a lecture, the guy stands up, turns to our dads and says something in Spanish.
For dinner, there was apparently no time to sit down. The park was closing in a little over an hour and that was only time for 4 or 5 more Carousel turns. So we grab an oversized turkey leg and get right back into our regular seats.
"Hurry," my buddy's dad says. "I don't want to miss anything." I don't need to remind you that it's not a live show. It basically waits for you. There's nothing to miss. Well, nothing to miss inside. Outside there's a whole world of things going on to miss. And miss them all we did.
Something strange happened as I passed my 20th carousel of the day. I would have expected the kind of disorientation that people suffer at high altitudes or at beauty pagents. But no. I found myself starting to look forward to different parts of the show. I was reacting more. I realized that day's lack of sunlight, nutrition and circulated air had somehow caused my brain to think these animatronics were alive. And part of my family. It certainly didn't help matters that my dad insisted on frequently addressing the characters. And interrupting them. But suddenly, cousin Orville was my cousin Orville. I was concerned with how long it took to do the laundry. And the daughter was starting to look a little too good to me.
Thankfully, we got the call that there was only one more show that day. Disappointment hung in the air like it was opening night of Phantom Menace, or like it must everyday at the Kardashian's house. So the four of us sat there and sadly bid farewell to our animatronic friends for the 23rd and final time.
They weren't completely gone, though, because I still can't stop humming or whistling that damn theme song.
So in conclusion, if you ever take your parents to Disney World and let them plan the day, bring a book. Or some booze.
Labels: Carousel of Progress
posted by Tent Time at 8:19 PM
3 Comments:
Oooooh! I love the Carousel of Progress and I have no idea why.
Just so you know, your Dad can google the Carousel of Progress and watch a video of it as much as he wants!!!
You've met my dad. You should know that he has no clue what "google" is. Absolutely none. But I'll let him know.
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