After our long, boozy lunch at Carthay, Dave took off and our good buddy Vince swooped in to take his place. (After we all went to go see the Mickey & the Magical Map show, which has the interesting distinction of being one of those mash-up shows that picks the obvious Disney movies to highlight, but picks some of the lesser-known songs. Plus, psycho-hot trumpet player. Like, freals.) The first time I’d met Vince was at my first trip to Disneyland, four years ago. The last time I saw Vince was my second trip to Disneyland, three years ago. The lesson you could glean from all this is that Vince just can’t get enough Disneyland, and always shows up when Disneyland is in the offing. You couldn’t be further from the truth. Vince likes Disneyland well enough, but he’s just here for the hang.
Here was the hang:
During our last trip to Disney World, me my Contemporary boys ate … guys, we literally ate everything. It got to the point where we were just compulsorily booking meals. Once, when Paul and I had some alone time in Disneyland, he explained why the food thing was becoming a bigger deal:
“It kind of reduces the stuff we don’t like about theme park touring – constantly moving, waiting in lines, the heat – and bumps up a lot of the stuff we like the most, like talking with your friends in a relatively calm and quiet place.” I couldn’t have said it better myself, Paul! Except for embellishments and selective editing! Watch out, creative nonfiction, I’m the new Truman Capote!
So while I planned out the Super Fancy Times Hey Ho Let’s Pretend We’re Rich meals (for the record: The Blue Bayou, The Carthay Circle, and Steakhouse 55. Not the Napa Rose, because I don’t even own spats), Paul took care of the other stuff. Soon after collecting Vince, we made our way to Big Thunder Ranch, where a hootenanny was a-takin’ place! Well, less a hootenanny and more a sign that said something akin to a hootenanny would be taking the stage at some point in the near-ish future. No one else cared about the vague promises of a hootenanny as much as I did. They were all there for the ribs. Which … I mean, sure. But then the twang acts came on and I reveled in traditional country music, until Miss Chris came up to our table and started chattin’ with us about where we were from and how cool my Baloo tattoo was. Seriously, I’ve gotten mileage out of that tattoo. And Miss Chris was so sweet, and didn’t mind that we tore apart dead animals while we talked with her.
Our meal concluded (with s’mores pie no one wanted because of how full we all were, and which was demolished once it arrived), and we took to the wilds of Frontierland as the night came down around us. I haven’t talked much about Paul’s fiancée Steven here, but I met him the same day I met Paul and he is always awesome to have around. Full of nerdery and smiles and an earnest love of Disneyland, plus he’s got a saucy streak I quite admire. The best thing about doing tourist trip with locals is that new folks are always coming in and joining the party. The worst thing is that they invariably leave before you do. The night was glittering with popcorn lights and neon and we rode Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and Pirates and maybe Haunted Mansion, and before we returned to California Adventure, Steven was gone. It’s always sad to see Steven go.
(Especially if it’s been over a week since your trip and your chronology might be off, but maybe not; look, I missed him when he left, is the long and short of it.)
We’d bought a World of Color lunch package at the Carthay earlier, so we had a relatively terrific viewing platform. Vince and Joe and I sprawled out on the cement, because when you’re four days into a Disney trip, your sense of shame and your tenuous grasp of social mores sort of drift off. “Sit on the ground!” I begged Paul.
“No.”
“I bet your feet hurt!”
“I’m not sitting on the ground.”
“I’ll go get you a Coke Zero.”
As soon as Paul sat, I dashed off to a kiosk and got drinks and snacks for everyone. This was a tactic I employed a lot during the weekend that I’m not sure anyone noticed. I hate waiting around for stuff, so when it came time to wait, I just offered to go get people drinks and snacks. Often I could get said drinks and snacks in an air-conditioned place. Sometimes I’d just hang out in the air-conditioned place for a little while. Look, no one has to know. I bought them drinks!
The first time I had seen World of Color, I was exhausted. The second time, someone in our party was in a wheelchair and we got pretty good seats. This time, even though I was interested in any changes to the show, my eyes kept shooting over to Joe, who was seeing it for the first time. Last night, we’d gotten the Magical show in a freakin’ boat. I had no idea how he’d react to this one.
Joe’s smile is often small, often inscrutable. But if you’re patient, and willing to look for it, you’ll notice. I noticed. The show, blasting with water and music and colors I could mostly interpret, with film and cartoons and neon and lights – something in it moved him. It’s very easy for me to talk about my feelings, my reactions, my inner workings. For whatever reasons, it’s harder for Joe. So when World of Color ended and the lights of California Adventure returned to normal and Joe leaned over to me and said, “Thank you,” it was enough. It was everything I needed.
* * *
In the thick of the night, as Joe took to the room for some rest, Vince and Paul and I retired to Trader Sam’s, where I realized the capacity of my drinking is more about duration than depth. The less drunk I get, the more quickly I recover. At least at the one-drink, two-drink levels I usually engage in. The last two nights of Trader Sam’s (Night One, Joe: “I blew a volcano!” Can’t bring that boy anywhere.) I’d gotten boisterous and talky. This last night, I… Well, look. I have two reactions to drinking. The first is boisterous and talky. The second is unbridled rage.
I don’t get it. I don’t know if it has to do with how much I’m drinking, or what’s on my mind, or the people I’m with, or the situation I’m in. I knew tomorrow would be my last full day at Disneyland, and I was feeling a little sad about it. I knew I’d be going out to see Los Angeles with my friend Josh, and I was giddy about that. I was one-third of an Uh-Oa in and my voice was low and deliberate and melancholy, and that’s right when the rage usually kicks in.
What I do know is that the rage is almost always there, just under the surface. One of the reasons I throw activity and accomplishments and comedy at myself every single day is so the rage doesn’t peek through. You know that line in The Avengers, when Banner tells Cap that he’s always angry? That’s me. All the time.
You know what happened when I was “outed” on social media? When someone told someone that Kevidently was also WestCotCenter? I got mad. I felt backed into a corner. And I felt a sudden, irrational need to explain myself, to justify why the nice guy was also this snarky guy whose dedication to positivity sometimes made him a little too pointed in his barbs against the foamers. Because Twitter is a knee-jerk platform, and because 140 characters is not enough space to cogently reason things out, I panicked. Recently, I’d been figuring out ways to put my eye-rolling incredulity at the Disney community into my various comedy acts (most of which has to do with dire predictions that don’t come true [“I know at least three people who won’t go see Frozen, which is why it won’t be a hit!”] and the culture of “I hate this, so everyone hates this” bullshit that runs rampantly through message boards and review sites). So what I said was, “Ah well, this is all material for my stand-up act!”
Guys, the reaction. I took the tweet down pretty quickly, but the damage was done. “Damage.” I mean, most of it’s the hypocrisy that comes with the territory – bloggers and Tweeters can use what I say to make fun of me online, but if I do the same in either those forums or onstage, I’m the troll – but I digress. It was a dumb thing to say, and a lot of people got irritated (I so, so badly want to say “butthurt,” but that’s … well, it’s fair, but it’s probably not necessary) over it, and the fact that it’s only partial truth is beside the point. I got angry. I panicked. And I said a dumb thing that still bothers me. Would I be so bothered if the weird passive-aggressive teasing wasn’t still happening? I don’t know. Maybe not. Just because Twitter doesn’t matter and the people perpetrating this stuff don’t matter doesn’t mean it doesn’t get under my skin. And they know that. And that’s another reason to get out.
I satisfied myself with my portion of the Uh-Oa and then got a non-alcoholic fruity thing with cherries in it. It was the last time I would drink on this particular Disney trip. I had another full day packed with friends and food and rides and happiness, and he thought of even potential rage was enough to worry me. Nothing was going to ruin my grand finale. Especially not me.
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