Saturday, August 4, 2012

Normalcy is better than a car crash

Being at a loss for things to write this evening, I feel it is my duty - or perhaps just my only ability at the present moment - to complain about one of the mundane and ultimately insignificant aspects of my evening.

I guess this is what happens the day after a huge incident in your life. Nothing compares to the story of getting in your first car accident. Of freaking out and learning the value of empathy, or whatever lesson is obtained from a big event like that.

No matter what happened today, it was certainly not going to be as blog-worthy as yesterday. Or even the day before. Or even this past weekend. It just so happens that the nothingness is not exactly something in itself to complain about. Perhaps the silence is actually a blessing in disguise.

We really don't appreciate those moments of quiet as much as we should. We look for drama and excitement in our lives, preferring to live adventurously than safely. I've always hung out more on the latter side, staying away from situations that might put me in danger just for the adrenaline rush. The past week or so has proved I can handle craziness too.

Today was a step back in the "normal" direction - normal for me, at least.

On an evening trip to Disneyland, I told my dad that I hadn't yet thought of what to write about. After about five seconds of thought he blurted out that I should write about what we were going through at that moment. Not Disneyland in general, but one of the travesties of visiting the parks:

The Jungle Cruise had an allegedly 20 minute line.

You may not understand the surprise this caused me if you are not a frequenter of the Disneyland Resort. But if, by chance, you are, then you have some idea of the kind of experience that awaits on the Jungle Cruise.

This is a ride that is generally not - as classic Disneygoers would put it - an E Ticket attraction. It is not particularly thrilling or exciting. It is not even one of the more beloved classic rides in the park. It's just there. So on a cool day when you feel like hanging out in the outdoors, and when you're ready to hear the same jokes repeated by a different skipper, you prepare yourself to invest about five minutes in wait-time to get on the ride.

20 minutes is ridiculous.

As someone who goes to Disneyland regularly, I understand the value of each and every second. 20 minutes is the amount of time it might take to ride the Pinocchio ride twice. Or it's the amount of time it might take to walk around the whole of California Adventure. Or it's the amount of time it would have taken to trudge back to my dad's car and retrieve his jacket so he didn't die of 60-degree Fahrenheit frostbite tonight.

So much could have been done in those 20 minutes. So much that was better than waiting in line to hear the same tired dialogue of some Disney cast member who would have rather been home on a Friday night than saying jokes that no one could hear and flat-lining for a good 8-9 minutes at a time.

But we got stuck snaking in and out of roped-off areas, waiting to get on the ride that we couldn't care less about.

I love Disneyland so much. At the end of a long week of a press tour 12-hour work day and a car accident, I needed to unwind and take my mind off what transpired over the past five days.

Tonight I got to do that. Aside from having the chance to go to the Happiest Place on Earth (which doubles as my favorite place on this planet), I got to spend time with my dad. In the morning I got to relax and catch up on all the episodes of Gilmore Girls I've already seen a dozen times each. It was an all-around beautiful day.

Which is why I have no license to complain about a stupid thing like queuing up for a ride at Disneyland.

But it's great to be able to rant about something like that. To not have something worth writing about. Because these days are much better than the days filled with anxiety and craziness. They're the days that, in retrospect, don't stick in my memory as well. Yet they're also the days that have the greatest impact on me, because they aren't outliers. They are part of what represents normalcy for me.

God, I love normalcy. I'll take it any day over a car crash.

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