Back from sunny California and running behind, as always. I have no difficulty meeting my due dates/deadlines/suggested minimum date of returns on my manuscripts, but I like the blog to be current and up-to-the-minute, and then I end up frantically scribbling late Monday evening to get this out on Tuesday. Or that’s my excuse. Writing books comes under the Day Job heading, and I dutifully sit in front of the computer, creating, on a regular schedule. But blogging—ah, that’s just talking to friends. It has no schedule.
So, this week, my excuse for being late is that we trekked out to California and just got home. I’m researching a really weird contemporary that’s playing in the back of my head and needed visuals. (I’d love to do a historical in this setting, but we’ve had this discussion. Readers think the west is dusty. <G>) Since my daughter and granddaughter and son-in-law live out there, it was a good time to visit and pick their brains on the subject at hand. And go to Disneyland.
Now, I have to admit—-Disneyland is not real high on my places to see list. I’ve been before, when our kids were teenagers. And we visited Disney World when the kids were quite young. Our few visits were more than enough for me, but our granddaughter is five, lives half an hour from the world’s favorite fantasyland, and It Was Time. Her excitement was worth every precious minute.
But I have to ask—why do people find this plastic world so fascinating? Disney has a veritable following of fanatics every bit as loyal as that of any sports hero, movie star, or author <G>. I can perfectly understand a child’s fascination with this dream world, just as I understand an adult’s dreams of heroes and stars. But why would adults continue their fascination with Mickey Mouse and Goofy to the extent that they pay out exorbitant prices for tickets and parking and food and souvenirs? Wear Daisy tattoos and Mickey ears and shirts commemorating every Disney anniversary ever celebrated? Buy Disney Christmas ornaments? I love the idea that people can celebrate their childhoods, but I still fail to grasp the fascination.
So my question for the week is pretty all encompassing—if you love Disney, why? Who are your heroes and stars and why do they fascinate you? Do they inspire dreams? If so,what kind? (Okay, I understand the kind of dreams Johnny Depp might inspire <G>) What is it about human nature that we need to dream about these larger-than-life images?
And isn’t it amazing how I can rattle on about nothing after three hours sleep and a dozen hours with an overexcited five-year-old?