I ask you, what better time than right now for a shiny happy feel-good gallery of an alternate Earth in which everyone sets aside their differences, concedes they were all cranked out by the same animatronic manufacturer, celebrates mutual captivity on the same indoor canal, welcomes outsiders without fear of mass shootings or assassinations, and drowns out any concerns by singing the same catchy jingle over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN?

…sorry, what were we talking about?

Oh, right. Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover:

Each year Anne and I take one (1) road trip to a different part of the United States and see attractions, wonders, and events we didn’t have back home. One thing we rarely do is fly. We’d much rather drive than be flown unless we absolutely have to…or are given some pretty sweet incentives to do so. Fast-forward to December 2022 and a most unexpected opportunity: The Powers That Be at Anne’s rather large place of employment recognized her and several other employees nationwide for outstanding achievements in the field of excellence. Their grand prize was a Disney World vacation! We could at last announce to friends and family, “THE GOLDENS ARE GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!”

For Anne it was officially, legally a business trip. Much of the time, she’d have to work…

…except the one day she was free to run amuck with me through the Disney territories of her choice. Our Thursday afternoon exploration of the fabled Magic Kingdom didn’t afford us much time for rides with line-waits of 30-60 minutes each, but we wanted to enjoy at least one together. Somehow we settled on It’s a Small World — the gentle, air-conditioned, proto-DEI classic boat ride that welcomes all ages and body types.

Strategically positioned on Fantasyland’s western border as a sort of Checkpoint Charlie to fend off invaders from neighboring Liberty Square, It’s a Small World ferries guests through a stylized, hypertwee Planet Earth where hundreds of representatives from myriad cultures are rendered as antique-shop figurines. In their timeline, someone’s taught the world to sing in perfect harmony, but that someone only taught the world a single song — some in English, others in other languages as if to test riders’ endurance for hearing the same single over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

The ride’s origins date back to 1964; Orlando has had its own version since 1971. I learned its eponymous tune in grade-school music class circa 1980 or so. It seemed harmless at the time. Then again, Mrs. Surdi didn’t teach us all the verses, didn’t teach us to chirp it in every tongue ever, and didn’t make us sing it in a maddening endless loop. I gather the ride has survived sixty years of international evolution largely unchanged.

After a surprisingly short fifteen-minute wait for a surprisingly long thirteen-minute ride, we returned to shore at last and were free to continue our Magic Kingdom journey in search of more fantastical sights and hopefully a different song to purge the kiddie-choir earworm from our heads.

In hindsight, though, I’d kinda rather listen to their united state of anti-ironic bliss than resign myself to doomscrolling right now and for the next four months.

To be continued!

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