Ups and downs

My daughter, her husband (still have to get used to saying that) and a friend went to Disneyland today. I’m assuming while they’re enjoying the overpriced food and mouse-logo sweatshirts you need a co-signer to purchase, they’ll make time to ride the rollercoaster in Disneyland’s sister park, California Adventure.

There was a time, not all that long ago, when the sight of a rollercoaster filled me with excitement. The louder the screams from passengers, the more I wanted to be in the front row.

I was fearless. I was invincible. I was much younger.

But that was then and this is now. Today, you won’t catch me near one of those headache-inducing, nausea-promoting contraptions even if someone was bribing me with a lifetime supply of front row Springsteen tickets.

Well, maybe then.

For starters, the physics are no longer my friend. Once upon a time, the sheer force of a 60 mph corkscrew was exhilarating. But now it’s like my brain sends out a mass email to all my nerve endings saying, “Code red! We’re not 20 anymore! Shut it down!” Suddenly my head is whiplashing through loops and corkscrews.

By the way, Loops & Corkscrews was my favorite childhood cereal. SWIDT?

And another thing. What ever happened to the classic rollercoaster that just went really fast, dropped steeply, and maybe had one loop? Modern coasters flip you upside down, tilt you sideways, and sometimes even hang you face-down.

“Why is the sky on my left now?”

When I was younger, my balance was like a rock. I could spin in circles for hours and walk away like I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. Now, after one helix on a modern coaster, my inner ear stages a mutiny. Another gift of aging.

I also never want to be that rider. The person who gets off the ride looking like they survived Oceanic 815. Pale, sweaty, clutching their stomach, mumbling, “Never again.”

I’ve reached the age where I’m okay saying, “I’ll just eat a churro and watch.”

Here’s the thing: I still love thrills—just different ones. Simpler ones, like parallel parking on the first try or remembering to bring my reusable bags to Trader Joe’s. I even get a tiny adrenaline rush when my phone battery is at 2% and I find a charger in time.

Who needs 10-story drops when life is already full of heart-pounding moments?

There’s a certain wisdom that comes with age—or at least that’s what I tell myself when I pass on the rollercoaster and opt for the carousel instead. I’m happy waving from the sidelines, holding everyone’s jackets while the rest of the group screams themselves silly. At least I know I’ll be headache-free and standing upright at the end of the day.

I don’t think of my recently found rollercoaster aversion as a loss. More of a shift in priorities. I’m grounding myself and I’m okay with it.

And if you need me, I’ll be at the churro stand.

Encore post: This is what advertising is like

A lot of people have asked me what advertising is like. And it's hard to put into words, especially when you're trying to explain it to working professionals who have to dress like adults, keep regular hours and actually show something for their efforts at the end of the day.

I wrote this little gem almost eight years ago as a way to try to explain what working in the ad biz is like. It captures it fairly well.

So keep your hands and arms inside the basket, buckle your seat belt and enjoy the ride.

So many metaphors, so little time.

Not too long ago, 20 people boarded the Windseeker ride at California's other amusement park, Knott's Berry Farm. It takes riders up 300 feet, spins them around, takes their breath away and then lowers them safely back to the ground. All in about three minutes start to finish.

I have a big appreciation for things that take 3 minutes start to finish.

Anyway, that particular day was a little different than every other day because the riders got stuck at the top for over three hours until ride mechanics rescued them.

This is exactly what advertising is like.

At first you're whisked away to dizzying heights, and what with big production budgets, location shoots, vendor lunches, comp subscriptions and days at a time out of the office, the view is spectacular. In fact, you can't see another job you'd want for miles and miles.

You start to think it'll be like that every time, but then one day you get stuck. Fighting for the work. Fighting for the budgets to execute the work you've been fighting for. Fighting the client to get them down to one thought instead of ten in a :30 second spot.

The bad news is no one's coming to rescue you. You have to do that yourself.

It often involves getting off one ride and hopping on another. And another. And another.

It's an odd way to manage a career (pause for laughs for using the word "career"), yet it's just standard operating procedure.

Besides, when it comes to amusement, you can't beat it.

I'll be your Uber driver tonight.

I've never used Uber. I get the concept, and the concept scares the hell out of me.

As I understand it, through an app on your smartphone you let Uber know you need a ride.

Then, they let a complete stranger, who's somehow managed to pass a cursory background check while hiding the fact he killed three kids in Jersey, know where you are and what you look like.

They pull up in their personal car, which may or may not have been serviced or inspected since they've owned it ("Brake pads?! That's just crazy talk."), and you get in.

That thing you heard through your entire childhood about getting into cars with strangers? Yeah, not so much.

Google "bad Uber experience" and you'll get thousands of pages detailing horror stories. On the flip side, there's a website called Diary Of An Uber Driver, written by an anonymous driver, who appears to work in Australia, about the nightmare customers he's picked up. It's quite funny, although not as funny as this blog or Round Seventeen.

The reason I'm ranting about Uber is I was mulling over becoming a driver to research a short story in the works.

Fortunately, I sat still for a few minutes, the urge passed and I thought of something else to write about.

As far as I can tell, being an Uber driver does have a few things in common with freelancing: you work when you want. You can take long gigs (drives) or short ones. And you have to make a good impression each time out so they'll ask for you again (passengers get to rate their driver through the app).

On the other hand, when I'm freelancing at home or in an agency, rarely does anyone throw up where I'm working, leave their purse or wallet on my desk, fall asleep in the chair next to me (unless we're in a status meeting) or scratch my upholstery with their keys. Then expect me to clean it up.

The reason I even signed up for Uber - did I mention I signed up for Uber? - is because of my son. He doesn't have a car while he's at school, so he'll be using public transportation (which university students ride for free), getting rides with friends and using Uber when he has to. The deal was if I signed up, he gets $20 in free rides.

Which is $20 I don't have to spot him, so sign me up.

The catch is he doesn't get the credit until I take my first ride. Around the block counts, right?

It's a great idea after all

Have you had the unshakable feeling that today wasn't just an ordinary day? It was different wasn't it. And if you live in Southern California or Orlando, the suspicion was even more intense. The idea kept running through your head, like an annoying song you just couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried, that today was unlike every other day.

Here's the reason. Today is the 50th anniversary of It's A Small World at Disneyland.

The ride was introduced in 1964, and, to quote Wikipedia, "The ride features over 300 brightly costumed audio-animatronic dolls in the style of children of the world, frolicking in a spirit of international unity and singing the attraction's title song, which has a theme of global peace."

Sure, whatever.

The point I'm making is that after half a century, I think it's time to update this iconic Disney attraction, with its unforgettable yet masterfully irritating theme song into something adults can enjoy just as much as the kids. And I know exactly how to do it.

Shotgun Small World. Here's how it works.

Every adult who gets on the boat gets handed a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a sawed-off 12-gauge when they board. Of course, these aren't real weapons. They will have been made by Disney Imagineering, which means they'll look and feel real, but they'll have a Disney logo on them and replicas will be available in the gift shop.

Then, as the riders cruise through, they get points for each one of the dolls they take out (extra points if you can waste them before the start of the second verse).

Now, I know this sounds shocking at first. But at second, it sounds fun doesn't it?

Besides, it's Disneyland. The dolls will just reanimate in time for the next boatload of tired parents with really good aim.

I'm just spitballing here, but if Imagineering's too busy creating the next ride, like Frozen Mountain or whatever, maybe they can borrow the guns from Frontierland.

You want this to be the happiest place on earth for parents as well? C'mon Imagineers. Get on it.

Don't ask: Picking up at the airport

So, this is the second in my series called Don't ask. The first was on moving, and now airport pickup.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I've never picked anyone up from the airport. It's just that unless you're my wife or one of my kids - and I'll know if you're lying - I'm not doing it.

I know what you're saying. If I don't pick you up, how will you get home? Admittedly, it's a dilemma. If only there were some kind of transport, a carriage service if you will that you could hire with the currency of the realm to give you a ride to the address of your choosing.

See where I'm going here? Because where I'm not going is to pick you up after your flight.

So safe travels, smooth sailing, and happy landings. I'll see you when you get home.

Right after the cab drops you off there.