I recently went back to Disneyland again for my niece’s fifth birthday, and I realized that I have strong feelings about the “Soaring Over California” ride in California Adventures.

It is probably not the worst ride in the park, but it feels like the worst ride because everyone keeps talking it up.  Friends and family always say “People told me to be sure to ride Soaring over California.” It’s like when people hype some movie as being the greatest ever and then it turns out to star Ben Stiller. I would probably rather do Soaring Over California than, say, Tarzan’s Treehouse or something, but I still feel adversarial to the whole concept.

Basically, you sit in a chair in front of a large projected movie screen and “fly” over various California landscapes:

Oooh! Hot air balloons!  Look out, you might hit one! 

And then they spray you with various scents--for example, you’re flying over a bunch of orange trees and then you smell oranges.  Wow, it’s like you’re really there.  With a bunch of orange trees.  That’s...mind blowing.

Here’s my issue: the concept of the ride is fine. But why waste it on California landscapes? The ride is already in California. If you want to see a bunch of hot air balloons, go ride a hot air balloon. You want to fly over vineyards? They have so many vineyards in California that I’m starting to think that they reproduce naturally, like fungus. Are there really winemakers overseeing all those damn things?

Instead of boring California scenery, they are tons of cool things that you could be flying over.  All it takes is a little imagination. Here are my suggestions for revamping the ride:

Soaring over Cleveland (at least now the ride isn’t about California)

Soaring over the Mexican Drug War

Soaring over Cambodian Brothels

Soaring over Lindsay Lohan (passengers are shrunk down to microscopic size, then swoop and dive over her pores--great education for the kids)

Soaring over China and then Careening Out of Control and Smashing Into the Great Wall (not recommended for people with heart conditions, pregnant women, or people who bruise easily)

I’d like to officially protest the fact that my opinion was not solicited when the ride was created. However, at the present time, I am willing to accept a formal apology from Disneyland.

Posted by Greg at 02:35 PM on 04/11/09

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A few days ago, on my 39th birthday, I had to go to Best Buy to buy a cable. 

I stood in line but stopped to browse the rack of birthday cards, remembering I had to buy one for my niece. I said “Go ahead of me” to the guy behind me, but he was already lumbering past me.

Even out of the corner of my eye, I could feel his nervous, violent energy. He was looking at his hands, then at the floor, then around himself. His movements were as jerky as a black and white cartoon.

I was surprised to see that he was a teenager--tall and loping, like a basketball player, but young.  He wore baggy pants and a torn shirt featuring some band I had never heard of.  Pumped full of some kind of manic energy, he constantly looked as though he was going to stop, drop, and roll. I thought what any older adult thinks when encountering such an individual: “Must be drugs.”

The young man finished his purchase, then turned to me and said “I’ve been in places like this all morning. They suck out MY ENERGY, MAN.”

I noticed that his wallet, attached to his pocket by a gold chain, was dragging on the ground.  It flopped open, revealing a driver’s license behind fuzzy plastic.  I said, “Hey, careful there.  I think you want your wallet.”

He collected it and stormed out the door. I bought my cable and card, then left. And he was sitting out there on the curb, staring at me.

He shouted at me, “COME TALK TO ME MAN.” I waved at him. “NO NO,” he insisted. “COME TALK TO ME.  COME ON, COME TALK TO ME.”

I headed to my car. “HEY. WHAT ARE YOU, TEN YEARS OLDER THAN ME?  COME ON. YOU’RE SOME KIND OF BUSINESSMAN, AND BEFORE YOU DESTROY THE WORLD AND MY FUTURE, COME TALK TO ME!”

I waved at him again. “Ten years? That’s great!”

He started screaming. “I HATE YOU, YOU #*&*&*!  ALL I’M ASKING IS FOR YOU TO COME TALK TO ME!  YOU @*(&*@&*&!! WHY WON’T YOU TALK TO ME!”

But I was busy calculating in my head. The kid was no older than 18.  If he thought I was ten years older, that put me at 28...eleven years younger than my actual age.

So I want to dedicate this post, Kasey Kasem-style, to that young, drugged out, badly dressed young man. You did me a solid.  I hope you clean up and get straight, and maybe listen to some decent music.  I mean, sure, you’re as loopy as a loon...but does that mean that you were wrong in how you assessed my youthful appearance? I think not.

Thanks buddy!  And in return for the compliment, I will do my solemn best not to destroy your world.