sea change

Before everything went to shit due to the global COVID-19 pandemic, Mrs. Pincus and I had a cruise booked for the final week of October 2020. I had scheduled for the time off from work (a new job I had started full-time in February). At the end of the work day on March 13, my employer informed everyone to take home their desk computers and instructions on how to log on to the company network were distributed via email. After six weeks of "working from home," my entire department (as well as others) was dissolved and every employee — save for a skeleton crew — was let go. 

Industries across the country were shutting down, having employees work from home where applicable. Businesses that operated with patrons in close proximity — amusement parks, movie theaters, concert and sports venues — were shuttered. And all cruise lines discontinued all scheduled cruises for a few months. Our October cruise was nearly paid-in-full. With no regular income — except for my meager unemployment insurance payment — the price of a cruise is money that we could use for other, more essential needs. The problem is, if we canceled the trip, we would be penalized. We would stand to lose a portion of our deposit that we could not afford to lose. So, we would have to wait.... patiently. When you are stuck in your house for eleventy thousand weeks with no job, patience is not very easy to come by.

As the weeks of quarantine turned into months of quarantine, cruise lines were regularly assessing the safety and logistics of re-starting business. Mrs. Pincus and I closely followed the proposed scenarios and alternate procedures being suggested by cruise lines. We weren't too pleased with the solutions and how temporary or permanent they'd need to be.

Well, in a cavalcade of mixed feelings, our October cruise was canceled by Carnival. We, of course, were disappointed that we would not be going on a cruise. We were relieved, however, that we would not have to make what could possibly be a life-or-death decision about taking a cruise. Carnival made that decision for us. And we were offered a full refund of everything we had paid to date... which was, indeed, everything.

My wife and I began to assess the future of cruising. Since our first cruise seven years ago, my wife and I have become very enthusiastic about going on cruises. We like what we like about cruising. I assume that everyone who takes a cruise likes it for specific activities, even if they are different from the ones we like. We have a great time, which, based on my feelings before my first cruise, is very surprising to me. Sure, nearly every cruise we have taken was identical, but that's the experience we enjoy. We like to play trivia games. We like to go to the buffet. (I really like to go to the buffet!) We like the kitschy entertainment. We like meeting new people that we probably will never see again — but, thanks to the magic of the internet, can maintain a friendship as though they lived right next door. But, under the current circumstances as defined by the malevolent coronavirus, all the things we love about cruising will have to change. And that's the part we are wrestling with. Do we really want to take a cruise that is a completely different experience than our previous cruises? 

Well, the buffets would have to be eliminated to cut down on so many different people handling plates and serving utensils... not to mention those travelers who just handle the actual food with their hands.

Showrooms would have to reconfigure seating to allow for social distancing. Heck, the entire ship would have difficulty maintaining social distancing, from the narrow corridors, to the cramped, but mandatory muster drills, to the closeness of seating in the main dining rooms, sometimes with total strangers.

Our beloved trivia games would need to keep participants six feet apart, leading to players taking up huge areas of lounges and forcing the activity's host to speak even louder, repeating questions and stretching play time way past the time allotted for the event. Multiply that by every on-board activity for the entire week and I see a lot of disappointed passengers. Plus, there is the intimacy of bars and discos and swimming and water slides and sports.... ecchhh! it's a mess. Then there's the issue of other people not following the rules. And people on cruises love to not follow the rules. I don't think I want to spend the money for a cruise and not get the cruise I am used to. Until I am sure the cruise industry will go back to the way it was — the way I'm used to — Mrs. Pincus and I will have to pass, albeit reluctantly.

When this is all over (when ever that is), will we define our life timeline as BC (Before COVID-19) and AC (After COVID-19)? 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

dig a little deeper

When my son was little, I would read to him every night before bedtime. I was a big fan of introducing him to classic children's stories and even those that were geared toward those a bit beyond his age group. But, — and this is not a brag — he was way more "on the ball" than a lot of his peers. I read Roald Dahl's lesser known works, as well as the original, non-Disney-fied, versions of the Winnie-the-Pooh stories. I also read the original Tales of Uncle Remus that white author Joel Chandler Harris collected and compiled in 1881. These are the stories upon which Disney based its notorious 1946 animated/live action musical amalgam Song of the South. However, in the version we had, the stories were ultra-sanitized versions of the post-Civil War folk tales. For most of the stories I read to my son, I made up and "performed" a number of funny voices for each character in the books. He loved those books and we read them often throughout his early years. Were they problematic? In hindsight, I suppose they were. 

If you are a regular reader of this stupid blog (and why would you be?), you know that I am an avid Disney fan. I have written about various trips to Disney theme parks and other Disney related anecdotes. I went to Walt Disney World for the first time with my friends just after I graduated from high school. We had such a good time that we returned again the next summer. (Actually, we were so drunk during our first trip, we went back to see what we missed the first time.) My wife and I went on our honeymoon in 1984. We went back again in '85 and ventured back one more time at the end of 1986, when Mrs. Pincus was pregnant with our son. After he was born, we put our Disney trips "on hold" for a while. Once we could no longer convince my son that The Disney Store in a nearby mall was "Disney World," we had no choice but to plan a family vacation to the central Florida resort... which we did in the summer of 1995. My son was so familiar with all things Disney that he was more prepared to experience the magic of Disney than any other guest — child or adult. Of course, everything was new to him, but there were plenty of attractions that had popped up since my wife and I were there almost a decade before. One of those was the elaborate "E-Ticket" experience called "Splash Mountain."

Splash Mountain has an interesting genesis. It started life as part of a massive project that never made it past the planning stages. When Walt Disney World opened in 1971, Imagineers (the guys who conceive and design the rides) decided not to build an east-coast version of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, so popular in California's Disneyland. They didn't think a pirate-themed ride would interest Floridians, since so much "pirate lore" exists in and around Florida. Instead, they planned a sprawling experience that featured a cowboy-and-Indian themed boat ride (to pacify the "Pirates" fans) and a wild Western-themed roller coaster through a prairie town. The ride, christened "Thunder Mesa," was troublesome from the start. While still on the drawing board, its size and proposed technology was a logistic nightmare. It also promised to send its budget far beyond original limits. When guests started asking: "Hey! Where are the pirates?," Disney rethought their decision and scrapped the "Thunder Mesa" project. They turned to Imagineer Tony Baxter, who was brainstorming an attraction to fill out Disneyland's fairly sparse Critter Country. He came up with a variation of the standard "flume ride," so popular in other amusement parks. Tony's vision was to incorporate some of the Audio-Animatronic figures from the recently-shuttered America Sings and theme the whole thing to the film Song of the South. Although the Oscar-winning song from the film, "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah," was a Disney staple, Song of the South was a strange choice on which to base a ride in the 1980s. It was not particularly popular and had only been re-released four times to lukewarm reception since its initial run in 1946. By the time construction on Splash Mountain began, Song of the South had completed what would be its final theatrical release three years earlier, amid growing controversy over the depiction of racial stereotypes. Nevertheless, Splash Mountain opened in Disneyland in 1989 and its Florida counterpart followed in 1992. From the very beginning, the ride was one of the most popular in its respective park. The Florida version clocks in a nearly 12 minutes as it takes guests on a whirlwind — and often wet — journey through the world of the villainous Brer Fox in his pursuit of the happy-go-lucky, mischievous Brer Rabbit. Hulking hapless Brer Bear, along with a cheerful menagerie of anthropomorphic swamp critters, entertain riders with a selection of tunes woven around the main "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah" theme. At the ride's conclusion, riders often discuss their unfamiliarity with the songs and the characters, as the overwhelming majority of Disney guests have never seen Song of the South. Yet, for nearly thirty years, Splash Mountain boasts long lines and wait times upwards of an hour on any given day.

The first time I rode Splash Mountain, I loved it. It was both exciting and charming. I remember wishing that the ride moved a bit slower, because I think I missed a lot of the subtleties scattered throughout individual tableaus as the story unfolded. I even felt the same excitement the first time I conquered the smaller. leaner, slightly altered Disneyland version of the attraction. However, after riding both versions, I was uncomfortable in spending the rest of my day in damp clothes. Oh yes... you may get wet. Getting wet should only be the biggest issue with the ride. The hard truth is, just like the film that is its basis, Splash Mountain is fraught with derogatory imagery and mocking dialects that really have no business being glorified in a family-friendly theme park.

Just this week, in the wake of a long overdue awakening to racial injustice, racial inequality and old-fashioned prejudice, Disney has announced plans to re-theme Splash Mountain — ditching the racially-insensitive characters from Song of the South. The curently-unnamed attraction will feature characters and a story line from Disney's 49th animated full-length feature The Princess and the Frog, a 2009 release that was (mostly) praised for spotlighting Disney's first (and so far, only) African-American princess. Disney made the announcement on various social media and news outlets. Being the greatest marketers on the planet, Disney made no mention of reasons for the change and made no mention of the characters from the current Splash Mountain ride. The press release was purely forward-thinking, excitedly written and enthusiastic in its descriptive vision.

Disney has made numerous changes to their theme parks over the years. Some rides were changed or removed so quickly, you probably forgot they ever existed (The Tomorrowland Phantom Boats, a Disneyland "Opening Day" attraction, wasn't around to see its one year anniversary.) But die-hard Disney fans get very protective and very defensive when it comes to their most beloved rides at their theme park. And a ride being changed based on hurtful racial issues — acknowledged or not — does not sit well with a contingency of spoiled-rotten, uninformed, oblivious, insensitive, elitist, privileged white people that, unfortunately, make up a good chunk of Disney's fan base. 

I first saw the announcement on the official Disney Parks Blog, where the new, reimagined ride was lovingly described. It was accompanied by an artist's rendering, approximating a still-unrealized scene from the ride. The timeline for construction was vague, as Disney parks are currently closed due to the global COVID-19 pandemic, with tentative opening dates still "iffy" as new cases spring up every day. Disney's goal in making this announcement was two-fold. First, it needed to address the "elephant in the room," righting a wrong that should have been addressed years ago, but also to inject a bit of optimism into its current stagnating situation. The company hoped to evoke visions of bright, shiny new enticements on the sketchy horizon. The news was met with reaction, both favorable and disappointed. The favorable ones offered praise and excitement. The disappointed reactions were vicious, filled with selfish complaints, racist sentiment and indifference to the fact that more that just you visit Disney theme parks. Some cite their own love of the ride as a valid reason not to change it. Others dismiss any notion of offensiveness because it doesn't offend them. What these narrow-minded, self-appointed defenders of Disney forget is what Walt Disney, the man himself, said: "Disneyland will never be completed. It will continue to grow as long as there is imagination left in the world." He also said: "Times and conditions change so rapidly that we must keep our aim constantly focused on the future."

They also forget the current philosophy of the Disney Company — and that's the "cha-CHING!" of a cash register.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

where does the time go when it's not around here

My friends and I used to play this game when we were kids — "How Old Will I Be in the Year 2000?" As a youngster in the middle 1960s, the turn of the century was a million years away. Television shows like Lost in Space (set in futuristic 1997) showed us that traveling to planets inhabited by giant vegetables would be as accessible and commonplace as a trip to the supermarket. The Jetsons presented a future filled with servant robots, push-button dinner preparation and flying cars. As a six-year old, trying to visualize a thirty-nine year old Josh in the 21st Century was unfathomable. The magically distant year 2000 would never arrive. Or so I thought back in my youthful days when a drive to Atlantic City took ten hours. (It actually took 90 minutes; 75 in light traffic) and the minutes of the school day would creep by like a snail. However, on a positive note, a Saturday matinee movie would serve up what seemed like an entire day of entertainment and summer vacations seemed endless.

Now, here we are — sixteen years into the 21st century. Things are great, but they didn't play out exactly as I had imagined when I was six. The little, silly pictures I drew as a child became the stepping stone to my career as a professional artist. However, my little imagination never considered that thirty-nine year old Josh would be married with a thirteen-year old son when the year 2000 rolled around. 

But, I can't quite place the exact moment when time went from a deliberate crawl to a mad dash. Now, it seems that days, months, years go by so quickly. Time is whizzing by at an astounding rate. It's already May! It was just January! The days zoom by. I sometimes look at the clock and it's 9:30 in the morning and my next glance tells me it's 4 in the afternoon. It's a different story for events in my long-term memory. I am blessed (sometimes cursed!) with a great memory, but I have trouble gauging how long ago certain events happened. If I try to remember when a saw a particular movie or concert, or how long since a specific vacation, I am usually off by a few years. I can recall numerous details — minor characters in movies or side dishes of meals we've had on vacation — but when it comes to pinpointing the time frame, I'm way off. Considering how aware of time I have become, I will just blame that shortcoming on my advancing age.

Oh, I am very aware of time. Most of what I do on a daily basis is dictated by time. Getting up for work, deadlines, bill-paying, appointments for haircuts (and hair coloring — very important!), setting the brand-new DVR for recording a favorite movie — all are time-driven. So, imagine my concern when yesterday, I awoke before my alarm went off and watched as the clock ticked right past the set time without a sound. Uh-oh! I checked to confirm that I had, indeed, set the alarm the night before. (I did.) I checked the settings and everything looked normal. I had this clock-radio for a long time. Long enough that I had forgotten exactly how long. Its electronic "beeping" and its dual alarm had served my wife and I well. It dutifully alerted me when it was time to go to work or to leave for a family vacation. But now, sadly, my trusty alarm clock had run out of time. It was time for a replacement. (Jeez! How many more "time" puns can I slip in here?)

New slogan.

When I got home from work, I headed over to a local Target store. I parked my car and walked in, unconsciously making my way back to the small electronics department where, I assumed, I would find a selection of alarm clocks from which I could choose, I wasn't looking for anything fancy. All I needed was one with a dual alarm and a large, bright display that I could read in the dark without my glasses. As I approached the small department I saw several flat-screen TVs and an endcap display of iPhones. In the first aisle, there were shelves of wireless speakers, something that did not exist the last time I bought a clock-radio. Aisle number two was stocked with various sizes of home networking hardware, all securely wrapped with cables and some sort of theft-deterrent device. I strolled slowly up and down each aisle, silently scanning the shelves. I saw printers and headphones and cellphone cases and a few sleek, matte black, high-tech looking things that I couldn't quite identify, but nothing that resembled a clock-radio. Suddenly, I ran out of shelves of electronics and found myself in the garden department.

I retraced my footsteps. I redoubled my shelf-scanning efforts. Nothing. There was not a time-measuring device to be had. I slowly — slowly — walked away from the small electronics department. I even purposely walked through the small kitchen appliances department, hoping to find a clock-radio miscategorized among the blenders and coffee makers. No luck. I returned to my car. Clockless. I would be forced to use the alarm on my cellphone as my daily wake-up call. Y'know, like most people do now.

I suppose I am one of the last members of a dying breed. I still read books with a cover and pages. I still shop in "brick and mortar" stores. 

And I still like to know what time it is.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com