No Joy in Mudville

Liar. Cheater. Scumbag.

I remember when I was a kid, I loved to listen to my dad tell stories about all manner of his memories from when he was a kid.

He'd tell me about the amazing powers of The Green Lantern, and about playing pick-up basketball at the old JCC with the road teams who were in town to play the Cincinnati Royals, and about how he accidentally shredded his brother's foot in the spokes of his bike.

I loved all of them. I ate them up. I soaked them all in...

My favorite stories were always about baseball. Probably because I was utterly obsessed with the sport.

I made my dad help me recite the top home run hitters of all time. "Hank Aaron 755. Babe Ruth 714. Willie Mays 660. Frank Robinson 586."  He used to tell me that Johnny Bench could hold a million baseballs in his hand. He would tell me about how getting Joe Morgan for Lee May made the the Reds the greatest team of the 1970s and among the greatest teams ever.

I remember watching TV when Pete Rose came back to town to re-sign with the Reds. I was 4 years old and I remember seeing the footage of Pete's car coming across the bridge. I will never forget going with my mom to the game BEFORE Pete broke Cobb's record. I made a sign. Pete went 0 for 4.

The first poem I ever wrote was about the 1994 strike. The Reds winning the 1990 World Series still, 23 years later, counts as one of the 10 greatest moments of my life. Maybe that's sad, but I guarantee I'm not the only one.

 I would throw ball after ball against the wall of my grandparent's house. Always aiming for the small square my grandpa had drawn in blue crayon. Always pretending to be Mike Schmidt, who was, in my opinion, the greatest third baseman ever. I held that opinion even then, because some time in 1984 or 85 my dad and I were watching the Reds play the Phillies, and my dad pointed out Schmidt at the plate. He said "This guy is really good. He hits a lot of home runs.". Then Schmidt homered. It was like he could do it on command. It was like my dad made it happen. Baseball is magical, I guess.

No... I don't guess. Baseball IS magical. There's no 9 part Ken Burns documentary on Football... As much as we all love football, it isn't (and will never be) baseball.

And now, I'm not sure baseball is baseball.

Look... I realize I'm late to this party. The McGwires and Sosas and Bonds and Palmeiros and Giambis and all of those guys who stood there and pointed and pretended to not speak English and dissembled and claimed ignorance... they are the ones who put doubt in the mind of every fan. They are the ones who shattered the sacred records and spat on the legacies of Roger Maris and Hank Aaron and every other player who achieved their astronomical records legitimately.

Then... after all of those bombs dropped over and over... Starting with Raphael Palmeiro (outed while I was driving back from the Baseball Hall of Fame induction weekend with my dad and the Brawny Hombre) and capping off with Barry Bonds, there were swaths of legends felled by allegations, assertions, and often direct evidence of their cheating. It was a dark time, to be sure. We had a single-season and career homer champion whose numbers are questioned.  In 1998 there was this incredible home run race to 62 homers by two separate men, often regarded (along with Cal Ripken's longevity streak) as the moment baseball resurrected herself from the ashes of a horrible players strike. Only 5 years later that same chase could arguably be seen as nothing more than a slap in the face to Roger Maris and his family.

Numbers we hallowed our entire lives were being surpassed by these hulking behemoths with clubs, and as quickly as they shattered the records, they were outed as being cheats. Baseball fans everywhere could no longer hold on to the one thing they'd always had as an advantage over the fans of other sports. The statistics. The beautiful, simple statistics.

I thought we were going in a better direction. Power numbers went down to more historically consistent levels in conjunction with new drug testing policies. More and more players were openly in favor of cleaning up the sport.

And yet... Here comes Ryan Braun. A player with prodigious power and offensive polish who'd tested positive late in his MVP season and insisted he was innocent. He dragged the name of the tester through the mud. He pulled out all of the legal stops on his league-allowed appeal, and HE WON. He won his appeal on some very nebulous technicality, and he returned to the field none-the-worse for wear the next season. Don't even get me started on the "coincidence" that the owner of the team for whom Braun plays also happens to be the commissioner of baseball. How that's not a conflict of interest I'll never know.

Now, today, he was suspended for the rest of the season based on some apparently damning evidence in some report and it must be pretty clear, because the Great Appealer isn't appealing. He's now admitting to some "mistakes".  

Apparently he's just the first domino in a long line of suspensions and bombs to come. Alex Rodriguez is on the list. A-Rod is currently 6th on the all time homers list, and was up until last year the single biggest contender to pass the other cheater, Barry Bonds for the record. It's very likely now that he'll never come close, and maybe won't ever play again.

You know... none of this is news. None of us are surprised anymore. I'm certainly not.

I'm just sad. I'm sad that the stories my dad told me as a kid are somehow laced with asterisks now. I'm sad that every number has to be questioned and scrutinized. I'm sad that heroes like Hank Aaron and Roger Maris are no longer the official holders of those iconic records. I'm sad that when the dads of my generation tell their kids about the great players they watched growing up, that the most exciting ones were cheaters.

I love Tony Gwynn and Greg Maddux as much as anyway, but the players who I pretended to be on the diamond, the ones who drew me to the game I love, were the mashers and the flame throwers and a lot of those guys are liars.

Baseball better figure it out fast, because this shit bums me out. It's gotta end. We've gotta have the purity of our game.

It's a "Gut" Thing.

I’m 32 years old.

There are very few people who’d say that is “Old”, but I feel it sometimes, nonetheless. I rarely think about that in most of my life. You know… aside from the occasional “Wow… the kids who start high school this year were born the year I graduated”, there aren’t a lot of real life reminders.

The one thing that always gets me, though, is sports. I’m confronted with reminders every day. I think about how if I were a major league baseball player (my short-lived childhood dream), I’d likely be declining out of my prime by now. I think how I vividly remember the 1992 USA Basketball team, and how that was 20 years ago, and how every single one of those players is long retired. I remember guys like Allen Iverson, Shaquille O’Neal, Jeff Bagwell, Mike Piazza… where I remember their entire careers from beginning to end.

And now…

Barry Larkin is in the Hall of Fame.

Barry Larkin was my favorite Red growing up. He was the best (or 2^nd best) player on every Reds team for my entire childhood. His career spanned, almost exactly , the same years I spent in school. I started 1^st grade in 1986, his rookie year. I graduated college in 2002, his 2^nd to last year. I saw him play more games in person than any other player. He was the most recognizable player of the only championship team of my lifetime.

Now… he wasn’t my first favorite Red. That honor goes to Johnny Bench or Pete Rose or maybe Mario Soto, but those guys weren’t my players. They were my Dad’s players, and since I want(ed) to be like him, I adopted the players he admired. Pete Rose’s rookie season happened when my dad was 9 years old. Pete Rose was my Dad’s Barry Larkin.

Barry Larkin was the first favorite Red of MY time as a baseball fan.

I’ve had a long running argument with my best friend (The Brawny Hombre) about whether Larkin deserved to be in the Hall of Fame. I always took the “Pro” in that fight, and maybe aside from the overwhelming numerical support for my argument, there was always something else. Something unquantifiable.

The Brawny Hombre always made the statement that it was more of a “gut” feeling that told him Larkin wasn’t a hall of famer, and I made the same argument for him.

You see, for me…Barry Larkin WAS baseball for me, growing up. He was the guy I wanted to hit like. He was the guy who carried me through the dark end of the Marge era. He was the guy who led the most exciting teams of my life, the 1990, 1995, and 1999 Reds teams. He was the guy who ALWAYS got on base, who ALWAYS made right base-running decision, who ALWAYS got to the ball in the hole. He was Barrrrrryyyyyy LARK-innnnnnnnnn. Through all those years, the Reds had other good players. Eric Davis was electrifying. Chris Sabo was a fun flash. Jose Rijo was a reliably strong starting pitcher. Rob Dibble was Aroldis Chapman before Aroldis Chapman... and was completely insane. Reggie Sanders…Paul O’Neill… Ken Griffey Jr… Sean Casey. God forbid, Adam Dunn.

None of them held quite the same place of esteem in my heart and mind that Barry Larkin did… Does.

It’s a sign that I’m getting older that a player came up, rose to greatness, declined as all players do, retired, and achieved his place in the Hall of Fame, and I remember it all. I loved it all.

I can’t think of a player I’ve rooted for as hard as I rooted for Barry Larkin. Maybe, one day, another player will come along to grab my imagination. It’s going to be difficult. I’m a jaded old adult now. I’m not as prone to idolatry.

Maybe that’s as it should be. When my dad talks about his favorite baseball moments, he invariably talks about The Big Red Machine. The team of his youth. Baseball is a kid’s game afterall. My teams were Larkin’s teams. My favorite player was Barry Larkin.

And now Barry Larkin is in the hall of fame, validating the 10 year old kid who would scream and yell and cheer for his hero at Riverfront Stadium all those times.

And damn… I’m old.

Leave it Alone

I started writing a blog about The Oscars, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about any of the winners all that much. I will say that in a lot of years I would be outraged that The Artist won over something that will ultimately be seen as a far greater movie, since you know…The Artist is all flash, and no substance, but you know… I look at the other movies nominated, and while I really liked The Descendants and Moneyball, it’s pretty difficult to argue that they’re much better than The Artist, so… congratulations Frenchies!

Of course, the Oscars did get me thinking about movies, and the nature of them, and whatnot, and they’ve convinced me to finally write my blog about my current biggest pet peeve in the realm of movie making.

Does anyone remember the absolutely insane fervor of May 1999 when the first Star Wars prequel was released? It was fucking CRAZY. Like… There were articles, and news items, and interviews. Rumor of a new trailer would sell out a theatre for some afternoon show of some horrible March release movie. I remember going to meet my friends for the Midnight show, and sitting in the theatre for hours. People were dressed up. Getting crazy. My friends were asking Star Wars trivia. It  was the first enormous midnight release movie, paving the way for every tween who stays up for days for Twilight.

I remember the lights going down, and the incredible electricity in the air. The palpable anticipation of the start of the movie many of these people had waited 18 years to see. The opening titles started “A long time ago…” and people went insane. It was so loud I remember involuntarily laughing at the whole business. It was like a rock concert.

Every light saber resulted in cheers. Every throwback reference resulted in knowing laughter. Every time we saw a character we’d come to love it was greeted with raucous applause. Every moment was met with baited breath.

When the final credits rolled, the place was like a madhouse. People were cheering and shouting and chanting “Show it again” and before I knew it, there were light saber fights in the aisles and people leaving the theatre and getting in line for the first showing in the morning, and all of the rest. It was a fucking sensation, and I was just as caught up in it as anyone else.

Nobody bothered to tell any of us how incredibly shitty it was.

It wouldn’t have mattered. We were too invested. We were too far down the rabbit hole of a sycophantic fugue state. We NEEDED it to be good. There was no way it would register otherwise.

That state must have lasted all Summer, because I am fairly certain I saw it 5 more times in the theater, and I loved it each time.

I ignored the discussions about how boring the politics were (“They set up what comes next”, I’d say). I paid little attention to the complaints about the acting of Jake Lloyd (“He’s just a little kid!”). I defended Jar Jar Binks against the onslaught of racial criticism (“Um… He’s funny!”)

Then, through all of the haze, I didn’t watch it again for 13 years.

In the meantime, I watched Attack of the Clones and found myself bored through a lot of it. I watched “Revenge of the Sith” and found myself groaning over the dialogue and the huge holes in logic and continuity.

I started questioning those movies more and more. The haze and excitement and anticipation started to diminish, and the harsh light of reality started beating down. Part of this, I have to believe, has to do with The Lord of the Rings. These were highly anticipated movies that absolutely killed it from beginning to end in terms of writing, acting, effects, and overall story telling. Arguably the fans of these books were as rabid as any George Lucas ever encountered, even if the volume wasn’t as high. As every LOTR fan left each film with a sense of pride and satisfaction, the true feelings of the Star Wars fans became more raw and haggard.

Then… to top it all off… I went to see the re-release of The Phantom Menace, hoping that the 3D would somehow bring it all together.

It didn’t.

That movie is fucking atrocious.

I’m sorry to say it. I believe I really did love it once upon a time, but either my tastes have matured, or the halcyon days of anticipation had truly clouded my thoughts (much like a Jedi).

The script is one of the worst I’ve ever heard. The acting, outside of Liam Neeson, is unbelievably bad. (Jake Lloyd, who at one time garnered defense is… completely indefensible. There had to have been better child actors out there. There had to have been. I can’t accept otherwise). The effects are great, that’s true, but there are too many. Back in the day, Lucas had to be creative to make visually interesting scenes. This movie makes him lean on the effects too much.  Let’s not even talk about how self-referential it all is… The totally Americanized sports announcing team might be the dumbest throw-in I’ve ever seen in a movie.

And then there’s Jar Jar. The problem with Jar Jar is that his character DOES serve a purpose, but my god… So offensive. I know that Lucas attributed a lot of the Jar Jar dialogue to his little kid, and maybe that’s true, but if it is… that little kid needs to do some self examination, because they are racist as shit.

Anyway… All of that, and I haven’t even articulated my pet peeve.

Despite all of the anticipation and excitement, nobody was sitting around waiting for another Star Wars movie. The story was done. Nobody really cared all that much about where Darth Vader came from, unless they were huge Star Wars fans, and they already knew. There was no clamoring until silly George Lucas announced he was working on the prequels. It was dead. It was resting. The most controversial thing to come up in the Star Wars universe was whether Lucas ruined the originals by doctoring them in the re-releases. Han shot first. So the fuck what?

So, without active demand, why in the world couldn’t he have made a better movie? The pressure was off. He could have had a damned contest for the best screen play and gotten 500 great scripts from all of those obsessive Star Wars fans who probably know the universe better than Lucas does at this point. He could have done literally anything he wanted to make the best possible version of that story, and instead we end up with damned “Mr. Tambo” Jar Jar Binks, and Jake Lloyd shouting “Yippee” like a youth from the 1960s. (Long time ago indeed).

That’s my pet peeve.

With no pressure, and no clamor, why in the hell can’t they make better unanticipated sequels?

I touched on it briefly during my movie recap for 2011… One of the reasons Pirates of the Caribbean was my worst movie of the year was due to this phenomenon.

The Pirates trilogy was over. They’d wrapped the story. There was no need or specific demand for more, and yet they pushed through another Jack Sparrow story without so much as a single story editor. Without even the teensiest bit of passion. It’s so disappointing when all semblance of guise is dropped, and the money grab we all know it to be is just bared to the world.

My other favorite example of this is the Indiana Jones Disaster of 2008.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade came out in 1989, and was pretty much universally loved by anyone that cared about those kinds of movies. It’s certainly my favorite one from start to finish. It’s still 100% watchable. And while there’d been rumors for years of another installment for years, the answer they always gave was “We’re always interested, but we’re really waiting for the perfect script.”

I wonder if they’re still waiting somewhere, because ALIENS? Are they fucking serious? I’m still furious. One of the most interesting and timeless things about the Indiana Jones movies is how neatly they intertwined religion, archeology, and mysticism. Throwing in fucking aliens stretches credulity. Giving Indy some dumbass, greaser son (played by one of the least likable actors in Hollywood) only weighed it down. Bringing back Karen Allen, looking bizarre, was just a bad choice.

Look.. I get that Harrison Ford isn’t getting any younger, so it makes sense that they had to account for that… except that they didn’t have to. They didn’t have to make it at all. So… why make something totally shitty?

The Hobbit is coming out soon. The first trailer got something like 8 bazillion hits on YouTube. Another movie where there was interest, but not necessarily demand. It’ll have been 9 years since Return of the King. Hopefully Peter Jackson recognizes the opportunity to come in and stick the landing.

I’ve heard rumors for years about another Ghostbusters movie. I can tell you that I’m not holding my breath, but if they do get it together, they better do it right. I have faith that they’ll wait til the right script comes along.

Anyway, this is my plea… If you don’t have to make a sequel (Twilight, Harry Potter, Hunger Games), then wait until you have good reason to make one. Don’t be Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides” or Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull or Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. I’m begging you.

If you cared about the first ones, care about the others.

And since I can’t help myself, here’s a small observation on the Oscars.

The Artist won, making yet another Best Picture winner I was rooting against. I’ve been really actively following the Oscars for about 20 years, starting with Unforgiven’s win in 1993. Here are some personal opinion stats.

Of the Best Picture winners, I’ve only agreed with 6. (Unforgiven, Schindlers List, Braveheart, American Beauty, Return of the King, and No Country for Old Men).

I’ve actively disliked 4 (Titanic, Shakespeare in Love, The Artist, and Crash).

I’ve been outraged for various reasons (shut up, I’m dramatic) by 5 (Titanic, Shakespeare in Love, Crash, Chicago, and A Beautiful Mind).

My favorite film of the year has not even been nominated a few times… (50/50, Children of Men, Road to Perdition, Pan’s Labyrinth).

Some other thoughts…

There were some good years… The year The Departed beat Little Miss Sunshine. The year Million Dollar Baby beat The Aviator, Finding Neverland, and Sideways (Wow). The year Forrest Gump beat Quiz Show, Pulp Fiction, and Shawshank… (Holy…)

At least one year featured a winner that could arguably have been the WORST nominee:
Titanic beat out As Good as it Gets, The Full Monty, Good Will Hunting, and L.A. Confidential.

If I’m having a “BEST” Best Picture Winner of the Past 20 years, the Nominees are:

Unforgiven, Schindler’s List, Forrest Gump, Braveheart, The English Patient, Titanic, Shakespeare in Love, American Beauty, Gladiator, A Beautiful Mind, Chicago, The Return of the King, Million Dollar Baby, Crash, The Departed, No Country for Old Men, Slumdog Millionaire, The Hurt Locker, The Kings Speech, and The Artist…

You know what… That’s for another blog. Stay tuned for the Best Picture Tournament.

A Clean Break

I feel ya, Cubs fan. I feel ya.

In January of 1989, The Cincinnati Bengals made me cry. This was before I had real reason. They had finished their most glorious season with a heartbreaking loss, but there was truly nothing to cry about. They had promise. A young quarterback with nerves of steel and blonde, flowing locks. A brash running back tandem, one of whom fathered an end-zone dance craze so ridiculous we all should have known it wouldn't last. A defense... well... the defense wasn't spectacular, but man that offense was fun to watch.

We had it good. We had years of prosperity to look forward to at the helm of the S.S. Ickey and Boomer.

I was not even 9 years old, but I bled Orange and Black. They had me.

Then, not even a year later the legend behind the scenes, the great Paul Brown, passed away. Little did we know how devastating a loss it would be.

The next 20 years have been well documented. 2 more winning seasons. 2 more playoff berths. And 18 other seasons of being just about the shittiest team on Earth, and since the idiot son Mike Brown was at the command, things continued to look bleak.

There was a brief time in recent years when things seemed like they may be getting better. Marvin Lewis drafted Carson Palmer. Chad Johnson (that's right) broke out into stardom. It was exciting for a while, but the curse continued. The sole playoff appearance started with a blown knee and went down from there. Nothing close since. Frankly the whole thing has been torture.

Hard to really put the last 20 years into words that do them justice. We've had misfortune and mistakes of all kinds. They drafted great players wisely and fucked them up (somehow) like Dan Wilkinson. They've drafted great players unwisely and things went just how you'd expect (Reinard Wilson and KiJana Carter). They've passed up whole drafts of picks to take Akili Smith.

If I listed every terrible game. Every terrible moment. Every terrible player or pick, I'd be here all day, and frankly my buddy Alan is much more encyclopedic in his knowledge of those stats and facts. I'm a more emotionally driven fan. I'm not rational (see: my hatred of Adam Dunn).

Based on those feelings, and my absolute exhaustion at every gut-wrenching game and play and decision, I made a decision.

I put the Bengals on notice. During last season, I selected a new "favorite" team to follow and cheer along with the Bengals. That team was the New Orleans Saints. I love the way Drew Brees plays. I like Sean Payton. I want to see a downtrodden city like the Big Easy have something good happen to them. I needed a team to root for that wouldn't kick me in the nuts at every possibly opportunity. The Saints haven't exactly been the best team in the world in my lifetime either, but they seem to make good moves. They seem to be at least TRYING to win.

After the season, I gave the Bengals one more season (a one year contract, if you will) to show me something. To make me believe. I made one caveat. "No receivers or running backs in the first round". They took Andre Smith, so they passed the test.

I was willing to do double rooting duty again this year with my Saints and my Bengals and see what happened.

Then the Bengals played the Broncos in the first game of the season, and then this happened:

Is that not the most sickening thing you've ever seen? Well... It was at that moment that I knew the Bengals would never love me the way I loved them. They'd always be the team where the third stringer set the world on fire. They'd always be the team where shit like that happened against them.

Well... I have a choice. Just because I'm from Cincinnati doesn't mean that I have to suffer. I won't do it anymore. I'm divorcing the Bengals.

I know they're 4 and 2. I know that they have a chance this season, but I don't care. If they do well, that's great. I'll be happy for them. I'll never root against them. I'll root for them casually... I'll never cry for them again. I'll never let them ruin another otherwise gorgeous Sunday. It won't happen.

So here I am. A Saints fan in Cincinnati. It's okay. Everything will be okay. Just remember... It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.

5 Days to Disney: A Magical Journey Indeed

I have no idea why, but Figment has also become the mascot of a few Gay Pride Weekends at Disney World. Seriously. (that's true, by the way).

Of all of the ridiculously nostalgic, overly sentimental choices I've made on this blog-down, this one is so far ahead of all of the others, it really should be called "getting Figmented" when I romanticize something to this degree.

Throughout this experience I've come thisclose to putting "Journey into Imagination" up at least 5 times. The reason I haven't is that really... it's kind of a dumb ride. It's slightly better than El Rio del Tiempo (a ride that I've somehow missed discussing entirely, but could easily have dropped in somewhere along the way for exactly the same reason.) The past version of this ride, when it featured the Dreamfinder, primarily, was incredibly popular. The storyline was that the Dreamfinder created this purple dragon (Figment) and they traveled through places where "imagination" was used. This was the the ride that I knew and loved as a kid. In 1998 Disney changed things up, wholly removing Figment from the ride and basically pissing everyone off in the process.

Disney fans are a fairly vocal group, and they've raised ruckuses before. They went NUTS when Mr. Toad closed. This, however, may be the only time the fans were heeded. It took 4 years, but in 2002, Disney brought back Figment and re-incorporated him into the ride. It's not as good as it once was, though it still features a the song by the Sherman Brothers "One Little Spark", which is pretty fantastic. Still...the ride holds a dear place in my heart, and I effing LOVE Figment. He's hilarious.

So basically I went to write about this ride half a dozen times, but it's not that good, and there's not much to say about it, so I kept putting it off... then I realized about 3 or 4 days ago that it's so much a part of my ultimate Disney experience that not only could I not leave it off, but that it deserved a spot in my Top 7.

It's easily the least attended ride on the list (aside from the People Mover and Carousel of Progress.) I don't know if I've EVER waited more than 5 minutes to ride it. This actually adds to the specialness for me, because it's a guaranteed time-killer and air conditioning surge. It's great.

Basically this ride is so special to me for 1 reason...

It was one of the first rides I rode at Epcot and while it seemed a little "kiddie" even then, there was a charm about it. It also so much embodies all of the beauty of Epcot. Or at the time "E.P.C.O.T." It's a ride about innovation, and imagination, and creativity. It's got a catchy tune and a beloved character. It was probably dated the moment it rolled off, but for some reason it's always captured the... ehem... imagination of the audiences. It's not as good as it once was, but I never feel more permitted to be silly than on that ride. I love it.

And now... The Disney Trivia Question of the Day

Question: What company has sponsored Journey Into Imagination since it's inception?

If you think you know, please send an e-mail to blog@beefymuchacho.com

Everyone with the correct answer will receive a point. An incorrect answer gets 1/2 a point. The person with the most points will get a Limted Edition Pin purchased during my stay.

Standings are being updated daily at http://www.beefymuchacho.com/ on the "Contests" page.

I'll repost the questions with the answers at the end of the contest.

8 Days to Disney: Makes me all emotional. Like a baby kitten.

So, I think we've probably got it pretty well established that I am an emotional mess when it comes to some thing Disney related. I like to cry a little. I like going to Disney and tapping in to every weird little nostalgic tidbit I can.

I've realized that so much of why I'm so in love with that place, is that I love to revisit past great times just as much as I love to experience new great times. Well... if there's a single attraction in all of the parks that, for whatever reason, gets me more than almost any other is Mickey's Philharmagic.

Much like the Monsters Inc thing from yesterday, the concept of this attraction is pretty simple.

We're in a giant concert hall, there for a symphony concert conducted by Mickey Mouse and his enchanted instruments. Donald Duck steals Mickey's sorcerer hat and the instruments revolt and hide in all of these past Disney animated films. Oh...and it's in 3-D.

The thing that makes it amazing is the execution. It's easily the best 3-D I've ever seen, in terms of the huge number of layers and the details. It's fantastic. They also incorporate Donald and the instruments into the famous scenes from these movies seamlessly. He's on the Magic Carpet with Aladdin and Jasmine in "A Whole New World". He flies around Big Ben with the kids in Peter Pan. He enjoys Belle's feast in Beauty and the Beast. It's truly a beautifully executed film. The music is moving. It has a great, simple storyline that is crammed into about a 10 minute thing. It's funny, heartfelt, and the music is incredible and familiar.

When I went back to Disney for the first time in almost 5 years in January of 2005 and I experienced this for the first time, I think I said how incredible I thought it was. I've now seen it 5 more times or so, and without question it's one of the best things at The Magic Kingdom.

The only negative thing I can say about it is that while I've never really waited more than 10 minutes for it (fast pass is our friend, people, never forget it) the queue line is a little stuffy for my taste. As in the ventilation always seems a little bad. The wait seems longer than it is. There's not much to look at.

That's a very minor quibble in what is otherwise an A+ attraction. Something that every kid will love. Something that inspires the most nostalgic feelings of my youth in me.

And now... The Disney Trivia Question of the Day

Question: What is Donald's Boat in Toontown called?

If you think you know, please send an e-mail to blog@beefymuchacho.com

Everyone with the correct answer will receive a point. An incorrect answer gets 1/2 a point. The person with the most points will get a Limted Edition Pin purchased during my stay.

Standings are being updated daily at http://www.beefymuchacho.com/ on the "Contests" page.

I'll repost the questions with the answers at the end of the contest.

10 Days to Disney: Conservation at its Finest

(NOTE: This picture has very little to do with today's topic, but I'd looked for it 2 weeks ago when I wrote about the Turkey Legs and wasn't able to find it. I labeled it "Guido Turkey Legs" in my files. Just felt like now was as good a time as any to post it.)

Oh. My. God. I'm into the final 10 days. The excitement is almost too much to bear at this point.

I've gone to Disney by myself 3 times.

I know that sounds kind of pathetic, but I just wanted to go real bad, and I didn't want to coordinate with anyone else.

Anyway... the only thing that sucks about going alone is eating alone. It's not that I am embarrassed or anything, but damn is it boring. I think I almost memorized the hidden mickey's book the last time I went.

My favorite place to go to eat when I go alone is also one of my favorite places with other people. It's easily my favorite chain restaurant in all the world... It's The Rainforest Cafe.

There are 3 reasons I love it so much, especially when I go alone.

1) The atmosphere is lively and entertaining, which isn't always what I look for in my restaurants, but it keeps things interesting when you don't have conversation to rely upon.

2) It's one of the few restaurants in WDW that has a bar with a TV. Usually tuned to sports programming. In fact, I distinctly recall watching the Steelers vs. Jets Overtime playoff game from one of those fancy bar stools at The Downtown Disney location.

3) The food is better than most other chain places, and it's expensive but not insanely priced.

I think a good bit of my love of The Rainforest Cafe has to do with my nostalgia of Vacations Past as well... I remember going to The Rainforest twice in the Summer of 1998 and having Dee Anne and I discover the joys of the China Island Chicken Salad, which I maintain is the best big salad dish I've ever eaten.

I'll admit that the Rainforest loses points with me on my countdown for 2 reasons...

1) It's not unique to Disney. There are about 15 locations, nation-wide. I've been to the one in Chicago and Las Vegas. My cousin Abbey has been to the one in San Antonio. I hate to say it, but a chain, no matter how good it is, is still a chain.

2) After my surgery, I've struggled a bit to find things that I can comfortably eat. Most of the items are just too big to finish, and as many of you who know me know... I don't like leftovers in the comfort of my own home. I definitely don't like them during vacation. Just seems like a waste.

Still... I'll always be grateful to The Rainforest Cafe for keeping me company and providing me yummy delights during what would have otherwise been lonely, boring meals.

And now... The Disney Trivia Question of the Day

Question: The gift shop at the exit of Star Tours is currently called ____?

If you think you know, please send an e-mail to blog@beefymuchacho.com

Everyone with the correct answer will receive a point. An incorrect answer gets 1/2 a point. The person with the most points will get a Limted Edition Pin purchased during my stay.

Standings are being updated daily at http://www.beefymuchacho.com/ on the "Contests" page.

I'll repost the questions with the answers at the end of the contest.

13 Days to Disney: Paging Mr. Morrow. Mr. Tom Morrow

My step-mom, Dee Anne, is a big reason why I loved Disney right from the start. Like I was back then, she's not really a ride rider. She's always content to check out the Coca Cola Club Cool or Innoventions. She'd rather (100 times out of 100) enjoy the Carousel of Progress as opposed to going on Space Mountain. You get the picture...

Well, as a kid, I'd often opt to keep her company going into and out of the shops in the Studios instead of going on Tower of Terror. I would hang out with her and go on Spaceship Earth (about her speed) as opposed to Test Track. I love Test Track and Space Mountain, but I don't NEED to ride them, and it's fun to keep her company.

In a way, the enjoyment she'd get out of these slower paced things (and even things like grabbing some old timey popping corn and people watching) made me really notice a lot of the things about Disney that I've come to love the most. The details. The music. You get the idea.

Well, my favorite time spender with Dee Anne is riding the T.T.A. (The Tomorrowland Transit Authority)...affectionately known as The People Mover. It's just this silly little train type thing that glides through Tomorrowland on a magnetic track and sneaks through different attractions and is, most importantly cool and breezy. Topping out at about 5 miles per hour, it's just the right speed for enjoying some Diet Coke and killing time while waiting for the braver people in the party to finish riding Space Mountain.

I remember on the last family trip there in June of 06, Dee Anne didn't want to ride Space Mountain (as if that had even been a possibility), and I'd just ridden it the last time I was there in December of 05 (like I said... the hour long wait usually dissuades me from riding it on every trip). So she and I decided to go on the Carousel of Progress, with it's usual 5 minute wait. Once that was done, Dad and Briana still had 40 minutes to go, and the storm clouds were rolling in, so Dee Anne and I quickly darted over to the People Mover and rode while it POURED down rain. It was one of those Floridian downpours you always experience. They pop-up out of nowhere and disappear as quickly. Well... this one took exactly 3 rides on the People Mover. It was a great time.

Oh...and if you love views, the People Mover has some of the best of Cinderella's Castle in the whole park.

There are a lot of little things that many people will ignore or skip so they can ride the big E-Ticket attractions, but going with Dee Anne has illustrated better than any guide book the beauty of the little rides. The C-Ticket attractions.

And now... The Disney Trivia Question of the Day

Question: What is the name of the robotic lounge singer in Tomorrowland's Cosmic Rays restaurant?

If you think you know, please send an e-mail to blog@beefymuchacho.com

Everyone with the correct answer will receive a point. An incorrect answer gets 1/2 a point. The person with the most points will get a Limted Edition Pin purchased during my stay.

Standings are being updated daily at http://www.beefymuchacho.com/ on the "Contests" page.

I'll repost the questions with the answers at the end of the contest.

14 Days to Disney: The Thunder Rolls

I've stated a few times that I'm no fan of roller coasters. That was doubly true when I was a youth. Nowadays I'll at least go on rides like Expedition Everest and Rock 'n' Roller Coaster. I'm nowhere near as squeamish as I once was.

That's one of the reasons I've always loved Disney... Even the coasters were coasters that I could ride. (When I first started going there was no Everest or Aerosmith). The most intense roller coaster at Disney was probably Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, and for some reason that I couldn't explain then, and really can't even explain now... I loved it.

I mean... I know why I love it in a completely objective sense. It's a fun roller coaster. It's fast. It tosses you around a bit. It's got great theming (like all Disney rides, really).

I guess the thing that lets Big Thunder stand apart, if I had to put my finger on something, is that because it's Disney I had an inate trust that it wouldn't be too much for me. There's nothing sinister about Walt Disney World, and for a kid who was often scared of his own shadow (I always prefer to consider myself to have been "gentle-souled", but I was a bit of a pansy... I'll be honest) , there was something wonderful about going to a place where I KNEW that nothing would be too much for me. Nothing was designed with the intent to scare. Maybe to thrill. Maybe to exhilarate, but not terrify. Even the Tower of Terror, which is still the one ride at Disney that makes me feel vaguely icky is a ride that I've ridden and not been terrified on.

The ride that most exemplifies this feeling of thrilling safety, for me, may always be Big Thunder Mountain. Maybe even secretly it's the ride that took Disney over the top for me from being a fun place to go, but like King's Island in that it's fun, but only partially not a waste for me, to being a place where I wanted to go all of the time. A place where I could negotiate every corner.

I do love me some Big Thunder.

Plus, it is, for some odd reason the attraction I most saw myself working. No idea why.

And now... The Disney Trivia Question of the Day

Question: Name the 5 Mountains of Walt Disney World, and place them in order according to height, tallest to shortest.

If you think you know, please send an e-mail to blog@beefymuchacho.com

Everyone with the correct answer will receive a point. An incorrect answer gets 1/2 a point. The person with the most points will get a Limted Edition Pin purchased during my stay.

Standings are being updated daily at http://www.beefymuchacho.com/ on the "Contests" page.

I'll repost the questions with the answers at the end of the contest.

24 Days to Disney: The Great Movie Ride

The Great Movie Ride was my first "favorite" ride at Disney World.

When I was a kid, I was an even bigger pussy than I am now. I was terrified of rides. Every time I'd get on an unknown ride for the first time, I'd be filled with anxiety due to the unknown of what was to come.

Disney was no exception.

We went to the then MGM Studios and got in line for the Great Movie Ride. I was effing stressed out...

When I got on the ride the music started and the guide started his spiel (shpiel?) and immediately the anxiety left me. The ride vehicle was large and slow. The banter was witty. The music was magical. I loved it.

The best thing was that of all of the rides and of all of the attractions, this was the ride that I could most see me working when I would inevitably come to Disney as an adult (yet to occur). I'd just daydream all the time of being the gangster who hijacks the ride car. It would be awesome.

I'll admit that it hasn't aged well for me. The actors are... lackluster at best. The movie scenes haven't been updated in years. At this point this ride mostly holds a nostalgic value for me. In fact, I'm not entirely sure that I even rode it the last time I was there.

Still... I do love the ride, and I'll always love how it was my first favorite ride.

And now... The Disney Trivia Question of the Day

Question: Walt Disney World houses the World's largest sand-bottom pool at 750,000 gallons of water. Where is it, and what is it called?

If you think you know, please send an e-mail to blog@beefymuchacho.com

Everyone with the correct answer will receive a point. An incorrect answer gets 1/2 a point. The person with the most points will get a Limted Edition Pin purchased during my stay.

Standings are being updated daily at http://www.beefymuchacho.com/ on the "Contests" page.

I'll repost the questions with the answers at the end of the contest.

26 Days to Disney: Spaceship Earth

Just so everyone knows, I'm not so completely blinded by the glory of Disney at all times that I can't be critical sometimes.

Spaceship Earth was one my absolute favorite experiences at Disney World. Those of you who know me personally can attest to my general sappy tendencies, and you all know that there are some things that just make me emotional. Spaceship Earth, for whatever reason, got to me. The music, the script, the sort of outlandish gravitas of the whole thing. I dunno... it's a simple ride with a high-minded concept that just made me emotional.

There was a time when this would be easily in my Top 10 things at Disney and sometimes, depending on the day, cracking my Top 5.

Needless to say, when they put it into a 6 month long refurbishment starting in the Summer of 08, I was both excited (because as much as I love it, there were things that weren't really working anymore, and the look to the "future" was more of a look to the "last year") and terrified (because change is scary!).

I went to Disney back in February for my birthday, and one of the things I most looked forward to was checking out the updates.

I have to say that while there were some really cool new things, like the interactive ride vehicles and the ending, it just doesn't pack the same emotional impact as it once did. Maybe it was the removal of Jeremy Irons as the narrator in favor of Judi Dench. I'm told, actually, that Walter Kronkite's rendition was the best, but he was replaced in '94, so either I never did ride it in 93 during my first visit, or I don't remember it. Either way, Irons was the guy for me. I just miss it.

Don't get me wrong... It's still a really cool ride, and a great way to kill 20 minutes between fast passes, but it'll never be the same for me.

Many people feel this same way about Journey into Imagination when they'd removed Figment for a while, and I must agree, though I like the new version that includes Figment a lot more than most people do. I'm not against change altogether... These changes just don't work for me.

And now... The Disney Trivia Question of the Day

Question: The Fountain at Innoventions Plaza in Epcot can shoot water 150 ft in the air (only 30 feet lower than the top of Spaceship Earth. If all of the water cannons were fired at once, how much water would be in the air?

If you think you know, please send an e-mail to blog@beefymuchacho.com

Everyone with the correct answer will receive a point. An incorrect answer gets 1/2 a point. The person with the most points will get a Limted Edition Pin purchased during my stay.

Standings are being updated daily at http://www.beefymuchacho.com/ on the "Contests" page.

I'll repost the questions with the answers at the end of the contest.

27 Days to Disney: The Carousel of Progress

I'm going to let you all in on a secret...

Walt Disney is my hero.

Shocked to hear it, I'm sure. One of the reasons I admire Walt so much is that he was always ahead of his time. His vision was never focused on the present, but rather on moving forward. In fact, my favorite quote of his goes like this:

"We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths. "

It's inspirational, hopeful. Exactly the traits I most attribute to Walt. That childlike curiosity that allows new doors to be opened. New paths to explore. It's what led Walt to create Snow White. To create the Mickey Mouse Club. To create Disneyland (and Walt Disney World). New terrain with which to try new things.

Of all of Walt's visions of the future; Tomorrowland, E.P.C.O.T., Etc... the one closest to my heart is The Carousel of Progress.

It was originally featured at the 1964 World's Fair (where It's a Small World also started it's unholy reign of terror), and it shows a "typical" American family learning about new technologies throughout the decades, with vignettes in 1900, 1920, 1940, and the FUTURE! It has been updated several times, but the general idea remains the same. It featured advanced audioanimatronics and a song by the Sherman Brothers, who also brought us the music for The Tiki Room, It's a Small World (!), Journey into Imagination, and others (not to mention about a million movie scores, including Mary Poppins and The Jungle Book.) The song they wrote for The Carousel of Progress speaks of that same look toward the future, and the promise it brings:

"There's a great big beautiful tomorrow, shining at the end of every day."

The movie "Meet the Robinsons" featured both that quote by Walt and an awesome recording of the song done by They Might Be Giants. Check it out. It's awesome.

But anyway, sometimes I get chills thinking about walking down the same streets that Walt imagined in his head. I want to go to Disneyland just to be where he was. When I want to sit in the calm, and relax, and imagine what Walt would think about today's Walt Disney World, I go to The Carousel of Progress. It makes me smile like thinking about an old friend.

And now... The Disney Trivia Question of the Day

Question: The Earful Tower, Hollywood Studios water tower landmark wears a Mickey Ears Hat. What's the Hat Size?

If you think you know, please send an e-mail to blog@beefymuchacho.com

Everyone with the correct answer will receive a point. An incorrect answer gets 1/2 a point. The person with the most points will get a Limted Edition Pin purchased during my stay.

Standings are being updated daily at http://www.beefymuchacho.com/ on the "Contests" page.

I'll repost the questions with the answers at the end of the contest.

My Blue Jacket

I miss Blue Jacket.

Blue Jacket, the Epic Outdoor Drama ran for over 25 seasons and closed "temporarily"after the 2007 season, and has since had First Frontier, the producing company declare bancrupcy, essentially rendering the show dead for at least the time being. New DNA testing showing that Blue Jacket himself wasn't blah blah blah basically renders the show dated. Of course, the money and the legitimacy of blood or whatever completely misses the point and the message, and does nothing to diminish the memories.

In the Spring of 2001, as a Drama Major at Thomas More College, I found myself looking for an acting gig for the Summer to come. I'd auditioned already at the place where I'd worked the year prior, and I would have been content to go back there, but due to some upheaval with the organization, they were slow in getting contracts out, and I didn't want to risk not working. So, I drove to Xenia, Ohio with my best friend at the time, Melissa Depenbrock (now Dortch... She met David while at Blue Jacket) who was returning to Blue Jacket for her 2nd Summer and first as the Head Equestrian. I auditioned in a small office, and was offered the role of Captain Arbuckle later that week. I'd still not heard from the other theater, so I accepted.

I mean... I was a chubby, nerdy dude who was going far, far out of his comfort zone to do an outdoor drama where I'd have to, among other things, ride horses bareback, learn stage combat, roll around in the dirt (my sworn enemy), and not be able to rely on my one true strength at the time as a performer, my singing.

I'd done outdoor drama, but there's a big difference in difficulty level between trying not to swallow a mosquito in the middle of singing a high A and doing everything you can to squeeze with your knees to a horse that suddenly doesn't recognize a puddle and let's be honest, I wasn't the best rider that ever walked down the pike. That run-on sentence doesn't convey even half of the anxiety I felt about this new endeavor. This was truly guerrilla theatre. Like..the crawling through the woods on your belly with a gun....LITERALLY...type of theatre.

If you'd have told me after my first day, when it poured rain the whole time, and Johnny Mac (from Chicago), who was doing the fight direction that year (the one year when Rat didn't do it, I guess), had us doing pushups on stage and running and soaking and gasping for life.... If you'd have told me then that I'd be writing a blog now about how it was my favorite time I've ever spent in theater, I'd have slapped you square in the face. Looking back, I wish I had more of those days.

In many ways, it was the best Summer of my life. Certainly the free-est. Definitely not the purest. But let me tell you... the people I met there have been with me perpetually since.

I'm terrible about keeping in touch, with even my closest friends, but I know that Mike Mangione would greet me with a hug and a hearty "SHAWNEE!!" if I ran into him on the street.

In fact, that very idea was shown to be true a couple of weeks ago when I ran into my old friends Tanner and Samantha Thompson at a Bengals game. Tanner and Samantha met at Blue Jacket too. I'm welling up now, but I'm hard pressed to think of a single moment where I was greeted as warmly as I was when I told Tanner to take off that fucking Colts jersey. In true Tanner fashion, he just laughed and smiled and they both gave me big 'ol hugs.

The thing is... I know that would be true for anyone I worked with that Summer (and the next when I went back as a mid-season replacement). I've never had a working experience where I felt like I was part of a family as I did trodding the sand at Ceasar's Ford. And I actually worked FOR family for 4 years.

That first Summer I was there was historically wet at Blue Jacket. We had several rain outs. The creek overflowed for a week once and the horses could barely get across from the pasture. It rained for so many days in rehearsals that for the brief moments when it was dry, you could sense the entire place just sucking in the sunlight. Our Blue Jacket cast shirts that season featured a drenched horse (Bucky). I bought 2.

So anyway... the other day I was on Facebook and I saw that another Blue Jacket alumnus, Spencer Burton (who was 12! that first Summer) had been up to the site and took some photos, posting them on his page. I'll admit they hit me pretty hard... not all at once, but slowly. The images creeping into my thoughts at the oddest times.

The Tofu Muchacha and I had planned on going antique shopping anyway for a show that I'm doing props for, so I suggested we drive up to Yellow Springs and make a day. Thinking that we could stop at the site for ourselves to see that old place I loved so much. I just felt like I needed to see it.

Appropriately, it was raining when we got there.

I can't tell you how remarkably sad the whole experience made me. Sad for a lot of reasons.

I think back to those Summers. To the times that made me laugh (just about all of them) and the times that made me cry (the others).

I think about getting a riding lesson from Keith Conway, who basically summed up his technique by.... ahem... humping the withers (of Jack or Bud, I'm sure) and saying "ya just gotta goooo with it."

I think about learning about a culture much older and storied than ours, and being inspired by the simple beauty of the Shawnee. What little I had the capacity to truly understand. A 3 day pow-wow just isn't enough is all I'm saying.

I think about spending the Summer being killed at centerstage by Black Fish (Cliff Jenkins) (and subsequently being peed on by Willow more than a few times) outside the burning fort at the end of Act 1.

I remember the deep sadness we all felt when the surprise foal we were so amazed to find in the pasture one day died the next..

I made friends with a horse named Ace, who to this day is still probably my favorite living creature. The one with the gentlest soul. If I had the money and the resource, I would have bought him in a heartbeat. I wonder where he is now, seeing as horses don't have Facebook... or do they?

And then, with all of those things in mind.... With the nights at Sure Shots and the days in the tennis courts at Stone Bridge learning to fight with Rat and Mike Mangione, and the many, many backstage tours I did with Tom Small, and the seeming hours it took to clean those damned guns every week. Thinking about all of those things, I hopped the low rise fence at the main gate (the actor's entrance is so overgrown that aside from the indent in the road, it's hard to tell anything was ever there) and I made my way toward the theater.

The parking lot, and all of that land that once housed our torch throwing practices is a wild field again. The space next to the picnic area, where there once were tables, was now waist high grass. The screens enclosing the meal building are torn and falling.

The theater itself reminded me of one of those movies like "I am Legend" or "28 Days Later" where a bustling place had been abandoned quickly, with it's inhabitants thinking they'd be back soon. The concession stand sign was still mostly intact, with items and prices still listed. The old, familiar tours sign still shows that the next tour starts at 5:00. Everything is boarded up, but for the most part, it looks like aside from some extra debris and weeds, that it could be cleaned up in a particularly taxing rehearsal tech week.

I walked into the theater from the top on the stage left, audience right side. The cry room still labeled. I felt like I wanted to go in there for a minute.
The stage itself is basically unchanged. There's definitely grass growing where no self-respecting A.T. would have allowed it to grow. Clearwater's rock is obscured and hard to see. The buildings, especially building B were looking the worse for wear, but if I squinted real hard, I could see Death Rider at center stage. I could hear that familiar voice over... "This Sacred ground..."I could detail the whole time I spent there (only about an hour) and the things I showed Tofu Muchacha. The 5 million places I pointed out to her...

"That's where I died every night...oh and there...and there."

"Here's where Ceasar fell at the end of Act 1"

"The acoustics here are amazing....listen!"

"There used to be a bat that lived down there in the tunnel. He was our friend."

"Here's where I fell off of Morgan during riding call."

The saddest moment for me came toward the end when I decided to walk to the pasture. The bridge probably wasn't safe anymore, but I did anyway. The path so clear that we could navigate it in the dark was gone...just a hint of a direction...a familiar footstep or two to guide the way. I'd wanted to go in and visit Clyde the horse by the medicine wheel. I'd wanted to go pat Ace's old post.

I'm not a religious person, but the spirit of that place has always hit me more than anywhere I've ever been. I can honestly say that through my first 22 years, the place I'd felt the most at peace, and the most at home was picking the hooves of those horses in that pasture. I readily admit that I have no horse knowledge aside from what I picked up there 2nd hand. I readily admit I may have been the worst rider in the history of the world, but I loved that pasture.

Sadly, the pasture was unreachable. I made it to the gate, which was totally covered in weeds and high grass, and I managed to snap a photo or two, just so I could remember it again later. It would have been no use to climb... the growth was more than I could manage.

We made our way back to the front... I was this close to crying the whole time. I felt unfinished. I felt restless. Then I spied something that gave me a slight bit of comfort as I left, and I felt compelled to take one last photo...It's hard for me to acknowledge any belief in fate and spirits and guides, but I can't help but feel like that path I took (of the many I could have taken) and that sideways glance (of the many I could have taken) was meant to lead me to that seat. To say goodbye to Ace one last time, and to take with me a small piece of his spirit.

As I sit typing this in the middle of the night, waiting for some dumb work issue to resolve before I can go to bed, I am crying.

The funniest thing is that I likely wasn't all that memorable to that place full of memorable characters. I certainly didn't have the same impact of Petey Fitzkee who spent more time playing Blue Jacket himself than any other person, and who still has ghost pains of performing around 8 on a Summer's night... (I read the article in the Dayton Daily News) . I didn't meet the person I love there like Tanner and Sammy, or Mel and David, or Pete and Tara, (or a thousand others).

I likely barely made a dent in that place, and yet when I really allow myself to admit it, it's possible that those 2 seasons dented me more than almost any other experiences I've had. (Not counting the actual dent in my shin from when Pancho kicked me while I was riding Ace). Certainly I had some memorable, treasured times there.

I'm writing this post as a catharsis, so please excuse the ramble. I've left it largely unedited, which likely makes it largely unreadable for most. I hope someone "Googling" Blue Jacket will come across this and smile knowing that a minor cog like me was, over a Summer and some change, so greatly impacted. I hope some of the people who have more history than I do there will know how much their contribution to Blue Jacket meant to me, and to know how much the loss of the institution grieves me.

I called this post "My Blue Jacket", because this is just my own personal take on a the tragic loss of a friend... of a family... something bigger than any of the single people who spent their Summers in the mist of the evening.

I hope it comes back one day. I hope that one day is soon. In any case, I'll never forget it. Not ever.

I leave you with the words of Rusty Mundell, the playwright:

This sacred ground, which you call your land, never belonged to you, fellow-man. It has always belonged to the Great Creator.

Look at the earth around you. Do you think it has anything to say?

Look at the forest and at the stone. What stories do they have?

Listen to the stream nearby... singing lost songs to lost children. Do you hear the earth?

It tells you that the Great Creator put it here in order to offer his children all that grows upon it. The Great Creator put it here...and from its womb...he made man.

...You killed us, and we fled before your numbers and your power, until we came to this sacred ground.

Do you hear it? Do you not hear the ground say that this is so?