The Single Rider

Couldn’t resist, originally uploaded by The Single Rider.

Single rider references abound at a theme park, but rarely co-exist on the same sign with child-tending references.

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When Life Hands You Lemons, Take A Monorail Shot, originally uploaded by The Single Rider.

After filling up at the Car Care Center, I drove down the road to EPCOT. The CMs were filling in the rows in the parking lot from the far end to the near end. I missed being at the near end by two vehicles! and had to drive to the far end. This displeased me greatly, but remembering that I get to choose how I react to things, I started walking and I also started looking for lemonade.

This is the canal that separates the DISCOVER lot from the JOURNEY lot at EPCOT. As I passed under the monorail tracks, I realized that if I stood there for a few minutes, lemonade would be forthcoming.

Like the monorail, the Universe is incapable of disappointing. We just ignore it a lot, preferring to be grouchy and blinded to all the lovely, deliciously refreshing lemonade that abounds.

Go forth and pucker

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I’ve just read a really intriguing article about how being alone is actually positive and good for you, and not the negative or even dysfunctional experience that society and modern psychology would have us believe.

I love the phrase “social snacking”, which is used to describe socializing by means of texting, phone calls, etc. There’s healthy snacking and then there’s empty calories; it all depends on who you are engaging and what you are deriving from these activities. One of the things that makes “social snacking” so attractive to those who LIKE to be alone is that it’s an indulgence on their own terms. If you’ve had enough, you shut down the app – done.

I have to disagree, however, with the leanings of the graduate student who believes less in “social loafing” and more in the power of what people fear others think of them. The experiment she ran involved testing memory of those who thought they were working on the task by themselves versus that of those who thought they were working on the task with others. She found that those who thought they were working alone performed better when their memory of the task was tested. The experimenter tends to believe that it’s because there was concern over the opinions of the others who were working on the task, but I disagree that this can be applied across the board.

I believe that the knowledge that one is working alone makes a person highly capable, because one knows that there is no fall-back position. There is no safety net. You walk the wire, you fall, oh well – no one is there to catch you. This is probably what makes me so damned attractive to all the Peter Pans of the world – the motherless lost boys who are loads of fun but in the end, irresponsible, undependable and looking for someone to take up their considerable slack.

I believe that there are only a limited number of people who will become more capable because they fear what others will think of them if they do not. The truly mature and the truly self-confident will not care what others think of them. There is also a small portion of society that doesn’t care what others think out of selfishness. So the theory that concern over the opinions of others trumps the knowledge that there’s no net doesn’t hold a lot of water for me.

The power of lonely – The Boston Globe.

I am at the Magic Kingdom today, originally uploaded by The Single Rider.

… and I just might need to make a purchase

There is a lot to be said for feeling free enough to choose, for not feeling trapped by obligation, for not making decisions based upon what some rule book says, but on what your heart says when it speaks to you.

What a conccept!

Speak, heart! Or sit up, roll over, do anything but beg or play dead!

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What part of "overkill" don’t you understand?, originally uploaded by The Single Rider.

I followed this van into the parking field at Disney’s Animal Kingdom this morning. You think maybe they’re pro-lifers much?

We parked side by side and as soon as the van’s doors slid open, a pile of kids spilled out. I counted five but there were more strapped into car seats inside. They all appeared to be under the age of ten.

I believe the parents were in their mid-30s. The father was rail thin and prematurely gray. His lips were pressed together as he went about the grim business of unfurling strollers. The mother was bloated and harassed. She started bitching at one kid or another the second her battered Keds hit the pavement. The kids have names like "Noah" and "Miriam" (hint: if a random stranger knows your kids’ names, that means you’re picking at them too loud or too much – possibly both).

Fine. You’ve got beliefs and you’re passionate about them. Are you happy, though? Is your mirthless, mean behavior at all Christ-like? Just askin’…

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