My Various Random Ramblings

My Walt Disney World Annual Pass expires in February. Starting this August, I will be living minutes from WDW and will have plenty of free time on the weekends. So I decided to go annual pass comparison shopping this weekend and came up with these observations:

Pricing:

(Florida Resident assumed when beneficial)

• Sea World Platinum Passport: 2 years, $429.95, monthly breakdown: $17.91, per park per month $1.99 (National) $4.47 (Florida)
• Sea World 1 park 1 year Passport: $99.95, monthly breakdown: $8.32
• Sea World 2 park, 1 year Passport: $149.95, monthly breakdown: $12.49, per park per month $6.25
• Universal Premier Pass: $289.99, monthly breakdown: $24.17, per park per month $12.08
• Universal Preferred Pass: $219.99, monthly breakdown: $18.33, per park per month $9.16
• Universal Power Pass (11.15 months): $139.99, monthly breakdown: $12.56, per park per month $6.28. +$14 parking per visit
• WDW Seasonal (8.78 month): $249, monthly breakdown: $28.37, per park per month $7.09. +$14 parking per visit.
• WDW Annual: $369, monthly breakdown: $30.75, per park per month $7.69
• WDW Premium: $489, monthly breakdown: $40.75, per park per month $5.82

Observations:

• Throwing out the crippled Universal Power Pass and assuming you don’t make it out to Busch Gardens and Adventure Island, the best value annual passes are surprisingly the Disney ones at $5.82-$7.69 per park per month.
• The average valuation of access to a park per month is $7.46
• To get year round access to all 12 local parks, you would have to pay at minimum $6.48 per park per month, or $77.80 a month.
• Out of all of these passes, only the Preferred pass is available for renewal on a month to month basis. IE, if you purchase your first year at the flexpay monthly rate, your contract is for one year, after that it can be cancelled any time.
• If you plan on more than 5 visits per year to Universal, the Universal Preferred pass is a better deal than the power because of parking. You can however, only purchase one preferred per party and use that pass for parking and discounts.
• If you plan on more than 8 visits per year to Disney, the WDW Annual pass is a better deal than the seasonal because of parking. You can however, only purchase one regular annual per party and use that pass for parking and discounts.
• Sea World’s Platinum Passport is the strange one of the group. It offers access to all Worlds of Adventure/Busch/Whoever owns them at this time parks across the country, bringing the value to $1.99 per park per month, under half of the next closest competitor. But, 5 of the 9 parks included are strewn about the country. If you travel all over, this pass could be useful. It also has some of the best benefits of all the APs. Free parking everywhere, free PREFERRED parking in Orlando and Tampa, reserved seating at all Sea World Orlando shows plus the biggest Busch Gardens one, and ride again privileges on the 3 major Sea World Orlando rides and the 4 biggest Tampa Bay coasters are the benefits everyone can use. It also includes a one time 50% discount on a single day ticket (~$40), $10 off up to 6 tickets at a time anytime, and 10% off ALL food, beverage and merchandise locations. Personally, this is the model of what resident APs should be like.

Originally, I saw Disney’s APs as a large premium over the other APs available. But after doing the per park breakdown, I realize Disney is ahead of both Sea World and Universal. Universal has been hurting for attendance the last few years and had been offering steep AP discounts, but I believe they started trimming back on those roughly spring of last year, or when Harry Potter land became one year out and Rip Ride/Rockit opened. Between Legoland and Harry Potter land, Disney is going to start seeing more visitors and locals switching over to what are perceived as better value APs. The Fantasyland expansion is still 2+ years out and is not visible from I-4 like Harry Potter land is.

I think Disney needs to take a page from Universal’s book and offer a way of purchasing APs by the month. Require APs to still be initially purchased with a year commitment, but allow renewing on a month to month basis afterwards for $30 a month. Note, the current renewal price breaks down to $27.80 a month. As part of this $15 a year increase, offer more AP benefits such as discounts at the in-park counter service restaurants or 2-for-1 fastpasses. Do the same with the premium, but at $40 a month and toss in Tables in Wonderland for free. Scope down the availability of the resident annual passes to Orange and neighboring counties only, similar to what Disneyland has done with their SoCal deals. Tweak the seasonal AP so that instead of always blocking out all 4 parks only block out the Magic Kingdom. Or allow access on blackout days after 5PM similar to what Universal does. These tweaks would encourage APs to spend more time per visit, therefore becoming more likely to buy food and generate revenue. Remember, unless the park is already at capacity, APs don’t really cost Disney any money to allow in as everything is already staffed.

Encourage the really local APs to hang out at the resorts, maybe include pool access for the premium APs off-season. Give them full access to the amenities at the Magic Kingdom resorts, if most locals are like me, they have never stayed at a Disney resort during the course of their residency. Offer boat rentals on an at-cost basis. The resorts have many great restaurants that have unused capacity for lunch. Give premium APs access to select extra magic hours. As is, the premium AP is pretty crippled, it is an extra $100 for access to two water parks and DisneyQuest. 4 parks is enough for most people already. Make it an extra $150 and make it truly a premium AP. Revamp the AAA Diamond lots to give premium APs access after 4PM. (Although the AAA Diamond lots are already open to the general public, you just have to know to drive to it)

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The room is silent. All I have on my screen are these 14 words. Shelves and shelves, of everything. The journal of cellular plastics to the left, all 12 volumes. Eastman Kodak co, journals of photographic silence. A slight warbling of the air conditioner.

I would have never thought that popular photography would take up three whole shelves, each full of red books with non-uniform thickness and the occasional addendum sticking up out the top. A slight rustle of another turning of a page. A page of what? Photography, oceanography, scientology, the next Harry Potter? As I concentrate, there it is again. A slight warbling of the air conditioner.

Some journals are uniform and boring, all the same color, all the same height, all the same. Others vary, colorful and brightness, worn and faded, fresh and NEW,  and some just plain awkward. One book lies on its side at the end of the shelf. Discarded? No, more forgotten. A one volume series. The book that has no place. A quantum book, between two call numbers, on the barrier of the shelf, untouched and dusty. How long have some of these been here? None so long as that noise, it comes again. The slight warbling of the air conditioner.

To the right, outside the icy portal, the worn glass, is the worn ground. The worn ground. A walkway every ant must use, to sustain, to keep in touch, to gain new touch, to do anything. Passing west, coming east. The north and south are neglected, one sits as a useless concrete field of metal bushes, the other is a tall black barrier blocking the sights and sounds of machinery, diesel, dirt, and the working class.

A newcomer approaches the space. A man with a book, worn, old and beaten, pulls a chair up to the window and plops down. Now also in the busy silence, joining the concert of turning pages, light footsteps, the pattering of keys, THAT noise. That old, not-endearing warbling of the air conditioner. A new noise in the distance, the backup beeper, the notifier to stay clear of the demons behind the fence or face the wrath of an invisible driver in a black glass box, not seeing you, you not seeing him. The newcomer pulls a rolling footstool up, making that moving metal noise. Keys jangle and a door closes, the story unknown.

The wooden desk sits here, all day, every day of the year, the only communication given being the etched words on the side: Mr. Lac Boo. Q. Mr. Lac Booq sees no visitors, has no friends, only the traveling writer to put his laptop upon him and use as an arm rest. The only warmth is the heat from a laptop isolated in one small section, its user hunched over trying to not fall asleep.

Twenty people in silence. Invisible between the rows of books, hiding in desks and under desks. Silent busy worker bees working on nothing. Some just sit there staring at the ceiling for no apparent reason.

Out the window, in the far, far distance is a lump on the horizon. A grey mound peeking out over the top of a city, diametrically opposed to the machine made sky scrapers. A random wonder of nature randomly placed in the middle of a state, only fifteen miles away from one of the largest cities in the south, only 15 miles away from my frosted ancient window. So many man made towers much higher and flashier but no where near as impressive as nature’s tower.
Towers of books. Rows of them. Millions of them. More than one could read in a life time. Yet all completely perfectly sorted. Yet one person can still find one on their own without launching a search and rescue team via odd series of numbers spread across multiple buildings and floors. All the time spent, in organizing the books, in building the shelves, in moving the shelves into the building, in building the building, in writing the books, in editing the books, in publishing the books, in reviewing the books, in reading the books, millions of man hours put into just ink and paper, the tradition being continued here in this same building in this same chair, by hundreds of people.

A LOUDSPEAKER BREAKS IN, MR. JOHN DOE, PLEASE RETURN TO THE CIRCULATION DESK. And back to silence. Except that warbling of the air conditioner.

Mr. Lac Booq and newcomer are still here after two hours. Mr. Lac Booq will be here for two hours more and is available to meet anytime of day, every day of the week. Ding. A book cart slowly rolls out, the wheels bumping and jostling on the threshold. It wanders the shelves, stopping sporadically to unload someone’s last research project right next to someone else’s forgotten one. There is a whole shelf of them. Probably written once, read once, and forgotten twice.

It is raining, yet the ants continue to stream by but now with round black circles sliding and bumping, playing Plinko in the rain. The game will continue, in perpetuity, all day, ants eventually popping their antenna out from inside the circle. After watching long enough if I look away I feel like I am moving, like I am one of the ants following the scent trail, on to the next food source, not with any particular destination or purpose, like the book sitting sideways on the tip of the shelf.

Man has put so much time on paper. Yet here comes the internet and we start trashing it. Bound books each have their own story outside the story, each bump mark on the cover, each dog-eared page or underline has a creator, each cover carefully laid out in an attempt to grab a potential reader. The foreword and afterword, the table of contents, the index, the sidebar with the square picture of the author on it, all silently enhancing the story within. Unlike that warbling air conditioner.

Then there are the odd books. “The Whole Internet”, written 1995, 200 pages long. “Designing Web Audio and other things that don’t actually exist” “Internet Yellow Pages: Or, I got evicted and had to change my address again.” Does anyone clean a library? Is it a mortal sin to throw away a book? I guess they are all just a slice of life, temporal, history. Entertainment. Then there are those that are timeless. The novel. The newspaper. Reflections on the time, not just about the time. But there are also the time-less books. The books that no one will read past their publication date, the Goosebumps and Magic Tree House kids, the books that in one-hundred years will be novelties of nothing, collected stamps.

It’s dark outside, windows no longer frosty but opaque. Tis now the very witching time of night, students doing the bitter business that should have been done in day. The ants are gone, the machines stand still, the city vanished, yet the room is as quiet as before. The pitter patter of keys, the turning of pages, the chime of the elevator, and finally, at last, the room is cold enough, the air conditioner quits, and so should I.

Except, I am one of the ants. I must go on, finish in due course, follow the trail, do my work, put words on paper, finish the race. Or; I could just be the book on the tip of the shelf, non-enhancing, boring.

There are many types of spaces. Busy ones, empty ones, calm ones, tense ones; vast spaces, small spaces. But never boring spaces. Every space has a story. How it was built, what it is used for, the story of the people who use it, the future of the space, why it is; some stories are simple, those of nature, or of still life. Some have meaning, some superficial, unimportant, of the moment.

Sitting on a rock on top of a mountain, overlooking a valley; the sun beating down on you yet the air is cool and light; the fresh smell of pine needles, rock, clean air. A lone bird, circling, waiting, observing, hovering, barely moving, just like you. The height, the sheer awe from being higher than anything else, anyone else, yet realizing people have been higher, that this world came from something, someone for which this is an ordinary view. Reminicing of the tales of old, the city on the hill, the cabin in the mountains, dissolving one’s self into the wilderness. But that bird, it keeps circling, circling, circling, waiting, observing, knowing it must return to the ground to feed, to sustain, to survive. One cannot live always in the clouds.

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