I'm writing this note from the last place I ever expect Disneyland President Cynthia Harris to try and find me at - Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln off of Town Square on Main Street, USA.

As Lincoln's cold rubber lips get ready for their three times an hour grind up on stage, with the catchy little ditty "Two Brothers" playing in the background, I am hiding out here, in the Lincoln Theater [any seat really] terrified of the one thing that has made my life a LIVING HELL - the beep beep beep of any nearby telephone. 

How did I end up completely and totally afraid of a mere phone the same way Paul Pressler is of a paint brush? It's a long, sometimes horrifying, yes even slightly unkempt story, but now that the whole world knows my horrible little secret, it's time to confess it all. 

As the curtain rises on a latex ghost, and the skills of the sculptor brings Lincoln back from the dead yet one more time again to give that slightly out of synch patched together nonsensical oration... I type away at this laptop lit by the glow of the reflective captioning getting what could be my very last column ever again out to you, my dear readers... where did this life of hell begin, just where... I remember now...

It all started when, LIKE DUH, the phone rang...

It was such a sweet little electronic tinkling actually - you know they say Fairies breath sounds like tinkling - and the ringing sound of my Panasonic Easa-Phone model VA-8060 [with speakerphone option no less!] delighted me this morning, as it has countless others, with the possible anticipation of yet another phone call about that parking lot mess called California Adventure making me take that jaunt over to my desk all that much more sprightly!

"Hello!" I answered jauntily, expecting another tidbit on this latest effort by Michael Eisner and Paul Pressler to yet again test the loyalty of the Disney consumer. 

[There actually is a consumer "test" checklist maintained in Burbank you know, they have a whole list of things now that they have dreamed up at accountaneering that are designed to weed out those less than total Disney fanatics from their customer base -

I think they are working on the "D's" now with - "Dinosaur - save money, dump story and plot" - and then next - "DVD - make sure ads start up each disc each time it plays to annoy consumers again and again." 

Lots of this kind of diligent refinement produces Disney consumers who then endlessly e-mail me about how negative I am, and try to explain that all the peeling paint now in the park is "OK, because you know the kids do that! They pick at all that paint everywhere. So give the park a break."

Now tell me, how do those pesky kids get up so high on the Haunted Mansion's eaves to do this paint picking? Heck, I want to get up there, even though I would certainly never pick off any paint.]

"Hello!" the voice on the other end responded, "Please hold for Cynthia Harriss" it chirped brightly upon which a click was heard and then I was treated to Manheim Steamroller's Disney album on what seemed endless [Hey, it's the Steamroller, ok?] hold.

"Cynthia, calling ME?" I asked myself out loud [for the benefit of this story] "Now why would she be calling me?" I then thought back a bit while Chip Davis continued to miserably fail in his digitally recorded and mixed attempt to do something different musically with "Under the Sea." 

How can this woman I wondered, whose day is most probably spent endlessly agonizing about just how far to space apart the margarita and beer carts at the new California Adventure park [Pressler is so picky about those things you know] have the time to call me, just a mere web gadfly? 

Doesn't she have more important things to do, like slash painting budgets yet again today - or find some new places to put in a construction wall maze people can get lost in? Hmmm, I wondered, she won't talk to most of the papers in town - but she has taken time out of her day to call ME? 

Was I flattered or what? It could have been PR flack Ray "No the Rocket Rods are not going away" Gomez, or T. "Paint??? Back in my day we used spit and we LIKED it!" Irby, but no it was Cynthia herself. I anticipated her call breathlessly [actually I was jogging in place, no more Monte Cristos for me if I'm gonna fit into one of those thousand dollar light up jackets!]

"Al, my buddy, my pal!" the voice thankfully cutting off the Steamroller CD mid note said, "How are you doing, are you having a Disney day?"

Could it be - I was actually speaking to la Cynthia Harris on the phone?

"Why hello Cynthia, nice to hear from you." I responded, wondering when we had become pals.

"Now Al, you pesky guy you, why do you give my boss, Paul, such unending grief? It's not like he tries to do wrong, he just, well...

[thoughts of Light Magic's Annual Passholder's night danced in my head],

well, he just...

[as that danced out the stampede for Candelight plowed on through] 

well, he's... 

[the voices of discount deprived crying Happy Hearts disabled kids on KNX radio now floated through the air] 

....so focused you know."

"Focused?" I asked.

"On improving the guest experience Al!" she chimed back.

"Improving the guest experience Cynthia?"

"You see Al," she went on, "he LIVES for the perfect guest experience, his only goal upon this earth of ours is to send you out so blisteringly happy you come back again and again."

My eyebrow arched so high it touched the back of my ear. [The forehead muscle cramp I got the next morning as a result of that was truly painful.]

"Now Cynthia, that doesn't sound like the Paul I know. This is a guy who spends his time getting push-button door closers installed in his office, or is chatting things up with Bob Saget between the "Yes Michael" calls he fields all day long. Personally if you ask me," I continued, "that Saget friendship explains a LOT."

"But Al, those WERE America's Funniest Home Videos. 

Really, they were. 

Honest."

"And Cynthia, the Alamo has a basement." I shot back. 

I then realized that like a boa constricting a Chihuahua, that she had been planning this type of move for a long time. My Taco would have it's Bell rung. This Burger had no more King, the Fried Chicken was really not from Kentucky.  [Goodness am I hungry all of a sudden, or is Disney planning even more fast food alliances?] 

"I have to leave now - there's paint peeling that's calling my name you know," I said trying to end the conversation.

I hung up, jumped in the Honda and zipped down the I-5 to Anaheim, Mavica at the ready to document yet another "thing they won't notice" at "the happiest place on earth" [a legal trademark you know].

I pulled up to the Pinocchio parking lot [you know, the name no longer printed on the parking ticket you get because they are switching over to the new structure - let's not talk about how that confuses folks] whipped out my pass to get past the kiosk and suddenly the parking attendant picked up a ringing phone. 

"It's for you Al" she gaily said - handing my disbelieving self the phone. As I put it to my ear I could hear Cynthia again "Al, glad I caught you! Did I tell you about Paul's new plan? He got the guests to pay for the sidewalks, now he's going to get them to pay for..." I gave the phone back to the attendant and zoomed at a breakneck 14 miles an hour to the designated parking spot [which for some reason is always as far away from the tram it can be].

Elbowing aside some pin traders, [and thankfully this time not getting any puncture wounds] I hopped onto the tram ready to hear the Cast Member's spiel about no smoking and California Adventure as we scoot off to the main gate, when suddenly the tram speakers boom out in Cynthia's voice - "Hello there Al! Welcome aboard! Besides making sure small children sit in the center of the seat..." 

I was starting to sweat - was this going to continue?  Would I be unable to escape Cynthia?  My GOD I exclaimed! [Well actually I had just seen the Disney Mall again.] "Could I ever get away from this?" I shrieked out loud, "Um no," one of the pin traders said, "Pins become your life you know. Trade you a Pluto for a Minnie."

"Al" the tram continued, as I was sure she had possessed the tram by now, "let's talk about how reducing Annual Passholder dining discounts actually helps make your eating decisions that much easier." I was holding my hands over my ears in agony as we pulled into the tram stop, upon which [after coming to a complete stop of course, I was merely spooked, never unsafe] I bolted out and headed to the main gate.  Surely I could lose the ever present Cynthia in those huge crowds - [well actually they were just regular crowds, Sundays are always less busy than Saturdays].

I handed my Annual Pass to the Cast Member, and as she scanned it, the machine didn't make the regular sound - it was Cynthia's voice instead telling me "Don't bother with the survey takers Al - we already know what the passholders really want! Fewer discounts!"

As I almost tripped over a churro cart in Town Square [the attendant was telling me that Cynthia had wanted me to know carts were only placed every four feet everywhere for guest convenience] the parade started and I was trapped - not being able to get past any parade ropes.  The blue fairy then came out, and I recognized the blonde as Cynthia Harriss! "Don't you love the new music Al" she asked me as she wafted by, "why won't you talk to me about it?"

Almost tripping over some leftover Pirates merchandise attendees [who were still waiting for their packages - and comparing how many refunds they had each gotten in the meantime] I stumbled into the Main Street Opera House / Lincoln lobby and right into the theater -- where else could I go where no Pressler- appointed executive would ever set foot?

"Sanctuary!" I yelled out, a small child with a glow sword hit me in the ankle as he shouted "Sanctuary!" too - who said no one bought the Hunchback video?

Where could I go? How could I escape? Why was Cynthia insisting I speak to her? What time is the 3 o'clock parade? Where are the wall maps? Why does Rod only play the same twenty songs over and over again when he knows over five thousand of them? Why is Animazement still running? My God will there be fireworks tonight?

A bright flash woke me up... I was in a warm sweat [it would have been cold, but the air conditioning was broken again in the theater].

Was it a dream? Could it be I just dreamt the whole thing? I wasn't in the shower the whole time, was I? Wasn't I in Kansas anymore, or was Marceline in Missouri?

Flash-blind thanks to the Asian tour group that had wandered into Lincoln by mistake [they mistaked it for Captain EO and wondered if Michael had gotten stiffer as he got older] I staggered out onto Main Street feeling the warm afternoon sun on my face, [or was that crow poop?] as the vacuums scurried around me sucking up confetti that in some cases was still left over from Light Magic. 

I staggered around a couple of glow carts already out so they wouldn't miss a single sale, even at noon, and I made my way to the hub avoiding everyone trying to take a picture that I may have been walking in front of. I was already completely exhausted - and the extreme effort of the weekly Sunday ritual of having to decide where we were going to have lunch was still to come.

I saw that Dave and Andy were at the hub, Kevin and Adrienne were playing with Matthew nearby as Jim and Debbie chatted with them. As Adrienne and Tony arrived, I could see Dan and Todd coming over from the castle, and spotted Matt and Rose covering their ears as Mickey began his Matterhorn climb. 

Bruce was discussing Monorail horns with a newbie, and Steven and Karl were beaming to each other's Palms. Art juggled glow sticks, and Byron was deep into a Linux manual as he programmed his latest laptop. As usual, there were so many Mavicas around that it looked like a Sony factory exploded in the hub.

As I walked up to meet the folks, the PA system started to boom, I suddenly recognized the name they were calling:

Al Lutz, please call the Disneyland operator, Al Lutz, please call the Disneyland operator.

Could it be? Nah, it couldn't be... 

It was just a dream - right?

To the left is a parody I've written, based on an erroneous web site report that said I had refused to meet with Disneyland Resort President Cynthia Harriss.

Cynthia Harriss has never contacted me, nor has she approached anyone I know to ask to speak to me, nor have I ever refused to talk to her.

I'm sure it's because she's plenty busy running the Disneyland Resort. :)

Eric, who ran the original item, has been asked to remove it from his site because there is no truth to it, and he kindly has. 

It is important to note that Eric had not contacted me about the item before it ran, and he did apologize for not doing so.

It appears that an employee of the Disneyland Hotels with the name Richard N., [who works at the new hotel office building] fed the item to Eric, and I've been continuing to follow up on this to make sure the record is set straight.

It certainly reflects poorly upon the Disney Company that an employee would spend so much time and effort on something totally fabricated like this.

Thanks to everyone who wrote in and understood that turning down a discussion with Cynthia would be the last thing I ever would do.

There are just too many questions we all have to ask, don't you think?

- Al Lutz