Magic Journey: My Fantastical Walt Disney Imagineering Career

IT WAS THE BEST of times…and the worst of times: best because there was suddenly too much to do and the work kept coming. But worst because there was suddenly too much to do and the work kept coming. The Blast to the Past Submarine Voyage was just a drop of water in the ocean of new projects I found myself jumping into. There was no easing into my new role as a show writer; and now that I was one, I suddenly didn’t feel talented enough, experienced enough, or worthy enough to finally start doing what I had dreamed of doing. I felt like a Little Leaguer in my very first game stepping up to the plate to swing against Hall of Fame pitcher Nolan Ryan—armed with a toothpick. It used to be “Holy smokes, when am I gonna be a show writer?” Now it was “Holy crap! I’m a show writer!” It even said so on my new business card. It was time to sink or swim.

I continued to storm in on Typhoon Lagoon as it went into its production phase. This entailed polishing and finalizing the backstories and park-wide nomenclature, show graphics, and signage. At the same time, the Disney-MGM Studios (now Disney’s Hollywood Studios) was under construction and Bob Weis, overall park creative lead, and Tom Fitzgerald, creative executive for the new project, asked me to lend a hand with several of the shows already in development. One of them, the Monster Sound Show, had a postshow that featured some of the handmade sound effects instruments created by Jimmy Macdonald, longtime sound effects master at the Walt Disney Studios. Jimmy was also known as the voice of Mickey Mouse, personally chosen by the man who first gave Mickey his voice, Walt Disney, and he performed that iconic falsetto for thirty-eight years. Joe Herrington, Imagineering’s own longtime sound effects master, worked with Jimmy, Mark Rhodes, and me on the hands-on, voice-on, and ears-on postshow experiences. In addition to the audio effects exhibits and experiences, guests could create their own sound effects and dub in the voice of an animated character in an exhibit called Movie Mimics.

Shortly after Disney-MGM Studios celebrated its grand opening on May 1, 1989, I spent a day there with the voice of Roger Rabbit, Charles Fleischer, at the request of Bob Weis, who was hoping we might be able to polish up and add material to the live shows. But first Charlie wanted to see Movie Mimics. Arriving there, we found a mom and her young daughter about to dub their voices to a scene from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. The two characters featured on the clip were Jessica and Roger Rabbit. Charlie asked them, “Hey, do you mind if I try this with you?” The mom was surprised at Charlie’s request but graciously agreed to let him give it a go. “Okay,” she said. “You be Roger and I’ll be Jessica.” He responded, “I’ll give it a try.” When it came time for Mom to record her voice, the script scrolled on the screen to prompt her and she performed her line into the microphone in her best Jessica Rabbit, which sounded more like Popeye’s Olive Oyl.

After Joe Herrington and I went over to the Disney Studio lot to collect Jimmy’s collection of his handmade sound effects, we staged this fun celebratory moment with Maestro Jimmy!

Then came Roger Rabbit’s part. When Charlie leaned into the mic and sounded like the real deal because, well, he was the real deal, the daughter dropped her jaw to the floor. “Wow!” She exclaimed, “You’re really good!” Charlie never told them who he was, but he ramped up his Rabbit act and performed as the character all the way out the door, leaving behind an entire postshow’s worth of shocked but delighted guests.

After we had a good laugh over that, Charlie and I headed over to the tram tour to take a ride and see if we could add some polish to the live spiel. All morning he had been carrying a pair of silver Chinese Baoding balls, which he nervously clicked and clacked in his hand. We boarded the tram in the first row of the last car. When our tram stopped inside the Catastrophe Canyon portion of the tour and the outdoor set suddenly exploded with fire effects as part of the show, Charlie flinched and dropped his precious Baoding balls onto the tram floor, where they rolled out of sight behind us. In the midst of all the catastrophic mayhem, as the fire spread across the set and cascades of water gushed down towards our tram, now rocking wildly on a shaker floor, Charlie stood up, whipped around to face our fellow tram tourists, and shouted, “My balls! My balls! Somebody grab my balls!” Somehow, I don’t think that was quite the material Bob Weis was hoping for.

Recalling that story reminds me of another totally unexpected moment that happened with a character voice actor I was with a few years ago while in Seattle. We were guest speakers at the Pacific Northwest Mouse Meet Disney fan convention—and by we, I mean me, Tony Anselmo (the voice of Donald Duck), and Bill Farmer (the voice of Goofy). After picking the three of us up at the airport, our host and the organizer of the event, Don Morin, treated us to lunch at a local burger joint. A minute after we sat down, an elderly couple slid into the booth next to ours, and I noticed the gentleman was wearing a T-shirt with a giant Goofy face printed on the front. And here I was sitting next to the real Goofy! I mean, come on, what are the odds? “Bill,” I whispered, “check out our neighbor’s shirt.” Bill glanced over and smiled. “You’ve gotta talk to him on our way out,” I suggested. Bill wasn’t so sure about that. “C’mon,” I pleaded, “it’ll make his day!” The couple was still there as we rose to leave. I didn’t think he was going to do it, but he then stepped over to their table. “GAWRSH,” he exclaimed in perfect-cuz-he’s-Bill-Farmer Goofy-speak. “I sure like your shirt, young feller!” The man, who I would say was in his mid-eighties, didn’t miss a beat when he replied to Bill in perfect Goofy-speak himself, which floored us. “Gawrsh, thanks, pal!” Bill kept the goofy Goofy conversation going. “Say, you from around these parts?” The man laughed, “AH-HYUCK! Sure am.” “Welp,” said Bill, “it’s sure been swell talkin’ to ya!” To that Goofy 2 replied, “Welp, same to you, pal. So long!” Bill never did tell his Seattle soundalike who he was.

Welp, things really got goofy while trying to keep up with my many projects in various phases of development, which besides Typhoon Lagoon also included the Comedy Warehouse live show at Pleasure Island, Pan Galactic Pizza Port and Astrozone for Tokyo Disneyland, Magic Kingdom Railroad, and Mark Twain at Disneyland script enhancements; plus there were a few side jobs for Randy Bright. And on top of all that, I was also working with fellow show writer Mark Rhodes and a bright new Imagineer who came to us from Feature Animation, Joe Lanzisero, on a bunch of new attraction ideas, including a potential new show replacement we came up with for Walt Disney’s Enchanted Tiki Room.

Our proposed show included a new cast of bird characters, one of which was a Latin parrot bandleader named Chicky Chickardo. Joe designed Chicky and the MAPO team built a beautifully feathered mock-up (or shall I say a “squawk-up”) of the bright blue new show bird. Imagine my surprise when I turned on a network news program and saw Michael Eisner being interviewed standing proudly next to Chicky! But our bandleader bird’s brief few minutes of television fame was his first and only public appearance, as our concept never left the nest.

Speaking of Michael making the news, at that same time in 1988 when he and Chicky were appearing together, he had also made the cover of Time magazine. Pictured behind him was a happy Mickey Mouse. The headline read: WHY IS THIS MOUSE SMILING? The second line of the caption under Michael’s photo, read: “Because Michael Eisner’s magic has transformed Disney into a $3 billion kingdom.” Michael was smiling right along with Mickey because, according to the cover story, he had cashed in on a $6 million bonus.

The week that magazine hit the newsstands I was walking with two colleagues in the long corridor that runs from east to west all the way through the center of the main Imagineering building, and we were naturally chatting about Michael’s big bonus. The corridor has a shiny concrete floor, and when a forklift operating behind us hit the brakes it dropped a wooden pallet onto the floor with a loud, resonating KA-BANG! “D’oh!” I blurted out loudly. “EISNER DROPPED HIS WALLET!” I know you are not going believe what happened not three seconds after I opened my big mouth but it’s true, so I’m going to tell you anyway. From around the corner, a mere ten feet away from me, appeared Michael Eisner, Frank Wells, Marty Sklar, and I don’t even know who else because my eyes were fixed on Michael as he reached around to the back of his britches to check for his wallet. He apparently did have it as indicated by his overacted huge sigh of relief and exaggerated wipe of his brow. Frank Wells tried unsuccessfully to suppress his chuckling. Marty shot me a look exactly like your dad would after you backed his new Buick into a police car. And that was that. No one in the Eisner entourage said a word as they continued on their merry way. Of course the timing of that wallet incident could not have been worse, because the very next day my wife, Patty, and I were invited to attend an executive retreat and brainstorming weekend at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Laguna Beach, California, with guess who? Yep. I had just made a fool of myself in front of Michael and all of my key Imagineering leaders—and they were all going to be there. I don’t even know why I was invited to join them, because I was not an executive then; the only invitee that wasn’t. Heaven help me.

The weekend began under perfect weather conditions with a lovely buffet dinner on a beautiful bluff overlooking a divinely art-directed Orange County beach. After Patty and I loaded our plates with wonderfulness we sat down at one of the fancy-schmancy tables set up on the lawn. We had the table all to ourselves, which was perfectly fine with my shy wife. But then, lo and behold, who should suddenly appear in the distance, walking across the lawn directly towards us? Yep. Patty panicked. “Oh, my gosh,” she whispered worriedly. “Is that? Is that? Here comes Michael Eisner! Is he really…no…is he really coming over here? What if he sits with us?” “Pah!” I countered, following up with an absolute guarantee he would never sit with us, especially after I put his wallet in my mouth. “Come on, honey,” I assured her. “I’m not even an executive. Why would he bother with me? He doesn’t even know my name.”

“Kevin!” Michael called out. “Mind if I join you two?” Patty sucked sea air and turned whiter than our tablecloth. “Please, do!” I offered, and he draped his coat over the back of the chair right next to Patty’s to reserve his spot. She shoved her pointy shoe into my shin under the table like this was all my fault. “OW!” I cried out. “What was that?” Michael asked. I responded, “OW’d like to introduce you to my wife!” After the introduction Michael went off to the buffet table.

“Oh, this is just great!” Patty exclaimed, sincerely worried she might do or say something that might embarrass us or even jeopardize my career. “What am I supposed to say? What if I say something stupid? What if—” I interrupted her. “Look, no one is saying you have to say anything,” I said. “It’s just a dinner. At the Ritz-Carlton. With my boss’s, boss’s, boss’s boss—who happens to be the rich and famous CEO of the entire Walt Disney Company who, by the way, just stuffed his mattress with an additional six million bucks, which is more money than you and I and all of our combined friends and relatives past, present, and future will ever see at one time. That’s all. What could possibly go wrong?” She didn’t respond.

“Besides,” I continued, pointing over to the buffet, “our corporate attorney Merritt Farren has joined him. I’m sure the two of them will come back here together and they’ll have a lot to talk about among themselves, especially now that Michael’s magic has transformed Disney into a three billion dollar kingdom.” Patty choked on her mint-infused water.

As predicted, the two men sat with us, just us, now a table of four: the movers and the shakers (shaking attributed to nerves). Merritt wore high-end, impeccably pressed suits and he always looked picture-perfect, not a hair out of place, like a living, breathing GQ magazine cover. Patty didn’t say much during our dinner except when she excused herself to get dessert. Upon her return, I noticed she was joyously carrying a big chocolate brownie, topped with more whippy chocolate frosting than there was brownie, all on a fine china plate. Brownies are to Patty what catnip is to cats. She was clearly rewarding herself with Patnip because she had successfully made it through the meal without doing or saying something stupid, as she was so certain she would.

And it turned out she really enjoyed our two delightful tablemates. Seeing her finally happy and relaxed made me happy and relaxed. The strife was o’er, the battle won. But then, as she approached the table, she tripped on a dip in the grass and fell forward. As she tried to course-correct from her forty-five-degree angle, she thrust the plate upward in a swooping arc, like a bowler releasing a bowling ball, and its top edge caught the underside edge of table, catapulting the brownie high into the air. I swear, the entire thing happened in slow motion as the flip-flopping fluffily frosted brownie flew, end over end, in an arcing trajectory towards Merritt. I watched in helpless horror as Merritt’s eyes widened and his lips puckered way out in the exact shape of a corona on a daffodil to cry (say the following in slo-mo), “NNNNWOOOOOOOOO!” Flip…flop…PLOP! Frosting side down on the crotch of his probably Prada pants.

One minute Patty and I are enjoying the lap of luxury. The next minute her dessert is on the lap of a lawyer. Fortunately, good-natured Merritt laughed it off, graciously refused our insistent offer to have his clothes dry-cleaned (which at the Ritz probably would have cleaned me out), and validated he was the class act I thought he was. Living with Patty is like living with Lucille Ball in my very own situation comedy—as if life is not sitcom-y enough being an Imagineer!

Meanwhile, back at the Imagineering ranch, ex-animator Joe Lanzisero was invited by his friends, animation directors Ron Clements and John Musker, to come over to their trailer to check out their new project in the works. Joe grabbed Mark Rhodes and me and we took the five-minute walk over. Scattered about the trailer were animators who were hard at work hand-drawing as Ron and John took us through the rough storyboards for something called The Little Mermaid. After they brought Ariel’s incredible journey to life for us, Ron popped an audiocassette into a tiny tape player and we listened to a homemade scratch-track recording of composer Alan Menken playing his piano and singing the songs he and lyricist Howard Ashman had written. And I was smitten. Although still in the stages of storyboarding and scratch-tracking, the movie already looked, sounded, and felt like it was going to be a game-changer. After a few years of an animation dry spell—which was so dry that they had moved the animators into the cluster of trailers on our Imagineering parking lot—it was clear this new mermaid movie was going to make a huge splash.

Even though we already had more work than we could handle, Joe, Mark, and I still got caught up in the excitement of what we had just seen and heard; we literally bolted back to our building, sprinted past the guard in our main lobby, and flew up the stairs to get right to work on new attraction ideas inspired by The Little Mermaid. Within a few days of our inspiring check-in with Ron and John we had a board filled with a variety of concept sketches for small- and large-scale attractions. One, I remember, was a double-decker musical carousel. The lower part was “under the sea” and the upper part was “above the surface” featuring characters from both worlds. We excitedly carried our concept board into Randy Bright’s office for the big pitch. Although he really liked our ideas, he didn’t know all of the great stuff we were privy to about this very special movie in development. Being wary of basing a long-term attraction on a possibly short-term animated feature, he suggested, “Let’s wait and see how the movie does.” I’ll always regret missing the opportunity to open a Little Mermaid-themed attraction day and date with the theatrical release because, as we all know, that movie had legs.

Even though our Mermaid concepts never surfaced, there was still plenty to do. I wore out my word processor but happily traded up for a boxy new Apple Macintosh floppy-disk computer. That little Mac was a giant godsend, considering all of the projects I had in the hopper. But first I had to learn how to use it. Imagine my awe and delight when I discovered the computer had a feature that allowed you to type a sentence and then have the computer actually speak the sentence in a weird electro-robo female voice. It really cracked me up because none of the inflection was correct. I really didn’t have time to play, but I spent at least a half hour typing different sentences just to hear how the Mac would say them. My first typed sentence, I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS, sounded like I DONUT HALFTIME FOWTHUS. MARTY SKLAR IS A DOO DOO HEAD sounded like MAW TEASE CLAW IZZUE DWUDWED.

Amazing! I could not believe this crazy computer was smart enough to talk! It was time to press this thing into action, especially since I had received my Mac before my colleague and cubicle neighbor, show writer Michael Sprout, with whom I was working on some Disney-MGM Studios stuff, received his. This meant he had not yet had a chance to learn of its humanlike capabilities.

The other fortuitous thing is we had recently received a telephone voice-messaging system. My plan was to wait until Michael was gone, call his number, wait for the beep, and let my computer do the talking. Here’s the message he received when he got back. Now imagine that cliché, monotone, incorrectly inflected electronic voice saying, “Hello, Michael Sprout. This is Lucille in Michael Eisner’s office. Michael wants you to get a tattoo of his face on your butt. Have a nice day.”

Originally from Detroit, Michael Sprout aspired to be a Claymation animator but instead came to Imagineering and became an Audio-Animatronics figure animator. Then he, like me, became a show writer. It was so much fun working with Michael over the decades, and he is personally responsible for some of the longest oxygen-depriving almost-fatal bouts of laughter I’ve ever experienced. One day, while we were in the Bowling Alley building (Imagineering purchased an actual bowling alley located in Glendale on the nearby corner of Flower and Sonora Streets and turned it into a work space, save four lanes, which remained usable) working together on future expansion concepts for the Disney-MGM Studios, Michael was thumbing through an outdoor clothing catalogue and said, “Say, take a look at this.” He was referring to an item called UNDERWEAR WITH WIND-PROOF PANEL. It was funny, but not that funny, because it kind of made sense. What made it funny was when soft-spoken, mild-mannered Michael put his finger directly on the picture of the item and asked—quite seriously, because he sincerely wanted to know the answer—“Why do you suppose they put the windproof panel on the front?”

After turning to look at each other with doglike cocked heads—and holding that pose for a long while of bewilderment—the ridiculousness of the whole thing hit me and I fell to the floor, laughing uncontrollably. Then Michael started laughing uncontrollably as well. This went on and on until I thought I was going to need one of those windproof panels myself. When we finally ran out of gas, he sputtered out one last gasp of a giggle, which started me laughing again. Our laughing attack lasted until it was time to go home. But when we both returned the next morning, my stomach and ribs still aching, all it took was one look at him to start it all up again. I would have called The Guinness Book of World Records, but there was not enough air left in me to speak.

So much work time was lost because of our hysterics that I had to stay late to get my task done because I had something due the next morning, which was no laughing matter. At around 11:00 p.m. I finally finished my work on the computer, glanced at Michael’s open catalogue, and started laughing again so hard that I slapped the top of my desk, which caused a little sad face icon to appear on my Mac screen. And then it went black. I had killed my computer! All my work was lost! Now what?

Enter Chris Carradine, always hyper, blowing into my office with the unbridled bluster of an untied balloon because he was over-the-top excited about something he obviously wanted to share with me. Chris, son of actor John Carradine (and the brother of actors Keith, Robert, and David Carradine), did not get into the family business himself because he wanted to become an Imagineering architect. He was still there working late on an early concept for a nighttime dining and entertainment center being planned for Walt Disney World, and he wanted to tell me the backstory of Merriweather Pleasure, the founder of Pleasure Island. It was the longest backstory I had ever heard, but I’ll distill it down to one sentence: Merriweather Pleasure was a sailmaker and Pleasure Island is the waterside spot where he set up shop.

The concept for Pleasure Island sounded like fun, and Chris, project creative lead Rick Rothschild, designer Joe Rohde, and their concept team were creating backstories and designs for the proposed clubs, restaurants, and shops that were “once buildings that housed the various manufacturing shops of Pleasure’s sail-making business.” The story about Pleasure’s power station turned warehouse got my attention. It would be the home of the Comedy Warehouse. The very next day Rick Rothschild gave me a call to ask if I would team up with two comedy writers he was bringing in to create, write, and mount the live show for the Comedy Warehouse. I agreed but under one condition—that I get a new computer! The premise for the scripted show was to poke fun at ourselves—Disney. We were to write a satire about a Walt Disney World vacation as experienced by a family of four (mom, dad, sister, and brother); the roles would be performed by a comedy troupe. To research the guest experience, we went to Walt Disney World ourselves to “walk in our guest’s shoes.” It was my first trip there, but I already knew the place well.

Our first stop was Epcot. Upon entering the park, we followed the other guests as they entered and immediately got into the long line at Spaceship Earth (because it is the first thing you see and the first thing to do). I knew from my scope days that there was a lot more to see and do on the other side of that giant geodesic sphere, but since we there to intermingle with and observe the guests, we waited with them in line for over an hour in the heat of summer. This inspired me to write the first song of the show, entitled “Super Conscientious Friendly Disney World Employees,” as sung by the comic actors portraying Walt Disney World cast members. I won’t include all of the lyrics, but here’s one verse and chorus sung by a “Spaceship Earth Hostess” (sung to the tune of, forgive me, dear friend Richard Sherman, “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”):

I work up at the giant golf ball they call Spaceship Earth

One day a lady in the line there started to give birth

The baby came and everyone around her was relieved

They’d been in line there waiting since the kid was first conceived!

I’m a…

Super conscientious friendly Disney World Employee

I’m here to help and wave hello, I hope you all enjoy me

I never sweat, I always smile wherever they deploy me

A super conscientious friendly Disney World Employee!

Michael Eisner gave Walt Disney Imagineering this assignment: “Create a show for the Comedy Warehouse. It should be funny, light, satirical—the first Disney review that pokes fun at the Disney Guest Experience. Be bold. Use this as your measure—create a show that, if someone else did it, we’d sue ’em.”

And boy, did we ever! The idea for the Comedy Warehouse was to provide a place in which adults could relax and enjoy a properly chilled adult beverage after a long day at the parks having had many of the experiences we re-created with a tongue-in-cheek twist in the show. Since it was late-night comedy, we didn’t write it for a family audience. Still, it wasn’t too over the edge. But it was filled with more Disney self-poking joking than you can shake a schtick at. Some considered the content controversial, so it ran for less than a year before it was replaced by other comedy acts, including stand-up. In case you missed it, here are snippets from two of my favorite sketches.

PIRATES

(Sing)

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me…

PIRATE ONE

We should sing a different song for a change. Hey, how about this one!

(Sings)

Hey there, Georgy Girl, walkin’ down the street so fancy-free…

PIRATE ONE

(Sings)

People, people who need people…

A boat approaches.

PIRATES

(Sing)

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me!

From the bag, he retrieves JUMPER CABLES. A plush CHIP is attached to one end and a plush DALE is attached to the other.

She opens the bag and pulls out a little shovel with a Winnie the Pooh attached to it.

On opening night in May 1989, I was upstairs standing against the railing of the wraparound warehouse balcony with my fellow writers watching our one-hour show for the first time with guests. It was fun to see our material come to life for an audience! But I was exhausted, having worked many extra hours helping to deliver the show while also working on other projects at the same time, including one in Tokyo from where I had recently returned. So, I was jet-lagged and punch-drunk. As a matter of fact, I was real drunk, too, because every time the audience laughed at a joke the three of us writers would raise a toast to whoever wrote that particular bit and say, “This one’s for you!” All those toasts hit me hard, because I am not a drinker.

But this was opening night after all. As we were in the back corner upstairs out of view and out of the room light, we were making total fools out of ourselves among ourselves while reacting to the audience’s reactions. Plus, I felt happy and proud every time my two comedy compadres raised their glasses to me and said, “Thish wansh fer yewww, Kev,” especially since they were seasoned pros in comedy screen writing and television. I was playing in the big league now. That first audience loved the show and the cast got a standing ovation. As the guests below us began to leave, I finally let go of the railing, turned around, and was shocked to discover there were two people sitting at a candlelit table against the dark back wall less than four feet away from where I was standing. Considering my uncharacteristic behavior and cockeyed condition, I was beside myself with embarrassment when I came to the realization that someone had been sitting directly behind me and observing my immature worst. And worse than that, you’re not going to believe who that someone was. My heart dropped straight into my shoes as my boss Marty Sklar and his wife, Leah, raised their glasses and said, “This one’s for you, Kev.”

This was a gratifying moment for Marty because he loved to give me a hard time in a fun and playful way. It all began almost a year to the date before his toasting of my being toasted that opening night, when I took three paper toilet seat covers out of the bathroom dispenser to craft one Mickey Mouse–shaped cover. When unfolded, the seat part was the same, but seamlessly spliced and taped to the top were two rounded Mickey ears cut out of the same material. I didn’t really know Marty that well then but decided what the heck, I’d have a little fun with him, attributing my courage to deliriousness from working too much overtime. I folded up the Mickey-shaped cover and paper-clipped on the following note that I then stuffed it into an interoffice envelope and sent to him:

Marty,

Here’s a prototype of an idea I’ve been sitting on for a while for the restrooms at the Comedy Warehouse. Guests would really flip their lids over this one. Should I flush it out a little more or should I dispense of the concept?

Tanks,

Kevin Rafferty

TO Kevin Rafferty

Sit on it a (long) while longer.

I clipped this note to a Mickey-shaped paper toilet seat cover I made and sent to Marty. This was the first of many such silly jokes sent to him over the years. Apparently, this one really bowled him over.

This opened the door to more than twenty-five years of in-person razzing and interoffice gag correspondences between Marty and me. I have an entire drawer filled with all the notes, jokes, and comments he ever sent to me. Among my favorites is a photo I found of a 5,527-pound wheel of cheese. I sent it to Marty with this note: “Marty, I always thought YOU were the ‘Big Cheese!’”

For many years, Marty and I exchanged interoffice mail envelopes always containing something ridiculous. I have an entire file cabinet drawer filled with silly stuff like this. (Note what I wrote on the cheese.)

The morning after opening night at the Comedy Warehouse I jumped back on a plane to fly home to California to repack my bags, kiss my wife and four-year-old son hello and good-bye, and fly off again to Japan to complete final-phase installation and direct the programming for a new show I was working on for Tokyo Disneyland. Trying to keep my head above water in my rising ocean of global projects was relentlessly challenging, but that’s what made it incredibly fun. In the midst of it all, the experience of cooking up my first animated and fully automated dinner show—in a foreign language, no less—was simply out of this world.