One man was killed and ten other folks were injured this morning when something went amiss on Disneyland's Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coaster. It's sad, it's shocking, it's awful and you just know Disney execs are convening, even as you read this, to discuss how much it's going to cost them in lawsuits and bad p.r. The park has a pretty good track record for safety (though I believe there was one previous accident on this particular ride) and they'll probably take steps to make it even better.
Nevertheless, they ain't getting me on one of them things. I don't mind a gentle Haunted Mansion or Pirates of the Caribbean but the whole concept of a roller coaster strikes me as masochism of the first order. A roller coaster, to me, is where you pay money to have them do something to you that, if it happened on a bus, you'd sue the company.
The rhetoric of roller coasters always reminded me of recreational drugs. I used to have acquaintances who'd offer me stuff and say, "Here, try this. It'll make you feel like your entire stomach is leaking out of your ears." My reply was usually along the lines of, "You know…I think I just might be able to live my entire life without experiencing that." Other friends (and even some of the same ones) would try to get me to go on roller coasters by saying, "On the way you feel like your head is inflating and on the way down, it's like someone stuck a pin in it." The descriptions always made me wonder what they'd say if they were trying to convince me it would be unpleasant.
I'm sure there's some kind of joy there for some, but I'm afraid it eludes me. I also don't understand why apparently rational human beings get pierced or tattooed or jump out of airplanes or eat squid, smoke cigarettes or go to Pauly Shore movies.