"I get a kick out of..."

I’m way into Frank Sinatra’s music. He’s got an old classic called I Get a Kick Out of You. In the song, he goes on and on about things that a lot of people love but that just don’t do it for him (champagne, airplanes, etc), and the only thing he gets a kick out of is the girl he loves (even if she obviously doesn’t adore him).

I often feel quite the opposite. I can’t think of a single girl I know that I get a kick out of—in fact, I couldn’t sleep last night because I was so concerned about the fact that of all the girls I’ve ever met, I can’t think of a single one I wish I were married to. But there are some things that I enjoy so much that I’m not always spending sleepless nights worrying over girls that I haven’t even met yet.

There are some things that I am so taken by that I lose sleep simply because I lie in bed thinking about how cool they are. To list a few: Star Wars, Disneyland, Superheroes, sports, holidays, etc. I never focus on the same thing all year round, yet I seldom focus on more than one thing at a time. This focus can be referred to as a kick, trip, phase, or any other noun representing a period of extreme concentration on and enjoyment from one thing or another.

I doubt that everyone can entirely relate to the idea of going through kicks. I bet some people never experience it at all—like the way some people never experience liver failure—I think kicks are hereditary. I know my dad has a medical history of kicks—a pretty traumatic one. I’ve seen pictures of him in a tailor-made replica of James T. West’s costume from the Wild, Wild West TV series, and I’ve heard stories of him writing “Colt 45” in stead of his name on the top of a spelling test when he was in grade school. So I know I’m not alone in experiencing these blessed events, and I expect the children I someday have will also be able to enjoy them.

In case you’re one of the less fortunate who are unfamiliar with kicks, let me walk you through the life cycle of a kick. Most kicks begin by no effort on my part, in fact, I’m usually enjoying a different kick when a new one approaches. We’ll take my most recent Disney kick for an example:

There I was, minding my own business, enjoying a very rich and rewarding Spider-Man kick—not even a week had gone by since I had watched all the special features on my Spider-Man DVD, bought a Spider-Man web slinger toy that shoots silly string from the wrist, and was planning to purchase the Spider-Man 2 soundtrack, when all of a sudden the Haunted Mansion DVD I placed a hold on 3 months earlier (during a previous cycle of the Disney kick) was finally available for pick-up at the local public library.

I picked it up without even as much as an inkling that my Spider-Man kick was being threatened. When I got home I popped the Haunted Mansion DVD into my player, and all of a sudden I was taken by the mystery, the magic, the music, and the motif of this classic Disneyland ride. The movie begins with a haunting voice bidding, “Welcome foolish mortals…” complete with spooky pipe-organ music—exactly like the very beginning of the ride at Disneyland.

I watch the movie and with each reference to the ride, both obvious and obscure I am lulled deeper and deeper into this Disney-anic trance. The movie ends, but the DVD experience goes on. Special features allow me to re-experience the ride, convert my computer’s desk top theme into a house of haunts, and even convert some of my own pictures into goulish, post-life portraits.

I skim through pictures of my most recent trip to Disneyland. With each picture an inner voice prods this Disney kick along. There’s the picture of Ty, Dustin, and Matt walking into the Haunted Mansion—Dude, it looks exactly the same in the movie as it does at the park—I need to go back to Disneyland soon! There’s the speaking skull from Pirates of the Caribbean—I have the soundtrack to that movie, I’ll listen to it in the car tonight. And there’s the picture of me trying to pull the sword from the stone—I haven’t seen that movie forever, I’ll rent it and watch it tomorrow.

Down time at work is spent visiting the Disney website. I look over the map of the Magic Kingdom and add to my wealth of Disney knowledge. Say, did you know that the tree house at Disneyland is Tarzan’s Treehouse, but the one at DisneyWorld is the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse? I peruse their Walt Disney Pictures page and notice that I still haven’t seen “Around the World in 80 Days”—Oh, I’ll see that with my Dad and sisters when I visit home. And I never got out to see “Home on the Range”—Well, that will be on DVD soon enough. And speaking of DVD’s, looks like there will be a new Mickey, Donald and Goofy movie out in a week: The Three Musketeers. I look over some of the still pictures from the movie—That’s freakin’ hilarious: Mickey’s girlfriend is a mouse, Donald’s is a duck, but Goofy’s is a cow—poor Goofy.

At the grocery store, products I’d never noticed before suddenly begin to surface: Winnie the Pooh’s Hunny B’s cereal, Disney Princess band-aids and Buzz Lightyear tooth brushes. One of the troubles with being on a kick of any sort is that even if you are frugal by nature, suddenly every expense within your current kick seems not only justifiable, but mandatory. At the end of a typical trip to the grocery store I return home with Mickey Mouse fruit snacks, Donald Duck orange juice, and Peter Pan peanut butter (which isn’t even the Disney Peter Pan, but if I can find a way to make a mental connection, my wallet finds a way to make a monetary contribution).

The end of a kick doesn’t come by choice, and seldom do kicks simply fizzle out. A kick usually passes at the coming of a new kick—not a kick on something new—usually a new kick of something you’ve always loved only you’d been so distracted with other kicks that you’d forgotten how awesome that forgotten love was, and as soon as you’re reminded, the current kick slips through the cracks and falls victim of your newest mania.

In the case of my Disney kick it has fallen victim to Star Wars Mania. This past weekend, while still going strong with my Disney kick (I even had Disney music in my car and a few Disney movies in my pillow case), I headed down to Provo to spend stay over Saturday night with my good friend Dustin (aka, D$ or Glaige). He told me about these new Star Wars short cartoons called Clone Wars and showed me the first few—I was hooked. We watched all 20 and then spent the rest of the night in an epic video-game lightsaber duel. He sent me home with a copy of all those Star Wars cartoons. And, well, to make a long story short—I couldn’t tell you where in the world I’ve put my Disney’s Beauty and the Beast picture frame, but last night I dusted off my sound-effects light saber and I’ve got it propped against the wall right next to my bed. You see, as one kick passes a new one begins. My Star Wars kick will likely end when the new football season begins, and that kick will end when the Seahawks start doing poorly. Then a Halloween kick begins, which will fall victim to a Christmas kick--full of all its own movies, music, stories, treats, activities and pasttimes.

I love going through kicks. I love it the same way I love to see the grey of winter melt into the color of spring. And just as summer heat brings you closer to those friends of yours who love to go swimming, the equinox of a new kick draws you closer to those friends who love Star Wars as much as you do.