Christmas: Bearing down like a freight train

Sisters, one blonde and one brunette, were a common theme in
 Victorian Christmas ephemera. As it happens,  that's exactly
what my daughters are, so I collect them. 

The familiar journalists' claim that they write better under pressure is pure bunk. The truth is, for many of us, it's the only way we start writing, when the deadline is breathing down our necks like Malificent in her more reptilian form.

My students say that same thing, and when they turn in papers that get returned with a big fat "C", they understand that working on deadline isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Our nine-foot Noble fir. 

The deadline for this blog is self-imposed, but I take it very seriously, and the fact that I haven't posted for a couple of weeks makes me sad. No one pays me, so I can't get in trouble for blowing my deadline, but I appreciate that people read it and expect it to be here on Sundays.

I have had two weeks of a killer cold, giving finals, grading papers, and posting grades, along with a previously scheduled all-day outing with Charles Phoenix, and I just couldn't make time to blog.

Truth be told, I shouldn't be blogging now. My apartment is a gawd-awful mess, my daughter and her husband are coming to stay with us tomorrow, and I'm not finished shopping. But I've realized something, that writing isn't something I do for other people; I actually love to do it, and I've missed it.

So, now I am ready to take on the last deadline of 2011 — Christmas. Oh, I know what you're saying, I only have four days left, I'd better hurry, what was I thinking, etc.

But we do have a tree, and thanks to my husband, we actually got some cards out. He went out and bought them, wrote thoughtful notes in each one, and all I had to do was sign my name. He's a God-send, really. Then, determined to wrestle Christmas to the ground, he insisted we go out and get our tree.

The big fight every year would be
who got to hang the ballerina.

As I've written before, Christmas is all about the tree for me. If I had no presents, no turkey, no candy canes, no cookies or eggnog, as long as I had my tree, I would be perfectly happy.  Even though the ritual changes from year to year, the ornaments stay the same.

I love all kinds of holiday trees, and I can appreciate the beauty of trees done in all one color scheme, for example. My favorite one are done in white, crystal and silver, or in all Victorian colors: that combination of burgundy, pink and gold. But when it comes to my house, I want my traditional Noble fir, white lights,  and ornaments I've had and collected for years.

Every year, I buy Hallmark ornaments for my family and one or two for my tree. Hallmark incorporates a lot of pop-culture and historical events into their work, so I have a commemorative Neil Armstrong that hangs on the tree and gives his famous moon landing speech when you press the button.

Near Neil hangs a space shuttle, with the bay doors open. An astronaut hangs overhead, repairing a satellite. My kids think these are dumb, and have nothing to do with Christmas. Maybe not, but I'm the daughter of an aerospace engineer, so I love aviation related things.

The horse actually changes color!

I have multiple Alice in Wonderland ornaments, and Disney features large: Snow White looking into a mirror, Sleeping Beauty's castle, and a 50th anniversary of Disneyland. We used to see the Nutcracker every year, so that is represented in different ways, including a Sugar Plum Fairy that always a point of contention about who got to hang her on the tree.

The Horse of a Different Color with Dorothy and her gang hangs on the tree, and I hear the cabbie from Oz give his spiel every time I plug in the lights. Rhett Butler and Scarlet O'Hara embrace as Atlanta burns in the background, prompting my husband to make this goofy video. 

There are ornaments with my kids' photos in them, and crocheted snowflakes my sister made and stiffened with starch. Some belonged to my parents when they were first married, and I rescued them from the trash when my mother deemed them too tatty for her tree. They are definitely worn, but I love them.

Possibly my favorite is the light-up box office and marquee of a theater playing "It's a Wonderful Life." Another bulb has George and Mary embracing from that final scene.

I guess I should really write down where all these things came from, and whether or not they have special significance. Now I'm getting older, I'm thinking about the stories I want to leave behind. There are so many people who have passed on without me finding out everything I wanted to about them.

Well, I'd better go. You can't see what kind of wood my table is for all the paper covering it, and I've got Christmas errands to run. Have a great holiday, and I'll be seeing you soon. Before you go, leave me a comment and tell me what you favorite Christmas ornament is.

The Muppets redux, with Charlotte

They're back! The new Muppet Movie, co-written by and starring Jason  Segel,
shown above with Amy Adams and the gang.

The holidays have always gone hand in hand with the movies in my family.

Not so much in my family of origin: my mother never goes to the movies, yet watches the Academy Awards every year and complains that she didn't see any of these films, so why is she watching this dumb show? My dad used to go to the movies as an outing.

My dad would say: "Do you want to go to the movies?" My mom would ask what was playing. He'd say, "Who cares; do you want to go to the movies or not?" The last film I saw with my dad was Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. I thought he'd like to see how far special effects have come. It turns out you don't have to be a Star Wars fan to hate Episode I. Who knew?

But in the family I raised, we went to the movies as often as we could afford it, as soon as the kids were old enough. Man, I saw a lot of crap with them. Some craptastic standouts were Mousehunt, about a rodent outsmarting Nathan Lane; Airborne, about a California teenage surfer forced to live with relatives in Cincinnati (in winter!), starring Seth Green; and Center Stage, about young, good-looking hopefuls trying to get into the American Ballet Academy in New York.

It seemed that we ended up at the movies every Thanksgiving and Christmas day, usually after we'd taken relatives' checks to the ATM so we could afford it. It was our family's time together after dealing with our extended family, which was sometimes contentious and stressful.

Charlotte with her kid's pack of movie treats
and a Mickey Mouse lollipop she came in with.
Megan Hernandez photo

I know lots of other people go to the movies on holiday weekends, so I was apprehensive about getting a seat for The Muppet Movie on Saturday, our first theater visit with Charlotte. I made my husband leave the house about 40 minutes early, only to encounter a nearly empty parking lot. I felt a little foolish.

We were the first people in the theater, but eventually enough people showed up to make it a communal experience.

Charlotte has been to the "moobies" before, to see Tangled, Winnie the Pooh and Puss in Boots, but we had never been with her. My daughter posted on Facebook that she had Christmas shopped for Charlotte in the Disney Store right under her nose because the two-year-old was entranced with the huge screen, and we saw a little of that in action.

It's like she is in a spell with a screen in front of her. They arrived after we had sat down, and the whole time my daughter is taking off Charlotte's coat and putting her in the booster seat, the tot never took her eyes off the screen playing commercials. It's rather disturbing.

I knew that my daughters were going to be big movie fans early on. When I put on a VHS of Disney's Bedknobs and Broomsticks one day, my older daughter saw Robert Stevenson's name on the credits, and said, "Oh, he directed Mary Poppins." She was about 7. We watched a lot of Turner Classic Movies in our house, but when colorized ones came on, we adjusted the set to watch them in black and white.

My son-in-law is a video editor, with a degree in film from San Francisco State; I guess it was kismet that he and my daughter would find each other. He has his heart set on Charlotte going to USC, so maybe it will be USC Film School. Chris is the big Muppet fan in the family, by the way. He owns complete seasons of the Muppet television show on DVD.

If you ask Charlotte what her daddy does, from the time she could talk she would say, "Daddy go work; press buttons." When he has to work on weekends, sometimes he'll take his little family with him, and let Charlotte sit on his lap and press buttons. That might be why she has no problem working anything mechanical at my house.

Jason Segel, the Muppet fan who helped bring the new
Muppet Movie to life, with Kermit and Miss Piggy. The fans
 are saying that the film was made by "the right people,"
who love the original and wanted to see it done right.

The film is adorable, heartfelt,  and laugh-out-loud funny. The Muppets' biggest fan Walter (who apparently hasn't looked in the mirror and discovered that he is a Muppet), overhears a evil oil baron saying he is going to tear down the Muppets' old studio to drill for oil.

That's not an inconceivable notion, there's a oil rig in the middle of Beverly Hill High School.

So, the gang has to get together and put on a telethon to raise 10 million dollars in three days to keep the property. Walter and his human friends Jason Segel and Amy Adams seek out Kermit, and the four of them hunt down the rest of the gang.

Every show biz cliche is here, and played for huge laughs. Fozzie Bear is found playing Reno with a backing band made up of what looks like escaped convicts, including a very hairy boar in drag standing in for Miss Piggy. Meanwhile, Miss Piggy is channeling Anna Wintour as the head of Paris Vogue, and is so successful, she is reluctant to return to her former life.

Some of it is so amazingly clever, I'm still laughing, like the chickens clucking a version of Cee Lo Green's hit single "Forget You," which started out as a song with lyrics so objectionable it had to be rewritten to be played on the radio.

The film was wonderful, full of song and dance numbers, written by one of the guys from Flight of the Conchords (the other one directed the movie). They shut down Hollywood Boulevard for two days filming in front of the El Capitan for the finale, which had me in tears.

Charlotte loved it, but I did get on her People-I'm-Not-Talking-To list because I shushed her once. She says very funny things, but sometimes forgets to whisper. She was very good, although she ended up spilling lemonade all over her shirt, unlike the baby crying intermittenly through the whole film. Just when I would get fed up enough to get an usher, the thing quit screaming.

I can't wait for something else to come out so I can go with Charlotte again. She doesn't know it yet, but she's getting a kid's camera for Christmas that also takes video, so soon she may be making her own films. I'm betting they'll be about bunnies.

Back-up Romeo performs well

Vittorio Grigolo and Nino Machaidze in LA Opera's  production of Romeo et Juliette.
 Grigolo was ill on Sunday, and  Charles Castronovo filled in.
LAtimes.com

I couldn't write this weekend, because I had family things to do, papers to grade, and an opera to see on Sunday. I shouldn't write now, I'm so far behind, but I can't help myself.

We were very excited about the opera, Gounod's Romeo et Juliette, with two emerging stars: Vittorio Grigolo and Nino Machaidze. There hasn't been so much buzz about this opera since Anna Netrebko and Rolando Villazon did it at the Dorothy Chandler in 2005.

Although I think anytime great voices paired with beauty come along, opera lovers go nuts. The days of 300-pound sopranos may be over, but chubby tenors and baritones are still with us. And let's face it, what are the statistical odds of someone amazingly hot also having a dynamite voice?

I saw the Villazon and Netrebko version, and was completely blown away. I walked out of the theater and over to the box office where I bought tickets for my kids, because I realized it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I've since seen them sing together in other operas like Manon and La Traviata, and their chemistry is so amazing, I would hate to be married to either one of them. They really make you believe not only in their love, but also in the power of love.

So there were high hopes for this new production, and the reviews were fantastic. There was praise for Machaidze's purity of tone, Gigolo's athleticism, and both their sex appeal. We saw Machaidze last season in A Turk in Italy, and were so impressed, we saw it again. She was great. But this pairing was not to be for us, as Grigolo was ill.

It was the culmination of a series of unfortunate events. It was raining so hard that the drive was quite scary, and all we wanted was to get to the plaza and have drinks and lunch at the Pinot Grill. The parking structure was full of people acting crazy, cutting us off, cutting in line, and one car with some defect that made it screech at high volume.

"A scotch and food, that's all I want," my husband said as we emerged from underground. We were greeted by the maitre de saying "We're closed." We have had lunch there before in fairly terrible weather, and so were mystified. Apparently, electrical things were shorting out, so he decided to close. We could buy sandwiches in the little store on the plaza, and were welcome to eat in the tent, he said.

My poor husband was emotionally drained by the drive and uncharacteristically grumpy. It was frustrating; we could see the alcohol on the bar, but we couldn't buy any. So we made do with ham and brie sandwiches, chili, and a couple of Newcastle ales, while listening to the rain pound on the tent. A couple of women who had just got in under the wire were eating salmon steaks next to us. It was galling.

We went to the prohibitively restaurant at ground-level and ordered drinks and coffee, which cheered us up a bit. In our seats, we settled in, only to have Placido Domingo come on stage. When you see Maestro before a production, it's never good, and this wasn't. Grigolo was ill, he said. "When you can't sing, you can't sing," he said with a shrug. "It happens to all of us."

Charles Castronovo

Maestro said that tenor Charles Castronovo, who had his breakout role in LA Opera's Il Postino, had been in town on Saturday for the company's anniversary celebration, and they had convinced him to stick around to fill in. He was very good, especially for stepping in at the last minute.

The bedroom scene was good, even though Machaidze left her nightgown on. When Netrebko did it, she started out naked. Even with the nightgown on, some teens sitting behind us were tittering at the sight of two nearly naked people rolling around in bed. I guess they live sheltered lives.

When I mentioned to one of my Russian students, Nino, that an opera singer had her same name and was from Georgia, she told me that it was the name of a famous Russian Orthodox saint who was born in that region.

Wags are calling Machaidze the "Angelina Jolie" of opera. She was as great as she had been last season, and as beautiful. Castronovo was not hard on the eyes, either. I'd still like to see Grigolo, so maybe we can go back. I mean, I've got to see a guy who is quoted as saying "Opera is like boxing or Formula One. It's dangerous."

Shady Shakespeare and just plain bad Brontë

The Thames in Shakespearian London, an example of the CGI work in the new film Anonymous. See more Anonymous publicity stills at IGN.com

It's weird: I can see a film like Anonymous, which plays fast and loose with any number of historical facts, and enjoy it just fine, disbelief fully suspended, but give me a 2009 Masterpiece Theatre version of Wuthering Heights where Heathcliff shoots himself, and I'm ready to hang the scriptwriter.

I'm not sure what it is; I understand that events need to be combined, compressed and maybe even conflated for the sake of dramatic license, but veering from the text of Emily Brontë's masterpiece is just unnecessary. It has plenty of drama, excitement, and action already, it doesn't need firearms. Plus, we're meant to think that Heathcliff pined away for Cathy, and was beckoned to death by her, a much more gothic way to die.

Rhys Ifan as Edward deVere, pays tribute to
 Elizabeth I, played by Vanessa Redgrave.

Anonymous intertwines the story of how Edward deVere, the 17th Earl of Oxford, was the true author of the plays allegedly written by William Shakespeare with the Essex plot against Elizabeth I. According to the film, deVere tried to recruit playwright Ben Jonson, but Shakespeare found out and claimed authorship himself.

Oh, and that Elizabeth I gave birth to six illegitimate children. Wow, never heard that before. That's not a spoiler, by the way. Who she gives birth to is the big deal plot point.

The film portrays Shakespeare as stupid, petty, and venal. He is a buffoon, as well as a blackmailer, and the Earl is embarrassed by having him front for his plays. Why do I not mind that the greatest literary genius in the English language is so maligned? Because I am not an Oxfordian, as the group of people who believe this stuff call themselves. It's just a lark to me, and I appreciate the amazing look of this film.

The filmmakers have used a new computer imaging process and built 70 sets to bring Shakespeare's London to life, and it is a glorious, filthy, muddy mess. There are aerial shots of the city and the Thames that are breathtaking. It shows Elizabeth's funeral procession coming down the Thames with thousands of people lining the banks in tribute.

It was an amazing David Lean-esque shot. One problem: Elizabeth's real procession was on land; the Thames didn't freeze that year. That's the kind of stuff that's all over this film, so you're better off not even thinking about it. They wrap a real mystery —who really killed playwright Christopher Marlowe — into their plot, and make it seem like he was bumped off because he "knew too much." He had also been dead for five years in 1598, when the movie was set.

Edward deVere, the 17th Earl of Oxford.

It didn't used to be Oxford. The origin target of the conspiracy theorists was Sir Francis Bacon. I've heard that one all my life. Apparently all this stuff about the Virgin Queen giving birth was wrapped into the Oxfordian theory back in 1934, because of the Earl of Oxford's relationship with Her Majesty. I've never believed the idea that Elizabeth never had sex, but there's plenty of ways to do that that don't involve intercourse. I'm just saying....

The IMDB message boards for this film are a robust back and forth about the historicity of the film the debate about the authorship of the plays with a healthy dose of name-calling. The whole controversy is rather like the evolution/creationism argument. One side has an overwhelming number of facts and coincidences; the other, blind faith.

Oxfordians accuse the academic community of believing in the man from Stratford as an article of faith, that we are too afraid to even debate them because our entire existence is on the line. They accuse us of believing in the "magic" of genius. They actually make the argument that scientists were sure continents didn't move, but then plate tectonics were discovered.

I believe in the genius of Shakespeare the way I believe in the genius of Mozart, who seemed to be a mere conduit for some mysterious wellspring of music.

Some people say, what's the difference? I guess it would be that Americans love a good Horatio Alger story, and Shakespeare, the son of a glove maker, becoming the most celebrated author in the English language makes a much better story than some highly educated earl.

So, go along with the joke, or check it out and agree with them, I don't care. But you should see this film, or you will miss some great filmmaking. And Vanessa Redgrave and her granddaughter Joley Richardson playing the old and young Elizabeth I.

Tom Hardy (his real name, you suppose?) and
Charlotte Riley, who spend a lot of time snogging
on the moors in this version of Wuthering Heights.

But stay far, far away from that wretched Wuthering Heights. For one thing, if you are a fan of the book and the 1939 film, you will miss many of your favorite scenes and lines; they're just not there.

One site called Bronte Blog had reaction to this misbegotten version of Wuthering Heights, and my favorite comment was about lead actor Tom Hardy's Heathcliff, saying he "looks like rock star Jack White auditioning for a Tim Burton film and behaves as if directed to discover synonyms for scowl, glower, and skulk unknown to Roget." That's some great stuff!

Hardy wasn't quite menacing enough, and it was highly annoying that Heathcliff and Cathy spent a good bit of time rolling around on top of each other. Of all I times I have imagined Penniston Crag, I never thought of it as Make Out Point.

So, ultimately, I guess the difference is you can muck about with facts, but don't screw with the text. Wow, I really am an English teacher.

You say want a revolution?

My new iPhone with a Disney Princess Dress Up Sticker app
 I bought to entertain my granddaughter Charlotte. In case you are wondering,
that's an Alice in Wonderland pepper shaker it's leaning on. 

I finally got an iPhone a few weeks ago.

Because of my history as an early adopter and Mac fanatic, my children think I run out and buy whatever the latest gadget is, but actually, I am restrained by finances.

In the case of the iPhone, I was restrained by hatred of AT&T. I had just escaped their nefarious, money-grubbing clutches when it was announced that they would have exclusive rights to Apple's newest toy. I was heartbroken, but even my lust for the iPhone wouldn't make me go back to them.

My Samsung Intercept that I was happy with,
except that I longed for an iPhone.

I had Sprint, and got along with my iPhone wannabe Android Samsung Intercept. It was sleek and black, had a slide out keyboard that I really liked, and I could get many of the same applications that the iPhone could. The screen stuck sometimes, and I had to return it (twice), but basically I had a decent smartphone experience.

When Sprint finally got the iPhone, I reserved mine the day it was announced. I got the iPhone 4, not the new 4S, because I may be a Mac acolyte, but I realize they are not infallible. And sure enough, Apple is having to provide a patch because the 4S is having a battery life issue.

There's been a lot of talk about Apple at our house, because my husband and I are both reading Steve Jobs' biography by Walter Isaacson. I really wanted it, but I was afraid of being mocked, since everyone knows about my Mac obsession. But when Jim mentioned buying it for the Kindle, I asked that he put it on mine, so I could read it simultaneously on my iPhone.

The book stays in the Cloud, so we both can access it. I just have to say "no" when the app tries to take me to the furtherest page read (my husband is way ahead of me). It's fun; we read parts aloud to one another, laugh at Job's audacity and hubris, and reminisce about our iMacs, MacBooks and iPods.

I had an Apple IIe, so I've been along for the ride practically from the beginning. Apple was big in the schools, and they offered special financing for teachers. That first machine did very little. We could use it as a word processor, make banners (great for classrooms!), and play a few text-based games.

When the Macintosh came out in 1984, we got it, with the new 3 1/2  inch (hard) floppy discs that you had to swap back and forth while playing some games, because they held so little information. Later, about 1989, we used Prodigy and America On Line to connect to the internet at a whopping 14.4K baud rate over our telephone line.

We lived in Lake Los Angeles, and our connection point was in Bakersfield, a toll call. Those were some hefty bills before we realized we had to limit our online time. The problem was, that at 14.4 everything took a million years to download.

My blue iMac in the late 90s had only two ISB ports, meaning I had to buy a hub to dock my PalmPilot. I'm still bitter about that.

I didn't know much about Steve Jobs in the 80s, but I did know about Steve Wozniak, because in 1982 he dropped millions of his own money into the US Festival rock concert, at the site which became Blockbuster Pavilion.

When I took an honors art history class in college, we were supposed to take an historical art period and update it. I thought about how Byzantine Christians used arcane symbols in art to identify one another surreptiously, and how the symbols in an Apple computer did the opposite: they were intended to be open and welcoming to the non-geek computer user, and make true believers out of them.

So I rendered Steve Wozniak as a Byzantine saint with the border being Apple symbols, like the trashcan and the FileServer, a hand holding a tray with a file folder on it. It was a poster-size board with torn-up magazine bits standing in for tessarae. In the accompanying paper, I noted that Apple's mailing list was called the EvangeList, and that Wozniak was referred to as St. Woz.

After reading the book, I see why he got that name. Woz didn't really care too much about money, he just liked to "make cool shit." After Jobs screwed over co-workers at the IPO who had been with the two Steves from the start, Woz spread his stock options to all the employees, so that most of them made enough money to buy houses. He comes off as a big, sweet teddy-bear of a man, who just loved being a part of something great.

I kind of feel sorry for kids today, who have never known a time without computers. It feels like we were really witness to a revolution, and it was a heady, exciting time. I remember television commercials for a training school in the late 1960s talking about how computers were the future, back when they took up an entire room and were operated with punch cards. Here's a scene from Danny Kaye's Man From The Diner's Club from 1963. At 7:25, you can see the huge mainframe behind him. There's a hysterical scene later on when the punch cards go insane, but I could't find it on the web.

I scoffed at the time, but now computers have changed practically every aspect of our lives.

I thought I was happy with my Android smartphone, but when I got my iPhone I experienced the difference, and it was palpable. I missed my keyboard at first, but the auto correct feature on texting is rapidly making me forget my QWERTY keys. There are apps that are made only for Apple products, and my first download was a Disney game for Charlotte.

Now, I have ordered an iPhone for my husband, who has been making do with a three-year-old flip-phone. I really don't care what we have to pay to extricate himself from his T-Mobile contract. Because now that I've witnessed the difference, how can I let my loving husband do with less? When I have filet mignon, how can I let him have hamburger? It ain't right.

Entertainment note


Some time back, I saw the hilarious show, Menopause the Musical, at the Lancaster Performing Arts Center. I was skeptical, because frankly, I don't think there is one damn thing funny about menopause. I suffered mighttily from hot flashes and still carry a fan with me, like some latter-day Scarlett O'Hara. But the show won me over, with its new lyrics to classic Baby Boomer favorites, like Motown and the Beach Boys, poking fun at night sweats, hot flashes and other menopause maladies.

The show is making another appearance, this time in a concert form, minus the sets, at LPAC on Tuesday, Nov. 8 at 7:30 p.m. That's election night, so some local pols might be needing solace, and this rollicking show could be just the thing. Tickets are $35, and can be purchased at the box office. Call (661) 723-5950 or visit www.LPAC.org.

There's a Two for One special going on, so if you call LPAC and give the secret word BOGO, you and a friend can have a night out for the price on one ticket.

Halloween at Two

Charlotte in her Belle dress Mom-Mom made her for Halloween.
Photo by Chris Hernandez

Lotte practicing her curtsey.
Photo by Chris Hernandez.

Yellow is a really good color for her.

This was the first Halloween that my granddaughter Charlotte was old enough to be totally involved in deciding what she was going to be for Halloween.

Last year, I didn't have time to make her a costume, so I bought a fairy dress and some wings at Walgreens. The year before that, I made her into a devil, because she was. And is, for that matter. But she can also be charming, and twirling around in her Belle costume, from Walt Disney's Beauty and the Beast, she was at her most fetching.

Halloween 2009. Photo by
Little Blue World Photography.

It was touch and go there for a while, because Charlotte would suddenly decide that she wanted to be one of the other myriad Disney princesses, and her mom would gently remind her that Mom-Mom had already bought yards of sparkly yellow satin and organza, and that it was too late to change her mind.

I lined the bodice with the same material as the front, never thinking that the glitter infused into the fabric made it very itchy. The first time Lotte tried on the dress and started squirming, I thought it was her just being a two-year-old.

Then it happened again, and I realized that something in the dress was bugging her. Live and learn, I'm sure this won't be the last sparkly dress I make. I'll buy lining fabric next time.

Lotte in the Lemon Leaf during the Boo-lvd event.
It was a mutual admiration society of Belle and zombie cheerleaders.

My daughter Megan, Lotte,
my son-in-law Chris, and my husband Jim.

 We went to Lancaster Blvd's Halloween celebration last night, and it was fun, although crowded. I've never been to Mardi Gras, but I believe at one point last night the crowding was similar, although the Antelope Valley people weren't spilling alcohol on you, or trying to get you to take off your shirt.

Jim and went in fancy dress, holding masks, wishing we were in Venice for Carnevale with tickets to the opera in our pockets. My daughter was a pretty, sparkly witch, and her husband Chris showed up in Renaissance garb that I made, apparently.

Well, I remember making the doublet so he could come to the Society for Creative Anachronism's war in Tehachapi, but I have no recollection of making the hat. The boots he stole from his wife's closet. My kids were chiding me for asking who made the hat, but what can I say? I'm getting old; there are many things I don't remember.

Chris Calaba in her "hippie-witch" costume.

We saw lots of cute costumes, and tons of cute kids. At Graphic Experience, our friend Chris Calaba and her husband Dennis were frantically handing out candy to trick or treaters. After they ran out of candy, she filmed the crowd, and admitted that what she captured was mild. Check it out here.

We didn't manage to get into the maze at the Western Hotel, and I really wanted to, but the line was too long. Lotte trick or treated at a few places and then the mob was getting to us, so we ducked into the Lemon Leaf for pizza.

As usual, many of our friends were there. I swear the place is like a restaurant in a soap-opera, not that we all know one another's business, but that everyone we know eats there. You know how there always needs to be a place where people eventually show up, like Central Perk in Friends?

Me and Jim, taken by our friend Ingrid Chapman. Like I
said, you never know who will show up at the Leaf.

Charlotte was ecstatic when her friend Quiller came in. The daughter of Charles and Becky MacQuarrie, she's known Charlotte since she was a baby, and the two played together at our wedding. Lotte asked the older girl, "Want to dance with me?" and Quiller gamely hunched down to do a quirky waltz. It ended with Quiller spinning like a top holding Lotte's arms until both of then fell down into a giggling, dizzy heap.

On the way home, Charlotte talked about playing with her "fwend." She's so precocious, I have a feeling she'll always get along better with kids older than she.

Our group agreed that Lotte's Belle dress beat the store-bought ones, and its deep hem along with the bodice alterations guarantee it will be in the dress-up box for many years. My daughter is looking forward to Lotte wearing it to Disneyland the way she wore her Alice in Wonderland dress years ago. Those photos we have of her with the Mad Hatter and Alice are priceless.

I have many costume patterns in my collection, but I am sure that whatever Charlotte wants to be next year will be something I don't have. I vow to sew something for Jim and me, too. I have a pattern for Morticia and Gomez Addams, that will fit the bill. Jim says I need to practice some French, but his hand and arm kissing is in fine form.

The back of the Belle dress.
Photo by Chris Hernandez.

Burton's dark beginnings, and Ray's bright start

The entrance to LACMA's Tim Burton exhibition, the only place you can take photos.

You still have time to see the Los Angeles County Museum of Art's Tim Burton exhibit, but be warned: it is for only the most ardent of fans.

A casual viewer of the eccentric filmmaker's work such as Batman, Batman Returns, Beetlejuice, Edward Scissorhands, Nightmare before Christmas, the new Alice in Wonderland, and that dreadful version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory would probably not be very interested in Burton's childhood sketchbooks, and wall-full of drawings done when he was a bored animator at Disney studios.

For the rest of us, it was a treat. The first room you come to has sculpture made from Burton's early sketches, including a robot built by Cal State Fullerton grad students. The robot's flip-top head opens at random moments, and scared me to death.

My husband, Jim, in front of an inflatable
Tim Burton character at LACMA.

The second room is given over to artifacts from Burton's schooldays in Burbank, like the commendation from the Burbank fire department given in honor of his placing in an fire prevention art contest, and the list of movies he wanted for the film series he produced.

I recognized many of the films he screened as fundraisers for the Burbank Police Youth Band: Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman, Jason and the Argonauts, Mothra, Gamera, but I was disappointed not to see one of my all-time favorite 50's sci-fi movies: Fiend Without a Face.

Burton hated Burbank the way I hated Simi Valley growing up: it was too clean, too buttoned-up, and too wholesome. Misfits like us wanted the seamy underbelly, ancient moldering houses and graveyards with moss-covered headstones, not row after row of tract houses and brand-new strip malls. We watched Hammer Films, read gothic novels and adored anything with Vincent Price in it.

But if Tim Burton were growing up now, he'd have a peer group. He'd be a goth, and could wear black and be weird to his heart's content. He'd have teenage girls who thought he was cute, and would adore him for his artistic ability. He could find others with his same interests on the Internet. And that would be to the detriment of his art.

His feelings of alienation and isolation made him turn inward, and spend most of his time letting his imagination run riot. You can see the genesis of many of his most famous characters in those early drawings. And I think that having a peer group would have taken the edge off that artistic drive.

In the audio tour, the narrator talks about Edward Scissorhands being the character most like his creator: the quiet, darkly creative boy all in black wandering among the ticky-tacky pastel houses of suburbia. That may be true, but I've always considered the story of Jack Skellington in Nightmare Before Christmas to be Burton's self-administered advice: always be yourself.

Coming on the heels of Batman Returns as it did, the story of Jack, the lord of Halloweentown who makes a foray into the much lighter world of Christmastown with disastrous results, seems to be a cautionary tale. Jack's dark sensibility makes him ill-equipped to remake Christmas, the way that Burton should have listened to his reservations about making the sequel to his fairly well-recieved Batman and trying to shoehorn himself into the mold of Hollywood hit-maker. 

You can see how stultified he felt as a Disney animator by the wickedly humorous drawings he made. 

I'd love to take my granddaughter Charlotte, the budding goth, to the exhibit just to see the maquettes from Nightmare before Christmas, since it is her favorite movie, but I think she'd be bored by most of the exhibit. Every time she comes to my house, she wants to see "Jack and Sally," as she calls the film. One display has dozens of Jack heads in varying expressions, and another almost all of the characters' maquettes.

Costume designer Colleen Atwood's Edward Scissorhands costume is on display, and it is delightfully detailed and complex. Burton has worked with Atwood on almost all his live action movies, and I got to see her work on Alice in Wonderland and Sweeney Todd at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising yearly Academy Awards costume exhibit. 

Urban Lights, an installation of 202 antique street lamps at LACMA. 

It was crowded, since we waited until the end of the run to see it, but the Burton exhibit was well worth it. This was the first time I had been to LACMA since the installation of Urban Lights, the rows and rows of streetlights that were previously used on Los Angeles streets, by Chris Burden.

The display is magical at night, and visitors just love to move around inside of it. Behind the installation is the fairly new restaurant, Ray's and the adjoining Stark Bar, named after the late Ray Stark, a producer and LACMA trustee.

The food is pricy, but so well worth it. We had just come from the California Design, 1030-1965 "Living in a Modern Way"exhibit, and walking into Ray's looked like an extension of the Resnick Pavilion show. Ray's has a very modern decor, with red chairs, and 50's looking tables. I noticed a hidden drawer in the side of the table and pulled it out to find my table service.

Your cutlery and napkin await you
 in a drawer at Ray's restaurant.

I couldn't get my usual drink order —a Bombay Sapphire martini, dry, with three olives — because they only have small-batch gins made on the West Coast. Same with my husband's Glenlivet, they actually had a whiskey list with only small distilleries on it. Good for getting us out of our comfort zones, I guess.

The staff was attentive and food stellar. The specialize in fresh local ingredients, and the menu changes constantly because of that. For more details, you can check out my husband's blog. 

You can still catch the Tim Burton exhibit through Halloween, and there is a Dead Man's Ball  on Saturday, Oct. 29. Tickets are $100, and we could have gone for what we spent at Ray's.

"Fabulous! Ten Years of FIDM Museum Acquisitions, 2000-2010"

Alexander McQueen's "Peacock" dress, commissioned by
the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising, on display at the school's newest exhibit, Fabulous!
All photos on this page are courtesy of FIDM. 

By far my favorite piece in the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising's new exhibit, "Fabulous! Ten Years of FIDM Museum Acquisitions, 2000-2010," is the Alexander McQueen Peacock Dress. There are some wonderful things in the show, which spans 200 years, but the McQueen is the biggest draw, for me.

This frothy confection looks like an enchanted spider spun a black web over the pale pink silk tulle in the design of peacocks. It was featured in Vogue on Sarah Jessica Parker in 2008.

There are only three of these dresses in the world: one in London, at McQueen headquarters; one in New York, commissioned by a private buyer to use as a wedding dress; and this one, the last of McQueen's designs to be made. FIDM Museum Curator Kevin Jones commissioned this dress shortly after McQueen's death, and the couture house was making it at the same time they were sewing Kate Middleton's dress for her wedding to Prince William.

"I asked at exactly the right moment," Jones said. "McQueen had just died, and I called them to ask if they would donate the peacock dress to the school. They refused, but then I asked if I could commission one to be made."

The couture house agreed, and made the dress at cost.

At the time, Sarah Burton had just taken over as creative director at McQueen's fashion house and the world hadn't yet seen her royal wedding dress. "Savage Beauty," the show of McQueen's fashion at the Metropolitan Museum of Art hadn't opened yet. Now, he is a household name, and the company has declared that no more of McQueen's work will be produced.

Jones took me on a tour, and explained that while normally his job involves seeking out vintage clothes for FIDM's study collection, the McQueen dress "wouldn't exist if he hadn't commissioned it. That's why I do what I do — to preserve the artistry of these people who pop up in history and create such amazing work."

The display and its companion catalog represent two and a half years of work on the part of Jones and Christina M. Johnson. Johnson is the one who first brought the McQueen dress to Jones' attention because she read about the controversy surrounding it and the costume designer for "Harry Potter: Deathly Hallow Pt. 2."

A Redfern court gown, c. 1907, worn
at a reception at Buckingham Palace.

In fact, I had been using the dress, and its quite obvious copying as Fleur's wedding dress in "Harry Potter," in my professional practices classes at FIDM during a discussion of business ethics. While there is no copyright in fashion, some things are actionable, and the consensus in my classes was that McQueen should sue.

The beginning of the exhibit is dedicated to clothing that has been donated to FIDM by private parties. "We never know what people are going to bring in," said Jones. Sometimes the pieces are not notable, but occasionally they are gems. A potential donor called and asked if the school was interested in his mother's  evening dress, then mentioned that it was made by Hollywood designer Adrian. After it was brought in, Jones found a photo of a model wearing the exact dress in 1948.

An embroidered court suit
worn doing the reign of Francis I,
Emperor of Austria, c. 1810—1814.

The piece that opens the show is also from a donor: an embroidered court suit that belonged to composer Johann Hummel, who was a student of Mozart. The suit was worn during the rule of Francis I, the Emperor of Austria, 1810-1814.

The donor, Yvonne Hummel, is a descendant of Hummel, and also donated a walking stick that belonged to composer Joseph Hayden, c. 1800, a friend of her forbear. The embroidery on the coat is mind-boggling, and Jones said the piece was the same quality as royalty would wear.

More than 1,000 people have donated to the college over the last 33 years, and FIDM continues to buy pieces for its research-oriented Permanent Collection, and the hands-on Study Collection. In seeking historical and contemporary designs for the Permanent Collection, Jones often finds less-than-pristine garments for the Study Collection that students can actually handle, turn inside out, and study the construction.

But not only FIDM students benefit from these acquisitions: anyone with a legitimate research need can see these pieces, and the school is copying hardcopy records into a digital archive. Jones oversees a blog which feature pieces from the collection and their stories.

"We are open to the world," said Jones. "Just make a research appointment."

Mae West's platform shoes she used to disguise
 her tiny stature. Only the silver part would
show under her gown.

The show is heavy on high fashion, which means women's clothes, but there are also men's and children's clothing, as well as shoes, gloves, accessories, hats and parasols. There is a dropped waist girl's dress made of printed crepe paper, and a girl's ensemble.

A interesting point Jones brings up is that the gender specific blue and pink were reversed in the past. Pink was associated with red, which was a power color, and as such, was used for boys. Blue was the color associated with the Virgin Mary, and purity, so it was used for little girls.

There are pieces by a variety of designers both past and present, and some oddities like a pair of red brocade platforms that belonged to Mae West, as well as a pair of shoes that look like orthopedic shoes designed to disguise her barely 5-foot height.

Some standouts are the Worth reception gown, a Vivienne Westwood bondage suit complete with vintage Sex Pistols T-shirt, and a window-full of items like a tiara made with human hair. Nearby, another human-hair piece is a brooch from 1797 that shows an altar with the inscription, "I weep, heaven rejoices."

Some of these clothes are breathtakingly beautiful, others so ugly it takes your breath away. But it's all fashion. Either way, it's a great way to spend a few hours.

The exhibit is open until Dec. 17, Tuesday through Saturday from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., and admission is free. FIDM is at 919 South Grand Ave. Los Angeles CA 90015. For more details, call 213-623-5821.

Brother, can you spare some good news?

A cartoon from about.com by Walt Handelsman.

I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think I’m going to have to stay away from the news.

As a former journalist, it seems unthinkable. I have two newspapers delivered, and I read most of them before I leave the house. My computer’s homepage is the Los Angeles Times. I listen to NPR on the way to work. My husband usually watches ABC news in the evening.

I have lots of intelligent Facebook friends who post links to news stories. I have a smartphone that gives me news. In other words, the news is fairly inescapable in my life.

But lately, I’ve been experiencing an existential angst I first felt in the early 1970s when the United States started going into an economic downturn. People were wringing their hands about the cost of bread rising to more than a dollar. Try five dollars, now.

I spend two days of my week teaching a composition class modeled on a sustainability theme: the loss of biodiversity, how Monsanto has patented life and is gobbling up all the seed strains so they can genetically engineer them; how the World Bank owns the rights to most of the fresh water on the planet; the melting polar ice caps; the whirling vortex of trash the size of Texas in the Pacific Ocean; the dying oceans, etc.

It isn’t all doom and gloom — there are bright spots where people are changing paradigms and making things better — but their efforts seem like spitting into the ocean.

Also, media is sounding the near-constant drumbeat of bad economic news: every day we hear some new pronouncement about we definitely are/might be/ are already, but we don’t know it/ in a recession.

I think investors are the ones who should stop reading the news. Every month another jobs report comes out to tell us what we already know: it doesn’t seem that things are getting any better. And every month investors send the stock market reeling on this little gem of wisdom.

It seems purposeless. Why don’t they just let it ride a few months and see what happens? By the time the report comes out, it’s old news anyway.

My ophthalmologist told me years ago that his doctor prescribed a cure for his skyrocketing blood pressure and anxiety: stop reading or listening to the news. And that was when we didn’t have the 24-hour newscycle, thanks to the Internet.

I didn’t tell him, but I was appalled. I think I murmured something like, “Oh, I could never do that,” but really I was wondering how any intelligent person could hide his or her head in the sand and pretend like everything was “Hunky Dunky!” to quote actor S.K. “Cuddles” Sakall.

But now I’m beginning to get it.

Like many Americans, my husband and I are living paycheck to paycheck, with next to no safety-net. But we’ve got a warm bed, cars that run, families who love us, food to eat, clothes to wear, work that matters, and books to read (even if we need to go to the library every once in a while).

I own no stock, and don’t have the opportunity to “wet myself” (my husband’s expression) every time some new bit of bad economic news comes out, so why should I even listen to it?

I’ve heard some older rural people talk about how they went through the Great Depression not knowing they were poor, because they were just like everyone else. If no one around you has the latest electronic gadget or gizmo, how can you feel left behind?

I like being in the know, and being the go-to person for my family on the latest trend or news, but not at the risk of upping my dose of anti-depressants. I’m not sure how one can continue to be a good citizen and participate in the democratic process without knowing what’s going on, but I’d like to try. Lord knows tens of thousands of ignorant people vote every election.

That brings up another point — many of the problems we have now are a result of people choosing to not hear the news, or conveniently looking the other way. Experts have been telling us for years that Americans weren’t saving enough, we carried too much debt, we were ruining our environment, and we continued to ignore them, and kick the can down the street.

Now we are at the end of the street, and the cans are piling up. So clearly, total avoidance of current events isn’t ideal either.

Maybe I’ll start small, and listen to audio-books on my way to work instead of NPR. That way I’ll start the day on an even keel before I start depressing my students about the state of the environment.

Two anniversaries, two weddings

Kissing on the BLVD during our wedding, in front of Vijay Patel's car.

My husband and I were trying to decide what to do for our first anniversary today, when I remembered that we had an opera on Oct. 2. When you have season tickets, you don't get to choose, they just send you a big package of tickets, and if the dates aren't convenient, you have to exchange them.

So, today we will see Mozart's "Cosi fan tutte," an exploration of romantic love. Two soldiers accept a bet that their fiancees are faithful to them, and each tries to seduce the other's intended. It's fun, frothy, and no one dies, which makes it not one of my favorite. I like tragic opera better.

But it is about love, which I suppose makes it anniversary-appropriate.

Dancing at our Oct. 2, 2010 wedding.

When I was single and wondering where in the world I would find someone with my taste in alt-rock music, I always figured that opera would be off the table. I had my opera buddy, Lynn, and I just figured we would carry on together, and any significant others we found would go fishing on opera days, or whatever boys do when left alone.

Miraculously, I found a man who shared my taste for the Shins and Fountains of Wayne. Imagine my shock when Jim said he wanted to give opera a whirl. I warned him that LA Opera was doing Wagner's Ring Cycle, and offered to take him to a less challenging and turgid opera. Maybe he just wanted to spend time with me, I don't know, but he bought a ticket on the same day as ours. He actually had a better seat than ours.

The LA Opera's version of the Ring had none of the elements I love about opera: passion, romance, fabulous costumes and lavish sets. After "Das Rheingold," Lynn said, "Well, there's three hours of my life I'll never get back," and Jim's assessment was "Gawd-awful." But with his customary optimism, he also said "In for a penny, in for a pound," and bought seats for the rest of the cycle.

The front of the Metropolitan Opera with
the Boris Godunov banner.

The Wagner never got any better, but we saw other operas: The Met: Live in HD at Cinemark, the rest of LA's season, and finally, "Boris Godunov" at the Metropolitan Opera live in New York City on our honeymoon. He fell in love, and now he can't wait for the beginning of opera season.

I don't think couples need to do everything together and be joined at the hip, but you definitely need some common activities. If your spouse is spending every weekend on the golf course, and you don't play, how long before he/she finds someone who does?

My brother, Marc, celebrated his fifth anniversary yesterday with a recommitment ceremony. When he got married, his hobby was racing remote-controlled boats. Those little suckers are expensive, especially when you crash them.

Marc and Susen after saying their vows, hold up
Tilly and Tillman Troll, the Harley owner's group mascots.

These races would happen all over Southern California, and you had to spend the weekend, so it took a lot of time and money. I don't know how his wife felt about racing boats. I know she went to some races, but unless you're doing the controlling, how interesting can it be to watch boats go around in a circle?

The next thing I knew, Marc sold all his racing gear, and put the money down on a Harley-Davidson. I'm not sure he realized it would when he bought it, but the bike became the center of their social life.

They joined the local Harley Owners Group. My brother volunteered as  the club photographer, and my sister-in-law, Susen, became active in the Women of Harley. They found new friends, and most every weekend, they had some new activity or ride. It gave them lots of opportunities for togetherness.

So they decided to renew their vows at the Harley Owner's Group end of summer barbecue. Under a gazebo where another group member with grey hair, wearing his Harley leather club vest officiated over their ceremony. The club mascots, Tilly and Tillman Troll, stood in for the best man and maid of honor.

These trolls are like the gnome in the movie "Amelie." Whenever group members go on vacation, they send back photos of the trolls in exotic locations. Marc sent in a photo of the trolls kickin' it in a pool in Mexico.

The bride wore a black Harley-Davidson shirt and the groom a T-shirt printed like a tuxedo. It was very sweet. Not that their first wedding in Las Vegas was particularly formal, but this was completely laid back, and a lot of fun. Susen's kids were there, and my mother, Jim and I represented my brother's family. Susen bought a three-tier chocolate cake with black icing, orange flames climbing up the sides, topped by a toy Harley.

The happy couple drank a toast out of plastic skull goblets, one black and the other orange. (Oh, did I mention the bride is crazy about Halloween?) We had a fabulous tri-tip barbecue with baked beans, corn muffins, potato salad, and macaroni salad. Let's just say I blew all my extra Weight Watcher points for the week, and I still had my own anniversary to go.

On the Music Center Plaza. 

Perhaps we were inspired by that ceremony to renew our vows on the plaza at the Music Center. We packed along the Book of Common Prayer and had Lynn officiate in front of the fountain, with a view of LA City Hall. Perhaps it's a little goofy after only one year, but it was fun. Seal and Heidi Klum get married every year, so why can't we? Of course it seems like they have a baby every year, so maybe they need weddings to keep the romance alive.

We had a fabulous meal at Pinot with a bottle of champagne, and saw the Mozart fluff. The opera was quite cynical about love and marriage, so perhaps it wasn't the best choice, but at least no one died in it. It was a great day, and I'm hoping for many more anniversaries for us, and Marc and Susen.

Adult Disneyland trip slower, and includes beer

Sleeping Beauty's castle on the occasion of its 50th anniversary.
 wikipedia.com

My husband wanted just the two of us to go to Disneyland for his 52nd birthday, which you can read about here. I haven't been to Disneyland with a date since before I was married (the first time).

In my youth, I harbored romantic visions of what a Disneyland trip with a boyfriend would be like, part of which involved him buying me one of those gigantic all-day lollipops on Main Street. I'm not sure what that was all about.

Too many Archie comics, no doubt.

Sometimes girlfriends and I would go to Disneyland on a parks and rec bus-trip and spend the whole day hoping to find boys to flirt with. We never did. On one 1960s trip I was wearing a pair of flowered Wrangler jeans bought especially for the occasion. I thought I was pretty cool, but now I can only imagine how silly I looked.

Believe me, bringing along your own partner to kiss in the dark rides is much better than hoping to snag one at the park.

Charlotte on the carousel at the Valencia mall
in her Belle, from Beauty and the Beast,
 light-up shoes. She didn't actually ride it the day
I took her, she was  more interested in the koi pond.

But right now, my aging body was telling me I shouldn't be dragging it through the "Happiest Place on Earth." The day before, Lynn and I took Charlotte to the Valencia mall so her parents could pack up her room for an upcoming move.

Chasing after a two-year-old is hard on knees that need replacing. We looked at koi in the pond, hunted for water turtles, got her face painted, spent an inordinate amount of time in the Disney store, bought a plush Jiminy Cricket and ate hot-fudge sundaes.

Which may not sound like a lot of activity to you, but to someone with bad knees and sciatica, you might as well be talking about a trip up Mount Whitney.

I knew that an adult trip to the House of Mouse, as my husband calls it, would be more laid-back than one with kids, even grown kids. We usually go once a year, and my 20-somethings are hell-bent on getting on every ride they possibly can, while I limp along behind them.


My kids are always making me do things I don't want to do, like go on Pirates of the Caribbean. I'm sorry, I'm over this particular ride. I can remember watching "The Wonderful World of Color" (in black and white) on television one Sunday night when Walt Disney showed us the mock-up of New Orleans square, and the drawing for Pirates of the Caribbean. Walt's been dead since the day we landed on the moon, so that tells you how old this ride is. Even sticking Johnny Depp into it can't revive this chestnut for me.

Jim and his birthday button.

So there I was, popping Schedule C narcotics like they were M&Ms, just trying to get through a day of walking through the Magic Kingdom. I got my husband a birthday button at the Town Hall, and was amazed to see how many park-goers said, "Happy Birthday, Jim!" I knew employees would, that's part of their job to recognize the buttons that say Happy Anniversary, First Visit, Just Married or Family Reunion, but civilians? That was a surprise.

We didn't get on many rides because of the crowds. You'd think there wasn't a recession on by the amount of off-season visitors to Mickey's place. Fast passes for the new improved Star Tours had a return time late in the evening, so we waited.

And it was well worth the wait. Usually, I'm nostalgic about rides, and hate for them to be changed. I loved that when Star Tours supplanted Monsanto's Journey Though Inner Space, they paid it homage by including the microscope as a prop in the movie. Just before the star speeder burst through the hanger doors, you could see it on the right.

King Triton celebrates the marriage of his daughter to
lame-o Prince Erik.

Now the robot voiced by PeeWee Herman has been replaced by C3PO as the pilot, but the old robot has been moved to the interior line and can be heard shrieking, "I'm still getting used to my programming!" I miss the old movie, but the new one I saw was fantastic, and I love that there are 53 more versions to see. I swear that the jump to light speed is not as jolting as before, but it could be my imagination.

One ride we did get on was the new Little Mermaid in California Adventure, which we literally walked on at dinner time. It is similar to the Winnie the Pooh ride, definitely for tiny tots, who are the target market for the Disney Princesses, anyway.


Little Mermaid was cute, and I couldn't help but think how much Charlotte will love it in December when we plan to come back with the whole family, including my new son-in-law Patrick. In fact, I thought about my granddaughter a lot that day. I would never say that Disneyland is only for kids, but like Christmas, tots  make it a lot more festive, seeing things through their eyes.

Poor Patrick, who grew up on the East Coast, had no idea when he married into this family how large Disneyland looms in our collective consciousness. I was a year old when the park opened, and it has been part of growing up for me and my kids. Now we are working on the next generation, and Charlotte is princess-crazy. We listen to the feminist warnings about this and think, "Yeah, you're probably right," then order Beauty and the Beast sparkly light-up shoes online.

We're looking forward to initiating him into the cult.

It's telling that probably the most enjoyable part of the day was sipping Newcastle in a California Adventure bar. Adult beverages, a cool breeze, and my very own boy to kiss. The waitress called us "love birds." Even though I didn't get an all-day sucker, it was pretty romantic.