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.

BabyQuest unfolds at Disneyland

Charlotte on her first trip to Disneyland in 2010. In 2007, when her mother was
undergoing fertility treatments, we took a trip to the Happiest Place on Earth. 

Editor's note: My husband and I went to Disneyland this weekend for his birthday, so I wasn't able to write a new column. Although right now it seems like Charlotte has been with us forever, at one time she was just a wish and a hope. This column originally ran in the Antelope Valley Press on Sunday, March 25, 2007

Biology is a mysterious thing.

Ask any woman. They’ll tell you women indeed have “biological clocks” that create subconscious impulses that they may or may not be aware of.

The day I realized that I had stopped noticing good-looking guys in the mall in favor of tiny people in strollers was the day I knew my body had turned traitor.

I was pregnant less than a year later. I think that my biological clock is making me exude “grandma” vibes right now. I spent Sunday at Disneyland with my daughters where I had close encounters with children, whom I generally try to avoid.

Sitting on a fence outside of the Frontierland fort, I was giving my aching feet a rest when a little girl clambered up alongside and looked up at me expectantly.

I noticed that she had a fancy “princess” hairdo many young girls were sporting that day — created at some Disney Princess location in the park I can only assume was secret, because I never found it.

Looking down at her “do,” I noticed that she had rows of hair twisted back to the crown, where each row was accented by a small silk flower, and the rest was caught in a bun.

“Your head sparkles,” I observed, noting the multicolored glitter hair spray.

“I know,” she beamed, patting her rows carefully. Then she began playing with my hair, pulling ringlets out as far as they would go, then letting them snap back.

“I want hair like yours,” she said wistfully, as every last ounce of my cynical reserve melted.

I should explain that “The Happiest Place on Earth” was serving as the backdrop that day to what I like to call “BabyQuest 2007.”

My oldest daughter is trying to get pregnant, which necessitates trips to the reproductive endocrinologist at intervals dictated by her body, not convenience.

Not only did we have to make a trip to Thousand Oaks before we could go to Disneyland, we had to smuggle in a syringe and a vial of something so she could give herself a shot in the stomach if necessary.

The lab test took three or four hours, and the doctor said he would call either way, so we waited. She finally got antsy and called him, but cell reception is spotty in New Orleans Square and she was agitated by getting disconnected while on hold.

It turns out she didn’t have to use the syringe, but we were all very careful what we said lest the overload of hormones spin her off into emotional orbit.

Later that night at California Adventure I was listening to my iPod, waiting for my kids to get off a ride when suddenly I noticed a short person in front of me with his mouth moving.

I jerked out my earbuds, and said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

I still don’t know what he said to me first, because the chatty little boy with the shock of black hair was on to the next thought — something to do with dinosaurs.

He imitated the T-Rex on his T-shirt, curling his little fingers into claws, making a “Rawr” noise, accompanied by a fierce face.

I told him he’d better stop or I’d have nightmares. He told me he had four grandmas and four grandpas, showing me on his fingers how many four was. His father at the end of the bench laughed to himself when his son described one of the grandpas as “bad.

“He never remembers my name. He always calls me someone else’s name, not Matthew,” he said indignantly.

I asked if he went to school. He said “Yes.” I asked him how old he was. He showed me four fingers again. “Oh,” I said, “you must go to preschool.” His eyes widened and he gasped, “How did you know?!” as if I were a magician.

“What do you learn at preschool?” I asked.

“My ABCs. Wanna hear?” he said, launching into the song.

Bring on the grandkids. I’m ready.

Celebrating America....sort of.

People out on Lancaster Boulevard for the Celebrate America festival on
the tenth anniversary of Sept. 11. Intermittent rain didn't dampen spirits.

I could barely walk when I woke up this morning.

My bad knee and my sciatica were screaming from walking around on high heels. We had planned an evening at the Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising; they were having a reception for their new show "Fabulous! 200 Years of Fashion History, 1800-2010."  That would have involved minimal walking.

A faux drive-in in front of Lancaster Performing Arts Center.

But then we got on the freeway and it was bumper to bumper beginning at the Antelope Valley Mall, so we abandoned the plan. Little did I know what a mess the southbound freeway was, and that Sierra Highway was flooded.

We were dressed to the nines, and I had spent an inordinate amount of time on my makeup. I wasn't going home after all that. So we ate at Giovanni's and headed to the BLVD for the Celebrate America street party. 

What had been Plan B turned out to be a great evening: friends, music, cars, and even a little dancing. (Who knew you could do the rhumba to Steely Dan's "Peg"?) And, a lot of walking.

A thing of beauty: the Hudson.

There were Abe Lincoln, Benjamin Franklin and George Washington impersonators, as well as Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley. Having a beer in the Lemon Leaf, I overheard a woman enthusing about the "Ol' Blue Eyes" ringer. According to her, he had the whole package: looks, moves and voice. Oh, and the hat, too.

And what could be more American than cars? Some of the best of Detroit was on display, with lots of muscle cars and high -performance autos in evidence: Camaros, Mustangs, GTOs, Dusters and Road Runners.

In addition to American cars, there was an MG TC, too. Unfortunately, I didn't get a photo of it, but it was gorgeous!

The Santa Clarita rock band, R5, playing on the Leaf Stage
 at Celebrate America.

On the stage next to Lemon Leaf were a teen band called R5. Ranging in age from 14 to 19, they are a very tight quartet, and lots of fun to watch. Cute boys in pink shirts playing guitars, and a fetching sister on keyboards playing a mix of original material and covers from the All American Rejects and Rick Springfield, among others.

Their website says that they have been performing since they were one to six-years old, and it shows. They are very professional.

Four of the five are siblings, and they have a great time on stage. If they've been performing that long, it's clear there were parents being puppet masters, so I hope they aren't compelled to participate longer than they want to.

One of the boys is an upcoming Disney series, "Austin and Ally," and Riker, the bass player, is in "Glee" playing one of the Warblers, and just came off the Glee concert tour.

Two knights in shining armor. The one on
the right is spoken for, sorry.

We stopped in to say "hello" to Chris and Dennis Calaba, and Rena and Vijay Patel at the Graphic Experience. One of the BLVD pianos is in front of their store, and people just wander up to it and play. Of course, while we were there, no one with any talent happened by, but it's a fun concept. The framing store owners say sometimes they are serenaded by people who really do know how to play.

It really did feel like a old-fashioned event. The skies opened up while we were sitting on a bench in front of Chris and Rena's store, so we stood under the green and white striped awning, and it felt like every meet-cute in a musical comedy.

The fireworks went off despite the inclement weather, and they were spectacular. There's another fine American institution: colorful exploding munitions.

But underlying all the frivolity was the reason for the street fair: Patriot Day, the day of remembrance for those killed on Sept. 11, 2001. And therein lies the rub for any columnist: do you ignore the obvious elephant in the room and write whatever you want, when your column appears on 9/11? Or do you add your voice to the multitude of people looking back, pontificating, and analyzing?

This car show entrant evokes the by-gone era
 of the the drive-in movie with a speaker stand.

What could I possibly say about 9/11 that would be of any interest? I wasn't there; I have no survival story; and the ways it impacted me are the same ways it impacted all of us: a loss of freedom, two wars, billions of dollars spent to "keep us safe," and the bursting of the never-been-attacked-on-our-own-soil bubble.

Whatever unity the Sept. 11 attacks fostered has long since dissipated, as anyone who takes the slightest interest in politics can see. Our country is so polarized we can't carry on a civil conversation anymore, and I'm so sick of it all, I'd like to throw all the bums (of any party) out.

We've got a whole generation graduating out of college into a job market where 14.9% of 20 to 24-year-old are unemployed, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Replacing all our elected officials with young people ought to put a dent in that number. From what I can see, they couldn't possibly do any worse.

Considering that people currently in office have obsene retirement packages, we don't need to shed any tears for them. It's not like they're doing their jobs anyway. Only a tiny fraction of them are having town hall meetings over the summer break, probably because they don't want the grief of actually listening to constituents.

I try not to let the current state of affairs get me down. I muddle through, hoping to one day have a full-time job for me, my recently graduated daughter, recently laid-off friends and everyone else who is under-and un-employed.

And now you know why I rarely write about politics: it just makes me depressed.