As we drove to LA, the driver pointed out the sights along the way. He stopped so that we could get a picture of the Hollywood sign, but the smog was so bad I declined. It occurred to me later that a shot of the sign through the smog, with chain-link fence and freeway in the foreground, would probably have been worth taking. Ah well. That’s why I’m not a photographer.

The Water District building was interesting. It has a reflecting pool all the way around it, like a moat. There’s a bridge from the sidewalk to the door. Under the pool is underground parking. I thought it showed a rather ostentation disregard for water conservation, but apparently it’s a private company rather than a governmental body.

After driving around downtown LA, our first stop was the El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora La Reina de Los Angeles historical district, which includes the Mission and Olvera Street. We didn’t have a chance to go inside the Mission, but there was a little Mexican market going on in Olvera Street that was fun and there were food carts for snacks and drinks.
Mom’s take on Mission/Olvera: Hey… this is where it all started! Gotta love it.

The next stop was Hollywood. The bus dropped us off next to Grauman’s Chinese Theater, where we could look at the hand prints and the stars on the walk of fame. There was a small crowd gathered just down the street a block or so. The driver said that it looked like someone was getting a star. I wanted to go down and see who it was, but #1 Son just wanted to go in the souvenir shop. I tried to no avail to talk him into delaying shopping just a few minutes, but he was adamant. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone in Hollywood (it’s a terrible area of the city), so I followed him into the store. When the bus picked us up, the driver asked who it was that was getting the star and one of the Aussies said it was, “some Star Wars guy or something. Nobody interesting.”

The next day I read in the paper that the new star was for James Doohan. He was there in what will most likely be his last public appearance (he is very ill). Walter Koenig, George Takei and Nichelle Nichols were there also. I’ve been kicking myself for not bodily dragging #1 Son down the street (by the ear if need be). I would have loved to have a picture! I’m not an autograph collector, but I would have made an exception for Nichelle Nichols. Lt. Uhuru — my hero!

And where were Bill Shatner and Leonard Nemoy, one wonders?

Mom’s take on Hollywood: for the general neighborhood. more for the walk of fame. more for Grauman’s Chinese. Zero for shopping at junk stores.

We drove around Beverly Hills for awhile, looking at the houses and tootling down Rodeo Drive, and then stopped at the Hard Rock Cafe for lunch.
Mom’s take on Hard Rock: Typical pub-type fare. I had a veggie burger that was OK but nothing to write home about. Three stars only because of the guitars and other memorabilia, and because the waiter was exceedingly stoned and therefore amusing in a sick sort of way.

There was a mall next to Hard Rock. It was very up-scale, and didn’t really have any stores that either #1 Son or I wanted to shop in. Why shop in California when most of those store have internet shopping available, and I won’t have to pay sales tax?
Mom’s take on the mall: for #1 Son and I. If you’re a snob or just want to brag that you shopped at Bloomies.

After lunch/shopping, the driver took us over to Santa Monica Pier, where he dropped us off for a couple of hours. He offered to take any of us down to Venice Beach if we wanted to go there. On hindsight, that would have been a better choice for #1 Son and I — more up #1 Son’s alley. But we declined.

We wandered down the length of the pier, looking at general “stuff” as we went. At the end of the pier there was a street musician playing the blues, and we listened to him for awhile. Then we wandered back up. I took the shot of #1 Son on the Pier that I blogged before.

There was a guy fishing right next to where we were standing. He said to #1 Son , “You look like you’re in a band. Anybody I would know or my daughter would know?” There followed a long monologue in which he dropped every Hollywood name he could think of and bragged about all of the people he and his wife had met. He ended by saying that I should send #1 Son over to London where he could see some “real punks that would blow him away.” When we finally managed to extricate ourselves, #1 Son said to me as we walked away, “It’s illegal to fish with that many poles.” I had to laugh.

#1 Son wanted to do more shopping and looking around, but I was feeling shopped out. There was a little coffee place with outdoor tables in the middle of the Pier by the carnival rides. I sat and people-watched while #1 Son wandered around. Then it was time to head back to the park where we were to meet the bus.

Mom’s take on Santa Monica Pier: I’d give it more. But there were a lot of homeless people hanging around in both the park and the Pier, and a lot of guys that looked like gangsters. That sort of killed the tourist appeal for me. I give the rest rooms a big fat zero. They were some of the dirtiest I’ve ever seen.

That was pretty much the end of the tour. We first drove through Santa Monica along the harbor. That was a pretty drive. Then it was back to the hotel.

Mom’s take on the LA Tour: If nothing else, it makes me appreciate living in Oregon. But the driver was funny and knew a lot of stuff and gave us our money’s worth. So it was fun.

Back at the hotel, I really wanted to try Ralph Brennan’s Jazz Kitchen for dinner, but #1 Son wanted only vegetarian. After looking at the menu, there really wasn’t much that #1 Son could eat. (I should have told him, “eat a dinner salad,” but I was nice.) We ended up at Tortialla Joe’s, figuring that #1 Son could at least get a chili relleno or something like that.
Mom’s take on Tortilla Joe’s: Just like any Chevy’s in the world. Unexciting Tex-Mex. We were told the deserts were huge, so we ordered one to split. It was small.
Mom’s take on missing dinner at Ralph Brennan’s Jazz Kitchen:

After dragging all over LA we were tired. So that was pretty much the end of Day # 3.

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There were a lot of things to see and do. The souvenir shops were strategically placed and carried an interesting assortment. There was a snack-and-drink cart about every 50 feet, although I still cringe at having to pay $3 for a small bottle of water. We found a coffee cart not too far from Pardise Pier, and the prices there were a little more reasonable — not more than 1/3 again more than Starbucks or Kobos. A large plain coffee was only $1.50, which is pretty reasonable anywhere. The open area by Pardise Pier also turned out to be a good place to sit an people watch for awhile. #1 Son got the requisite number of stares, but since the ‘hawk is gone, he gets fewer comments. One lady said that she loved his look.

We didn’t go down in the Pardise Pier area. From afar, it looked like a few thrill rides, souvenir shops and arcades.

Note: I’m an Oregonian, no doubt. I hate paying sales tax, and I never really get used to having the total on the till more than the amount on the tag. This makes souvenir shopping something of an ordeal.

Of Disney’s California Adventure, I most enjoyed Soaring Over California, a simulated-flying ride combined with and Omnimax film that was actually quite cool. My only problem was that, with my feet off the floor, my sandals kept slipping. Next time, I’ll stow my sandals with my purse in the below-seat cargo net.

Mom’s take on Disney’s California Adventure: as a general theme park, one more because it’s Disney, incredibly clean, and all of the cast members are amazingly nice, cheerful and helpful. And a fifth because we were smart and went when the lines were short and the weather (disregarding the smog) was perfect.

We headed over to Downtown Disney to House Of Blues for dinner. Like the rides, the restaurants were similarly unbusy. We were seated right away. The ambience was funky, with lots of folk art decor combined with various blues memorabilia and videos. Service was attentive and the food was good. I had a great jambalaya. Pricing was typical resort levels. #1 Son was in heaven as soon as he saw Key Lime Pie on the desert menu.

House Of Blues has live shows in their theater most nights, some of which are all-ages. While waiting for our dinner, we checked out the entertainment coming up in September. They have some great, and not so great, acts play there. That night, it was American Hi-Fi, who #1 Son described as a one-hit-wonder in the worst KNRK sense. So of course he wanted to see them. I didn’t mind a quiet evening, either. Conveniently enough, we finished desert just in time for the show. #1 Son headed off to American Hi-Fi, and Mom headed back to the room. I wasn’t worried about #1 Son going off by himself, because this was, after all, Disneyland.

Mom’s take on House Of Blues: Dan Aykroyd, Jim Belushi and the other founders had a great idea. Good food. Good music. Key Lime Pie. What more could you ask for?

I had a nice quiet evening reading my book and watching a little TV. #1 Son came back about 10:30 or so. Neither of us could get very interested in what was on TV. We needed to meet the LA Tour bus out front at 8:30, so I ordered room-service breakfast for the next day and we turned in by 11:30 or so.

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Disney built the California Adventure theme park, Downtown Disney and the Disney Grand Californian in what used to be the parking lot in front of Disneyland. This puts the Grand Californian is in the perfect location. It has exits directly to both the California Adventure and Downtown Disney. Once at Downtown, turning left and walking to the end of the street brings you to the Monorail Station and The Disneyland Hotel. Turning right, it’s just a short walk to the entrance of both Disneyland and Disney’s California Adventure. The private entrance from the Grand Californian into California Adventure isn’t much shorter than the walk through Downtown — or at least it wasn’t from our room.

Our room was on the third floor overlooking Downtown Disney, and that turned out to be an almost perfect location. For one thing, it’s a shorter hike to the elevators that rooms overlooking California Adventure. (A standard street view would probably be even closer, but blech.) It was a perfect place to peoplewatch. We could hear the live entertainment playing in Downtown. And we could see the fireworks over Disneyland from our balcony.

The room was well-appointed and about what I’d expect from a hotel. The bathroom/dressing room was small, but nicely kept. The closet was large and well-lit, but not walk-in. Robes were included, but I had to ask Housekeeping for ours. The room held two queen beds, a small table with two chairs, and an armoire that held the TV and the ubiquitous “touch this and we charge you big $$$” guest snack and drink fridge. The lights over the beds were on dimmers, which was a nice touch.

We settled in just around dinner time. Look around the Downtown view, I saw that our room was just across from Naples Ristorante e Pizzeria. #1 Son was up for Pizza, too, so we headed over there. I was surprised that the crowd in Downtown seemed to be thin, and there was no wait to be seated at Naples. Our table was on the second floor, overlooking the downstairs kitchen on one side and Downtown on the other. #1 Son ordered a margherite (sp?) pizza and I had the four-cheese. Service was a little slow — the waiter blamed it on a problem with the electronic ticket thingy — but the pizza when it came was piping hot, with a thin crust and lots of topping. Mom’s take: for the ambience, for the pizza.

After dinner, we wandered around in Downtown. It has the typical mix of souvenir shops, resaurants and chain stores that one would expect of a Downtown Disney. The stores are arranged around open squares connected by short “streets.” Live performers played in the squares. At one point the “street” passes over Disneyland Drive on its way to the Monorail Station and The Disneyland Hotel. I was looking for a book store in particular, as I forgot to pack something to read in bed. I found a nice little book store / coffee shop down by the Monorail station — Compass Books & Cafe — and picked up a good Faye Kellerman mystery (I’ve read most of the Peter Decker & Rina Lazarus series).

Mom’s take on Compass Books: only because of its size.
Mom’s take on Street Dreams by Faye Kellerman: I like this series, but this wasn’t my favorite in it. I’d have given it more stars except for the choppy way in which the voice kept switching from 3rd person when focusing on Peter and 1st person when Cindy was telling the story. There was a subplot having to do with Rina’s grandmother, who was apparently murdered in Germany, that was only distracting. I couldn’t see a reason for it except to give Peter and Rina something to do. So why have them in it at all? I also was disappointed in the stereotypical handling of race relations between Cindy and her new boyfriend Koby. The Koby character could have been fleshed out a lot better. He promised to be interesting, and delivered only beefcake. Faye Kellerman can do better than this.

After book-buying, we wandered back up the other side of the “street” to the hotel. It wasn’t that late, but we were both tired. Turndown service in the “standard” rooms was a nice surprise. #1 Son flopped on his bed and watched TV while I watched the fireworks. And then we called it a night.

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There was a long line at security but it moved quickly. When we got up to the x-ray machines, #1 Son stepped over to the side and sat on the floor to take off his boots. He told me to go ahead, but I said I’d wait. I heard a couple of security guards say something about “we need to check this out.” A security guard looked at me and said, “Are you traveling with him?” I said that, yes, I was and that he was my son. The security guard asked to see #1 Son’s bullet belt that is made from spent cartridges. #1 Son handed it over. We’ve traveled before with The Belt (after this trip the thing will be forever capitalized in my mind), and it’s never been a problem. I mentioned that to the security guard, and he said, “Regulations do change.” “OK” I said. And we stood quietly in the corner by the x-ray machine while the security guard sent The Belt over to someone else to look at. After about 5 minutes, word came back that The Belt was harmless and could go through security. So #1 Son finished stripping off the metal, and we went on through. My purse was scanned twice, probably because of my oh-so-dangerous cuticle nippers that will barely nip a cuticle much less do serious injury to someone. But in the end we escaped without having to go through a search.

As we started off towards our gate, I turned to #1 Son and said, “Well, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Let’s get some coffee, eh?” Just as I said that, I heard someone yell, “Stop!” And out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone running towards us. I turned to look and, yes, it was a security guard. And, yes, she was talking to us. “Stop! He can’t go forward with that on!” she said, pointing at The Belt.

“We just went through Security,” I explained very calmly, “and they said it was OK.”

“Well, it’s not OK, and you’ll have to come back!”

So, we trudged back up to Security. Once there, we were surrounded by about 10 security guards. #1 Son took The Belt off, and they passed it around and everyone examined it from every possible angle. And they all agreed that it was harmless and the bullets couldn’t be fired, because these were spent shells and there weren’t any bullets. And then they called over the head-honcho security guard. And he examined it from every angle and peered into every shell, and agreed that the damn thing was, actually, perfectly harmless. And he gave it back to #1 Son and said we could continue to our gate. The security guard that had dragged us back at least had the decency to thank us for our cooperation. The rest just turned and walked away. And so did we.

When we reached our gate, we were asked to take part in a “How do you love PDX” survey. I made sure to comment that PDX had the most paranoid security of any airport I’d ever been in, and just how many terrorists did they expect to fly out of Portland, anyway? One of the survey sections started with the question, “When I left security, I:” And there was a list of boxes to check with answers like: went directly to my gate, got some food, shopped, etc., and line to put why. I answered:

[x] Went directly to my gate. Why: Because after having to go through security twice there wasn’t time to do anything else.

#1 Son made his own answer:

[x] Went back to security to get hassled some more. Why?: No apparent reason.

We boarded the plane and flew to John Wayne Airport without further problem. I’ll blog about the vacation later, and pics will be up on mommymonster.com just as soon as I get around to it.

Then there was the trip back. I figured it would be like other trips, and things that had flipped out PDX security would be non-issues elsewhere. I figured wrong.

We had an early flight and arrived at John Wayne Airport some time around 7:30 AM. There was a long, long line at the e-ticket machine, so it was a good thing we had plenty of time before our flight. Bording passes finally in hand, we went through the security line up to the point where we would be sent off to an x-ray line. And we got stopped because of The Belt.

The security guard asked us to stand aside. #1 Son handed The Belt over and the guard examined it from every possible angle. “They’re spent shells.” #1 Son said, helpfully. “They can’t be fired.” The guarded nodded and smiled, and said he’d have to ask his supervisor. Oh, yeah, I thought, we’ve been through this before. It will be OK.

The guard called over to someone else, “I have a 9-11 here. I need assistence.” (oh brother I can’t believe they used that as a code.)

After a few minutes, the head-honcho guard came over. Head-honcho had obviously gotten up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. The discussion went something like this:

Head-honcho: You can’t come through the airport with that. We’ll have to confiscate it.

Mom: Confiscate it? Why? They’re all spent shells. They’re hollow. We came down here with it and it was OK.

Guard # 1: (to head-honcho, handing him The Belt) Here. Take a look at it. (to #1 Son) Did you buy this here?

#1 Son: No. I wore it down. Security at the other airport looked at it and said it was OK. I flew down with it on.

Head-honcho: Well you’re not getting out of my airport with it.

#1 Son: But it’s legal. There’s nothing wrong with it.

Mom: (rather desperately) A lot of security people at the other airport looked at it, and in the end they decided that it was OK. You can see that all of the shells are hollow. There are no bullets or anything. They can’t be fired.

Guard #1: Can it be checked through?

Head-honcho: (dirty look towards Guard # 1) I’ll have to make some calls. What airline are you flying?

So I told him what airline, and he picked up one of those white courtesy phones and made a call. I heard him say, “I have a bandolier here.” A bandolier? Oh, come now. Bandoliers are worn by resistence fighters in third-world dictatorships. Punks in urban settings wear bullet belts.

Eventually he returned and said #1 Son could keep The Belt, but it would have to be checked through in baggage. By this time I think Guard # 1 was feeling a little sympathy for us, because he took us back to the guy who was checking IDs and told him to let us directly in to x-ray without having to stand in line again.

So back we went to the airline ticket counter. Of course we had to stand in line there. I told the ticket lady what had happened and showed her The Belt. I said I didn’t want anyone to freak out when they saw it on x-ray. “Don’t worry,” she sighed. “I’m sure they already know about it.”

I hate checking my bag. I really hated checking this one, because it had all of our sovenirs in it. But it had to be my bag because #1 Son’s backpack is in the final stages of disintegration and would probably not survive the gentle touch of airport baggage handlers. And my small carry-on had all of my sundries. I’ve never checked those since the trip long ago when my bag with my sundries was lost for 5 days, courtesy of Hughs Airwest.

Of course by the time we got back to security the ID person had left and a new one had come on duty. But we explained why we were cutting in at the head of the line, and we were allowed to do so. He sent us directly over to an x-ray machine at the side, so we never saw Guard # 1 again. Fortunately we never saw Head-honcho again, either.

At the gate, we had just sat down to wait when someone ran out through the emergency exit and set off an alarm. I only caught a brief glimpse of the guy, but I though it was one of the airline personnel because he was wearing a white shirt and tie and I vaguely remember him fussing around with a keypad by the door before exiting. Beep-beep-beep-beep went the alarm.

Pretty soon three Airport Police with a humongous German Shepard showed up. Oh, great. I thought. This is just what we need. Now they’ll probably close the terminal and we’ll have to go back through security yet again.

The officers determined that someone had gone out and not come in. Two of the officers then went out with the dog to try to track down the perpetrator. The third turned off the alarm and then took statements from witnesses who had seen the man exit.

Under ordinary circumstances I am the most law-abiding of citizens and I would always be glad to state what I had seen. But not this time. This time I decided to fly under the security radar and I just kept my mouth shut.

Either the whole thing turned out to be a false alarm, or going out isn’t as bad as coming in. We were allowed to board our plane and leave on schedule.

Did I mention I hate checking my bag? We got lucky this time. My bag arrived and there was nothing missing from it — including The Belt. I expected 20 or 30 FBI agents to jump out from behind pillars as soon as I picked the bag up (transporting dangerous weapons across state lines), but they never materialized.

I can remember a time before 9-11 when you had to wait after retrieving your bag because a security guard needed to check your receipt to make sure this was really your bag and you really flew with it. There was a barrier between the baggage claim area and the rest of the terminal. There were only a few gates you could go through to get out, and security guards were stationed at each one so you couldn’t exit without proving you had your bag and none other. None of that now. The barriers were down and there wasn’t a guard to be seen. The airlines check who you are and how many bags you check in, but apparently it’s now OK to pick up any bag you want, whether you traveled with it or not. I guess security has all been diverted upstairs to protect outgoing passengers. To hell with incoming.

I realize that we need to have some security. Most of the time I don’t mind too much. But I do really think we could have some reasonable regulations regarding what can and can’t be carried on. And how about common courtesy? I realize that security guards probably get bored because probably nothing much ever happens. But can’t they do their drills on their own time? Why take it out on passengers? Do they only pick on people who are a little “different” looking? Or do they simply pick a random number — say every 20th person through the x-ray — to pick on?

One thing is certain… The Belt will never fly again.

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