Did you know that my three-year old nephew, Charles Ruderman, calls Dave Brubeck's "Take Five", "Drums"? Of course you didn't; you weren't able to go with him yesterday to Disneyland....

Children really need to be taught to appreciate the sacrifices their elders make when they go to the so-called Happiest Place on Earth, as to what an absolutely hellish experience it is for those of us older than twelve. Having lived in LA my whole life (so far), the routine of going to Disneyland everytime some relative visits from out of town, or everytime a toddler needs to be amused, is quite mundane. The admission price of just under $60 a head gets you into an amusement park that is jammed, end-to-end, with people, and a grand total of one halfway decent roller coaster (Space Mountain, which is a classic ride more for the fact that it's totally in the dark than anything else).

On a typical summer day, every ride worth going on, either for nostalgia's sake (Pirates of the Caribbean, Haunted Mansion) or for its kitsch value (The Jungle Cruise, a ride so steeped in racial stereotypes that its core audience seems to be the College Republicans, if one were to take it seriously), will have a line at least forty-five minutes long. In fact, the lines everywhere, from the ticket window to the admissions entrance to the "restaurant" serving a greasy fried chicken patty and fries, are frustratingly long. After fifty years, Disney does not have a clue as to handle crowds. Locals have long ago picked Knots Berry Farm or Magic Mountain as the place to spend a day after their thirteenth birthday.

So the only redeeming aspect of Disneyland is the shared impact it has on the wee ones. For my nephew, it was as if he was getting on the rides for the first time, and obviously, it wasn't the same rides I would have picked. Hearing him sing along to "It's a Small World", or accompanying him on Winnie the Pooh's Wild Adventure (twice), makes it almost seem like the sixty dollars was well spent.