CLUSTERF**K

When I was a little kid living in Venice, we never had to go anywhere to see fireworks. Instead, a few days before the 4th, adoptodad and I would visit a fireworks stand in Culver City, the kind built hastily from plywood and chicken wire, and purchase a box of Red Devil fireworks. When it was finally dark enough on the appointed day, we systematically shot off the box in front of our house on Washington Way. We started with the good stuff, maybe a Roman Candle or two, worked our way down to the Piccalo Pete and ended with a thud, burning up the borning little sparklers. The little black tablets called Snakes were often saved for the next day, because there wasn't much thrill in seeing a little round disc expand into a curlicue of gray dust. Of course, the Snake stain on the pavement would last forever, a constant reminder of Fourth of Julys past.

Somewhere in the intervening years, fireworks stands became illegal and gave way to organized shows, such as the infamous Santa Monica Pier event, which I drunkenly attended for many of my teenage years.

I'm now a parent of a five year old and a two year old, and of course they look forward to seeing fireworks on the 4th. Finding them's always been a scramble, because like most Americans, we believe free fireworks are an inalienable right. Last year, we wound up in the parking lot at Gelson's on Laurel Canyon, with a poor view of the works shot from CBS' Studio City lot.

Tonight, though, we bit the bullet and actually paid to attend the CBS soiree. We bought in advance, so it set us back "only" 30 clams (the price was jacked up to 40 for walkups). Seemed like it actually might be fun -- it was advertised as lots of food, a kids area, a Beatles cover band. Sounded like a nice night out with the family.

Yet the event, organized by the Studio City Chamber of Commerce, was horribly mismanaged. The CBS lot itself is a fairly narrow labyrinth of bungalows and tight spaces that does not lend itself to teeming masses. And they were teeming. We encounted an impatient gridlock of bodies and strollers, making anything more than a rudimentary exploration of the grounds almost impossible.

The "food court" consisted of one stand for food, one for pie and brownies and a kiosk each for beer and wine. My family and our friends are vegetarians, so of course by 7 p.m., two hours before firework time, the food stand was out of veggie burgers. My kids were hungry, but they weren't interested in a meal of potato salad and baked beans. We ordered these things anyway, but after waiting 15 minutes, we discovered our order had been lost. We tried to get them a brownie, but those were gone as well. I heard they ran out of forks, too.

I don't know if the Studio CIty Chamber is greedy or just buffoons, but they also decided to charge extra to let kids run around in inflatable slides and bouncy toys. I'm not sure what the $15-$20 entry fee covered, other than the priviledge of being incredibly frustrated and watching kids melt down. Oh, I forgot, we got to walk the hallowed grounds of a real network TV lot. Woo-hoo.

The fireworks? They were nice, all 18 minutes of them. It must of been nicer for the 1 percent of attendees who snagged a chair in which to sit. But when it was over, it took four times that long to actually escape the parking lot. We were on the fifth level and my father-in-law estimated that we didn't move an inch for a good 40 minutes.

You know what this exprience felt like? Whatever the opposite of independence day would be -- let's call it Incarceration Day. Seems like the Studio City Chamber of Commerce is taking its cues from President Bush: to fuck us over into submission and count their money all the while.

The Gelson's parking lot never looked so good.