Would someone please remind me, the next time I think of going to the L.A. Zoo on a three-day weekend, that it would be saner, calmer, and more pleasurable to go to an NRA rally on the 4th of July?

I don’t do well with crowds. My idea of Hell is any place with more than twenty people in it. Maybe thirty, but only on the plains of the Serengeti. On a day like today the zoo gets thousands of visitors. Tens of thousands. And the children. Busloads of them. Barbarian hoards. Each comes with his or her own stroller. Of which there are tons. Millions. Swarms. Like wheeled, metal locusts with cupholders. Look, I get it. The zoo is sprawling, sweltering and shadeless. Without strollers kids would be keeling over by the dozens. But still, there’s nothing that elicits despair like the sight of four hundred Gracos vying for position in front of the flamingo pen. Then your daughter whines “Mama, what’s that smmeeeeelll?” And you step on someone’s soft serve cone and ruin your shoe. Now you know misery as few do.

Finally, I have this to say. I’ve complained before about the music on the “Conservation Carousel.” I have, however, to do it again. Spinning slowly around astride a a star-nosed mole to the muzak version of “Don’t Stand So Close To Me” may be a three-year-old’s idea of a great time, but for me it creates cognitive dissonance on a level barely describable.

To save all of our sanity, bring back the calliope.

And consider getting some people movers.