The latest object of unfettered desire in our kid-catering society

Universal CityWalk is a lot like the 405. At some point, most Angelenos will swear it is too crowded, too crazy and they will never use it again. And yet inevitably, as with the 405, here we all are, eyes squinting against the buzzing wash of neon, faces pale and upturned as we take in the enormous guitar, the King Kong, the giant coffee cup and all these other people.

For parents especially, City Walk is a double-edged sword -- yes there is plenty for kids to look at, street musicians to hear and that very cool fountain they can splash in on warm summer nights, but it is also essentially a canyon of unfettered desire. Everywhere the eye goes, the childish heart says, “I want.” Cotton candy, Spider-man backpacks, giant Pez dispensers, robotic kittens, enormous Sno-Cones (oh, wait, that’s me). It’s a bit like Pleasure Island in “Pinocchio” if one is permitted to mix studio theme-park metaphors, and a perfect example of the new kid-catering society.

“When you kids were young,” our own parents inevitably say, “there was nothing like this. You kids were happy just going to the A&P.;”

This shift was never more marked than on a recent weekday evening when CityWalk was virtually crawling with kids. Little kids, most under 7, all under 12, leaning out of strollers, skipping past the Hard Rock, climbing up the steps, riding the escalators “one more time.” Inevitably bringing up the rear were parents, strung with backpacks and cell phones and, oddly enough, bouquets of roses like so many personal assistants at the Oscars. Pizza and hot dogs were purchased and handed ‘round, kids hunched on low walls sucking down juice boxes and the occasional soda, doing what young people have done for ages -- getting high before the concert.

Because on this particular night, CityWalk was full of fans on their way to see a live performance of the Australian group the Wiggles. For the uninitiated, the Wiggles are four energetic men who in the last 11 years have transformed their child-education project (“let’s write a song-and-dance show for kids”) into an international preschool phenomenon.

Picked up not so long ago by Disney, the group has spawned a Wiggles television show, a Wiggles magazine, a Wiggles Web site and, of course, tons of Wiggles merchandise. The flowers borne toward the amphitheater were to be given to rose-loving Dorothy the Dinosaur, who, along with a coterie of equally whimsical characters, is a great friend of the Wiggles.

“When you kids were young, you had ‘Romper Room,’ ” those familiar voices sigh, “and that was good enough for you.”

And, in fact, when a friend told me about the event, describing it as “a Beatles concert for 5-year-olds,” I even wondered when is so much too much?

For better or worse, Southern California has more fabulous stuff for kids to do than any other place this side of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory (no doubt coming soon, with a remake of the movie in the works). Theme parks galore, two world-class zoos and a wild animal park, an aquarium, festivals, fairs, rodeo banquets, medieval banquets, puppet shows -- a parent could spend every weekend, and a fortune, and still not hit every main attraction. And that’s not even counting the beaches, the mountains, the parks, all available pretty much 24/7.

Children in Southern California don’t understand that in many parts of the world there are lots of days, weeks even, months, when little kids can’t run around outside in their bare feet. Think of it!

And now a concert in a high-volume venue. Why, I didn’t get to go to a concert until I was able to drive there myself. And that was when the scales tipped -- hearing the echo of our own parents’ sentiments is guaranteed to send any self-respecting post-boomer parent running right toward the land of Total Indulgence. And so there I was, there I was, there I was, at a Wiggles concert.

The kids loved it. How could they not? Finally, a place where it was OK to run around, bounce on the seats, jump into the aisle, yell and sing at the top of their voices. They stomped and clapped and did every- thing but hold up lighters to bring the guys out for one more number.

But what was more telling was how the mothers behaved. They yelled louder and danced harder than most of the kids. “This is sad,” said one of the moms in the aisle in front of me with a laugh as she and her girlfriend rattled off pertinent facts about Anthony, Greg, Murray and Jeff. “This is really sad.”

Not really. It makes perfect sense. There is nothing sappy about the Wiggles, nothing insipid, the music may not be the Stones but at least it’s not Barney. And the guys are pretty cute. Starting to get middle-aged bellies like the rest of us, but pretty darn cute. And who doesn’t love an Aussie accent? Russell Crowe without the debauchery.

Most important, they’re men, not cartoon characters, men who seem to actually enjoy entertaining children. For mothers of preschoolers, there’s no better aphrodisiac than that. Someone who understands.

Watching the women smile and shout, I remembered when I was younger hearing women confess to huge crushes on Fred Rogers. “For an hour a day a man comes into my house who talks nicely and helps,” one woman told me once back in the ‘80s. “I love Mr. Rogers more than my kids do.”

Which is just one more thing to add to the list our parents inevitably make when they survey our children’s lives. We had a trip to the A&P;, our kids get to go to CityWalk; we had “Romper Room,” our kids have Disney Channel; our mothers swooned for Mr. Rogers, we get the Wiggles.