A thrill ride of a city, and he’s on board

I’d like to apologize to all the bosses I’ve maligned of late. It’s not that they didn’t deserve it, but if an apology will keep me on board to write about the carnival offerings in Southern California, I’m sorry for referring to certain people as dunderheads.

For a columnist in L.A., every day is like a trip to Disneyland. Sure, last week’s amusements will be hard to top, but I never lose faith.

If the LAPD wasn’t helping turn a picnic into a riot, going after reporters and innocent civilians with batons and rubber bullets, Paris Hilton was being sentenced to county jail.

Or actress Kim Basinger was in court in a custody battle with ex-husband Alec Baldwin, who had apologized on “The View” for calling their daughter a thoughtless pig.

Or a famed criminalist from the O.J. case was accused of walking off with evidence gathered from the floor of the mansion where wigged-out music mogul Phil Spector is alleged to have shot and killed actress Lana Clarkson on their first date.

Then you had 10 Republican candidates for president debating in Simi Valley, inspiring Jay Leno to call it the Thrilla in Vanilla.

And let’s not forget multibillionaire Philip Anschutz and multimillionaire author Clive Cussler in a silly courtroom tiff over who caused the forgotten movie “Sahara” to tank.

You’d have to say the best shows, though, involved the nitwit cops and the dimwit Hilton. Lawsuits against the police have already begun, and Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa said the video images of the Tuesday melee in MacArthur Park had hit him in the gut.

Fortunately, he wasn’t hit in the gut by one of the 148 so-called less-than-lethal foam rubber bullets fired by police. The riot squad, after allegedly being taunted by agitators, herded them into a park filled with peaceful demonstrators and children.

And by the way, I’m getting a little tired of hearing those pellets referred to as if they were shot from Nerf guns. One man hit in the stomach displayed a wound the size of a chicken tostada.

This got me wondering if Hilton, distraught over a 45-day sentence for twice driving on a license suspended for drunk driving, should be given the option of taking a less-thanlethal shot in the derriere from LAPD’s finest. (I’m happy to run a public opinion poll here at steve.lopez@latimes.com.)

“I just sign what people tell me to sign,” Hilton told the judge, after blaming her entourage for a misunderstanding of her Jan. 22 plea. “I’m a very busy person.”

Does the hotel heiress play dumb, people wonder, or does she have no choice?

Let’s put it this way: If you look into Hilton’s eyes and out the back of her head, you can see Jessica Simpson still wondering what was wrong with telling the U.S. secretary of the Interior she had done a nice job decorating the White House.

“This is a serious thing, it’s not frivolous,” L.A. County sheriff’s spokesman Steve Whitmore -- son of the actor James -- said of Hilton’s drunk-driving sentence.

Whitmore said she’ll be allowed no jewelry while locked up and can use makeup only from the jail’s concession, which also happens to be the pancake mix. She also may be denied magazines, such as US Weekly, so this could amount to a month and a half of torture.

That’s all for now, but another week in paradise awaits, and for me it’s beginning with Randy Newman’s “I Love L.A.” on the stereo.

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Reach the columnist at steve.lopez@latimes.com./p>