Lifestyle
When my mom died suddenly, there was only one place to mourn: Disneyland
My mother, Donna, died unexpectedly earlier this month. On a recent Tuesday morning, she got up as normal, and even went to the salon. That evening, she was in the hospital. Thirty-six hours later, she was gone. These have been among the most difficult weeks of my life.
I spent the first half of March at home near Chicago to grieve with my family and will likely be visiting often throughout the year to continue the process. I’ve never liked the past tense — grieved — as that implies a conclusion to something that changes us, alters our course and continues to define us. There is no neat bow for a box that can be comfortably closed and compartmentalized — here lies memories of a loved one.
And yet we survive, hopefully with something learned.
Upon returning to my adopted residence of Los Angeles, I did what I always do when down: I spent time with my cat, listened to records and then visited Disneyland, the so-called happiest place on earth. Pirates of the Caribbean was always my family’s first stop, and when I went on the ride, I tried to recall family trips — of my parents rushing to the attraction and of my brother attempting to take flash-free pictures, letting the calmly swaying boat take me back to an earlier, more uplifting time. But I mostly spent the day attempting to absorb the atmosphere. My mind needed happiness and joy, and environments that aim to comfort.
Like many in America, I grew up with parents who devoted the bulk of their vacation time to Disney’s theme parks. I’ve kept up the tradition — I write about theme parks for a living, but I also go to Disneyland often in my free time. So much so that one time later in life my mother even questioned it, perplexed by my desire to re-pilgrimage the park in times good or bad. Job promotion? Off to Disneyland. A breakup? Disneyland again. The recent devastating fires that struck our region? Disneyland was there for me.
The author at a young age with his mother, Donna, at Walt Disney World’s Epcot in the 1980s.
(The Martens Family)
“I wonder what we did to you that makes you go there so often,” my ma said a few years back on the phone while I sat in the lobby of Disney’s Grand Californian Hotel. I didn’t really answer — I laughed, probably sighed — but in hindsight, I wish I had been a bit more talkative. I would have reminded my mom of what she did, because in Disneyland I saw many of the lessons she attempted to impart.
So today, Ma, I’ll tell you what you did that makes me go to Disneyland so often. You instilled in me a belief in goodness. You inspired in me optimism, that I could and should do whatever I want and I am capable of achieving my goals. And somehow — despite all the worrying, and yes, my mom worried a lot — there was an idea that things would work out in the end, no pixie dust needed. She told me in early March that she hoped she lived long enough to read my first book, believing that goal of mine was an inevitability. That book will be dedicated to her.
My mom inspired in me optimism. Despite all the worrying, there was an idea that things would work out in the end, no pixie dust needed.
— Todd Martens
My mom never tired of my crazy dreams. When I said I wanted to be on “Saturday Night Live,” she drove me to weekly improv classes at Second City. And when I said I maybe wasn’t funny enough to be on “Saturday Night Live,” we switched to acting classes. And when I was tired of making errors in Little League, my mom encouraged me to maybe think about something else. I was scared to. My mom recognized my early tendency to avoid confrontation, and I was afraid my dad would be upset. But my mom sat me down and carefully explained what to say and how to be honest and express what I wanted. My dad, of course, wasn’t upset.
It was in moments such as these that this fairy-tale-loving kid saw my mom’s hopes and imagination. I’ve long believed we don’t go to theme parks to escape the world so much as to help make sense of it, for in Disneyland we see our cultural narratives and stories reflected back to us. An attraction such as Snow White’s Enchanted Wish isn’t simply about a happily ever after; throughout, we see hard work, perseverance and unexpected tragedies. What’s more, its recently refreshed ending centers Snow White’s reliance on community rather than her magical husband, and argues that true love comes only after we’ve put in the time and effort.
Alice in Wonderland takes the unpredictability of life and gives it a Technicolor whirl, assuring us our nightmares are really just dreams. Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride throws us deep into our vices in a statement of our own agency. It’s a Small World, via its whimsy and childlike wonder, makes clear we’re not really all that different, rendering the divisions and hate in the world temporarily meaningless. Pirates of the Caribbean shows the ways in which greed and gluttony turn us into caricatures, while the Haunted Mansion finds frivolity in the afterlife, reminding us to enjoy our time while we’re here.
The author, Todd Martens, left, and his mother, Donna, at a recent wedding in Chicago. Donna died unexpectedly this month.
(The Martens Family)
For at Disneyland, exaggerations are the norm, and if we let ourselves live in these abstracted worlds, we can sense their heightened emotions. And what I admired most about my mom, who worked most of her life as a preschool teacher, was both her ability to feel everything deeply and find new ways to spin what was happening around her. When my friends and I broke a small vase by hitting Wiffle balls inside the house on a rainy day, she didn’t scold. She suggested we switch to hitting a dust rag around the room, instead. Thus, Dust Ball was born.
One thing I’ll never forget is the way in which any global conflict when I was younger would pain her. She had a deep-rooted fear that war would lead to a draft and my older brother would be called into service. As a young child, I wasn’t aware that she had earlier lived through such moments with my father, nor did I fully understand what a draft was. I just saw my mom needed a hug.
As I got older, I saw this moment for what it was. I saw it as a sign of someone who cares, deeply. Someone who feels, immensely. Someone who fantasizes, brilliantly. I saw imagination. I saw concern. And I saw love. I also saw a way to look at life — to dream, to fear, to wonder, to hope, and when someone asks what’s wrong, to tell them and to accept that hug.
And so it was that I found myself at Disneyland just 48 hours after returning to L.A. I partly wanted to see some familiar faces. I also wanted to bask in the eternal power of fairy tales. All of the park has lessons to impart, even Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge, where tales of good and evil are stand-ins for the haves and the have-nots — the pure rugged and close to nature while the oppressors are obsessed with image and mechanical and technological artifice.
I also just wanted to remind myself of those parental life lessons. Among the items I brought back to L.A. was one of my mom’s adult coloring books, a gift from my father that I placed on my coffee table and will forever cherish. I’ve thumbed through it daily since returning, smiling at her love of art and dedication to the coloring craft, but also to remember that every day I’ll have my mom’s guidance.
And that means to embrace, to worry, to wonder and to daydream. Because that is how we never stop living. And my mom will not stop living with me.
On the tip of Cahuenga Boulevard in Hollywood, beyond the vape-scented sidewalks and partygoers waiting for their ride-shares, there’s a velvet-roped portal to another dimension. Every first Saturday of the month, those in the know gather at the historic Spotlight nightclub for Simon Says, the city’s most daring, avant-garde LGBTQ+ party.
It’s a scene that defies easy description: Nipple tassels twirl beside kabuki-painted faces; “My Fair Lady” hats tilt above bodices constructed from yellow caution tape; liberty spike hairstyles collide with exposed flesh; and professional dommes in fishnet bodysuits playfully flog (with permission) their friends while goddesses with antlers sip drinks on velvet couches wedged between potted palms.
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1. Daffne E. Cruz, left, and Daniella “Ellez” Herrera at Simon Says. 2. D’Mahdnes LaVaughn and Nathan Sierra. (Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
This isn’t Studio 54, though it shares the same spirit. It’s Hollywood reimagined. And if Simon Says, you’d better bring it.
Seductively clad dancers, including longtime host Love Bailey, flank the stage where DJs spin a fusion of New Wave, late-stage disco and early bloghouse that attracts L.A.’s queer creative underground. It’s not uncommon for celebrities like singer-songwriter Adam Lambert, electronic-pop star Slayyyter, queer streaming network co-founder Damian Pelliccione, contestants from “RuPaul’s Drag Race” and film director John Waters to pop by for a visit.
The vast majority of attendees identify as LGBTQ+, and while the door is technically open to all, it’s the ones who show up transformed — glistening, feathered, glammed out — who are whisked in the quickest. Founder and executive producer Andrés Rigal, part master of ceremonies and part fairy godmother, prowls the line, handpicking the most striking attendees and sending them past the bouncer with a nod and a smile.
Reese Rush and Andrés Rigal.
(Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
“We do run an old-school nightlife door, rewarding those who show up in stunning looks,” Rigal says. “If they’re wearing an elaborate costume they’ve been gluing together all week just to be at Simon or are a trans person all the way in the back by themselves in heels — ouch — I will give them that special moment and make them feel seen.”
Rigal is one of Los Angeles’ most prolific nightlife producers, with a reputation that precedes him. Numerous Simon Says attendees told The Times that they initially came to the party simply because they saw Rigal’s name on the flier.
Cassie Carpenter, an entertainment reporter who identifies as asexual, makes it a point to attend every event Rigal puts on. Dressed in a revealing keyhole dress and towering beehive wig, Carpenter comes to Simon Says for the ambience and the chance to dress in drag.
Cassie Carpenter.
(Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
“I hate to get in full glam for a subpar party; it’s a waste of lip gloss,” she says. “Simon Says is always worth it. I’ve met amazing people and ran into surprising old friends. Friendship is everything when you’re asexual.”
Mostly known for large-scale fêtes that attract the likes of Katy Perry, Kesha and Paris Hilton, Rigal has been a feature in the city’s queer party scene since the mid-2000s when he revamped Avalon’s former Spider Club into the boho-chic nightclub Bardot and unveiled one of the city’s longest-running and most popular Pride events, SummerTramp.
If Simon Says sounds familiar, it’s because it had a short-lived moment in 2012 when Rigal’s company, Andrés Rigal Presents, introduced it at the now-closed A-lister club Smoke & Mirrors.
Grasping onto the coattails of the waning mid-aughts, Simon Says failed to conjure much interest at the time. Rigal thinks it might have been too early to cash in on the hipster-indie-sleaze era, as “everyone was still coming out of their American Apparel hangover.” Simultaneously juggling a number of other events such as Evita, Rasputin and Mr. Black, Rigal decided to shelve Simon Says for the time being.
Toward the end of 2023, pining for a more intimate party that wouldn’t draw crowds in the thousands, Rigal discussed reviving Simon Says with his partners Daisy O’Dell, Sean Patrick and Mark Hunter. An opportunity to host it at the Spotlight, a new Hollywood club housed in the bones of one of L.A.’s oldest gay bars, presented itself, and the party kicked off at the beginning of last year.
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1. A masked partygoer, left, with Drake James. 2. Wang Newton. (Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
On Saturday, Simon Says will celebrate its one-year anniversary, with music by Felix Da Housecat and house DJs Patrick and O’Dell.
The small-capacity venue sees around 700 partygoers through each night, each of whom pays $10 to dance from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m.
Motivation for guests to arrive early comes in the form of a limited-edition zine that may contain a photo of people from the previous month’s event.
Co-founder Hunter, better known as the photographer Cobrasnake, has compiled these tactile time capsules printed in black-and-white since Simon Says’ first iteration in 2012. The goal is to highlight the party’s best-dressed guests. As the back of the zines say: “Turn a look, get in the book.” Although the zine is free, only a handful are printed, scattered around the venue at the start of each night, and you won’t know if you’re in the zine until you look through it.
Queer fashion designer Drew Arvizu, 25, has attended all but two of Simon Says’ events in the last year. He’s become a party fixture not just due to his regular attendance but because of the over-the-top bespoke outfits he dons.
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1. Drew Arvizu. 2. Colin Campbell, left, Drew Arvizu and Pat Posey holding a Simon Says zine. (Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
For the inaugural Simon Says, he wore a horned luchador mask and polka dot clown suit; in November 2024, he balanced a four-foot, 20- to 30-pound vintage Las Vegas showgirl headdress atop his head; and in March 2025, he flaunted one of his own creations: a floor-length yellow taxicab-checked tube dress with intentional cutouts across the breasts and groin area.
“Simon Says reminds me of why I love nightlife, and it’s definitely an incentive to pull out my sewing machine,” Arvizu says. “These zines are keepsakes from a moment in my life, and I hope I keep them forever.”
Christian Morris, a pansexual, nonbinary artist from Inglewood, attended his first Simon Says in March dressed in a tiger stripe suit, blond mullet wig and Aladdin Sane-inspired lightning bolt face makeup. Describing the event as “feeling plugged into a queer power source,” Morris noticed the partygoers didn’t just want to go to the event; they wanted to be the event.
Christian Morris.
(Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
“From the leather and chain looks to the queens in long black and yellow spiral dresses to the woman dancing on a speaker in a gold sequin romper outfit, everywhere I looked people felt hot and haute and danced with abandon,” he says.
And apparently, miracles can happen at Simon Says. Despite hardly ever meeting romantic partners on nights out, Morris left with the phone number of a “funny, super smart, sexy” crush he met on the dance floor, and the two scheduled a picnic date for the following week.
An element of romance permeates the Spotlight’s interior, with an intimate dance space and a sumptuous lounge area outfitted with Persian rugs, Victorian-style furniture and steam trunks that double as coffee tables. Also, there’s no need to leave your drink behind or grab your coat if you want a quick nicotine pick-me-up when you’re at Simon Says. Thanks to a grandfathered-in back patio, which includes the venue’s second bar, one can smoke indoors because the area doesn’t have a roof.
“Being in the space just makes me feel at home with the couches, the rugs on the dance floor and the fact that you can often find a place to sit even if you’re not paying for bottles,” says pop musician Morganne Yambrovich, 27, who came to Simon Says in March to celebrate her first night out after ending an eight-year relationship.
To mark this transformation and get back in touch with a creative side she’d kept dormant during her relationship, Yambrovich spent six hours wrapping craft wire around hair extensions to create her look for Simon Says. The resulting piece was a pair of butterfly wings braided into her hair intended to symbolize her recent metamorphosis.
“If you go out in certain neighborhoods, everyone’s going to look the same. But there’s no such uniform at Simon Says,” she says. “Most people show up in the most creative expressions of themselves. For instance, I would not wear a giant hair sculpture and butterfly makeup to Tenants of the Trees [a bar in Silver Lake].”
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1. Carter Daniel. 2. Phoenix Lee. 3. A partygoer with Ian Lomas, center, and Francisco Alcazar. (Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
As the adage goes, those who turn a look probably will get into Simon Says’ book, but those who don’t quite turn a look will still get into the party. That’s because the event is about inspiring others as much as it is creating a safe space for self-expression. On any given night, you’re likely to find three generations of partygoers at the club — Gen Z, millennials and Gen X — and yes, straight people are welcomed with open arms.
“Once we gather under the disco ball, identities blur,” Rigal says. “On the dance floor, we become something shared, something bigger.”
Rigal and his team make a point of meeting with security and staff before every event to ensure that the ethos of welcoming all is maintained throughout the night. Although the bathrooms are divided by gender — and marked with Basquiat-style dinosaur imagery — on the nights when Simon Says takes over the Spotlight, those designations are ignored, and the toilets become unisex. There are no VIP sections either, and while it can get chaotic, everyone is allowed on the stage. When this reporter descended the stage stairs to the dance floor, a security guard offered their hand for support.
“It’s kind of like making a salad,” Rigal says. “The more ingredients touching one another, the better. I want all of my spaces, especially Simon, to be melting pots of interaction. When you allow the space to be free, you are more likely to have these really incredible moments, and I don’t want to rob anyone of that.”
In recent months, some Simon Says attendees have funneled political statements into their fashions. Longtime friends Colin Campbell, 63, and Pat Posey, 46, coordinated red and black looks for a recent party. Posey wore a mini dress featuring the colorway, while Campbell dyed his beard red and black and donned a red and black pigtail wig and shirt with the slogan “Resist Fascism.”
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1. Colin Campbell’s colorful beard. 2. Pat Posey. (Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
After the November presidential election, the friends experienced their first hate crime in Hollywood when a car passing by shot them with airsoft pellets and yelled a gay slur. Now more than ever, Campbell and Posey stress the importance of being visible and fighting back, and fashion is their chosen vehicle for doing so.
“We dance to celebrate ourselves, to recharge our batteries, to have the energy to put up with the ignorance and hate that is spewed at us every day,” says Posey, who started cross-dressing after moving to L.A. six years ago. “At Simon Says, everyone is welcome. Bring your true freak, and let it fly.”
Inspired by Campbell and Posey, to whom he has grown close through Simon Says, Arvizu has started imbuing political messages into his clothing as well. For a recent red-carpet event, he wore a shirt with the message “Protect trans youth,” and at the December Simon Says party, he dressed in rainbow from head to toe.
As the 2001 Basement Jaxx tune “Where’s Your Head at” thumped through the speakers at the March event, one partygoer dressed as a cowboy initiated a spontaneous dance-off with another partygoer dressed in a vintage Vietnam War vet uniform.
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1. Cocoa Rigal. 2. Omarr Herrera. (Chiara Alexa / For The Times)
“Work it out, work it out!” cheered the cowboy, Ricardo Logan, 36, who included light blue in his outfit for trans solidarity.
His dance partner, tax and accounting professional Omarr Herrera, 44, a stranger until this moment, gurgled back, “Ahhhh, I love you!”
It’s moments like these that remind Rigal why he created this party.
“Queer nightlife is a sanctuary,” he says. “For the kid arriving in L.A. from a conservative hometown, for someone pushed out of their family, for the dreamers and the outcasts — this is where they find kinship, voice and vision. That metamorphosis is the heartbeat of everything I do.”
The White House Correspondents’ Association dinner in Washington had fewer big-name celebrity guests than it did during the Biden presidency, when Scarlett Johansson, Jon Hamm and Sean Penn mixed with journalists and politicians. But on Saturday a red carpet was rolled out nonetheless.
President Trump, who skipped the annual black tie dinner during his first term, made no plan to attend the gathering before leaving Washington to attend the funeral of Pope Francis in Rome.
An appearance by the comedian Amber Ruffin, who had been booked as the host, was scrapped last month “to ensure the focus is not on the politics of division,” as the association’s president, Eugene Daniels, put it in a letter to members.
Here’s how the people who attended the event — known as “nerd prom” in the capital — looked when they arrived at the Washington Hilton Hotel.
Pastor T.D. Jakes
Taking A Step Back From Church …
Months After Scary Medical Episode
Published
Pastor T.D. Jakes is stepping back from his duties in his megachurch … announcing his successors months after a medical incident onstage ended with him on the operating table.
The pastor — who served as the head of The Potter’s House church since he founded it back in 1996 — told the church Sunday that he would be handing over his duties to Sarah Jakes Roberts and Toure Roberts, his daughter and her husband.
Jakes released a long statement about his departure … citing the need to address major economic issues of the time as part of the impetus for his decision — claiming he wants to focus on “serving as a bridge between community, culture, and corporate alliances to help position our nation for a stronger future.”
T.D. adds that he will not stop being a minister … but, it’s time to allow the next generation to lead The Potter’s House into the future.
Pray for Bishop TD Jakes as he suffered a “medical emergency” during the service this Sunday. pic.twitter.com/UBKln2sepo
— Virgil L. Walker (@VirgilWalkerOMA) November 25, 2024
@VirgilWalkerOMA
Not addressed in the statement, are T.D.’s health concerns … ’cause he’s stepping down less than 6 months after he had a medical incident during a sermon and nearly collapsed onstage.
Remember, T.D. had a medical emergency in November … running into trouble while speaking and ultimately sinking down into a chair.
He received many well-wishes from fans … and, a week later, revealed he had to undergo emergency surgery because of the mysterious health problem — telling his supporters they were “looking at a miracle.”
Looks like T.D.’s going to have a lot more time to take care of his health … even if he’s not ready to completely retire yet.
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