LOS ANGELES - I'm only happy if I'm shopping. Wait, that's a slight exaggeration. I'm only happy when I'm not shopping. The last time I was in the Glendale Galleria, Abe Lincoln was off to see a show.

So in a way, I am not the guy you send to spend a night at the Americana at Brand, the new shopping mall/residence right next door to the Galleria. But I do love people. Not all of them, mind you, just the concept of people in general - the great quivering masses. I like to watch them waddle, to witness the way they stuff waffle cones in their mouths or butter a dinner roll with their thumbs. There's nothing more entertaining than the dimwit in line next to me at the movies (and I'm sure he feels the same about me).

And if anyone could create the sort of circus/shopping complex/residence hall where I would love to hang out, it would be Rick Caruso, a developer with big ideas and deep pockets. His new retail and housing development is a monument to his can-do spirit, a bubbly little encore to the Grove in Los Angeles.

But can Caruso's latest storybook village muster the intangibles necessary to create a vibrant and charming neighborhood? A place to gather and kvetch and quiver? A spot to toss the football? That's what I'm here to find out, with my slumber party at the mall.

The Americana at Brand is part high-end retail, part pricey residential. (Rents start at a little more than two grand.) There is also a heaping dose of Vegas glam, a handsome streetcar and a patch of grass in the middle that the security guards don't want you to walk on, at least during the week.

Hmmm, tough 'hood. Sir, is it OK to sit on this bench? Thanks. How about a morning paper? Oops, no newspaper racks. Hmmm, think I'll get a haircut at the cool little barber shop. Forty bucks? Does that come with lunch?

This $400-million development isn't Greenwich Village, to be sure, Jackson Square or even Lincoln Park. Yet, Caruso's latest vision helps give L.A. the thing that everyone says is most missing: somewhere to share an evening.

There, in the store window, a reflection of a fellow shopper. At the edge of the fountain, two lovers slurp-kiss their coffee.

At the other end of the fountain, there's an oddly golden statue, with the skin tone of Cracker Jack, jumping naked toward the Cheesecake Factory. Is this Proteus rising from the sea? Or Caruso ordering a sandwich?

Over the sound system, Sinatra belts out yet another saloon song. The piped-in music is pleasant enough but relentless, like being trapped on an elevator with Steve and Eydie.

As with any city, the later it gets, the more I like it. At sundown, the whole place starts to twinkle. I'm a sucker for gas lamps, or for big white bulbs strung in cottonwood trees - very New York. Spotlights turn the fountain into a giant gin and tonic.

Rome was built at the confluence of the Aniene and Tiber rivers. New York is located on one of the world's great harbors. The Americana was built alongside Glendale's greatest trade route, the Galleria.

Suburban geek that I am, I can't get past the fact that they're over-watering parts of the little park. The sprinklers spray like howitzers, leaving puddles in the sod. I realize they are trying to get this new turf to root deep, to withstand the hot weather.

In fact, this whole enterprise seems trying to root deep, to create a sense of permanence. So it's hard to be too critical of this wager on a more interesting and congenial L.A. lifestyle. It all seems so earnest, so well-intentioned.

Of course, some happenstance might be nice - a real-life street musician, a squirrel or two, a bird. Rooftop community gardens would be a nice add-on at the Americana, as would a swanky little watering hole on the village green.

Mostly, what this instant city needs is a little time. Some people might prefer a perennially shiny new home. Me, I prefer the hum of real life, some patina, that lived-in look - like creases in a fine old leather chair.

Erskine can be reached at chris.Erskine@latimes.com.