Captain Marbles and Christmas in San Driego

The first question Marvin asked me when I entered his palatial home in San Diego was: “Is yours as big as mine?”

He pointed to the humongous T.V. set in his living room. I already knew that he had 7 T.V. sets in his house. (And three of the rooms had an Elvis theme.) In fact, there was one just opposite this room, setting off the collectibles in his faux foyer. I often found his wife watching T.V. there in the mornings.

“How big is yours?” I asked, playing the game. “53 inches,” he remarked proudly. “Naw,” I answered, “Mine’s only 41.” He seemed rather pleased.


And without asking, he put on the first DVD of the Doo Wop shows, PBS specials that showed fifties’ artists performing as they are now. And that’s how my 2006 Christmas visit began.

I hadn’t been back for Christmas since Mom died in 2000. Actually, she passed away on Christmas day. I flew down two days later to start the sale of the house in Coronado. There was a lot to do.

And somehow there’s been a lot to do since. But on this short visit, five days, I promised my brother I’d come visit.

On the second night there, I attended his 66th birthday party at the Eagles. I picked up Rick after he got off work; thankfully he knew where the Eagles hall was. When we walked in, it was easy to recognize that I didn’t know a soul besides Marvin, Marvin’s wife, and Ricky. In fact, I didn’t even know the songs that the two bands played. Occasionally, or I should say “rarely,” the bands would go into English lyrics and play some ‘50’s song everyone recognized, like “Lil Darlin’.” And at that point, everyone would jump up and dance. But when the Captain told me they’d be playing oldies but goldies, I didn’t realize they’d be Tijuana oldies. I didn’t recognize most of the tunes.

But Captain Marbles sure enjoyed it. He sang two songs while we were there, and I understand he sang two songs after we left around 9:30. “Blue Christmas” was one song he sang, and it seemed to go on for about 5 minutes, 5 minutes of “decorations of red on a green Christmas tree….” I know Elvis sang other Christmas songs. You’d never know it by current record play.

The Captain wore a black Stetson hat and a black leather “Texas Hold ‘Em” jacket, both from Vegas. He was easy to spot, and ran around all night long saying hello to everyone. I have no idea where he gets the energy. And when the band resembling Los Lobos would play a song he recognized, he’d leap up and do some version of a modern twist.

I felt bad that I hadn’t brought my camera to record the birthday party. I did get a photo of me and him on my cell phone, though, and sent it to a few friends, those who know the Captain by reputation.

During the rest of the time, we squeezed a lot in. Ricky, Joel and I went to Disneyland, just for the day, and mostly for Joel. I got to visit Rick at his new job at the Coronado Senior Center, and a fine place it is. Marvin, Rick and I played the game of Life, a game I haven’t played in about 30 years. It’s amazing what you can do with a convertible and a couple of stick kids.


And I watched more Doo-Wop. We must’ve watched over 12 hours of those DVDs. It’s so weird to see people like that lead singer of the Fleetwoods singing “Mr. Blue.” He’s balding, he’s got a paunch, but he’s still got that sweet tenor voice. He’s older. How weird.

We’re older. But still connecting, somehow. Even if our T.V. screens don’t match.

Swimming in the Jewish Pool

The Beit Din for my conversion consisted of two of my congregational rabbis and the third was the director of education.

I prepared for the questions like an interview. Here is a list of questions I thought they’d ask, complete with the image of a 1,000-watt light bulb trained on my perspiring face:

1. What’s your favorite story in the Torah? Or, in a slightly different take, with which character did you identify? My favorite story? That’s a little tough, as Torah study has only introduced me to a few, and they’re in Judges. And most of what I found were pictures of human weakness, not people I admire, although there are qualities I admire in these very human characters. I chose Miriam for this anticipated question.

Did they ask this? No.

2. What would your house look like on Shabbat? Or, conversely, and I have to say I love this one, what would your house be like to a blind man or woman if they’re entering your house on Shabbat? I really thought about this one a lot, and, kind of after the thought, tried to make my home resemble this mental dream.

Did they ask this? No.

3. What do you like about Judaism, and what do think you dislike about it?
The answer to the first part of this one is in my essay as to why I chose to make this journey, so I didn’t really have to prepare for this one.

Did they ask this? In a way. The second part of the question was reformed to: What issue concerning Judaism do you struggle with? Is there anything you’ll miss?

My answer to the first concerned Jews fighting Jews. I will never understand that. And the second was: Christmas music. One of the rabbis, hysterically, agreed with me, not that he missed it but that there was an incessant song in his brain this morning that wouldn’t go away.

That’s pretty much what I prepared for. I had several questions about my story, how I came to Judaism. One particularly pointed question about passion, where my passion lay. There were other questions, but the rest is a blur.

Speaking of the Jewish pool, let me make one point about the mikveh: it was not at all how I pictured. The rabbi is nowhere near you, as the stairs leading down go away from her. But it was warm and pardon me for saying this, very womb-like.

Was I nervous about the court? A little. I tried to focus on the three of them, engaging them in an enjoyable conversation and not make my answers too long. I think I failed on the passion one. Too much passion.

I think when I go to synagogue in the future I look forward to a discussion very much like my beit din. An engagement of minds and exploration of ideas. Only this time, I’ll be a member of the club and not nervous at all.

The Star of David

I had been preparing for this moment for about 15 months. I started looking for a program to help me learn about Jewish stuff in August 2005. I finally got frustrated and leaned on family friend Dawn to point the way to an Introduction to Judaism class, which, after weeks of waiting, started earnestly in October.

I never got close to many of my fellow Intro students. For one thing, most of them were couples. For another thing, each person had a different story: some were there to look into conversion because part of the couple was Jewish; many were doing it for their kids, to find out what their kids were learning in Jewish or Hebrew school. I think this class was beyond just the curious due to the cost and the length. The class was almost 6 months long, spread out over two synagogues in the East Bay and four rabbis (actually six at final count). Out of over 30 students at the first class, only 12 or so attended the last few classes.

I learned a lot in Intro. I was probably the only person who did all the readings. Come to think of it, that's probably not true: Tracy, who later became a friend when I would see him over and over at the same Sinai functions, absorbed everything like a youthful sponge even though he is the teacher of prepubescents during the day. And Scott, that mysterious man who showed up in a suit each time, talked as if he knew what was going on. The rest, I believe, tried to float on what the rabbi told them, and most of them were quick enough and clever enough to gather it all in.

Not me. I needed all the help I could get.

After Intro, I went through about two months of trying to find a rabbi. After one false move, I asked Rabbi Mates-Muchin, whom I had seen in a couple of Intro classes, and whose outlook was definitely Reform but not Kooky, to help me on this path and she graciously agreed. I don't know if you've noticed, but some of the rabbis kind of define "alternative." They're rather weird and like oddly put-together services. And I guess that's good for some but not for me. I don't want conservative or orthodox (although those are certainly interesting pursuits); I want modern, realistic Reform, something that makes sense to me and helps me live every day. And that's what I got.

I also got a really structured approach. (I can hear George calling, "And that's what you want!") She gave me a syllabus she constructed -- complete with questions to be answered, vocabulary lists, and an extensive but specific reading list (from 5 main books). Every three weeks or so we would meet and go over the questions I didn't understand. Quite often there would be a word I didn't understand (like "bris" vs. "brit" -- I'll never forget THAT discussion). And we would wend our way through the entire year so that I could experience the different events and holidays.

I have to stick in here that, well, I wonder if people set up meetings with the rabbis and don't make it through the whole year. You persevere, you keep going. You do the homework because to do otherwise would be insulting to the rabbi. I never missed one, and I was never late. I think you have to show your earnestness that way. And their time is so valuable and limited.

And throughout that process, I had a different kind of supervision. Every week Dawn and I would go walking around Lake Merritt and I checked in with her. I suspect she was checking in on me, but she's so low-pressure that I never felt it. And she would occasionally invite me over for shabbat dinner so that I could taste it and feel it. That really is the only way to do these practices -- you can't pick it up out of a book. And Intro can't teach you everything.

The hardest thing, I think, was learning the blessings and the songs. I still only have the basics of those down, so I will certainly continue.

My beit din was Wednesday, November 29th. On Saturday, December 2nd, I stood in front of the congregation and held the Torah. MY Torah. And gave a speech.

Today, one day after everything was over and I was beginning to come down from the high, a guy stopped me at the Montclair open-air food fair, shook my hand, and said congratulations. I recognized him as the president of the congregation. How nice of him to notice me and to take time to offer his congratulations. And he put me right back on that high for a few seconds.

I will begin wearing the Star of David necklace that Val gave me as a present for successfully completing this part of the journey. I feel I've earned it.

Today I am a Jew.

Just Tell Me When I Can Sit Down

"Do you have a hatchet?"

Those were Jamie's first words to me as he entered my house on Thanksgiving morning. Not, I thought, a great sign for tandem cooking.

It turns out he needed the hatchet to cut up the hickory chips to make them manageable for the smoker. (And, no, I do not have a hatchet.) But somehow he made do even though the little suckers kept catching fire.

I started out a little earlier, at 9 am, when I made the three pumpkin pies. Yes, they turned out great -- even the crust! Well, that's a slight exaggeration, as the same problems were present (not enough moisture, not enough dough), but it was highly edible. And the secret ingredient I apparently forgot in my dry run on Tuesday (evaporated milk) was very much present that morning and the pies turned out wonderfully.

We did have a couple of missteps along the way. I think one should expect them. The worst one was that the turkey was still partially frozen inside. He put it in hot water in the sink, discovered he had left the seasonings for the turkey in the condo and ran off to get them. In the meantime, I started peeling spuds.

That all being said, it all turned out WONDERFULLY! The turkey was a great flavor, nice and moist - way to go, Hatchet Man! The cranberries were fresh and cooked until they popped, and sweetened with Splenda. The stuffing was nice and crisp (thanks to the added butter on top). And the beans were a bit of a revelation, cooked with orange peel for a slight orangey flavor, al dente.

The menu was thus:

Smoked turkey
stuffing made from stuffing mix (but with sauteed-added celery and onion)
cranberry relish (from fresh cranberries)
mashed potatoes
biscuits (storebought ready-to-cook)
green beans - fresh with orange peel added
Pumpkin pie with homemade whipped cream


The mashed potatoes were the only real "problem" once we warmed up the turkey. I didn't have time to mash them, so Jamie took over and did a masterful job, adding cream and butter along the way. I think in the future, as much as I love potatoes, I'm going to leave these out: they're too much of a burden, and so tough to keep warm.

I told everybody we would eat at 3 pm which meant 5 pm, and, by golly, we ate at 4:30!! Terrific timing! Thanks to our in-tandem cooking, great communication, and the fact that you don't get upset when some things go wrong, it was a wonderful effort very much appreciated by those who joined us for the feast.

My feet hurt at the end from standing so many hours. My mother warned me such things would happen. I don't think, however, she expected I would ever, ever have that problem from cooking a Thanksgiving meal!

My Kingdom for a Pie (Crust)

I made my 2nd homemade pie crust today, the morning of Thanksgiving. I am not overwhelmingly pleased.

My 1st attempt was two days ago (see photo). I made two batches of pie crust dough, as I just can't get the thing moist enough. I don't want to handle it too much, as I know it'll turn tough. I happened to use both, though, in the one pie I made (half the recipe for the filling), because I couldn't get the pie dough to stretch all the way. So I used the less moist one to fill in the gaps.

It didn't help that I had to use a wine bottle as a roller. (If you have to ask, it was red.)

In the meantime, I received my wooden roller and silicon baking sheet in the mail, and I was ready for this morning.

I tried again today, only I took a two-pronged approach. I wanted 3 pies, so I did the from-scratch dough again. Still had the same problem -- not moist enough, not enough dough, it wouldn't stretch, etc. However, I also bought some Betty Crocker pie crust mix, added cold water and worked with that. Now, that was moist enough but it still didn't spread enough for two pies. It could be that I'm not rolling it thin enough, but I don't want to handle it too much.

The pie dough stuck to the rolling pin like it was its momma. I kept putting flour on the pin, but the non-stick effect wouldn't last for long. And although the silicon sheet was supposedly non-stick, the dough stuck to the sheet and I couldn't get the enlarged disc off of it. Geez.

Man, cleaning up was tough! The dough stuck to everything -- bowl, rolling pin, fingers -- like glue. Come to think of it, I should've used some for my remodel several months ago. It's a good thing I cleaned up right away, because clumps of it would still be on the floor when I sold the place.

The truth is in the pie. I'll know this evening whether any of the experiments turned out well.

Sizzlin' Sunday

At around noon I put down the two Sunday papers, stared at one of the four clocks I have in my living room, and decided it was time to get dressed and go to lunch.

I thought about where to go. I thought about going to Chili's; it's newly installed at Bay Fair Mall, right next to the movie theatre. But when I thought about the Sizzler in Washington Square/San Leandro, and the fact that they have great iced tea, I knew I wanted to go there. The Chili's menu is better, more inventive, but, well, sometimes routine is really nice.

So I grabbed the rest of the paper, mailed my half.com shipment at the nearby post office, and sauntered into Sizzler. I had to wait behind people who don't go to Sizzler by routine and who had to think about what they wanted to eat. It's a slow process, but I know that and I have patience. Darlene, my favorite waitress, spots me, asks me where I'm going to sit, and I point to a booth on the left (as always) in front of the T.V. set. It has plenty of light for the newspaper, and the Raiders game is on T.V. She puts the cheesebread and extra napkins there before I can get to the front of the line.

I had my seat and was glancing at another pitiful come-from-ahead loss by the Raiders when Darlene came by to pick up my ticket and tray. I asked her how she was doing. She said fine, then hesitated and told me that a week ago, she fell down her stairs and cracked two ribs. It seems that there's nothing to be done much about cracked or broken ribs, so the ER people wrapped her and sent her on her way. She told me with a foolish smile on her face that she came to work the next day.

Aren't these the true heroes of our day? The women who live by themselves, and make their own lives and sometimes suffer for it? (She was moving boxes out of one of the upstairs room, and tripped on her pajamas.) And then go to work the very next day?

You don't make much money as a Sizzler waitress. I remember saying that once about a decade ago to my friend Rick, and he informed me that his daughter had done very well as a waitress at Sizzler. Perhaps it does depend on the waitress or waiter here, but think about it. There is a great opportunity not to tip at all at such a restaurant. You carry your own tray to your table. If you're only getting the salad bar, which these days costs a minimum of $10 a person if a drink is involved, there's a tendency to think you're doing all the work yourself. Never mind that, even in that case, the wait staff is bringing you extra napkins, cheese bread, extra plates, extra drinks, etc. I have seen many a table bare of change when the group leaves.

I don't tip according to price. I tip according to the type of service I get there. It's $1.00 for minimal service. It's $2 if they do something nice for me. And it's $3 or more if they go beyond, more around a holiday.

It was more today. Darlene is one of the best wait people I have ever seen. And she's serving me, making me feel good, while she's in pain. She's one of my heroes.

He had it comin'...

I have begun going back to local theatre. Oh, I'm not ready to totally embrace the genre with chest-crushing exuberance, but I have put the elbow in the water. High prices and a fairly long trip mean that I've become more selective.

Which is why I found myself at Kander & Ebb & Fosse's Chicago the Musical a week ago. This is the second production I've seen of Chicago locally. (And why do they insist on putting "the Musical" on the tail end of this donkey? Although I must admit, one friend asked me why they're still touring without Peter Cetera.) The first was only two years ago. I thoroughly loved it both times, although I admit Billy the lawyer is a bit weak in this later production. I enjoyed watching hipster Huey Lewis, but never for one minute thought he'd be able to get anybody out of a murder rap.

The set-up is a real gas. In 1920's Chicago, where ethics have been replaced by easy liquor, we find Roxie being accused (and rightly so) of murder, and it's up to Billy and the easily-swayed justice/media system (did I just link those two together?) to get her off. Lots of thrilling songs, and the spectacularly staged sequence in Cell Block Tango, about the women who been done wrong singing about the men they did wrong to, lights up the stage. I heartily recommend the stage production over the movie.

Today I entered a much more somber affair, Doubt, the local production of the Broadway play. Lest you be put off by the rather colorless and Catholic advertisements, nothing should stop you from seeing this production. First of all, it's only 90 minutes. No intermissions. No reason to get up from an hour of semi-boredom, as in the case of most theatrical productions, and wonder if you should slip out quietly. Nope, you're in it for the whole thing. It's funny, it's sparse (both in sets and cast), and it's magnificent. Cherry Jones has won two Tonys in her Broadway career; she won the latest for Sister Aloysius in Doubt last year.

The story is centralized around Sister Aloysius, who is as sure as can be about everything. She knows her role as principal of a Catholic school in 1964 in the Bronx. She knows what the young Sister James (Lisa Joyce) is going to say, cutting off her sentences before she can finish them. And she knows what she doesn't like about Father Flynn (Chris McGarry). His fingernails are too long. His sermons aren't black and white enough. He's too male.

Doubt leads us down several paths, some of them familiar and some of them uncomfortable. It should be at the top of your theatre-going list.

I also bought tickets for the City Arts & Lecture show of Linda Hunt interviewing Cherry Jones in two weeks. I had a tough time finding a seat. It might be that people were buying tickets because of Linda Hunt, as Ms. Jones is less well known. But sooner or later the world will tell of her talent. No doubt.

A Pollish Joke

I hesitated to vote yesterday.

I never got my absentee ballot, or I would have voted weeks ago. It may have been because I changed my box number at my mailing address, and sent the change card in too late. At any rate, my polling place was written on the card I sent in....so I didn't even know where to go.

But one of the ads I received in the mail, you know, the ones that tell you how to vote, told me where my polling place was. So on Tuesday morning at about 10:30, I went to a high school just north of the Oakland/San Leandro border.

The high school was easy enough to find, but there was only street parking. Curious, I thought, for a polling place. I found a place to park, and walked up to Auditorium "B". I discovered that each side of the auditorium had a table full of volunteers. I picked the one to the right...

...only to be sent to the one on the left because they couldn't find my name. When I got to the one on the left, the young man put down his ringing cell phone (that was nice of him), and tried to find my name. Again, it wasn't there. So they tried to send me to the other side of the room...

When I explained that they didn't have my name either, and that I never received my absentee ballot, the guy all the way at the end of the table took charge, and offered me a provisional ballot. All right! I thought it was interesting that I filled out the outside of the envelope but nobody asked for my driver's license to compare the information.

I went over to the voting booth, which had nothing in it. I took a ball point pen and filled in the 30 or so arrows in order to indicate my choices. I realized that, in my special circumstance, I wouldn't be using an automatic polling booth, but where were they? As I was leaving, the guy In Charge pointed to the only booth with a machine in it. "I don't think anybody's going to use that today," he said sadly. I found out later that most California precincts were using paper ballots because these electronic machines can be tampered with.

I read today about some people who voted at unusual places around San Francisco and Alameda counties. One was an actual firing range. The photo in today's paper showed some guy voting on his paper ballot with posters just above his head of how to properly hold your rifle.

I think I'll stick to the high school with no parking.

The New Adventures of Captain Marbles: Welcome to the Matrix

You can see the changes on the street. A drunken man asleep next to Slots-a-Fun, blocking the sidewalk. A huge, fenced vacant lot where the Westward Ho used to be. Pieces of conversations started by seniors, mentioning casinos that no longer exist, like the Thunderbird.

I checked into the 48-year old Stardust on Thursday night, knowing that the casino/hotel only had a few more days before it, too, was demolished. My brother Marvin, aka Captain Marbles (a nickname from the same era), had comped me a huge suite at the old hotel.

The room was larger than my living room, my office, my den, and my two bathrooms combined. When I told him that, the Captain said to himself, “I never got anything like that,” and insisted on coming up to take a look.

We spent the last World Series game in that room, watching LaRussa’s Cardinals take it all. During one break, he started looking for the second bathroom. “There is only one bathroom,” I said, “but it’s humongous.” He replied that their suite at the Rincon had two bathrooms, and was at least 1800 square feet. It was terrifically humongous.

As we left to go back downstairs to the casino, he told me to take all the samples of shampoo and soap before I checked out the next day. And Kleenex.

The point of this trip was to fly in to Vegas to see my brother. He had just recovered from a bout with colon cancer, and pronounced himself cured after an experimental treatment with a new powerful drug. However, it wasn’t the treatment that left him weak on Las Vegas Boulevard this October evening. It was advancing age, a number of health problems that had taken its toll, and the fact that his sedentary lifestyle doesn’t easily accommodate walking on the Strip from casino to casino, like we used to.

So, we only stuck to a few places. He and his wife stayed at the Riviera (in a slot tournament package), I stayed at the Stardust.

When I met them at the Stardust, we immediately crossed the street and went back to their casino, the Riviera. I think the Captain likes the Riviera because it evokes memories of Dean Martin and the Rat Pack. It has that feel to it. It’s a lot larger than the Westward Ho used to be, however, and so we kept getting lost in it.

We talked about dinner that night. Marbles informed me that I couldn’t have dinner with them, though, because they got a big, free steak dinner and a show with their package. However, what he didn’t realize was that the suite he comped me came with $100 in free meals….a day. So I ate my steak dinner in the Stardust café.

I watched him play Texas Hold ‘Em at the Riviera poker tables, right in front of the elevator to their room. The buy-in was only $45. He suggested I join him, but I really don’t know how to play. He replied that he had learned everything there was to know about Texas Hold ‘Em from video poker and from internet gambling sites, so he felt confident. He had to wait, however, for someone else to show up at the table before they could get started. He won the first few hands, but grew frustrated with the table rules. The rules on raises were quite stifling, he complained to the Asian woman dealing the cards. Can’t you change them? He wanted a higher limit. Apparently the Riviera insists that the first raise is $2, the second and further raises are $4. The Captain couldn’t fake or scare anybody out that way. He eventually lost his buy-in, but went on to tournament Texas Hold ‘Em. The rules, apparently, were different there; I think he longed for the limited raises of the previous game. He only lasted an hour in the tournament.

In the meantime, I found several penny slots that I enjoyed playing. And I found some Reel ‘Em In games – the fishie game is my favorite. I discovered this game in the early ‘90’s, I think it was – the first slot machine that enticed me. The first video-game-type slot machine. The first bonus round I had ever seen. But these slots were nickel machines, which was okay, but they were ticketless, which meant I had to either put buckets of nickels into play, or wait until I won over 1,000 coins to cash out (so that I wouldn’t have to handle the dirty coins).

On the first night, when I said goodbye to the Cap’n and his wife and wandered back to the Stardust, I discovered an entire bank of gold: five Reel ‘Em In Slot machines in the Stardust! These machines had the latest technology, and featured FOUR different bonus rounds. The only complaint I have of these machines is the music. It’s not as catchy as the earlier versions. But the earlier bonus rounds had no variation. So these new machines were slot heaven. And they were penny slots! Which means I could play 15 lines at 1 cent each (although usually I went up to 2 cents).

When I’m playing those games, I have no idea what time it is. I don’t even care if I lose. I just enjoy playing them.

I also discovered Cops and Donuts, a slot game I played sparingly before. But when Leon pulled me over for speeding, told me “Hold on there, Starship Captain!” and asked for my excuse, I was hooked. I also liked it when Chip ate all the donuts at the donut shop during the other bonus round. Fantastic.

Las Vegas with Captain Marbles is like The Matrix. On the one hand, there’s reality. Ooh, we don’t like that so much. Our conversation takes us to the casinos of old, when Sammy, Frank and Dean played to packed houses and might join us at the tables at midnight for a little gambling of their own. We look around and there are few of those old casinos left. The cab driver told us that young people like the new ones best. “But those kids don’t have any money!” exclaimed the Captain. You tell ‘em. So, the seniors, the ones with money and the ones without so much, gather at the older casinos still, huddle together, waiting for the end of their favorite places to play.

The Matrix of Las Vegas is also where Captain Marbles is the high roller, and where the casinos treat him with the proper respect for being so. They comp his rooms. Invite him to slot and poker tournaments. Give him free steak dinners. Even give his sister free steak dinners.

The good side of the Matrix for me lies within these slot machines. Where I can dip my fishing pole into another lake, if I’m lucky, and fish for that whopper with the Canadian mounted police hat on. Or hope Chip can eat enough donuts to take me to a higher plane. Or wait for Frank the dog in Men in Black to lead me to where those aliens are in the MIB game.

In the meantime, the cocktail waitresses would bring me whipped cream-frothed pina coladas as my fingers hit the “play again” key. They didn’t show any emotion about being out of a job in two days, on Monday. I wondered how they were going to cope. But wondering took me out of the Matrix, an unpleasant place to be, and Las Vegas is more about delivering the magic trick than telling us how it’s done, or how the magician will pay his or her bills tomorrow.

The Stardust closed down a day after I checked out. All of its furnishings, everything – except for its slot machines – will go up for public auction on Wednesday. One more gone. Many more are scheduled for demolition. The Captain finds out the gossip from the casino operators he befriends as he plays his high-stake games. After all, many of the workers from the closed Westward Ho went to the Riviera. And, I suppose, many of the Stardust people will do likewise.

I’ve come back to the other side of the Matrix. To reality. To be honest, it’s easier living here. Until I make another trip back to see Captain Marbles. It really is his home.

Shared Newspaper

The guy came up to me at the Mammography Center at Kaiser, leaned over and said, boldly, "Is that your newspaper?" "Yes," I said, as I was squirting Systane into my eye. "Can I read your Sports section?" he said again.

"I'm sorry," I replied, "but I'm reading it." I hate it when men do that to me, assume I'm not going to read the Sports section because I'm a woman. There it was, lying there pristinely, the Oakland Tribune sports section. I hadn't even opened it yet.

"Mr. Jackson," the nurse then called from the counter, "you're in the wrong section." "Damn!" he said, and he shuffled off.

Hey, I can't blame people in Oakland for wanting to read the sports section. It ain't about the Oakland Raiders, or the San Francisco 49ers, two non-entities who are so bad that they're having discussions like, "Gee, if the Raiders' offense played the Raiders' defense, do you think anyone would win?" Nope, it's all about the Oakland Athletics, who finished their season by winning the ALCS, smashing the Twins, but losing the Division Series, being smashed by the Tigers.

The A's have just unceremoniously dropped their manager, Ken Macha, not really blaming him for the lack of oomph at the end, but, rather, blaming him for not saying hi to the back-up catcher.

And now there's a lot of speculation about who will take his place. The waiter at the Montclair Egg Kitchen this morning asked me about it today. "Do you think it's Wash? Lache? How about Geren?" I like all those guys, I replied. What an exciting time in baseball -- ironic, isn't it, that the exciting time happens days AFTER the season is over?

I was on the last bit of my newspaper when the lady sitting across from me in the Optometry section of Kaiser asked me, "Is that your paper?"

The End of the 2006 Season - Not with a Bang but with a Whimper

I dreamed last night that I was in the A's locker room in Detroit, pad in hand, shoulder to shoulder with 100 other journalists, trying to get a sound bite from Milton Bradley.

He wasn't talking, and no wonder. The A's had just been swept, 4 games to Zero, by the Detroit Tigers. The A's were only 4 games removed from going to the World Series.

It ended sadly, it ended badly. There's no other way to describe it. If they had won one game, but they lost all four, looking like they were totally bewildered by the Tigers' pitching staff, our starters wondering what happened.

There is still the absolutely wonderful regular season of 2006 to look back on, a marvelous memory that will carry us into Spring Training 2007.

But for now, I'm just sad. Sad for players like Milton, who played his heart out. Sad for the fans, who dream about interviewing the players in a distant locker room, one last time.

The Oakland A's vs. Detroit Tigers - Game Two

I stayed home last night and watched the 2nd game on T.V. this time. Aaron and Cheryl went to the game.

I text-messaged Aaron before the game that Blue Moon Odom, that old-time A's pitcher who threw a shutout to the Tigers in 1972, would be throwing out the first pitch. He had never heard of him. I did not know at the time that Cory Lidle had died in an unbelievably tragic plane crash in New York City. The Coliseum had a moment of silence for Cory, for his memory. I remember being distraught when they traded Cory away from the A's, knowing that we had a fearless young pitcher there. How very sad.

Did Lidle's death throw off the A's players? I don't know. I doubt it. As Eric Chavez cited in a local newspaper, he couldn't get 9-11 out of his head when he had to play soon afterwards, but this he could push to the side of his mind and concentrate on playing. Yes, he missed a ball that would ordinarily have been his (but not an error). But who knows.

It was a tough game, hard fought. Every time the A's scored, the Tigers came right back to put points on the board. Their pitching staff throws some heavy heat, and our bats, save Bradley and Kotsay, could not keep up. Frank Thomas, our Big Hurt, left 6 men stranded on the bases, including the last at-bat of the game when he popped up. We found ourselves on the other side of the dash, 8-5. It was exciting up to the end.


Very sad. Still, the death of Cory Lidle puts some of this into perspective. It's just a game, made sadder when we lose a valiant player. Cory had just played his last game, for the Yankees during last Saturday's playoff.

On Thursday we'll continue in the cold, dark nights of Detroit. Rich Harden will throw his 98-mile-an-hour fastball, if it doesn't freeze before it gets to the plate.

I can't wait.

The A's Are in the PostSeason!!

And not only are they in the Postseason, at the time I'm writing this they defeated the Minnesota Twins to go to the American League Championship Series (ALCS) for the first time in 14 years!!


I am overjoyed except for the fact that I went to the first game of that series last night against the Detroit Tigers....and it wasn't a rip-roaring time.

Let's start with the fans. Only 35,000 attended (with 1,000 people walking around seatless...just imagine that...) which made for plenty of room to walk, well, for the most part, and get hot dogs and stuff. But the 35,000 who attended are not the greatest fans in the world. Many of them seemed to be newbies, people who just come out for the rah-rah part of it and don't know the team or the stadium.

For instance, the guy in front of me was booing Barry Zito in the 2nd inning. Booing him!! And he had an A's cap on! Just who is your team, buddy?! And the group behind me was grousing because they spent $75 a ticket and expected more. They left in the 7th inning.

The guy immediately behind me tapped me on the shoulder at about the 3rd inning to inform me that he had just spilled his beer on my jacket and my seat. That was nice of him... (One thing I've never understood: why do men insist on having their beers in their hands when they're on their feet, cheering? Why not just put it in the cup holder and wait until you're stable and sitting before you reach for it? I know the answer to this: they can't bear to be parted from their adult beverage.)

Barry's pitches at that point weren't fooling anyone and we were behind 2 - 0. The next inning we were behind 5-0. But our bats and our defense couldn't pull us out of that 4th inning deficit.

Milton Bradley and Jay Payton produced an RBI, but that was it. Our hit total was in the double digits, but we couldn't string enough of 'em together. And, I'm sorry to have to say this, but Mark Ellis would've turned two!! Instead, D'Angelo Jimenez, his replacement, made an error and initially looked a little hapless.

In baseball there's always tomorrow. There aren't too many tomorrows left, however, with Kenny Rogers waiting to pitch Game 3.

But we still had a good time. Jamie drove up from Santa Cruz to join me. And it's the ALCS!! Only four teams left!! It was grand seeing the red, white and blue bunting, and the players toeing the foul lines as they're introduced. I love it!!!!

The Most Holy of Days

I told my friend last week that I was going down to Lake Merritt to throw bread crumbs into the water, and watch my sins float away.

She stared at me for a moment and finally replied, "Is that some kind of Jewish thing?"

Yes, it is. And tonight is Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. We transgressors will gather at the Paramount and listen to Kol Nidre, a Jewish prayer recited in the synagogue at the beginning of the evening service on Yom Kippur. According to Wikipedia, the latest of my Jewish resources, "It is written in Aramaic, not Hebrew. Its name is taken from the opening words, meaning 'All vows'".

This is my second High Holy Days. This time it's with music. I intend to be blown away.

Vroom, Vroom

I sold the Acura!

It took me exactly 3 weeks, as opposed to the 6 weeks it took me to sell the Camry 5 years ago.

The secret to selling? Well, according to the buyers, it was a combination of things:

(1) I posted on Craig's List;
(2) I sold to a buyer who had 3 other Acuras;
(3) I had maintenance records.

The buyer told me she'd been looking for two-and-a-half months, looking for a car that she would drive after making sure her daughters each had their own (used) Acura. She fell in love with it, telling me that, despite the dents on the outside, she could tell it was well taken care of because of the condition of the inside.

However, with some hindsight, I should've bitten the bullet and fixed the dents on the side. People were really put off by that, talking about how much money it would cost to fix it. Gee, the car is 8 years old; you'd expect SOME problems. But, like most eBay buyers, they wanted a perfect car costing less than half the worth.

I found an honest buyer who appreciated an honest seller. Tonight I celebrate!

Scammed on Craig's List

When you're selling a used car, the craziest things can happen.

I know this because when I sold my Camry 5 years ago, the nightmares keep coming back. The incessant phone calls. The lowballers. The guys who just liked to talk cars and have you answer all the questions you already answered in the ad. The guys who can't remember which car this is even though they're calling you. The woman who wanted the car for her daughter but didn't bring her daughter to drive the car and so couldn't think of buying it.

These people are crazy.

So, here I am, 5 years later, selling my beautiful 1998 Acura RL. Well, it was beautiful before the dent in the side. I refused to have it fixed, mostly because I was convinced there would be another, and another...

Somebody, I don't remember who, suggested I post the ad on Craig's List, as that's where all the people in their 20's and 30's in the Bay Area are going to look for EVERYthing. So, I posted the ad Saturday night, hoping I'd get a snag for Sunday, and on Sunday the car broke down.

But I got two emails right away. One from Patrick Autos, which sounded like a dealership (which meant to me that I might be asking too little...), and the other from a woman asking me to call her husband when I was ready to show it.

Patrick Autos was very insistent, emails asking me what my bottom price was and where was the car. I answered "6500," and the following is the response I got:

"Thanks for the email. Well, I want to use this medium to inform you that the price was accepted by me and I hope that everything is okay with it. I will be sending you a cashier's check or money order for $13,000 which will cover buying and shipping to my location.

"So as soon as payment gets to you, you are required to deduct the cost of your item, which is $6500, and you will also deduct another $100 for removing the advert off the net and send the balance to my carrier via any international money transfer firm around you for him to be able to offset shipping charges.

"After payment has reached you and balance sent back to him, my agent will come for inspection/pick-up. Confirm name and address check will be made out to and delivered to."

OhmiGod!!! A scam!!!!

My God, I mean, I've received phishing emails just like everybody else on the 'net, but NEVER something as blatant as this! And how do I know this is a scam, personally directed at me and my car? Good 'ol Craig's List warned me. In fact, right after I posted my ad on CL, I got a warning that described EXACTLY what these people would try to do!! Don't accept any sales long distance, they said, and then described the same scenario -- sending a check or money order for a gross amount over the sales price, throwing in an exhorbitant amount to cover administrative costs, you know, to appeal to those of us who are greedy. And they don't want the car -- they just want the money you will send back to them before you discover that the "cashier's check" will never clear.

I'm not greedy. I just want to get rid of this damned but beautiful car.

Craig's List told me not to answer Patrick Autos email, but I did -- with a simple, "Sorry, cash and in person only."

I have someone coming over tomorrow to look at the car. I try to be as honest as I can, disclosing everything. I hope they're the same, unlike Patrick Autos.

One Car Down...

While driving the Acura back from dinner tonight, it stopped. In the middle of Estudillo. I managed to power it over to the side of the road, as the power steering quit and turning the wheel was like moving it through thick mud.

So there I was, stuck in the right turn lane. And in the bus lane, I wryly noted. I called Triple A and reported the problem; they said they'd send a tow truck within 40 minutes. 10 minutes later, a bus pulled right up to my bumper, seemingly ignoring the hazard lights I had put on. I explained to the bus driver through her open doors what was happening, but that didn't stop her from giving me a piece of her mind, especially after she realized she'd have to back the bus up. Oh, she didn't like that. Believe me, lady, I'd move it if I could.

The tow truck arrived. However, he had put off one other driver to pick me up because I was blocking cars AND a bus, so we went over to the San Leandro library, found the car....and waited, The driver was nowhere around. He appeared 5 minutes later, which was longer than it took to give his battery a charge.

15 minutes later, the tow truck dragged my car to my house and parked it there. Tomorrow morning I'll be calling AAA again, asking them to tow it to the Acura dealership.

The timing on this is weird. The car went down right after I had posted a for sale email on Craig's List. But a week after I brought my new Honda Accord north. Good vs. bad. Awesome.

It's All in the Stew

It was a cold summery day in Oakland. Time for .... stew!

I got the recipe from Ina Garten, who hosts the Barefoot Contessa food show. Everybody else worships Bobby Flay or Emeril on Food Network. But Ina cooks -- and looks -- like the kind of cook you want in your home. She loves food and it shows.

So, anyway, she had a beef stew recipe that called for the chuck to be marinated in a good red wine, like cabernet sauvignon. I couldn't resist.

So, I got 2 pounds of good looking chuck from the butcher at the Piedmont Grocery, and I went to work. The secret to this one, I think, is the marinade but also the fact that you saute the meat, and THEN dump the veggies in.

I made some mistakes along the way, like not cutting the potatoes and onions up enough, but that's the beauty of cooking for myself. I get to try it out, figure out what I did wrong, and hope I don't repeat the same mistakes next time.

The only down thing about this recipe is that it takes about 5 hours to make! So don't put it together while you're hungry!

So, picture this: A glass of red wine, eating my homemade beef stew (and incidentally, dropping it all over my shirt), and then watching the end of Season One's Battlestar Galactica. Stew, wine, and Cylons. It doesn't get much better than that....except if my sweetie had been sitting beside me on the couch.

But when she is, I'll have this killer stew all ready for her!

The Jews are at the Ballpark

Last week, I happily went with Dawn to Jewish Heritage night at the San Francisco Giants. We received a nifty Giants hat that said "Giants" in Hebrew.

I sent Rick a photo of AT&T Park from the 3rd deck. I've never been on the 3rd deck. I didn't dare move. He called at once, and asked me who I was there with. "60 Jews!!" I screamed into the phone.

The Jumbo Tron displayed several images of Jews with funny things coming out of their mouths. And during the 7th inning stretch, a rabbi blew a shofar! I'm not sure what he was playing...Take Me Out to the Ballgame was a good bet, though.

Wow!! I will definitely go next year! That is, if I hear about it.

Someone else in the crowd said, the A's would never do this. Well, we'll just have to make sure the A's know such things are possible, and that a few of us would go and fill up their Plaza level.

Jews love baseball, too, you know.

New Wasp Report

I just got home after being a week and a half away. I knew my wasp traps would continue to work once I left. That's the beauty of such things: they first work on the scent of the hamburger but then. once the hamburger is rotten, the new wasp bodies serve as the fresh meat. Insidious.

So, upon arriving home, I leaped from my trusty vehicle to take a look at the numbers of wasps congregating in the trap in the front of the house. I counted 25, but then lost count. I still see a body (dead? alive?) near the nest, and it's still warm out, so the wasps still think it's summer.

Traps, keep doing your thing...