COVID Vaccines

 

 Getting inoculated at Dodgers Stadium 

Finally. Something to report on this blog!

 

Tim and I got our first COVID vaccines. But, as we know, nothing is ever easy. Let’s just say, despite the fact that California is the most populous state in the country, the supply has been spotty with even medical providers receiving either no or not enough vaccines. Our provider Kaiser Permanent advised us to get vaccinated wherever and whenever we could. It looked like many weeks before we'd get vax’d.

 

Then two things happened. The governor lowered the first tier age group to 65 years or older and our friend Heather—a true wiz at navigating the internet—got us appointments via a secret scheduling website. At that point, I was not enthused about going to mass inoculation sites, like Dodgers Stadium or the Forum, because of the long wait—even Sir Patrick Stewart, Star Trek’s Captain Picard, had to wait in line for 4 hours, for pete's sake!—so Heather found us openings at nearby Ralph’s supermarket pharmacies. Tim got his vax last week. But the supply ran out before I could get mine, so it was back to square one for me.

 

My abhorrence of mass vaccination sites continued until Karen went to Dodgers Stadium and got her shot in an hour and 10 minutes. Other friends started sharing their success stories on Facebook as well. So, with Karen’s help, I mastered the county’s appointment webpage. Unfortunately, there were no openings on my first try. Karen was determined, however, and so when she called me the next day with news of available appointments, I was able to schedule one at 3:50PM on Friday. Not enthused about traveling to Dodgers Stadium during rush hour traffic, but I was starting to get desperate.

 

We left the house at 2:30PM. An hour later, we joined a line of cars streaming into the stadium parking lot. A volunteer from CORE, Sean Penn’s Community Organized Relief Effort network, stopped us at the gate and asked how many people were getting vaccinated. She then wrote a big number #1 on our windshield in blue felt-pen. We followed the cars in front of us into the stadium parking lot. The feeling was so familiar; but instead of going to a baseball game, I was going to get my first COVID shot.

 

Looking through the windshield at our big, blue #1

 

 As if we could go any faster!

 

Getting closer

 

We followed the same cars for the next two hours, driving slowly up and down make-shift switchbacks on the northwest end of Dodgers Stadium’s massive parking lot. In the distance we could see the tents where the vaccinations were being administered. We listened to Sirius’s Soul Town channel and danced in our seats. We arrived at the tents as the sun was setting. By then, our bladders were bursting, so we decided to brave the outhouses. “Very nasty,” a woman warned as I approached one of the facilities. I shrugged and went in. She was right.

 

After another half-an-hour waiting in the car, a CORE volunteer came over, took my information, opened the car door, and asked me to dangle my arm. The shot was relatively painless--I told the guy he did a good job—and then we had to wait yet another 20 minutes to make sure I didn’t have a bad reaction. We drove home in the dark during Friday rush hour. 

 

The tents

 

The entire adventure took almost 5 hours. Still, well worth the peace of mind of being inoculated against COVID. We’ll do it all over again in a month for shot #2.

Dodger Stadium Redux

We may have changed our allegiance to the Angels several years ago, but we still love L.A.'s Dodger Stadium, which got a much-deserved facelift this past year. We went to our first game of the season on Saturday. The seats were in "nose-bleed"—still, the view was pretty damn terrific.

Taking the field: 1st inning

New twin scoreboards

Dodgers dugout

The new look of the stadium is definitely retro, celebrating the team's often illustrious history in L.A. Everywhere you look there's a reminder of Dodgers' accomplishments—made me proud to be a baseball fan in Los Angeles!

New bobblehead dolls greet the fans outside the stadium

#32 Sandy Koufax, my all-time favorite ballplayer

Even the hot dogs are famous in L.A.!

Dodger history is celebrated at every turn. Murals 

now welcome fans to the newly renovated

bathrooms (yay!)

Unfortunately, parking is as heinous as ever!

Dodger Stadium

Although Tim and I no longer follow Dodgers baseball, we did adore the team when we were kids and continue to love the stadium as an L.A. icon.  Through Tim’s radio contacts, we’ve been lucky enough to visit parts of Dodger Stadium that others rarely see—like the press area and luxury boxes. But we had never been on an official tour—that is, until today.

Dirt-filled field

The tour, arranged by the “History of Los Angeles” meetup group, started at the top of the stadium and winded its way inside and down. The grass was covered by dirt for a motocross event happening next week (gag!), so we didn’t get to see the Dodgers’ usually immaculately manicured field.  Still, we did get to tour the exclusive Dugout Club restaurant, the Dodgers dugout (very nice) and bullpen (not so nice) and saw lots of terrific photos and historic artifacts (e.g., 1981 and 1988 World Series trophies, old uniforms, etc.).

If you live in Los Angeles and are interested in local history, I highly recommend joining L.A. History meetup.  Friendly folks and more fun events ahead.

Tim in the Vin Scully press box

Coaching from the dugout

Player to be named later

Bullpen phones

Other side of bullpen—totally unglamorous!

Last Weekend

The weekend began, of course, with the royal wedding, Friday morning. I debated waking up at 1AM to see it live, but tivo’d it instead so I could watch while getting ready for work. The whole hat obsession was a bit odd, but the wedding itself was wonderful. Kate Middleton and her dress were gorgeous and I cried when William and Harry—both looking so handsome in their military regalia—arrived at the church. If only Diana were alive to see it. What a glorious day!

In the late afternoon, Tim and I joined a handful of my students who had arranged a tour of the CNN studios in Hollywood. We’ve toured other TV studios before, so nothing new, but we did see Dr. Drew, CNN’s latest on-air personality, getting off an elevator, and chatted briefly with fashion commentator Nick Verreos on his way to shoot a critique of the wedding guests’ attire.

On Saturday, Karen and I spent a couple of hours visiting homes on the Mar Vista Green Garden Showcase tour. Now in its third year, the tour featured more than 70 properties located in a diverse section of L.A. that stretches from Culver City to Venice Beach. This has become a premier event for local gardeners and, most amazingly, is free. Highly recommended.

That night Tim and I joined my students once again for the dept’s annual Dodgers outing. The seats were in nosebleed territory, as usual, but the view of the city was phenomenal. After a long day in the sun, I was exhausted, so we left the game early, stopping in upscale Larchmont, on the way home, for an ice cream nightcap. Baciami gelato: creamy, rich and expensive, but oh so tasty—yum!

Back to it on Sunday, Tim accompanied me on yet another house and garden tour—this time in Santa Monica. The homes were fabulous and the weather perfect. We took the Miata and rode with the top down all day. After three hours of touring, we headed toward the Brentwood Country Mart for some Reddi Chick rotisserie-baked chicken, our new favorite “fast food” on the upper westside. Built in 1948 and looking like something right out of the midwest, the barn-clad Mart is located on the corner of busy San Vicente Blvd. and 26th St. in the heart of ritzy Brentwood. The shops may be too high-end for our thin wallets, but the food is outrageous—definitely worth the 20-minute (on a good day!) drive.

L.A. Flea Market

The latest L.A. area open-air market debuted yesterday in the blistering summer sun. Calling itself the L.A. Flea Market, the monthly event, located outside Dodger Stadium in parking lot 8, features not only the usual vendors (new as well as vintage wares), but also live music, kiddie rides, and—best of all!—a food truck food court (yay!). Early bird entrance is at 7AM with general admission two hours later.

We, of course, love Dodger Stadium with its unmatched view of the city; but it can be brutally hot in the summer, so we decided to get there as early as humanly possible for a Sunday morning.

We arrived at 7:45AM and stood on the shortest of several disorganized ticket lines. We then stood on another long line to get inside. We apparently weren’t allowed in until 8AM, despite paying the more expensive early bird rate.

When we finally did get inside, we were amazed to find at least a third of the vendors just starting to set up. The rest was pretty standard flea market stuff, even though promoters had promised a higher grade of merchandise. Still I managed to find a cute lemonade pitcher, while Tim scoured the booths for a broad-brimmed lifeguard hat—which, truly, should have been included as part of everyone’s admission, since it was so damn hot! He ultimately found what he wanted at the appropriately named Hat Guy. Hands on hips with his face completely in the shade, Tim triumphantly proclaimed, “I could stand in the Mojave desert all day and not get sunstroke!”

With Tim's shopping mission now accomplished, we could, at last, turn our attention toward the food trucks—the main reason we were there, after all! I insisted I was too hot to eat . . . that is, until Tim brought over some scrumptious pork potstickers from Ahn Joo and, miraculously, my appetite perked right up. I ran over and got my own potstickers, plus a cone-shaped container of tasty potatoes from Fresh Fries. Tim also sampled tacos from the Border Grill truck. By 10AM we had already eaten both breakfast and lunch!

Our verdict: Parking lots are too hot to shop during the summer, so we probably won’t go back till November, even though the lure of so many food trucks in one place will be tempting. Hopefully the market will be far more organized and have better vendors when we return in the fall.

Dodgers Game

Karen’s brother was otherwise engaged last Wednesday, so we bought his Dodgers season tickets (and good parking pass) for the evening. It was our first baseball game of the year. Unfortunately, it was also the night that 70-mile-per-hour winds whipped through many parts of the county—but more about that later.

I packed a heavy sweatshirt and blanket. Before I even turned the key in the ignition, we discussed our strategy for getting to the stadium. The Lakers were playing at Staples Center, while the final episode of “American Idol” was being filmed at the Nokia Theater next door. Obviously we wouldn’t be traveling through downtown. Instead, we decided to take surface streets: Third Street to Temple to Alvarado to Sunset Blvd. It took us one-and-a-half hours to drive nine miles.

We parked in the highly coveted section B and entered the stadium. The place was practically deserted. Either everyone was home watching “American Idol” and/or the Lakers’ play-off game, or people were sensibly staying inside.

With fifteen minutes to go till the first pitch, we scoped-out our dinner options. Although Tim had insisted he wasn’t going to eat a Dodger dog, he succumbed at the first whiff. I, on the other hand, had a more difficult decision since I’m not prone to eating regular stadium food. We checked out Panda Express (too expensive!) and Carl’s Jr. (too goopy) before I settled on California Pizza Kitchen. Nine dollars (!!) for an individual pizza, but at least I didn’t starve.

The seats were great—the Reserved Level, right behind homeplate. But the wind was atrocious! I swear I could barely see the ball, at times, for all the hot dog wrappers and napkins blowing around.

Tim and I grew-up following the Dodgers, but have moved on since then: we were Padres season-ticket-holders when we lived in San Diego and then switched to the Angels in 2002 when they won the World Series. No surprise that I didn’t recognize one player on the Dodgers team. I scrutinized each photo they showed on the Jumbo-tron every time a new man came up. One of them had more homeruns than any other second-baseman in 2006. Another hit a triple six weeks ago.

“Yikes!” I said to Tim. “They’re really digging deep to say something flattering about each player.”

“Well, better than putting up a slide that says, ‘Overpaid has-been who sits on the bench for most of the game,’” he sniped.

Just at that moment, a huge gust of wind nearly knocked us out of our seats. Tim didn’t know whether to grab his hat or his garlic fries, but managed to hold onto both. A little girl two rows in front of us quickly put her cotton candy back into its bag. I watched as the palm trees in left field danced a jig. It was going to be a long night!

We ended up having a fun time, of course, despite the weather. Don’t ask me who did what, but both teams played well enough to keep us interested. By the sixth inning, I was ready to leave. The wind had calmed down enough to not blow us and our tiny Honda to Kansas, so we quickly slipped away before we got sucked into any further action. Three days later, I remembered to ask Tim who had won the game!

The Police

I’ve had a secret love affair with rock/pop legend Sting since 1983, when he and his former band, The Police, recorded their last studio album together. Sting, of course, has no idea who I am. Plus I’d have to fight half the women in the world—including his wife Trudie—for his affections. Nevertheless, I unabashedly adore him.

Over the years, I’ve seen him perform countless times as a solo act. But the most memorable concert still is the first time I saw him play with The Police 24 years ago. I was living in San Diego at the time, so Karen came down to accompany me to Aztec Stadium. We argued over who was going to use the binoculars first when Sting came out in a flesh-colored outfit that made him look decidedly naked. We’ve both been fans ever since.

Rumors had been flying around that The Police, who had become estranged after disbanding in the mid-1980s, were going to reunite. Sure enough, a few months ago they held a press conference to announce a world tour this summer. I immediately called Tim and asked him to get tickets through his radio contacts. They cost a small fortune, but he did good: four seats on the field at Dodger Stadium, 20 rows from the stage.

After what seemed like years, concert day (Saturday) finally arrived. I kept busy by cleaning the house and watching DVDs of The Police and Sting. I even unearthed a vintage t-shirt from Sting’s first solo concert 20 years ago, but was distressed to discover (surprise, surprise!) it no longer fit. A few snips of the scissors later—vintage, schmintage!—and I was ready to go.

Karen and our friend Estelle showed up at the house at 5PM. We debated the best route to take, knowing that traffic would be a nightmare as 55,000 concertgoers headed toward Dodger Stadium. Tim argued for the freeway, but I decided to take surface streets. An hour-and-a-half — and fifteen miles — later we pulled into the stadium. On impulse, we bought “preferred parking” ($35!), in the hopes we could easily slip down the hill after the show. Ha! I don’t know how long it took non-preferred folks to get out of there, but we were stuck in our car for an hour before moving even one inch.

The massive four-story stage was set-up in center field. A six-inch-thick plastic floor covered the grass and baseball diamond. My breath was quite literally taken away as we entered through the team bullpen and suddenly saw the inside of the stadium. So this is what it’s like to be a major league baseball player. Several women stood nearby rolling their eyes as their boyfriends slammed against the outfield wall, pretending to catch a fly ball.

Our seats (white folding chairs) were to the right of the stage, directly in front of an enormous set of speakers. The sound was so powerful I swear my hair moved with every beat. A band called FictionPlane was on stage. I had a vague memory that Sting’s son Joe Sumner was in the opening act, so we all jostled for the binoculars to see if he looked anything like his father. If more people knew Sting’s progeny was on stage, they probably would have been more respectful. As it was, everyone seemed more interested in buying beer and souvenirs than in listening to the band.

We sent Tim to scope out food options and restrooms. He excitedly reported back that he’d found a drinking fountain in the Dodger bullpen and then quickly volunteered to fill-up my empty water bottle. Who cares about concerts when there are baseball landmarks to explore?

Tim called his friend Nick to see if he’d gotten into the stadium yet. Nick said they were stuck on the 110 freeway and were not moving. The second opening act, the Foo Fighters, had emerged and were starting to play. I’ve been to many rock concerts in my life, but this was almost unbearably loud. I sat with my hands covering my ears while people, much younger than me, danced and cheered their way through the set. An hour later, a guy selling earplugs walked by, but it was too late—my hearing was already destroyed.

At 9:10PM, The Police finally took the stage with a rousing rendition of “Message in a Bottle,” one of my favorite songs. We stayed on our feet for the next two hours. Nick text-messaged Tim at 9:15PM to say they had just entered the stadium. Thank goodness we took surface streets instead of the freeway or we, too, would have missed the opening song.

Needless to say, the show was amazing and Sting looked fabulous! My only quibble was “Invisible Sun,” which was played against a backdrop of Iraq war footage. Although I appreciated the sentiment, the images really killed the mood as the concert nearly came to a screeching halt. But the crowd’s energy was soon buoyed again by more upbeat tunes. At one point, Sting turned the singing over to the audience as we all screamed out the lyrics to “Roxanne,” their first big hit. Surely people could hear our off-key voices for miles.

Three encores later, we were heading back to the car, despite the fact that I could barely move from all my jumping and dancing in place. I don’t know how Sting, who is two years older than me, keeps up the pace. Must be all that tantra yoga he’s famous for (by the way, did I mention how fabulous he looked?!)

Karen and I went antiquing late the next morning and, of course, deconstructed every minute of the concert. My ears had stopped ringing, but every muscle was sore. Could it be that I’m getting too old for rock ‘n roll? Nah . . . . As long as Sting and Paul McCartney and Neil Young and others continue to rock, so will I!

Long live The Police and rock ‘n roll!

6/25/07