Louis & Keely: Live at the Sahara

Like a lot of baby-boomers, Tim and I grew-up listening to American “standards” as well as rock ‘n roll. In fact, a shared love of Frank Sinatra was one of the things that drew us together. We’re also big fans of Bobby Darin (during his “Frank period”) and Louie Prima and Keely Smith, whom we remember seeing several times on the Ed Sullivan Show when we were kids.

Louie and Keely were the Sonny and Cher of their day. Not only did songwriter-singer Louie Prima marry a much younger woman (22 years his junior), he—like Sonny did with Cher—also helped make her into a legendary songstress. What was always most fascinating to me, though, was the way they interacted on stage. Louie was uncontrollable, leaping around the stage like a banshee, while Keely stood cool as a cucumber, refusing to be moved by his antics. Sonny and Cher imitated this schtick a decade later, but (even to my young eyes) never did it quite as well.

Last year, a play called Louis & Keely: Live at the Sahara opened to rave reviews at the Sacred Fools Theater in East Hollywood. We were too late to get tickets, but did see it when it moved to The Matrix on Melrose a few months later. We were totally blown away. Written and performed by Jake Broder and Vanessa Claire Smith, the play chronicles Louie and Keely’s relationship from the time they met to the end of their marriage. Smith is good as Keely; but it’s really Broder’s show as he sings, jumps and sweats his way through more than ten highly energetic songs. We were exhausted by the time we left the theater.

Though Tim isn’t much for repeat performances, he did eagerly agree to see the show again when it returned to L.A. two weeks ago. Now at the Geffen’s intimate Audrey Skirball Kenis Theater in Westwood, the play has been reworked (i.e., tightened) by Oscar-nominated director Taylor Hackford, who is also a big Louie and Keely fan. New characters have been added, including Sinatra, who plays a major role in the couple’s ultimate breakup. I didn’t think it was possible, but this revamped version is even better than the original.

So if you’re in the L.A. area and love the old Vegas singers of our youth, then I highly recommend grabbing tickets to Louis & Keely: Live at the Sahara. The play runs till April 26 and is well worth the price of admission.

Eating Our Way Through Arizona

It’s March, so of course that means we spent last weekend in Arizona watching spring training baseball. As usual, we stayed at the Sheraton within walking distance of Diablo Stadium (over the I-10 freeway and through a cemetery), home of the Angels. The hotel’s food is adequate to sustain hungry baseball fans. But this year we decided to sample some of the local cuisine and so drove the six hours from L.A. to Phoenix so we wouldn’t have to rent a car.

Our first stop was Joe’s Farm Grill, one of Guy Fieri’s featured spots on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. Located in Gilbert, about 25 miles southeast of the hotel, the Grill was built in the shell of what used to be the farmhouse Joe Johnston, the owner, grew-up in during the 1960s. In keeping with the retro theme, Joe runs continuous-loop videos of one of my top childhood TV shows, Fireball XL5, in the bathroom, which is decorated with enshrined Barbies and GI-Joes. If the food wasn’t so good, I could have easily spent the entire day in the bathroom watching TV, but didn’t. Instead I got a salad and Tim a hot dog with real potato French fries, which they serve without salt, if you ask. Heaven on earth!

The next morning, we tried to get into another Guy Fieri favorite, Matt’s Big Breakfast, in downtown Phoenix, but the wait was too long (20 people ahead of us!). So instead we headed over to The Waffle House, a national chain of greasy-spoon restaurants not available in Southern California. Despite the name, the best thing on the menu is the hash browns, which are served in a round patty in three different sizes (single, double and triple), with or without four different types of toppings! Like a fool, I got a plain single, but am already smackin’ my lips in anticipation of next year when I’m going to order a double serving smothered in onions. Talk about your morning wake-up call!

For lunch, we ate both days at the ballpark. Tim couldn’t get beyond his ubiquitous sausage hot dogs (b-o-o-o-ring!), but I ventured forth and discovered the machaca beef tacos. Though I stopped eating beef almost 20 years ago, I’m still a sucker for a good taco and so I was in my glory. Who cares about baseball when there are tasty tacos to eat? I have no idea who won the games.

We went to a movie Saturday night, followed by a quick meal at Johnny Rockets. Quite a comedown from the rest of our dining experiences. But then suddenly, at 8PM, the jukebox started blasting the Village People’s “YMCA” as the entire wait-staff dropped what they were doing and began dancing a choreographed routine! Afterward, I asked our otherwise mild-mannered server what the deal was. He told me they dance every half-hour. So if you’re ever shopping at the Arizona Mills mall in Tempe, run over to Johnny Rockets at the hour or half-hour to see the staff dance. They do a pretty mean boogaloo.

We drove home Sunday morning, but not without first eating breakfast at Matt’s. Even though we arrived before 7:30AM, there was still a bit of a line. Since there were only two of us, we were able to squeeze in ahead of several large parties. The restaurant is tiny, but the food is good. Tim had the salami scramble. The weekend had finally caught-up with me, however, so I just ordered oatmeal.* We were back on the road again by 8:15AM.

Lots more diners, drive-ins and dives to sample in the Phoenix area, so we can barely wait to return next year.









*If you follow this blog, you know I’ve been battling the ear disease Meniere’s for the past few months. This trip was the first big test of my newly regained health, though I’m still very careful about what I eat, especially in restaurants. Luckily, most places are willing to prepare certain foods without salt and there’s always the option of eating a salad without dressing. My ear and I passed the test without any serious side effects. I continue to cautiously edge my way back to normal.

KSPN Radio

After more than a year of planning and 2+ months of physical labor pulling things together, the new KSPN radio station finally broadcast its first show on Monday. Here are a few photos to celebrate the big day!












On-air personalities A. Martinez (l) and Steve Mason (r)




Kudos to the engineering staff!


Can you find Tim in the "grand opening" crowd below?

Revisiting the Grammy Museum

I just got back from spending three hours at the Grammy Museum and LOVED it, despite my previous brief but negative review. Yes, it’s no Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nor is it as dramatic as The Experience Music Project, but it’s wonderful nonetheless—especially when you get there at 10:00 on Sunday morning and have the place all to yourself!

The Museum is small—just three floors of exhibits and a lobby. The top floor provides an historical overview of, say, the past 80 years of popular music. Subsequent floors focus more on the Grammys themselves: memorable performances, filming the telecasts, charity events featuring Grammy winners, etc. There’s also an interesting display on how music is made, covering the perspectives of everyone from the artists (e.g., Robert Plant and Alison Krauss) to the studio musicians (e.g., the Wrecking Crew again!) to the producers (e.g., Phil Spector and Ahmet Ertegun). Finally, a handful of permanent exhibits talking about the cultural influence of protest music.

Although the Museum is currently showing a loaner collection of Michael Jackson’s more famous musical costumes—including an assortment of gloves—most of the exhibits are audio- or video-based: historic clips of Elvis, Frank Sinatra, Marvin Gaye, et al.; interviews with contemporary artists, who reveal, among other things, which groups most profoundly influenced their musical style (guess who was mentioned the most?—the Beatles, of course!); snippets of seminal tunes from some 50+ music genres (yes, even classical and folk); and more. Most moving to me was a duet by Carole King and James Taylor, singing “You’ve Got a Friend,” one of the most important songs of my young adulthood. Plus I loved the brief videos on the now famous “No Nukes” concert held in NYC in 1979 and the Dixie Chicks’ resurgence after being ostracized for publicly criticizing George Bush’s actions in Iraq.

But the best thing of all—definitely worth the price of admission alone—was the huge screen on the third floor, showing many of the greatest Grammy moments over the years: Tina Turner singing “What’s Love Got to Do With It,” walking down an impossibly steep staircase in her trademark high heels and impossibly short mini-dress; Ella Fitzgerald and Mel Torme scat-singing to a jazz tune; a baldheaded Melissa Ethridge, channeling Janice Joplin, after surviving breast cancer; Louie Armstrong on trumpet; Count Basie on piano; and much, much more. I was hoping to see footage of George, Paul and Ringo’s reunion after John Lennon died, but decided it was time to go home after waiting an hour. Besides, I needed an excuse to return another Sunday when Tim could go with me.

If you love popular music and have a few hours to spare, I highly recommend a trip to the Grammy Museum in downtown’s new L.A. Live complex. I guarantee it will make you feel young again.

Wrecking Crew

Thursday night, the Grammy Museum screened a documentary about the Wrecking Crew, an historic group of L.A. studio musicians who played on most American Top 40 hits of the 1960s. I wasn’t feeling 100%, but Tim really wanted to go, so I took a Dramamine and met him downtown. Boy, am I glad I did!

The Wrecking Crew got their name because their predecessors said they were going to “wreck the music business.” Tim knew all about them, of course, but I didn’t have a clue. I do remember the huge scandal when we learned that one of my favorite ‘60s groups, the Monkees, didn’t play their own instruments. Well, as it turns out, very few groups played instruments in those days. Instead, the Wrecking Crew played back-up on most songs and albums without ever really being recognized for their efforts. They were also responsible for Phil Spector’s famous “Wall of Sound,” which was created by squeezing 20-30 musicians into L.A.’s long-gone Gold Star Studios and having them all play live at the same time.

Although some of the Crew’s musicians, including Glen Campbell, Leon Russell, drummer Hal Blaine, guitarist Tommy Tedesco, saxophonist Plas Johnson, and bass player Carol Kaye, went on to find fame in their own right, most of them are still unknown outside the music industry. But their sound is recognizable worldwide. Among their most notable recordings are: Jan & Dean’s “Surf City” and “The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena),” Gary Lewis and the Playboys’ “This Diamond Ring” and “Everybody Loves a Clown,” the Association’s “Never My Love” and “Cherish,” the 5th Dimension’s “Stone-Soul Picnic” and “Up-Up and Away,” Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction,” The Byrds’ “Turn Turn Turn” and “Mr. Tambourine Man,” Sonny and Cher’s “The Beat Goes On” and “I Got You Babe,” The Ronettes’ “Be My Baby” (one of the greatest songs ever recorded, by the way!), The Monkees’ “Last Train to Clarksville,” Ricky Nelson’s “Fools Rush In,” the Ventures’ “Hawaii Five-O,” the Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody” and “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feeling,” Carpenters’ “Close to You” and “We’ve Only Just Begun,” several Tijuana Brass songs, the Crystals’ “Da Do Ron Ron,” “Then He Kissed Me,” and "He’s a Rebel” (the first 45-single my sister ever bought), Wayne Newton’s “Danke Schoen,” Simon & Garfunkel’s “Mrs. Robinson” and "Bridge Over Troubled Waters," Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots are Made for Walkin’,” Mamas and Papas' "California Dreamin'," Elvis' "Viva Las Vegas," and the Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds” album, arguably the greatest pop-rock recording of our generation. Unfortunately, once Top 40 music lost favor among more sophisticated rock listeners, demand for the Wrecking Crew waned and their golden age was over.

The theater was filled to capacity with mostly fans (our age) and longtime musicians, including Creed Bratton, one of the wacky staffers on TV’s “The Office” and former member of the rock group Grass Roots (who knew?). Filmmaker Denny Tedesco, Hal Blaine, pianist Don Randi, and engineer/producer Bones Howe answered a handful of questions afterward. But the real star was the music, which I still can’t get out of my head.

If you’re a musician and/or love 1960s pop-rock, I highly recommend seeing “The Wrecking Crew" documentary. Click here for upcoming screenings.

Lying Low

We’ve pretty much been lying low since the holidays—partly because Tim is working 12-hour shifts, 6 days a week getting the new broadcast studios ready at L.A. Live, but also because I’ve been sick off-and-on with a recurring bout of Meniere's, an inner-ear disease that is completely incapacitating. The disease manifests itself as extreme vertigo, forcing me to stay in bed, at least once a week, until the “attack” passes. It’s incurable, but it can be managed through a low-salt diet.

When I was a kid, I merely tolerated food and ate only because it was necessary to survive. I couldn’t understand why my family was so obsessed with eating all the time.

As I’ve gotten older, though, I’ve grown to appreciate food—its flavors, its cultural significance, and the joy of trying new restaurants. I don’t like everything—seafood and fish (ack!), for instance—but I do love to eat. Food looms large in Tim’s and my life.

But food is now the enemy. Turns out just about anything that’s packaged has sodium, causing my ear to fill with fluid, which leads to vertigo and other unpleasant side effects. Plus restaurants apparently put salt on everything! The only place that’s safe is Fatburger (YUM!), where you can request “no seasoning” and watch as they prepare your burger your way. They’re also one of the few places that doesn’t put salt on their french fries—heaven!

So I’ve been cooking at home a lot, adapting time-tested recipes by leaving out the salt. The best ones so far: chicken kiev, pasta primavera (without parmesan cheese—boo hoo!), baked potato and salad (with vinegar and oil, instead of sodium-infused bottled dressing), low-sodium ravioli with melted butter instead of spaghetti sauce, Chinese chicken salad, and chicken flautas, which I usually make only once a year (easy but very time-consuming) but have already made twice since January 1st. One good thing about this disease: it’s forcing me to eat healthier and also helping me lose weight. But, damn, I miss pork!

I’ve been told the attacks will probably abate in a couple of months. I can’t wait till April!

The Inauguration

3AM

I woke up at 3AM, even though my alarm clock was set to go off an hour later. It was so early the cats didn’t even join me, so I quietly read while waiting for “Good Morning America’s” (GMA) inaugural coverage to start at 4AM.

The night Obama won the election, I promised myself I would go to Washington D.C. to attend the inauguration. But life intervened and so there I was, sitting at home, waiting for the festivities to begin.

People were already packed into the National Mall by the time GMA began. I scoured the crowds for friends I knew were there. It was cold, but looked to be a clear day. I decided that as thrilling as it would have been to actually be there, it was best to watch from my comfy couch.

5AM

Hungry, I went into the kitchen to rustle-up some breakfast. I had hoped to wake Tim to the smell of baking banana bread, but he heard the beep of the oven’s timer and quickly stumbled out of bed to see what was cooking.

“It’s 5AM! What are you doing?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m baking a bread to eat while I watch the inauguration,” I answered matter-of-factly.

6AM

We started hearing reports that people were already congregating at L.A. Live, where Tim now works, to watch the ceremony on big-screen TVs. Worried that all the good parking spaces would be gone, Tim took off as soon as the bread got out of the oven.

7AM

Though I enjoyed the TV interviews with the Obamas’ friends, etc., I was getting antsy to see the First Family. What was Michelle (my new favorite “Most Beautiful Woman in the World!”) going to wear? How cute were Malia and Sasha going to look? (They were, of course, darling!).

Tim called to say that hundreds of people were jammed into the L.A. Live plaza. He could see the proceedings from his office window.

7:30AM

The cameras finally switched over to Blair House, where Obama family members were piling into cars to head over to a nearby church. The First Couple emerged—I loved Michelle’s lemongrass-colored ensemble!—and the race was on. After church they went to the White House to “have coffee” with the Bushes. Lots of photo ops. But the TV commentators were most abuzz over the precedent-setting gift Michelle gave to Laura: a journal and pen set so she could begin writing her memoirs.

After a short while, the vice presidential contingent exited the White House—the wives and then the husbands—and then the First Ladies appeared. The president and the president-elect were the last to enter their limousine. While the procession made its way to the Capitol, Tom Brokaw and Brian Williams speculated about what Mr. Bush and Mr. Obama were talking about, interjecting horror stories about previous presidential rivals who rode in silence because they hated each other. Everyone agreed that Bush and Obama were probably chatting quite amicably.

Meanwhile, the podium where the swearing-in ceremony was about to take place was starting to fill-up with Congressmembers and other dignitaries. Michelle arrived carrying Lincoln’s bible. Former vice presidents and their wives were introduced and took their seats, followed by former presidents and their wives. Everyone screamed and applauded for the Clintons, who looked as confident as ever.

George W. Bush then made his entrance to lukewarm applause. Apparently people on the Mall were waving and singing “Na-na-na, Na-na-na, Hey, Hey, Good-bye!” to the out-going president, but the TV microphones didn’t pick it up.

Then it was Barack Obama’s turn as he walked the long hallway to the outdoor stage. He could see the almost two million people crowded onto the National Mall and must have realized what was about to happen, because just for a moment the man, whom everyone calls Mr. Cool, seemed filled with emotion. I could only imagine what was going through his mind.

The crowd went wild as cameras showed people of all ages and colors sobbing and waving. California senator Dianne Feinstein guided the proceedings. Aretha Franklin sang “America the Beautiful” and Itzhak Perlman and Yo-Yo Ma played a sobering but lovely piece arranged by John Williams. Then it was time for the swearing in. Chief justice Roberts and Obama both flubbed their lines—a bad omen, I thought, until Barack launched into his speech and took total command of the situation. He admonished the country to take responsibility for its actions and promised that we would once again become a world leader. If I were George Bush, I would have been ashamed to be so poignantly reminded of my failure.

Post-inauguration

When it was all over, I started my work day and forgot about watching the inaugural parade like I was going to do. By dinnertime, I was exhausted. I did stay awake long enough to watch the televised “Neighborhood Ball,” however, and cried when Barack and Michelle, looking like happy newlyweds, danced to Beyoncé’s version of “At Last.”

A new day had dawned.

The Grammy Museum

The Grammy Museum opened last month as part of L.A. Live, a downtown plaza that hopes to emulate the excitement of NYC’s Times Square. The jury is still out on just how exciting L.A. Live will eventually be, but for now it’s shiny and new and gives people another reason to go downtown after dark.

Hoping that the Grammy Museum would be our own Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame (Cleveland) or Experience Music Project (Seattle), I was disappointed by its size: a mere four (rather small) floors displaying photos and audio exhibits of past Grammy award winners. The museum does house a nicely intimate (250 seats) theater, however, where Grammy officials hope to host public programs and unique musical events. For this reason alone, Tim and I became charter members.

As I’ve written elsewhere in this blog, the Beach Boys have loomed large in Tim’s and my lives. Not only did they sing about the surf culture we both loved as kids, but they were local boys, growing up in Hawthorne, not too far from where we now live. One of my sister’s and my theme songs was “All Summer Long.” And who doesn’t love “Good Vibrations”?

Fame, of course, doesn’t suit everyone and so Brian Wilson, the mastermind behind the Beach Boys, famously dropped out of the public eye in the late 1960s, frying his brain on drugs and playing piano in a sandbox that he built in his bedroom. As he says in his most recent, extremely autobiographical album, “That Lucky Old Sun,” “At 25 I turned out the light/ ‘Cause I couldn’t handle the glare in my tired eyes.”

But happily for us, Brian is now back, winning a Grammy in 2004 and a Kennedy Center award in 2007. Yes, he may look like something of a zombie (in an Hawaiian shirt!); still his contribution to California culture cannot be overstated. No wonder, then, that the first big event at the Grammy Museum theater was an interview with Brian Wilson.

The event sold-out immediately, so I had Tim work his connections magic. On Thursday morning, less than 10 hours from when Brian was being interviewed, Tim called to say he had tickets in hand. We were in! As suspected, the audience was filled with mostly “industry” folk, including Harry Shearer, who we later saw rocking out to “California Girls.”

Brian marched up the stairs to the small stage, looking like some guy who had just wandered in from the street. The conversation was obviously well-rehearsed, with the interviewer occasionally feeding Brian the answers. I was enthralled nonetheless. Did you know, for instance, that “Pet Sounds,” possibly the most brilliant Beach Boys album ever produced, was named in honor of Brian’s mentor Phil Spector (P.S. = Pet Sounds/Phil Spector)? Or that “God Only Knows,” one of the most beautiful pop songs of our generation, was written in just 45 minutes by Brian and Tony Asher, an ad guy who wanted to break into the music business? Besides Spector, Wilson said he was most influenced by the Four Freshmen, the Everly Brothers, and the Beatles. In fact, in the most touching moment of the night, he related how nervous he was singing with Paul McCartney at a recent function. “I tried not to be nervous,” he admitted, “but I was.”

After about 35 minutes, Brian’s current bandmates joined him on-stage to sing songs from past and present. We’ve, of course, heard him sing live many times before, but never from only 10 feet away. His voice is definitely shot, but it didn’t matter. I was a teenager once again and Brian Wilson was singing just for me . . .

Christmas, Past and Present

Sharing Christmas memories . . .

Past . . .













































and present

Happy Holidays, Y'All!

Only in L.A.

Karen called a couple weeks ago, saying she could get discount tickets for a one-night benefit performance of "You Can't Take It With You," a play starring Tom Hanks and a stellar cast of friends. I had wanted to go, but the ticket price was prohibitive. I, therefore, jumped at the chance when Karen said she could get me in for a quarter of the price. The only catch: I had to buy at least two tickets. Tim wasn't interested and Karen had to work, so I sold the second ticket to Katie, a student who lives in Northern California when not taking classes at UCLA.

The event was held at UCLA’s Royce Hall, one of the most beautiful buildings on campus. We were, of course, relegated to the balcony with all the other cheapskates. I had foolishly left my binoculars at home, so we had to strain our eyes to see any celebrities in the audience below us. We imagined seeing Ron Howard, whose production company Imagine was one the evening’s sponsors, as well as Francis Ford Coppola, who catered the post-play reception.

The real action was on stage, however. Beside Hanks, the cast included Tom’s wife Rita Wilson, well-known character actress Caroline Aaron, Dave Annable (Justin on the TV show “Brothers and Sisters”), Maria Bamford, brilliant actress Annette Bening, Kevin Chamberlain, former Oscar-nominee James Cromwell, funnyman Ian Gomez, Jon Hamm (“Mad Men’s” hunky leading man), Peter Krause (of “Six Feet Under” and “Dirty, Sexy Money”), Mila Kunis (from “That 70s Show”), William Shatner (Captain Kirk himself!), comic genius Martin Short, Alicia Silverstone (the ingenue in “Clueless”), and Holland Taylor (the annoying mother on “Two and a Half Men”). The director was Nora Ephron, who worked with Hanks on “Sleepless in Seattle” and “You’ve Got Mail.”

The play was wacky. Set during the Great Depression, it featured two lovebirds (Kunis and Hamm) who come from completely different backgrounds. Her family is extremely eccentric; his is reserved and rich. Conflict ensues when the families finally meet.

The event was billed as a “reading,” so everyone read from the script. The acting was good, even though apparently not much rehearsing went on beforehand. Annette Bening was her excellent self and Kunis and Hamm were appropriately attractive. But it was Tom Hanks who really stole the show. Wearing a tall fur cap, he played the Russian dance instructor who has opinions about everything (“IT STINKS!!”). He rarely stuck to the script and, at one point, started madly throwing chairs off the stage.

Not to be outdone, Martin Short, who played Bening’s husband, also veered from the script and several times brought the play to a screeching halt by rushing over to give Bening a long passionate kiss—all while her real-life husband, Warren Beatty, watched from the audience. Everyone screamed in delight. And then there was Bill Shatner, the play’s patriarch, who ad-libbed with the best of them. By the end, my cheeks hurt from laughing so hard!

After the applause, we ran downstairs to see if we could spot any celebrities exiting the theater. Looming above all the rest was Warren Beatty, looking exactly like he does in the movies.

“There’s Warren Beatty,” I whispered to Katie.

“And Faye Dunaway,” she responded, as I struggled to recognize the person standing next to him.

“Hmmm . . . Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty,” I thought to myself. “Why does that sound so familiar? Then suddenly, “Oh my God!” I yelped. “It’s Bonnie and Clyde!” What a thrill!

We followed the crowds to the patio where a champagne and dessert reception was being held. We hoped to rub elbows with some of the bigger name celebrities, but saw only James Cromwell (very tall) and Kevin Chamberlain (I still don’t know who he is!). Then, just as we were about to leave, I noticed flashbulbs going off inside the lobby. We pushed our way over to see what was happening.

I couldn’t see Hanks, Bening or Beatty, but we did have a clear view of Jon Hamm and Martin Short yucking it up about something. Actually, all we could see was the back of Hamm’s head as he laughed at Short’s antics. We stood there for several minutes and were about to give up when Hamm turned our way. We could see his face—well worth the wait!

It couldn’t get any better than that, so we left.

Happy Thanksgiving (oink! oink!)

Like everyone else, we watch the Food Network’s “Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives,” starring Guy Fieri, the gastronome with the white (yellow?) spiky hair. He can be obnoxious, but the restaurants he visits always look appetizing in a greasy-spoon kind of way. Last week’s hour-long “best of” episode was especially appealing because it featured, among other places, Mike’s Chili Parlour, an ancient hot dog palace located in Ballard, just north of downtown Seattle. Since we were flying up there to be with my sister Vicki for Thanksgiving, Tim’s eyes immediately lit-up.

“Look at that enormous chili dog!” he said in a food-induced trance. “Do you think Mike’s is on the way to your sister’s?”

I can certainly take a hint and so quickly went to Google Maps. Mike’s was indeed on the way to Vicki’s house, if a bit off the beaten track. I printed the directions and called my sister to tell her we would be taking a side trip to Ballard en route to her house. While on the phone, she asked her husband if he had ever eaten at Mike’s.

“No,” I could hear him say in the background. “But it sure smells good every time I drive by!”

We arrived in Seattle on Wednesday just in time for lunch. After a couple of false starts—I had copied directions from the airport, not the car rental agency, which was located off-site—we got on the right freeway and headed north. We drove west of downtown Seattle and through various neighborhoods until we finally saw signs for Ballard.

“Too far!” Tim yelled, as I zoomed past NW Ballard Way. “Turn right here!”

We were suddenly in the middle of a seedy industrial area that looked like something out of “On the Waterfront.”

“There are no restaurants here,” I exclaimed. “Damn you, Guy Fieri!”

But just as we were about to give up, we spotted two very satisfied-looking men emerging from a diner.

“There it is!” we both yelled in unison as I swung over to the curb and parked.

Built in 1922, the exterior of the restaurant still has vestiges of an art deco facade that must have been elegant at one time. The inside, however, is pure diner, with raised booths, a pool table and full-on bar. It was small and dark and looked like it hadn’t been painted in forty years—in other words, it had lots of character.

Tim eyeballed the menu and selected the chili cheese dog he had seen on TV. I, on the other hand, haven’t eaten a hot dog since reading Upton Sinclair's “The Jungle” in sixth grade and so was pretty much out of luck. There was a handwritten note tacked above the bar promising grilled chicken sandwiches. But the young waitress said they had run out of chicken earlier in the week, so I just ordered french fries.

The chili cheese dog was so massive—and messy!—that Tim happily ate it with a fork and knife, while I looked the other way. A group of obvious tourists came in and scanned the room for seats.

“Looks like someone else watches the Food Network,” I whispered to Tim.

The story doesn’t end here, of course. From Ballard we went to my sister’s home and had pork roast for dinner. This was followed by turkey and lots of other food on Thanksgiving. The bird wasn’t the only thing stuffed by the end of the day!

As if that wasn’t enough, we decided to join the post-holiday shopping crowd and so drove into downtown Seattle, Friday morning. Pike Place Market was even more festive than usual. Still, we resisted all urges to eat. That is, until Tim spied a small sign across the street: “Taxi Hot Dogs.” He looked at his watch (11:30AM), decided it was time for lunch and headed toward a small hot dog joint a few doors north of the original Starbuck’s.

“One regular hot dog,” he ordered and was once again in his glory.

We both vowed we’d eat nothing but salad when we returned to L.A. We’ve been home now for 24 hours. It still hasn’t happened . . .

Election Day, At Last!

Morning

Woke up at 6AM. Tim and I had already agreed that we would vote first thing in the morning, since the lines would be too long after we both returned from work. I hopped into the shower and then walked over to our polling site, a house two blocks from our home. I was the first person there; but by the time Tim joined me, the line was already to the street.

At 7AM, the owner of the house came outside and announced the polls were now open. I applauded and entered. It was a bit chaotic, but I signed in and took my ballot to the voting booth in the corner. I waved to Tim to come vote in the booth next to me. We had marked our sample ballots ahead of time, so were able to vote very quickly. Nonetheless, I almost started to cry when I opened the booklet and saw Barack Obama’s name. Regardless of the outcome, this is the single most historic election I’ve ever voted in. It is almost impossible to express the enormity of this day.

Exiting the polls, we greeted our neighbors as they waited on line. We have an Obama lawn sign in our front yard, so it’s no secret how we voted.

“What a great day!” I exclaimed, barely containing my emotions.

We then saw Nick, our next-door neighbor’s youngest son, with sample ballot in hand.

“Is this your first election?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Congratulations!”

Just as we got home the sky, which had been rainy a few moments before, opened up to reveal patches of blue.

“Maybe it’s sign of good things to come,” Tim observed as he jumped into his car to head to work. I went inside, wondering how I’d ever be able to concentrate on anything but the election today.



Evening

If I didn’t have to teach this afternoon I would have sat in front of the TV all day waiting for the election returns. As it was, I called Tim as soon as class ended at 5PM.

“Has Obama won yet!?” I asked half-jokingly.

He hadn’t, of course. But even though the polls just closed on the east coast, Obama had already racked up 100 electoral votes. Unlike 2004, when Tim and I went to bed not knowing whether John Kerry had won or lost, this looked to be a short night. I rushed home.

Over the next couple of hours, we watched as people around the country gathered in anticipation of an Obama victory: students at Spellman College and Indiana University; African-Americans in Harlem; and thousands of supporters in Chicago’s Grant Park. Never in my 36 years of voting have I ever seen anything like it.

Then suddenly, at one minute past 8PM, NBC newsanchor Bryan Williams came on and announced the election results. Thanks to California and our neighbors to the north, Barack Obama had surpassed the 270 electoral votes needed and won the presidency! Unbridled joy erupted in Grant Park, while an emotional Tom Brokaw cried.

I, too, cried—and haven’t really stopped yet!—in relief and happiness that a new era is about to begin in America. To me, it’s more than Obama being black or even a Democrat—it’s about having a brilliant, articulate president who has captured and reengaged the imagination and hope of our nation. Sure, he has far less political experience than his opponents; still, he has already proven himself a magnificent leader and motivator of young and old alike. He listened to the people and they responded in kind. It is now our turn to do whatever we can to help him succeed as president.

Going Native (Again!)

Those of you following this blog for a while will remember that last October I decided to demolish our backyard and plant drought-resistant California natives. Well, I didn’t do the actual demolition and planting; but, along with our fabulous landscaper Joel, I did help guide the project, which changed my whole outlook on gardening. Unable to tell a live plant from a dead one just a year ago, I am now almost obsessed with flora of all stripes.

Not a surprise then when I announced to Tim that we should plant natives in the front, even though we’d be the only house on the block without a lawn. Even more scandalous, I suggested that we build a low fence to protect our new yard, making ours, of course, the only house in the entire neighborhood with a fence. What would people think? Nonetheless, convinced that we were doing the right thing—especially as water becomes more and more precious—we decided to proceed in hopes that others would eventually follow our lead.

It is too hot to plant anything during the summer, so we waited till early October to actually begin the project. In the meantime, Joel and I toured nearby gardens and took pictures of possible fences. Then, finally two weeks ago, he came over and sketched out a plan for the yard. We would keep the hawthorne bushes against the house and our glorious Chinese elm, which everyone loves, but just about everything else would go. Demolition began shortly after. No turning back now!



Joel and I then schlepped over to Theodore Payne, the nonprofit nursery in Sunland, to pick out plants. We bought plenty of my backyard favorites—salvia (i.e., sage), artemisia (strange low-lying plants that look like tribbles), and yarrow—plus some California holly (i.e. toyon), a spiny barberry, and coyote bush. On his own, Joel selected a crepe myrtle tree, two petite maples, lilacs, and star jasmine, which will grow along the fence. Hesperaloes grace our short parkway along the street.

As you can see, the yard is now complete. All we need is a few months and a little bit of rain to get things growing. More pictures forthcoming in the spring!

Seeing Hillary

The invitation arrived in my e-mailbox about three weeks ago. Hillary Clinton was being honored at the home of Bruce Raben, a businessperson who lives in Hancock Park. I could attend a private “VIP” reception with the Senator for $1000 or I could go as a “Friend” for a fraction of the cost. I decided that, as much as I love the Clintons, I’m no more than just a friend and so RSVP’d accordingly. I then sent the invite to Tim to see if he wanted to tag along. He took one look at Raben’s address on Google Maps and e-mailed me immediately.

“The house is HUGE!” he wrote. “I’m going!”

So we got dressed up and drove to Hancock Park, one of L.A.’s most opulent neighborhoods, located directly south of Hollywood. A few police officers were on the street when we got there. We checked-in at the registration table and then joined others as they walked up a short flight of stone stairs to the front yard.

The 1920s Tudor-style house and its grounds were truly magnificent—at least 10 times the size of our small mid-century home. Since we weren’t part of the VIP reception, we were directed to the backyard where various soft drinks were being served. There we saw a slightly raised stone patio and people (mostly women) standing on the lawn behind a cord. Beyond the lawn was a pool, pool house (a little smaller than our home), and a tennis court. It had rained earlier in the day, so we made our way up to the pool deck, where it was dry.

We were standing there trying to see if anyone famous had arrived, when an older woman in a suit came up and started chatting with us. Turns out she was a high-powered lawyer from Manhattan who now lives here. She wondered if we knew the history of Hancock Park. We may not be welcome inside Bruce Raben’s home, but we have toured (as L.A. Conservancy members, etc.) many houses in the area, so were able to tell her what little we knew.

After about half-an-hour, I noticed an imposing-looking man in a suit, wearing an earpiece, standing outside the tennis court.

“Secret Service,” I said to myself. “Hillary must be here.”

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, a nice young woman came over and suggested that we join everyone else on the lawn. When I balked, her pretty face hardened and I knew then that this was not a request but an order. I realized later that the pool, which was raised a few feet above the yard, was the perfect vantage point for anyone wanting to do Hillary harm.

Local dignitaries in the audience were introduced (L.A. city council members and our hero John Chiang, the state controller who refused to lower state employees’ salaries to minimum wage during California’s recent budget crisis). Next, an event organizer in a black t-shirt (and we got dressed-up!) came out and told us about the first time he met Senator Clinton. And, then, before I knew it, there she was, smiling and waving to everyone from the patio. The crowd (maybe 200 people) went wild.

She thanked us all for our support and talked a bit about the presidential election. She then told us about her campaign to get Democrats across the country elected to the Senate. Hillary looked rested and happy and was, quite frankly, very normal. She didn’t make a speech; instead, she just chatted as if she were among friends. After about 15-20 minutes, she stopped talking and started shaking hands and posing for pictures. I really couldn’t find an excuse to climb over the people closest to her and so watched from afar. As someone standing next to me said, “It’s good enough just being in this backyard with her. I don’t need to shake her hand.”

Hillary schmoozed for quite a while and then waved good-bye. We applauded and cheered—not only because we love her, but also because the gates, which had been sealed shut during the Senator’s appearance, were once again open. When it was safe to do so, we were released to go back out into the world and promote the Democratic ticket.


(Me and a faux Hillary at the Public Library Association conference last March)