It's Chinatown, Jake

Los Angeles, California

My head keeps getting whipped around. What is happening in American politics reminds me of Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass where the Red Queen says: It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.

On June 15th, Joel and I attended the fundraiser for Biden hosted by George Clooney and Julia Roberts. The big draw was Obama. It was held at the Peacock Theater in downtown Los Angeles (or as the cool kids say: DTLA). I grew up in Los Angeles and am a 3rd generation Californian and 2nd generation Angeleno and I'd never heard of the Peacock Theater! Turns out that Peacock is its newest name, having been named Microsoft and something else at another time. I wish they wouldn't do this. I still call the Giants' stadium in San Francisco, the AT&T. It's no longer that. But I digress.

The fundraiser was an interesting event with intense street security, but not so much getting into the event. Yes, they looked in our purses, but fairly perfunctory. You get a better screening at Dodgers' Stadium, but perhaps that is because of the Naked Gun comedy where there is an attempted assassination of Queen Elizabeth in the stadium foiled by Detective Frank Drebin (Leslie Nielsen). Funny movie, by the way. And I kinda adored Leslie Nielsen. But again, I digress.

At the event, Biden walked haltingly and started speaking slowly. But once he got onto a topic, he was knowledgeable and articulate. He can do this, we thought. But then came the debate two weeks later, hosted on CNN by Dana Bash and Jake Tapper. I watched it alone, but was texting with Nikki, a politico college student who is the daughter of my friend, Cathy. Not to put too fine a point on it, Biden's performance at the debate was profoundly abysmal. As was Trump's, but in a completely different, albeit Trumpian, way. Biden seemed tired, ill, overwrought and unable to rise to the occasion on so many different levels. Trump was Trump. All the adjectives would take up too much space here, so reprehensible should suffice. He represents this new normal of dishonesty. Outright, unconscionable, boldfaced lying. And because Americans are too stupid to do any research on their own, fact-checking is pretty much nonexistent to the right. Duh, well he said it. It must be true. It's on Fox.

Nikki has a crush on Jake Tapper. After we commented on how nice he looked (he looked ok), we both got absorbed by his expressions of incredulity. But really, why would he be surprised at anything Trump would do at this point in time? The envelope to be pushed has ceased to exist. Still, Jake often looked surprised. I texted Nikki, It's Chinatown, Jake. She didn't text back. A few days later I asked Cathy if Nikki would know that reference. She rolled her eyes and said no. Still, I'm sticking to it. It's Chinatown, Jake. If you don't know the people and the territory, or in this case the cult, you just won't get it. On the other hand, a better reference might be Faust. Look it up.

Joel and I were disagreeing on whether Biden should leave the race. After the fundraiser, we started off on the same page. But he didn't watch the debate. Something was clearly not right. Bill Maher had been saying all along that Biden can do the job, but he just can't run for the job. Campaigning has never been his strong suit. But after the debate created the furor that it did, I questioned whether he could do the job of beating Trump.

We had celebrated (as much as we could during the pandemic) when Biden beat Trump. Yes, kids, Biden beat Trump. It was a different celebration than when Obama had won his first election, because Obama represented hope and change. Biden represented sanity. But now something was brewing and as time went on, it made sense to me. When Biden wrote his statement that he was not seeking reelection, I texted the news to Joel. He was not happy. The fear that I have is that we Democrats won't have learned the lesson from the experience with Bernie. To be angry about this, and to withhold your vote makes no sense at all. It made no sense in 2016. Didn't we learn the lesson?

Kamala has not yet chosen her VP. I was hoping for Mark Kelly. We saw him at the Giffords event we attended earlier this year and I was heartily impressed by him. But yesterday I read that Pete Buttigieg is topping the oddsmakers' lists. What a splendid choice that would be on so many levels. The world could move on from the insanity of Trump and the radical right and left! Trump can go to prison or fulfill the bargain he has made with the devil (again, Faust), and Biden can retire knowing that he will be remembered as an effective president and selfless statesman. By Christmas, all could seem right with the world, maybe even in Chinatown.

A Moonbeam in your Hand

Los Angeles, California

I have been so fortunately blessed in my life to have known women who enhanced my life. I named my blog after Sandra, and every time I sit down to write a post, I see her name and I think of her. And, not so sadly. Of course I still miss her beyond words, and my life has changed so dramatically since she was a part of it, so the history we shared is a bit compartmentalized in my memory. But when I think of her, I think of how truly good she was and reflect on how infrequently we run across people like that in our lives. Don't get me wrong. Most of the people in my life are basically good people. But I look on humans as flawed beings, and part of my sometimes-challenging emotional makeup is in accepting that. I believe most of us do the best we can. We make mistakes; we correct mistakes; we learn from mistakes. Hopefully, we take responsibility for whatever damage we might cause to others. But, somehow, Sandra seemed less flawed. I think her faith provided a foundation for how she lived her life. And yet, she was completely unpious and was never judgmental. Life seemed to sit on her lightly. She was a devout Roman Catholic and a traditionally-conservative Republican. But to be her friend you didn't have to be either; she welcomed all into her life.

I loved her. I loved spending time with her. She was always so much fun; so game for anything. With Tom and John, we traveled to Tahiti and Panama; stayed a week each year at the Kona Village, and spent time in Tahoe, Carmel, and Rancho Santa Fe. If I told a story about her everytime I wrote a post, it would take me years to write them all. And, truthfully, I'm not sure I could write them well. You kinda had to be there. But here's one. Once when Sandra got exasperated with John's uncharitable behavior we witnessed her uncharacteristic sharpness with him. John, she said, What would Jesus do? We were hanging out at the Bora Bora Bar at the Kona Village at that moment. John shrugged (he'd heard this one before). But later, Tom said to me: It's a better concept to consider what would Sandra do. And a few years later, when I started my blog, thusly naming it seemed right.

Sandra has been gone for ten years. This past weekend, I attended the funeral for another friend, Maria. Maria was not a close friend, but I knew her for many years. She worked in the office of my accountant and was the friendly voice heard when I phoned and the bright smile when I walked into the office every month to drop off my business books. For even more years, I had known Joyce, who was my bookkeeper. One of the best parts of retiring was transitioning these relationships to friends. Joyce kindly included me in a group attending musicals at an LA theater. And the three of us would have lunch on occasion. After one of these lunches, I showed off my new Tesla. The next time I phoned the office, Maria brightly said: Guess what I got?  She had purchased a hot red Tesla after seeing mine.

Maria was one of those rare people who have a glow. She was beautiful, and had an especially lovely smile. And she smiled a lot. Her face would light up with that smile. She was so kind, and as was told and retold at her funeral service, she was infinitely generous and loving to everyone she encountered in her life. Her life's mantra was Living is giving. And story after story reflected that. I wish I had known her much better.

In the course of her funeral Mass, the old, Irish priest (gee whiz, they import a ton of these) reflected that Maria was still with us, as well as having rejoined her late husband, as we are not humans on earth who experience spirituality, but rather spiritual beings who are experiencing a brief human existence. The simile that comes up when I hear a nugget like that, mostly imparted while reading or listening to a homily at Mass, is that it is like a cookbook. Like my mother before me, I collect cookbooks. And I rationalize the continuing purchase of new books like this: If you get one recipe out of a cookbook which becomes part of your repertoire, it was worth the price of the cookbook. I am still thinking about the Irish Father's reference to spirituality, and how it relates to my own life.

Maria was only sixty-seven years old and was felled by ALS. As I remarked to a friend, the only thing worse than dying of ALS is living with ALS. I'm not sure that's true, but for those of us left behind, Maria's disease and death seemed heartily unfair. But then, I always feel that when I lose someone I care about. I take it personally. And that is maybe what we all do. Loss is personal, as well as universal.

And, in case you wondered, the title of this post is from The Sound of Music, specifically from the song How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria? It seemed fitting to me, this moonbeam reference resonating with Maria's bright glow. If fortune is with you, you know people like Sandra. And Maria. I knew them both. In that, I was infinitely, extraordinarily lucky.

Viva Colombia!

Los Angeles, California

To Paraphrase Garrison Keillor, It has not been a quiet week in Lake Woebegon. Or, at least not here in La LA Land. It has been Joel's birthday week, and... I write that without irony. Back in the day, I celebrated a birthday month, so he is indeed, at least, entitled to a week. And, he has been on vacation. A nine-dayer starting on a Thursday when we went to our favorite Mexican restaurant to drink beer (Joel) and tequila (me) at the bar and watch the Dodgers play. The next night we were out at a local club on their Colombian night. Dancing normally starts at ten, but they had opened early so they could watch Colombia v. Costa Rica in the Copa America soccer championship. Colombia won, so the Colombian clientele were joyful (and drunk). The club was crowded, but one of the things we like about sharing the dance floor with Colombians is that their style of dancing is very close and their movement compact. You don't get trod on. So we danced and drank a little (beer/tequila).

After hanging around and in the pool over the weekend, we went out for Chinese food on Sunday night and then to a different local club to dance. We had been there once before but it had since been remodeled with a very nice and clean (especially after the last club and all their drinking and spilling) dance floor. We stayed until midnight (late for us but this was J's vacation after all).

And then Tuesday rolled around, which is J's actual birthday. We went to a local diner for an early lunch and back home to hang out more and watch an actual Copa America game, Colombia v. Brazil. Colombia didn't win. The score was 1-1. But, unlike in baseball, this can still advance you. Brazil was out; Colombia advanced. After the game, we went out for oysters which is half of what we do for each of our birthdays. The other half was waiting for us at the club with the Colombians. Were they joyful (and drunk) like last time? No. They were ecstatic and bombed. They weren't even collecting a cover charge at the door. It was Bienvenidos, come on in! The floor was so sticky, you could hardly pick up your feet to dance. But their palpable glee was infectious and, especially since it was Joel's birthday, we had a blast. When he refused the free drink the bartender offered him she asked me if I wanted a shot. Are you kidding? Later, after Joel did accept a beer from our friend, Iggy, we saw the bartender dancing alongside us. We danced until the non-Colombian DJ started playing too much regaeton (my spellcheck wants to change that word to rigatoni). We left around midnight. It was the third time we had danced that week. If only life were all birthday vacations!

We got in some pool R + R in before Joel returned to work three days later, and I turned back to the tediousness of some home remodeling. There are very few things I find more banal than house projects, but houses need repair and updating. And you just can't dance that stuff away. So life as we know it moved on. Birthdays come and go, you know. Meanwhile, Colombia played Uruguay and slammed them, 5-0. Hence advancing to the upcoming finals against Argentina. Argentina's good. See, I'm learning something here, even though the game we watched had commentary entirely in Spanish and all I got was an occasional híjole! But that final, Colombia v. Argentina, is still to come. And at least I do know enough Spanish to write: Viva Colombia!