Earth Quakes and Tsunamis

I do a gratitude list almost every morning.  I have a hard time being thankful that my part of the world is OK when other parts of the world are not.

Cold Sunday Morning in Pasadena

Hahamongna with a Twist

What do you do when you get the day wrong for the Hahamongna Walkabout?  You watch a frisbee golf tournament.  That's what!

Here's what I learned: Frisbee golf is very sophisticated.  Like regular golf, each player has several frisbees that they use for different situations, depending on what they need to do.  There are putter frisbees and distance frisbees and frisbees that curve and frisbees that go straight and frisbees that glide.  Each player carries a bag of frisbees around, just like golfers carry bags of clubs.  These are not your regular frisbees, either.  These are all special frisbees.  Some guys were telling me that the frisbee's characteristics change as they get beaten up, and some of them get better.  It's against the rules to manually alter a frisbee, but changes that occur naturally from using it are ok.  Below is one manufacturer's chart showing all the frisbees it makes and what each one's characteristics are.

A disc golfer goes for the hole, which is that basket thing in front of the red car next to the dumpster.  The disc in mid-air is right in front of the rock behind the red station wagon.

Here's what I came to see to begin with.  Here's the info on the Hahamongna Walkabout scheduled for  February 19, 2011.  http://www.savehahamongna.org/walkabout.htm

No on 14 - Martin Luther King, Jr.

"Would you want your daughter to marry a realtor?" In 1964, Proposition 14 was on the California Ballot. The purpose was to overturn the Rumford Act, which prohibited discrimination in housing. The California Realtors Association supported Proposition 14, thinking homes would be harder to sell if neighborhoods became mixed, or perhaps that property values would fall if people began to move out of neighborhoods in large numbers. Proposition 14 passed by 65%, but was later declared unconstitutional by the California Supreme Court and the U.S. Supreme Court. This is a button from the anti-14 campaign.

Christmas Breakfast Reprise

[At the special request of Karin, the Altadena Hiker, the engineer of the best Christmas Train around, mystery woman of the East Denas, and Queen of All Internet Smackdowns, whose every wish is my command (whether she knows it or not), and who, I might mention, is tall enough to be the perfect height, I'm reposting for the third consecutive year, my Christmas Breakfast Story.]

Christmas morning can be a challenging time for a single Jewish guy who wants to go someplace for breakfast. Every year I get in my car and drive up to Pasadena, and I always seem to find at least one place that's open. One year, the bakery next to Mi Piaci on Colorado was open. Another year, it was Robin's. It seems to vary from year to year, and I can't seem to count on any place to be open year after year.

Several years ago, as I made my way into Old Town on Christmas morning, I noticed that Ruby's Diner (http://www.rubys.com/) at the corner of Green and Fair Oaks was open. Ruby's was a '50s-style diner that had great food and waiters and waitresses dressed in 50s-style outfits.  (It has long since left Pasadena, but can still be found in some other locations like Fullerton, for example.)  Sometimes my swing-dancing friends and I would go there in the evening after a dance at PBDA (http://www.pasadenaballroomdance.com/) and dance to the 50s music in the aisles between the tables. I was really happy that Ruby's was open that Christmas morning.

Upon arriving, I realized that I needed to buy an LA Times to read as I ate, but decided I'd wait until after I ordered my meal. As I entered, a young woman greeted me and asked me if I was there for breakfast. I thought this was a rather odd question. It was around 8:00 am, so what else would I be doing walking into a restaurant? I noticed that the waiters and waitresses were not wearing their usual Ruby's outfits. Instead they were wearing blue jeans and flannel shirts. I thought, "That's funny, but it is Christmas, and maybe they just thought they'd let them wear regular clothes."

I was taken to a booth, and I sat down waiting for someone to bring me coffee and a menu and take my order. As I waited, I noticed that instead of the usual salt and pepper shakers on the table there were those little paper envelopes. I also noticed that the utensils were plastic. I thought, "Well, it's Christmas, I guess they didn't want to bring in a full crew of dishwashers and others."

I thought it was odd that it was taking so long for them to come and take my order, when suddenly two young waitresses appeared at my table. One had a pot of coffee and the other had a rectangular styrofoam plate containing scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast, which she began to place in front of me. "What's this?" I asked. "It's breakfast," one of them said. "But I didn't order this," I said.

Just then a light went on in my head. "Is this a free breakfast for the homeless?" I asked.  "Yes," she said. "Oh," I said trying to slide down under the table from embarrassment, "I can't eat this. I didn't realize..."  "Don't worry about it," she said, "We have enough food to feed 500 people and only 50 have shown up. We're just going to have to throw it out." 

So reluctantly, I began to eat my free Christmas breakfast. I looked around sheepishly at the other diners. I saw a few homeless-looking people, and a few large tables of what appeared to be special-needs patients. I had to eat my breakfast without the company of the LA Times, because you see, I felt so guilty for being there, I didn't have the nerve to show I had disposable income by getting up and spending a quarter on a newspaper.

After I was done, I went over and offered to pay for my food or to make a donation. The waitress said, "There's no way you can. We don't have registers working, and all the food's been donated and paid for. We're just going to have to send all the leftovers to the park where they're serving lunch, but there will be way too much food."

So that's the story of my embarrassing Christmas breakfast at Ruby's Diner.

The Great Tamale Headline Keyboard Smackdown

It all started when Facebook Friend Kris decided to present her tamale-party dinner.  She placed it on her computer, but used a newspaper as a "barrier" to protect the keyboard.

I followed suit with a tamale, a plate, a newspaper, and a keyboard.  The Tamale Headline Keyboard Smackdown was on.  I thought the Giants World Series Victory was a nice touch.

We soon discovered we'd been hoarding some interesting headlines.  Rules: Tamale (or part thereof), plate, keyboard, newspaper.

Lorena Bobbit touch

                                        
                                            Were we suckers?

Lemon or not?

Which one's the Jesus Juice?

SF GIANTS - WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS

                                                                

The Following is from a blog called RocketShoes

by Drew Hoohorst

This is why I’m a Giants fan. This exact moment. Scratch that: this is why I like stupid, grunt grunt sports in general. San Francisco, this very moment.

It’s legitimately a magical time in San Francisco right now. I have the fortune of working approximately two blocks away from AT&T/”For Christsakes, it’s PacBell” Park, and it’s been absolutely surreal. If a unicorn came around the corner and high fived me right now and said, “Go Giants”, I wouldn’t even take an earbud out. I’d just high hoove him right back and point and smile.

For people who don’t understand why people love sports so much, move to a town where this kind of thing might happen, and you’ll get it.

This team has done something to this city that is unreal. It’s even more unreal because this is San Francisco. Home of the polarizing “I hate your district NO I HATE YOUR DISTRICT LET’S MAKE OUT THOUGH BECAUSE WE BOTH LOVE SAN FRANCISCO” landscape. Hipsters hate marina guys. Marina guys hate hipsters. We judge every goddamn thing on the planet that isn’t organic, and then can’t understand why people judge the crap out of us right back (irony alert). I mean…I work down the block from a fucking artisan grilled cheese store. This town is, by no means, indicative of the rest of the American landscape. We’re just weird, and we embrace the living crap out of it.

And right now, everyone is a Giants fan. Everyone. Your grandma. That homeless guy directing you into a wide open parking spot and then expecting you to congratulate him for his non-feat with a dollar. Right now? I’d give him two. Because this town is effing electric.

You know what? To all the people who hate “bandwagon” fans? Let it go. Who cares. You know who you are? You’re the guy who liked the Kings of Leon and then got mad when everyone else did. You’re the guy who said “this band is SO good”, and then when someone said, “hey I agree” you said NO YOU DON’T ONLY I CAN LIKE THEM. That’s silly. Knock it off. Let them in. Buy them a beer, or a kombucha. Whatever it is. I don’t care. Just let this happen and stop Eeyoring the crap out of our unlimited happiness we’re on the brink of.

I love sports for this reason. Every now and then, everyone just stops being so damn frumpy and acts like our city is just a big college. You ever been to a college town that really loves their team a scary amount? Like, Ray Finkel’s Mom amounts? It’s great. You know why? Because everyone is just actually nice to each other. You have a common bond. And whether or not it’s a bond that is contingent upon a guy throwing a ball or waving a wooden stick, it’s an awesome bond.

I love this time. I find myself smiling at people when I buy coffee. I see my friends who bicker over ridiculous crap calling each other and inviting each other to hang out. I see strangers hugging because a guy from the Dominican Republic is hitting sac fly’s. Marina guys are wearing the same goddamn t-shirt hipster guys are wearing. HOW CAN YOU NOT BOTTLE THIS MOMENT UP? We’re in a vacuum. Enjoy it.

I have grown up with the Giants. My brother and I spend half of our “that’s so adorable that they are ACTUALLY best friends” time talking to each other about them; it genuinely brings us together.  It’s in the blood of my family, and I was taught from a very young age to bring a blanket to the ‘stick because it’s never a comfortable temperature in this city. My mother and father brought our family together with this ridiculous game. If you never lived here or you’re just getting on the bandwagon? Let me be your creepy metaphorical father and open the front door and hand you a beer. Welcome. We love you, too.

So fear the Just for Men beard. Embrace the fact that every woman in town is in love with the good guy (THAT NEVER HAPPENS IN REAL LIFE). Embrace the fact that we have a pitcher that resembles one of the greatest characters in film history, one Mitch Kramer (he even smokes pot…how San Francisco is that?). Embrace it.

No matter what happens, San Francisco, embrace it. This is why we like sports. Because they are ridiculous, and they make people really happy when we’d usually just bide the time complaining about what we don’t like about each other.

Embrace it, San Francisco. This is why we like each other. Right now.