It's late, I will keep this very short. Seriously wondering what happened in my kitchen last week, I googled "cooking meth" online. There are youtube videos out there that explained the empty and filthy ice cube trays in my sink, the tin foil, the mason jar with burned stuff on the bottom, the black clumps of something burned on the back patio. Yes, meth was being cooked in my kitchen. I didn't watch the video the entire way to see if the blow-up evidence that was all over my kitchen was another by-product of the process, but I know all I need to know.
Fuck. And the jerk is still missing, his junk is still here and my favorite little Revere saucepan, the one I have had for 30 years is missing. I searched for it this evening, nada.
Fucking asshole........
.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
A cool documentary to watch, take your mind off roommate disasters
Let's change up the color while we are at it.
"Somm" is free on Netflix. Follows 4 guys who are studying to take the Master Sommelier exam. It's a totally enjoyable documentary, even if you don't like wine. The amount of knowledge they need to store in their brains, the incredible super tasters they have to be, the seriousness of it all they need to counter with wine dinners and sarcasm and laughter..... it's all worth watching. Check it out. It will make you want to open a bottle of wine and see what you can smell and taste.
And trust me, compared to these guys, it won't be much!
.
"Somm" is free on Netflix. Follows 4 guys who are studying to take the Master Sommelier exam. It's a totally enjoyable documentary, even if you don't like wine. The amount of knowledge they need to store in their brains, the incredible super tasters they have to be, the seriousness of it all they need to counter with wine dinners and sarcasm and laughter..... it's all worth watching. Check it out. It will make you want to open a bottle of wine and see what you can smell and taste.
And trust me, compared to these guys, it won't be much!
.
Roommate disaster, Part 3
And the hits just keep on coming. Had a long conversation with the SR police last night, the cop who was on duty when they stormed my house looking for Josh, the roommate. OK, stormed is a loaded word and I don't think they did, but the cop did say they crawled into the bedroom window and the tiny dog (the one who does not hesitate to poop throughout the house) was home alone. They were there to check on Josh because his mother thought he might be suicidal. Oh, joy.
Of course, no dead body was found. Our discussion progressed from that to this: once a person pays rent, it is very, very difficult to get them out of your house, like months difficult. The cop literally said "you will need to be patient. If he doesn't want to leave, this could take three months." And I was informed that no, I cannot touch his belongings, I cannot move anything to the garage and I cannot even deny him access to the house! If I think he (and his homeless pals) are cooking drugs, well, just call 911 and if we catch them, then we can do something.
But if I touch and move his stuff, it's a misdemeanor and I could be arrested! When I said, smart-ass that I am, "well, hey, free room and board for me" the cop sort of laughed. But it is no laughing matter, of course. My hope is that Josh does not know anything about tenant law.
And that leads us to this: he left on Saturday night, said he would be back to get his stuff on Monday. Now, perhaps the ghost of Bob Marley did, indeed, make his car die and is keeping him in Monterey county. But now I need to pray to that same ghost and let him be released because as long as his stuff is here, I am being held hostage by that stuff. Can't touch it, can't move it, can't kick him out, I can only wait. If he takes his stuff and leaves, then he is done. If he doesn't take his stuff, or if he doesn't show up for another month, then tough shit for me.
Which leads me to this: if he is not here by Sunday, May 31, to collect his stuff and leave, I will be forced to give 30 days notice and I will be the one who has to leave and find another place to live. How nice is that? I can't afford to pay rent on my own to the tune of $1850 a month and if he is not here, it precludes finding another roommate. The deposit I put on this house is close to $2500 dollars and the only way I will get that back is if I give enough notice.
But even as I write that, I realize I will get NOTHING back if I leave and my landlord has to deal with evicting Josh. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada.
Oh, that makes me want to puke. I hadn't realized that until just now.
Sorry, can't write anymore right now. This is so, so wrong in every way.
.
Of course, no dead body was found. Our discussion progressed from that to this: once a person pays rent, it is very, very difficult to get them out of your house, like months difficult. The cop literally said "you will need to be patient. If he doesn't want to leave, this could take three months." And I was informed that no, I cannot touch his belongings, I cannot move anything to the garage and I cannot even deny him access to the house! If I think he (and his homeless pals) are cooking drugs, well, just call 911 and if we catch them, then we can do something.
But if I touch and move his stuff, it's a misdemeanor and I could be arrested! When I said, smart-ass that I am, "well, hey, free room and board for me" the cop sort of laughed. But it is no laughing matter, of course. My hope is that Josh does not know anything about tenant law.
And that leads us to this: he left on Saturday night, said he would be back to get his stuff on Monday. Now, perhaps the ghost of Bob Marley did, indeed, make his car die and is keeping him in Monterey county. But now I need to pray to that same ghost and let him be released because as long as his stuff is here, I am being held hostage by that stuff. Can't touch it, can't move it, can't kick him out, I can only wait. If he takes his stuff and leaves, then he is done. If he doesn't take his stuff, or if he doesn't show up for another month, then tough shit for me.
Which leads me to this: if he is not here by Sunday, May 31, to collect his stuff and leave, I will be forced to give 30 days notice and I will be the one who has to leave and find another place to live. How nice is that? I can't afford to pay rent on my own to the tune of $1850 a month and if he is not here, it precludes finding another roommate. The deposit I put on this house is close to $2500 dollars and the only way I will get that back is if I give enough notice.
But even as I write that, I realize I will get NOTHING back if I leave and my landlord has to deal with evicting Josh. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada.
Oh, that makes me want to puke. I hadn't realized that until just now.
Sorry, can't write anymore right now. This is so, so wrong in every way.
.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
A break from drug addled roommates, on to ice cream toppings, sort of
While I await the return of the prodigal druggie roommate, I am eating the ice cream he brought last night. Vanilla, how boring. But wait! I can make sauce. Several months ago I told you how to make a delicious and quick caramel butterscotch sauce for your ice cream. If you lost that recipe, it is below. But I wanted something as quick and easy and cheap that was chocolate centric. And here it is. Nothing we don't have in our fridge most of the time. I added a bit of instant espresso powder (not granules, mind you. Powder please.) You could probably toss in a little Grand Marnier or some such flavoring if you want. But who cares, it's going on ice cream, no need to be all high-end about it.
I made a half recipe but here's the full and I left out some steps, like melting the chocolate first, who cares. It turned out perfect.
Put into a small saucepan 4 oz of semi sweet chocolate. (I didn't have that, used half dark choc and half unsweetened). And 1 cup packed brown sugar, one half cup cream and 1 tablespoon butter. A generous pinch of salt. Stir over very low heat until it melts. (You don't have to stand there the entire time.) You could put in a teaspoon of vanilla but I didn't. Basically 3 ingredients, chocolate, brown sugar and cream. A miracle!!!!
So here's the original butterscotch sauce, so easy: one quarter cup butter, melted. Add a half cup packed brown sugar, half cup cream. Melt all together and add a nice pinch of salt and a teaspoon of vanilla if you like. That's it. It is so delicious and so easy. I have thought recently of tossing in a square of unsweetened chocolate, I think that would be nice.
Both will keep a week or two in the fridge and who doesn't want that sort of stuff on hand? Who knows when you will have hungry drug cookers in your kitchen who want ice cream after they blow up what looked like a brown bag of soot on your stove? How entertaining that would be! Sundaes for everyone, even the crack smoking meth heads who trash your house! Give, Give, Give!!!!
Oh, sorry, I digressed there for a minute. But I have ice cream and saucy sauces, come on over and I can at least give you wine and dessert. Seriously. Just don't use my kitchen for burning your meth. Or my tin foil for making little pipes that you then throw on my patio. Or my back yard for peeing. Or my front porch as a repository for your trash.
Oh, digression again. Sorry. But I still have the ice cream and you are all invited.
until tomorrow.......
I made a half recipe but here's the full and I left out some steps, like melting the chocolate first, who cares. It turned out perfect.
Put into a small saucepan 4 oz of semi sweet chocolate. (I didn't have that, used half dark choc and half unsweetened). And 1 cup packed brown sugar, one half cup cream and 1 tablespoon butter. A generous pinch of salt. Stir over very low heat until it melts. (You don't have to stand there the entire time.) You could put in a teaspoon of vanilla but I didn't. Basically 3 ingredients, chocolate, brown sugar and cream. A miracle!!!!
So here's the original butterscotch sauce, so easy: one quarter cup butter, melted. Add a half cup packed brown sugar, half cup cream. Melt all together and add a nice pinch of salt and a teaspoon of vanilla if you like. That's it. It is so delicious and so easy. I have thought recently of tossing in a square of unsweetened chocolate, I think that would be nice.
Both will keep a week or two in the fridge and who doesn't want that sort of stuff on hand? Who knows when you will have hungry drug cookers in your kitchen who want ice cream after they blow up what looked like a brown bag of soot on your stove? How entertaining that would be! Sundaes for everyone, even the crack smoking meth heads who trash your house! Give, Give, Give!!!!
Oh, sorry, I digressed there for a minute. But I have ice cream and saucy sauces, come on over and I can at least give you wine and dessert. Seriously. Just don't use my kitchen for burning your meth. Or my tin foil for making little pipes that you then throw on my patio. Or my back yard for peeing. Or my front porch as a repository for your trash.
Oh, digression again. Sorry. But I still have the ice cream and you are all invited.
until tomorrow.......
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Roommate disaster, Part 2
To my astonishment, Josh got his car running. All the parts that were strewn about have been collected and returned to their place of natural origin and he has taken off. His destiny for this evening is Monterey, where a reggae festival is taking place. (Oh, yes, how is that not a surprise.) Can I say this without incurring bad karma: oh, please, beautiful ghost of Bob Marley, let his car break down somewhere south of San Jose, even at the entrance to the stoner reggae festival, and not be fixable and thus he has to remain in that county forever. That is my wish.
But, because he is supposedly an intrinsically nice young man, once his car was running, he brought me ice cream back from Whole Foods. He does not understand that I am not that easily bought. Ice cream does not fix things. Ice cream does not make up for cooking drugs in my kitchen. Even foie gras would not make up for that and we all know how much I love that fatty liver.
He might be nice but cooking drugs in my house is unforgivable. So, like a dead rat that one might find in the backyard, he must go. Harsh, yes, but you, nice readers, did not see the kitchen and backyard mess I encountered yesterday. (Seems like a week ago.) Wretched. Awful and dark.
Before I continue I want to thank everyone for calling, emailing and texting their support. So far I have offers for a place to stay indefinitely, a place to stay for a night, a Big Guy who could come over and intimidate Josh, food, booze, a nice knitted sweater, a nice knitted sweater for Cooper, a bolt cutter (who knows, could come in handy), night vision goggles which I really want, a sort-of hit man for hire and lots of love and support and $2000 from my friend Tom at the coast. (HA!) Most of those offers were real, by the way. Some were not. (Tom, you are so busted on that one.)
But now that Josh is gone for the night (and hopefully for many nights) things look calmer. I cooked a little dinner, comfort food. It's amazing how good a roasted chicken breast with a lovely cream sauce and some sautéed kale, onions and mushrooms tastes once you are not sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting for the homeless interlopers to come and steal your ..... valuables from you. Which begs the question: what do I have that a drug addict would want? There's the jar of change in my bedroom but that's about it. Who wants a ten year old laptop? Who would give anything, even a potato, for a ten year old laptop? And the computer I am using (a loaner) is a huge desktop thing that, again, is not really cutting edge and would take two or three trips to carry to the car. Silverware? I don't think so because it's not even Cost Plus quality, it's barely stainless steel and no one would give a buck, or a potato, for a bunch of crappy and unattractive dull knives and forks. (Spoons, maybe, who knows about the spoons.) Yes, if they took my Le Creuset huge cast iron very heavy Dutch oven casserole I would be very mad but it weighs a ton, what drug addict would want to lug that around? What drug addict could lug that around, given that most of them look like emaciated skulls perched on top of a bony body? I have one good painting, the oil of Webber, but no decent drug addict would carry that to a pawn shop. No decent drug addict would even look at art. So, honestly, even if they smashed a window and carried off my old second-hand couch, my first generation flat-screen TV that weighs a ton, that small jar of loose change I have on the dresser, they would get so little. Maybe twelve dollars. And I would have lost so little. Take it all away!
But just don't touch my wine. Take the bourbon, take the tequila, take the port, but if you touch my good wine I will find you and rip out your livers, you fucking loser skeleton whore druggies.
Thank goodness that will not happen.
OK, thanks again, all of you, for your concern, your offers, your love. This is not the end of this, of course. You will hear more, of that I am sure.
xo
But, because he is supposedly an intrinsically nice young man, once his car was running, he brought me ice cream back from Whole Foods. He does not understand that I am not that easily bought. Ice cream does not fix things. Ice cream does not make up for cooking drugs in my kitchen. Even foie gras would not make up for that and we all know how much I love that fatty liver.
He might be nice but cooking drugs in my house is unforgivable. So, like a dead rat that one might find in the backyard, he must go. Harsh, yes, but you, nice readers, did not see the kitchen and backyard mess I encountered yesterday. (Seems like a week ago.) Wretched. Awful and dark.
Before I continue I want to thank everyone for calling, emailing and texting their support. So far I have offers for a place to stay indefinitely, a place to stay for a night, a Big Guy who could come over and intimidate Josh, food, booze, a nice knitted sweater, a nice knitted sweater for Cooper, a bolt cutter (who knows, could come in handy), night vision goggles which I really want, a sort-of hit man for hire and lots of love and support and $2000 from my friend Tom at the coast. (HA!) Most of those offers were real, by the way. Some were not. (Tom, you are so busted on that one.)
But now that Josh is gone for the night (and hopefully for many nights) things look calmer. I cooked a little dinner, comfort food. It's amazing how good a roasted chicken breast with a lovely cream sauce and some sautéed kale, onions and mushrooms tastes once you are not sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting for the homeless interlopers to come and steal your ..... valuables from you. Which begs the question: what do I have that a drug addict would want? There's the jar of change in my bedroom but that's about it. Who wants a ten year old laptop? Who would give anything, even a potato, for a ten year old laptop? And the computer I am using (a loaner) is a huge desktop thing that, again, is not really cutting edge and would take two or three trips to carry to the car. Silverware? I don't think so because it's not even Cost Plus quality, it's barely stainless steel and no one would give a buck, or a potato, for a bunch of crappy and unattractive dull knives and forks. (Spoons, maybe, who knows about the spoons.) Yes, if they took my Le Creuset huge cast iron very heavy Dutch oven casserole I would be very mad but it weighs a ton, what drug addict would want to lug that around? What drug addict could lug that around, given that most of them look like emaciated skulls perched on top of a bony body? I have one good painting, the oil of Webber, but no decent drug addict would carry that to a pawn shop. No decent drug addict would even look at art. So, honestly, even if they smashed a window and carried off my old second-hand couch, my first generation flat-screen TV that weighs a ton, that small jar of loose change I have on the dresser, they would get so little. Maybe twelve dollars. And I would have lost so little. Take it all away!
But just don't touch my wine. Take the bourbon, take the tequila, take the port, but if you touch my good wine I will find you and rip out your livers, you fucking loser skeleton whore druggies.
Thank goodness that will not happen.
OK, thanks again, all of you, for your concern, your offers, your love. This is not the end of this, of course. You will hear more, of that I am sure.
xo
Roommate disaster
I suppose I could beat myself up over this situation, recognize that a large part of it was due to my lack of diligence, accept some of the blame, shake my head at my foolishness. But that ain't gonna fucking happen, not yet anyway. I am too pissed off to do the "lessons in hindsight" thing.
To recap, I acquired Josh less than 3 weeks ago as a roommate. He's about 35, sort of goofy, seemed a good kind of kid, albeit more kid than grown-up. He paid the rent, the check didn't bounce. He didn't spend a lot of time here, said he was at his girlfriend's house, which was fine with me.
Last week, starting last Friday, I went to Kenwood to house and dog sit for my brother Steve. It was a lovely week, his house is quiet and well equipped, the garden is a crazy mess of poppies and grapevines, wild sage and weeds. It's less than 5 miles from my work, another added benefit. For me it was sort of like a mini vacation while working. I came back to the Santa Rosa house this past Tuesday for an hour or so, to pick up a few things, use the computer, blah, blah. All was well.
Yesterday, Friday, I packed up my stuff at Steve's and came back to SR because Steve was going to be home that evening. As I pulled onto my street I saw my roommate's car at an odd angle to the curb, front door open, roommate passed out in the front seat. Not a good sign. I came into the house, to a smell of tar and oil, heard his dog in the bedroom, behind closed doors, yapping. I walked into the kitchen and into a frigging wasteland of obnoxious mess. Dog poop in the hallway and on the kitchen floor, filthy dishes and cans and rags all over the kitchen, the stove was covered in something burnt, ashes, small pieces of wood and some dark reddish brown powder all over the place, as if something had exploded. The back patio had more burned pieces of something, glops of black stuff dripped on the concrete, rolled up tin foil that was burned almost black.
All in all, a shocking and awful mess. I went back out to the car, yelled at Josh, "what the fuck is going on here?" and his spaced out response of "oh, my car broke down and I had to sleep out here all night" made no sense. He had a key, the dog was inside, what is this all about? He came in, opened the door to his room, the dog had peed and pooped in the room, the floor of the room was covered with junk: clothes, tools, a computer that had been gutted, boxes, just a huge mess.
I lost it. I was furious and shocked and mortified that this happened in my home. It was as if someone came in and pissed all over my stuff, a violation of every good thing you can think of. And I was a bit frightened as well, to tell you the truth. Who was in the house? How did this happen? What actually happened?
I yelled for a while, told him to get his stuff out of my house by dark. Josh's car was in pieces on the street, a result of him trying to get it to run. He "worked on it" all day. I sat on my little red couch in the little TV room and tried to calm down, read for an hour, tried to get myself out of the immediate moment. Finally, I realized I had to make this go away so I started to clean. I spent a couple of hours cleaning the kitchen, which helped in a cathartic and real way.
I talked to my neighbors: seems the police had visited the house during the week, looking for Josh but he wasn't here. I am still trying to get some answers from the police about why they were called to find him, and I should have some of those answers after this holiday weekend.
Steve came over about 6:00 and hung out with me for a couple of hours, mainly because there were some very unsavory characters stopping by outside to chat with Josh. Basically homeless people, who I never think too unkindly of until yesterday. I simply did not want them, or Josh, near my house.
As the evening wore on and Steve and I talked, I realized that I wasn't actually afraid of Josh, I didn't think there was a personal threat there, I was just in such unfamiliar territory. I have lived through lots of stuff and have pretty good internal resources to deal with things. I can make quick decisions if necessary, make things happen, clear the decks and find a different perspective. But in this situation I was totally out of my element, it seemed. I honestly had no idea how to handle this. Should I call the cops? Should I leave the house? Should I take all his stuff and throw it on the lawn? It's a helpless feeling, being that stymied. And no one likes to feel helpless.
But the day wound down and Steve went home and I locked every single window and door and bolted the gate and went to bed. Josh knew he couldn't get in. I am pretty sure he slept in his car last night, with his dog, and he is still out there today, at 4:30, still trying to "fix his car" which is obviously never going to happen. (Well, I shouldn't say never, but the odds of that car ever running again are the same as me winning the lottery. Slim to none.)
There has to be an ending date. His stuff needs to be out of this house ASAP. I am trying to figure out how to engineer that. What happens after that is the after part. I will plan that later. I just need to get through this awful chapter first and burn some sage and then move on.
I don't think Josh is a bad person. I think he has attracted some real losers, part time druggies, and he probably gives them money for drugs and shares the drugs with them now and then. But really, who cares? Bad or good, lost or found, he's got to go.
Ah, I could go on, and I will, later. The saga never ends, does it?
.
To recap, I acquired Josh less than 3 weeks ago as a roommate. He's about 35, sort of goofy, seemed a good kind of kid, albeit more kid than grown-up. He paid the rent, the check didn't bounce. He didn't spend a lot of time here, said he was at his girlfriend's house, which was fine with me.
Last week, starting last Friday, I went to Kenwood to house and dog sit for my brother Steve. It was a lovely week, his house is quiet and well equipped, the garden is a crazy mess of poppies and grapevines, wild sage and weeds. It's less than 5 miles from my work, another added benefit. For me it was sort of like a mini vacation while working. I came back to the Santa Rosa house this past Tuesday for an hour or so, to pick up a few things, use the computer, blah, blah. All was well.
Yesterday, Friday, I packed up my stuff at Steve's and came back to SR because Steve was going to be home that evening. As I pulled onto my street I saw my roommate's car at an odd angle to the curb, front door open, roommate passed out in the front seat. Not a good sign. I came into the house, to a smell of tar and oil, heard his dog in the bedroom, behind closed doors, yapping. I walked into the kitchen and into a frigging wasteland of obnoxious mess. Dog poop in the hallway and on the kitchen floor, filthy dishes and cans and rags all over the kitchen, the stove was covered in something burnt, ashes, small pieces of wood and some dark reddish brown powder all over the place, as if something had exploded. The back patio had more burned pieces of something, glops of black stuff dripped on the concrete, rolled up tin foil that was burned almost black.
All in all, a shocking and awful mess. I went back out to the car, yelled at Josh, "what the fuck is going on here?" and his spaced out response of "oh, my car broke down and I had to sleep out here all night" made no sense. He had a key, the dog was inside, what is this all about? He came in, opened the door to his room, the dog had peed and pooped in the room, the floor of the room was covered with junk: clothes, tools, a computer that had been gutted, boxes, just a huge mess.
I lost it. I was furious and shocked and mortified that this happened in my home. It was as if someone came in and pissed all over my stuff, a violation of every good thing you can think of. And I was a bit frightened as well, to tell you the truth. Who was in the house? How did this happen? What actually happened?
I yelled for a while, told him to get his stuff out of my house by dark. Josh's car was in pieces on the street, a result of him trying to get it to run. He "worked on it" all day. I sat on my little red couch in the little TV room and tried to calm down, read for an hour, tried to get myself out of the immediate moment. Finally, I realized I had to make this go away so I started to clean. I spent a couple of hours cleaning the kitchen, which helped in a cathartic and real way.
I talked to my neighbors: seems the police had visited the house during the week, looking for Josh but he wasn't here. I am still trying to get some answers from the police about why they were called to find him, and I should have some of those answers after this holiday weekend.
Steve came over about 6:00 and hung out with me for a couple of hours, mainly because there were some very unsavory characters stopping by outside to chat with Josh. Basically homeless people, who I never think too unkindly of until yesterday. I simply did not want them, or Josh, near my house.
As the evening wore on and Steve and I talked, I realized that I wasn't actually afraid of Josh, I didn't think there was a personal threat there, I was just in such unfamiliar territory. I have lived through lots of stuff and have pretty good internal resources to deal with things. I can make quick decisions if necessary, make things happen, clear the decks and find a different perspective. But in this situation I was totally out of my element, it seemed. I honestly had no idea how to handle this. Should I call the cops? Should I leave the house? Should I take all his stuff and throw it on the lawn? It's a helpless feeling, being that stymied. And no one likes to feel helpless.
But the day wound down and Steve went home and I locked every single window and door and bolted the gate and went to bed. Josh knew he couldn't get in. I am pretty sure he slept in his car last night, with his dog, and he is still out there today, at 4:30, still trying to "fix his car" which is obviously never going to happen. (Well, I shouldn't say never, but the odds of that car ever running again are the same as me winning the lottery. Slim to none.)
There has to be an ending date. His stuff needs to be out of this house ASAP. I am trying to figure out how to engineer that. What happens after that is the after part. I will plan that later. I just need to get through this awful chapter first and burn some sage and then move on.
I don't think Josh is a bad person. I think he has attracted some real losers, part time druggies, and he probably gives them money for drugs and shares the drugs with them now and then. But really, who cares? Bad or good, lost or found, he's got to go.
Ah, I could go on, and I will, later. The saga never ends, does it?
.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Giants or Gigantes, your choice, May 5
The game was on Cinco de Mayo (not Sink over the Mayo as some peeps think) and thus, the Giants wore jerseys that said Gigantes. A perfect tribute to the Hispanic - Mexican - Latino crew that all baseball teams are made of.
We had some special pass, we (a group of 12) went in a discreet side door, we got to stand on the field and watch batting practice. It wasn't what I thought it would be. Not so serious as one would think. Guys hitting balls, fielding them, but in a rather languorous manner which is not what I would have imagined. Batters seriously hitting the balls (which they were, but almost all were triples or home runs) and fielders chasing them down (umm... not so much.) Seems batting practice is simply warm-up, get those muscles moving, get in the mind-set of a game. But it was nice, when we got there the entire stadium was empty. Not a body in a seat. That is impressive. Just looking out on a flat plain of very green grass with some guys dicking around with baseballs and mitts, some simply having a game of catch, and no one in the stands.... that was a fine moment for me.
Then we got to go to the Gotham Bar, a private club sort of bar. You can only go there if you are a season ticket holder and pay a can of money to belong. You pay $2500 to join and half of that every year to stay a member. It was a very cool bar (and we got a private tequila tasting, how nice was that?) and a great view of the field and you know when you are at a Giants game, and you look down that right field line and you see the scores of all the other games in the league? We were there, I now know how to change those scores. A good thing to know.
And did any of you know that there is a bowling alley in the stadium? (Not a blowing alley, come on, get your head out of someone's pants!) But a real bowling alley! And a billiards room! And amazing photos of the old days of baseball and a library. We were escorted to all of those places, hidden behind secret doors. It was so much fun and such a one-time treat.
The best part was the game..... our seats were about 20 rows up from the Giants dugout and people caught foul balls in our section and the Giants won! And because Jenn didn't go to the game, Gabe and Annie were there and they came down and sat in Row 19, so we got to hang out with them, too! A little tequila, a beer and a dog, a winning game, G & A and all the friends who let me come with them. A really nice evening. Hard to beat that.
OK, that's the report for now.
.
We had some special pass, we (a group of 12) went in a discreet side door, we got to stand on the field and watch batting practice. It wasn't what I thought it would be. Not so serious as one would think. Guys hitting balls, fielding them, but in a rather languorous manner which is not what I would have imagined. Batters seriously hitting the balls (which they were, but almost all were triples or home runs) and fielders chasing them down (umm... not so much.) Seems batting practice is simply warm-up, get those muscles moving, get in the mind-set of a game. But it was nice, when we got there the entire stadium was empty. Not a body in a seat. That is impressive. Just looking out on a flat plain of very green grass with some guys dicking around with baseballs and mitts, some simply having a game of catch, and no one in the stands.... that was a fine moment for me.
Then we got to go to the Gotham Bar, a private club sort of bar. You can only go there if you are a season ticket holder and pay a can of money to belong. You pay $2500 to join and half of that every year to stay a member. It was a very cool bar (and we got a private tequila tasting, how nice was that?) and a great view of the field and you know when you are at a Giants game, and you look down that right field line and you see the scores of all the other games in the league? We were there, I now know how to change those scores. A good thing to know.
And did any of you know that there is a bowling alley in the stadium? (Not a blowing alley, come on, get your head out of someone's pants!) But a real bowling alley! And a billiards room! And amazing photos of the old days of baseball and a library. We were escorted to all of those places, hidden behind secret doors. It was so much fun and such a one-time treat.
The best part was the game..... our seats were about 20 rows up from the Giants dugout and people caught foul balls in our section and the Giants won! And because Jenn didn't go to the game, Gabe and Annie were there and they came down and sat in Row 19, so we got to hang out with them, too! A little tequila, a beer and a dog, a winning game, G & A and all the friends who let me come with them. A really nice evening. Hard to beat that.
OK, that's the report for now.
.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Books, baseball and roommate
Books first. I have read several really good books lately after a spell of mediocre reads. It's difficult when you find a book you love, as I did with "All the Light We Cannot See" and then the next books you read just don't measure up.
A couple of first novels: "My Sunshine Away" by M.O. Walsh. Sort of a coming-of-age story set in 1989 - 1990's but it's a lot more than that. For a writer's first novel, it has a lot of wisdom, depth and warmth. Quick read. I would have edited it a little more but that's probably why I don't have a job as an editor! Worth checking out.
"The Given World" by Marian Palaia, another first novel, really blew me away. The main character is tough, sad, always hoping but pretty much always lost. Sometimes it's a bit over the top, but always evocative and makes you think: The freshest hell has been mostly self-inflicted, sure, but that really is, at this point, beside the point. Because all that matters right now is I am heading back to the place where everything I've buried all these years waits, resurrected and suspended in the distance; a collectible set of decapitated, snake-haired Gorgon's heads, hung on my mother's closeline to dry. ... Jesus. Settle the fuck down.
As the story went on, I became more and more taken with this book. We all have struggled in our lives, we all can relate to someone else's struggles. Bare and scraped and badly bruised, Riley, the protagonist, will get to you. If not, you have no heart. Maybe.
Total change of venue: "All the Old Knives" by Steinhauer. I listened to this one on CD in the car. Great espionage story, two old CIA operatives meet for dinner to "answer some questions" and you know it will end badly for one of them. Fun to listen to, probably fun to read. I love stories like this where you know something is going to happen, there's that wonderful air of suspense, but you aren't sure how it will play out. It would probably make a good movie.
I am currently listening to "The Whites" by Richard Price writing as Harry Brandt (whatever that means.) Cop novel, great dialogue, very fast paced, if you daydream for a minute you have to go back and listen again. Makes the car ride zip by.
OK: Baseball: I am off to a Giants game today! A friend won a package in a raffle, invited me to come along. We get to enter the park early, watch batting practice, go to some club level, do some other things and watch the game. I think our seats might be right on the field, I have no idea. And then, to top it off, my daughter bought a hotel room for the night because she and her girlfriend where planning on going to tonight's game, spending the night and then going to a day game tomorrow. With moving and everything, they decided to not do it, but she gave me her hotel room! So I get a night in a hotel in SF! And then am meeting a friend for breakfast in Millbrae on Wednesday morning! How cool is all that? I am quite happy to have two days off work and get to do all this fun stuff. YAY!
Finally, I have a roommate. A 35 year old guy named Josh. He moves in today, while I am gone. I have absolutely no idea how this is going to work out, but hey, he paid the rent for May, seems like a 35 year old hippie, doesn't smoke or drink (OK, so not a hippie), seems a bit goofy but OK. We are both giving this a month or two and if it works out, great. If not, he will hit the road and find someplace else. All I want is someone to pay their share of the rent and leave me alone. We'll see what happens.
OK, off to Daly City to drop of Cooper at Gabe's, BART into SF, check into my hotel room and walk down to ATT Park to meet up with the gang for the game. I will report back later.......
A couple of first novels: "My Sunshine Away" by M.O. Walsh. Sort of a coming-of-age story set in 1989 - 1990's but it's a lot more than that. For a writer's first novel, it has a lot of wisdom, depth and warmth. Quick read. I would have edited it a little more but that's probably why I don't have a job as an editor! Worth checking out.
"The Given World" by Marian Palaia, another first novel, really blew me away. The main character is tough, sad, always hoping but pretty much always lost. Sometimes it's a bit over the top, but always evocative and makes you think: The freshest hell has been mostly self-inflicted, sure, but that really is, at this point, beside the point. Because all that matters right now is I am heading back to the place where everything I've buried all these years waits, resurrected and suspended in the distance; a collectible set of decapitated, snake-haired Gorgon's heads, hung on my mother's closeline to dry. ... Jesus. Settle the fuck down.
As the story went on, I became more and more taken with this book. We all have struggled in our lives, we all can relate to someone else's struggles. Bare and scraped and badly bruised, Riley, the protagonist, will get to you. If not, you have no heart. Maybe.
Total change of venue: "All the Old Knives" by Steinhauer. I listened to this one on CD in the car. Great espionage story, two old CIA operatives meet for dinner to "answer some questions" and you know it will end badly for one of them. Fun to listen to, probably fun to read. I love stories like this where you know something is going to happen, there's that wonderful air of suspense, but you aren't sure how it will play out. It would probably make a good movie.
I am currently listening to "The Whites" by Richard Price writing as Harry Brandt (whatever that means.) Cop novel, great dialogue, very fast paced, if you daydream for a minute you have to go back and listen again. Makes the car ride zip by.
OK: Baseball: I am off to a Giants game today! A friend won a package in a raffle, invited me to come along. We get to enter the park early, watch batting practice, go to some club level, do some other things and watch the game. I think our seats might be right on the field, I have no idea. And then, to top it off, my daughter bought a hotel room for the night because she and her girlfriend where planning on going to tonight's game, spending the night and then going to a day game tomorrow. With moving and everything, they decided to not do it, but she gave me her hotel room! So I get a night in a hotel in SF! And then am meeting a friend for breakfast in Millbrae on Wednesday morning! How cool is all that? I am quite happy to have two days off work and get to do all this fun stuff. YAY!
Finally, I have a roommate. A 35 year old guy named Josh. He moves in today, while I am gone. I have absolutely no idea how this is going to work out, but hey, he paid the rent for May, seems like a 35 year old hippie, doesn't smoke or drink (OK, so not a hippie), seems a bit goofy but OK. We are both giving this a month or two and if it works out, great. If not, he will hit the road and find someplace else. All I want is someone to pay their share of the rent and leave me alone. We'll see what happens.
OK, off to Daly City to drop of Cooper at Gabe's, BART into SF, check into my hotel room and walk down to ATT Park to meet up with the gang for the game. I will report back later.......
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