It's about time

Shelly Bailes and Ellen Pontes held their wedding reception this evening at the Vets Memorial Center. They invited everyone in town who wanted to wish them well and to celebrate and support the right of same-sex couples to marry. It's a good thing they held the event in the Vets, because it was packed. So many people, gay and straight, couples and singles, came to celebrate. They had five wedding cakes. Four were sheet cakes, each with a different phrase: "It's about love," "It's about marriage," and "It's about time!"; the last of the four said "Ellen and Shelly." The fifth cake was a "traditional" tiered cake; it was topped with two brides.

One of the best moments was when Shelly and Ellen asked all of the couples in attendance who planned to be married to come up and join them at the front of the room. There were so many, I couldn't count them all. Among them were my old friend Buzz and his partner, Sam, who will marry July 20, and Bob Bynum (who, in 1984, hired me to edit Staff News in the UC Davis Office of Public Affairs, thus inadvertently launching my career as a writer and editor) and his partner of 20 years, Peter, who got married this past week. If the voters in California could have seen the happiness in that room, the fate of the proposition banning same-sex marriage would be sealed. Mazel tov to them all!

Evening with friends

Arrived at Susan and Jim's about 5:45 bearing tortilla chips, salsa and a six-pack of Pacifico, which the three of us enjoyed out by the pool, chatting about U.S. immigration restrictions on bringing pork (in any form) into the U.S. from Mexico and skullduggery and intrigue in Elizabeth I's England. Jim eventually retired to the house to continue reading his book, and Susan and I took ourselves to Pasta Q?, where we had a lovely, leisurely dinner on the terrace (Susan had Caesar salad, I had the insalate alla mediterrane (tuna, green beans, hard-boiled egg, and tomatoes on a bed of greens--like salade nicoise minus the anchovies and potatoes). We both had a glass of pinot grigio, which went well with such a warm summer evening. And having such a charming Italian-speaking waiter was better than having dessert. Molto bene!

The Highway 99 Series

The Sacramento River Cats are playing the Fresno Grizzlies for the next few days, and the 'Cats promotion people are billing it as the Highway 99 Series. So far, the series is tied at one game apiece; last night's went in favor of the Grizz, but tonight it was all River Cats, who had 10 hits to Fresno's one and won the game 3-zip. [Correction: the final score was River Cats 4, Grizz 0.)

Usually, I root for the 'Cats, but when they're playing Fresno, the Giants' Triple A affiliate, it's a different story. Seems like nearly half of the Grizzly players are guys I know from the Bigs--many were with the Giants until just recently, while others have been back at Fresno since just after Spring Training ended. It's fun to see them in this smaller ballpark.

And tonight, thanks to Liese and a client of her firm's, we really got to see them, up close and personal. The tickets Liese had and shared with Susan and me were for the Founders Club. Translation: in the front row. And I mean The Front Row, right up against the screen that separates the field from the stands, right behind home plate. Padded chairs, chairside food and drink service, bird's eye (actually, nearly a worm's eye view) of the action. Quite a treat. We felt like rich people. And we saw a great baseball game.

A day in The City

My friend Dorothy and I took the train this morning to the new Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco. The architecture is striking, starkly modern elements juxtaposed with a 19th century brick powerhouse, a blend made necessary by the latter's being listed on the National Register of Historic Places. But the architect, Daniel Liebskind, made it work beautifully, both outside and (especially) in. The interior space is broken up in interesting ways, each area feeling both cozy and spacious. The current exhibitions (there is no permanent collection) include "Being Jewish: A Bay Area Portrait," a photo montage accompanying various items ranging from Jewish ritual items (menorahs both modern and old, a spice box in the shape of the Transamerica pyramid) to the whimsical—a denim yarmulke made by Levi Strauss complete with the rivet at the top and, my favorite, the Rally Rabbi bobblehead handed out to fans at the Giants' 2007 Jewish Heritage Night—a Hassidic rabbi blowing a shofar and wearing a typical wide-brimmed black hat emblazoned with the orange intertwined "SF" logo. If I can find one on eBay, I'll buy it, money (almost) no object. There's also an exhibit entitled "In the Beginning: Artists Respond to Genesis" (plenty to see and think about in this one) and "From The New Yorker to Shrek: The Art of William Steig."

We had a lovely day; fun train ride, great weather, and a delicious lunch at the museum cafe, lots of time to talk, and I was back home in Davis by 7:15.

Father's Day

Some things my father gave me:

The enjoyment of baseball, not only the game itself but the things that go with it: the words to "Take Me Out to the Ball Game," the seventh-inning stretch, booing the umpires.

My nickname, "Cuccie," short for Cuccinello, as in Tony Cuccinello (nickname "Cooch"), an infielder with the Chicago White Sox who, while my mother was pregnant with me, made some amazing play or hit a home run or some such feat; said feat played a pivotal role in my father's winning a bet and resulted in his bestowing the nickname on me in utero. I shed it forceably at age 11, which I think hurt my father's feelings greatly.

The ability to play gin rummy, which I haven't played in years. I actually like to play cards, period, and used to do it a lot. Pinochle, anyone?

Brown eyes.