Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might. Have the wish I wish tonight.
October 2003 -- three and a half years ago in one of these chairs late at night, when a flight was delayed and a taxi stopped here, unexpectedly. Only two people know about that night, which was the last night of its kind. A warm night, like tonight.
It was 89 degrees here (at least) this afternoon, and was still well over 80 after 5 p.m. The big deals in San Francisco today included Cinco de Mayo celebrations plus tonight's nationally televised debut of rookie pitching sensation Tim Lincecum for the Giants.
Artifacts continue to jump off my shelves and out of my closets, now we're entering more sultry weather. Today, it was this piggy bank my older kids gave me many years ago. I remember deciding to fill it with quarters minted in their birth years (1976, 1979, and 1981).
I wonder how many quarters are in there? According to The Wisdom of Crowds, if I could attract a high enough number of people to help me guess that figure, we, as a crowd, would probably come very close to the right answer.
But since I lack a crowd at the moment, I'm going to put my stake in the ground and say I think there are around 280 coins in the pig's belly, or $70. If you have a guess, please let me know.
When we have hot weather on this slender peninsular city, which is only 49 miles square in size, the old-timers call it "earthquake weather." It's great people-watching weather. The girls wear skimpy clothes, and after all, we still get some breezes.
So, I may be excused for distractions as I drove across town to Noe Valley, and back, with a new ergonomic office chair that two friends of mine gave me. My other office chair came from my first girlfriend after my marriage broke up, a lovely Chinese intellectual with a sense of humor that could crack up people across cultures. I have not seen her since that night in my backyard so long ago now...
This new chair may help with my back and neck pains, and I am grateful to Valerie and Helen for giving it to me. I'll keep my ex-girlfriend's chair as well, as an artifact in case some day she comes back to see me, though I doubt she ever will.
Last night was warm, as well. My lovely dinner companion had a new hairdo -- her blond hair was cut short in what I'm going to call a "bee-bop-bob," and she was dressed in a very cool, flashy outfit that took me back to my parents' era --the Speakeasies, the Big Band era, the age of romance.
She took me to dinner at The Slanted Door, which has relocated from the Mission to the Ferry Building. We shared green papaya salad, asparagus, salmon, rice and crème brule. The meal was perfect.
There's a revealing poll out tonight about what baseball fans nationwide think about Barry Bonds' quest to break the all-time career home-run record this season. Hank Aaron owns the record at 755. Bonds has hit 10 so far in this young season, and now has 744, so he's only 11 away.
The poll reveals that most African-Americans support Bonds in his pursuit of what has been called sports' most hallowed number. By contrast, most whites do not support him. If you were viewing these numbers from space, without an agenda of your own, or an ethnic identity, you would probably see this for what it is.
Let me be very clear on this heavy summer's night. Young Lincecum didn't do so well, and the Giants lost the game. The greatest hitter of this era never got into the game. The game he breaks Aaron's record, I, for one, will be cheering wholeheartedly for Barry Bonds.
My prediction? Somewhere a little over a month from now. Mid-June. And he'll do it here, in the park by the Bay, where loyalty to a local hero transcends the shameful racism of the national media, led by the shameless sports columnists of The New York Times.
Turn back the clock and their predecessors were dissing Henry Aaron as he obliterated Babe Ruth's record. Fuck The New York Times and their racism. Bonds is the greatest of all time and soon everybody will have to accept that.
-30-
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