Mind Your Manners

                                           (Above; Emily Post)

Are you dreading the political food fights that seem to be in our future this year? There's not much we can do about them, but how can we make sure they don't spill over into our personal lives and poison our relationships?   I asked one of the Bay Area's premier event producers, Sarah Kidder, who is also an etiquette consultant. Her clients include everyone from corporate CEOs and aging socialites to young children and female ex-cons transitioning back into society.     "First of all, there are some places where you don't want any political conversations at all, like work," she says. "Your job at work is to do your job, not be on a soap box."   But what about family get-togethers?   "That's more complicated. The larger the group, the more difficult it is to have a real discussion about any topic, much less politics, especially in any situation involving alcohol. But if you want to make it through the year with your relationships with family, friends and co-workers in fairly decent shape, here are some tips:     1. Become a master at changing the subject. "The world is full of interesting little distractions that can quickly steer the conversation back to safe territory, like new movies, new TV shows or coffee table books."     2. Remember that people love to talk about their favorite subject: themselves. "If you can't distract Uncle Bob by getting him to talk about the new 'Star Wars' movie, ask him to talk about the first time he saw the original 'Star Wars.' That way, he'll still be the center of attention, which is what he really wants, but he can talk about something less confrontational -- himself."     3. But what if Uncle Bob is insulting other people at the table? "Don't confront him about it. It's rude to call someone out for being rude. It doesn't help matters because it's shaming him, and making him angry makes moving on from the moment even more difficult."   4. Does that mean there's nothing you can do if he keeps ranting about Donald Trump or Barack Obama? "Not at all. In my family, I have found that all the power is not with the rude person; it's with the polite people because they can raise an eyebrow, change the subject or ignore him in a quiet way that shames him into changing his behavior. Never underestimate the power of a grandmother's raised eyebrow."  5. But what if you really like Uncle Bob and want to set him straight on the facts? "Wait until you're one-on-one. Then you trot out my secret weapon -- the compliment sandwich. First, you compliment him: 'Wow, it sounds like you've really put a lot of thought into that.' Then you say, 'I've recently come across an article on the subject that you might find interesting. I know how much you like to keep informed.' Then you close the compliment sandwich by adding, 'But you've probably already seen that.'" 6. And what about your own behavior? "What we think we're saying, what we're actually saying and what is being heard are often three separate things. Even polite people can get stressed out or sick or distracted. So if you say something rude yourself, own up to it and say you're sorry, even if it's a week later."

The Best Reporter That Ever Was

(Photo by Richard Koci Hernandez)

It was a blue Christmas for many members of the Bay Area journalism community because Paul Grabowicz died from cancer the day before.

I've had the privilege of working with some great reporters, including Kevin Fagan and Henry Schulman of the San Francisco Chronicle and Harry Harris, the great crime reporter for the Oakland Tribune. But I think Kevin, Henry and Harry would agree that Grabs, as we called him, was the best of the best. He was our hero as well as our friend.

If you were a politician on the take, or a developer who was covering up the fact that he was building on a dangerous earthquake fault, or someone in power who was abusing his authority, Grabs was your worst nightmare, a guy who would never rest until he unearthed the truth.

But if you were an ordinary Joe getting screwed by the system, or a younger reporter in need of guidance, or one of his students at the UC Berkeley journalism school, or a homeless kitty cat, you never met a sweeter, kinder, more generous person in your life. And you never will.

Grabs was a reporter of the old school: funny, profane, cantankerous, hard drinking, irreverent, necktie askew, typing with a cigarette dangling from his lower lip, and a cuss word for everyone and every occasion. But his grouch persona was just a mask, and we all saw through it to see the abiding love - there's no other word for it - that lay barely below the surface.

"The UC Berkeley School of Journalism had no higher honor than Grabs flipping you off as he passed you in the hall, which somehow always felt like being bathed in warm light," said former Express reporter Kara Platoni, who taught with him at the J-school.

Whenever I saw him, the first words out of his mouth were always "(Bleep) you," which felt like a love letter.

Grabs worked at the Tribune for 20 years, then spent the next 20 years teaching journalism at Cal, although he refused to call himself a journalist. True to form, he preferred the old-fashioned, working class term, "reporter."

Paradoxically, for someone who was the embodiment of the old school, he was the first to embrace the new school. At a time when most journalism professors were pooh-poohing the Internet as just a passing fad, he recognized that his duty was to prepare the next generation of reporters for the digital age.

He taught the J-school's first course on blogging and created a training program, the Berkeley Advanced Media Institute, to help reporters learn digital skills.

"Without him, the school would not have entered the 21^st Century," said former dean Tom Goldstein.

In 2013 the graduating class asked him to be the keynote speaker at their graduation, and he advised them to keep digging but not to forget to have fun. "Journalism that only seeks to entertain is frivolous," he said. "But journalism that is only high-minded is a bore."

My deepest sympathy to his wife Anne, to his beloved kitties, and to all of us who now have to live in a world without him in it.

(Bleep) you, Grabs. There will never be another one like you. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. (Grabs would have used a different word.)

A Christmas Jeremiad

"How many observe Christ's birthday! How few, his precepts! O! 'tis easier to keep holidays than commandments." – Ben Franklin

Ever since I was a little kid, Christmas has been my favorite holiday. The presents were nice, but that's not what really attracted me.

It was the Christmas story itself. I loved the irony of those innkeepers turning away Joseph and Mary, not realizing that the baby she was carrying would turn out to be the most important person in history.

How I enjoyed looking down at those innkeepers! What fools they were, I sneered. We would never do that, would we?

Yes, we would. We do it with regularity, especially this year, when thousands of refugees desperately fled the Syrian civil war, only to knock on our door and find there's no room at the inn.

Remember that photo of the dead body of a little boy lying face down in the sand? That little boy was Jesus. And we crucified him all over again.

Ben Carson calls the refugees "rabid dogs." Ted Cruz and Jeb Bush say we should only admit Christians. And Chris Christie says even three-year-olds are too dangerous to take in.

But our bigotry isn't confined to Muslims. Last year, when children from Central America crossed the border to escape drug lords who were killing and raping them, they were met by mobs of American "patriots" screaming and spitting hatred and vituperation. Donald Trump went so far as to say that they are the rapists.

For the first time in my life, I am ashamed of my country. One doctor dies from Ebola, and we panic and blame the victims. After terrorists attack Paris and San Bernardino, we try to bar all Muslims from entering the country.

By contrast, France, the country that was attacked, is set to take in tens of thousands of refugees. Canada, with one-tenth the population of the U.S., is going to take in more than double what even President Obama is calling for. Prime minister Trudeau welcomed the first refugees at the Toronto airport, handing out teddy bears to the children, who have been traumatized beyond what we can possibly imagine, and saying, "Welcome to your new country." But we freak out and chicken out.

Whatever happened to the home of the brave?

And for Muslims who already live here, this year has been a nightmare. According to the FBI, hate crimes against Muslims have tripled. Mosques have been firebombed. A sixth-grade girl in the Bronx was attacked by three boys who punched her, stripped her of the hijab she was wearing, and called her "ISIS." In Pittsburgh, a passenger in a cab shot the driver, who was Muslim. In Anaheim. a bullet-riddled copy of the Quran was left outside an Islamic clothing store. In San Bernardino, a man pulled a knife on a Muslim woman at a carwash and threatened her. And politicians are calling for a national surveillance system to spy on Muslims or even round them all up and imprison them, as we did to Japanese Americans in World War II.

Whatever happened to the land of the free?

God is watching us, folks. And as Thomas Jefferson said, "I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just."

Merry Christmas anyway.

A Musical Tribute

                 (Above: Audrey and George)

After George Gershwin's death, novelist John O'Hara wrote in The New Yorker, "George Gershwin died on July 11, 1937, but I don't have to believe it if I don't want to."

I know how he felt. I feel the same way about George Cleve, founder and artistic director of the Midsummer Mozart Festival, who died last summer. His loss is that painful.

A few days before his death, his protégée and surrogate granddaughter, Audrey Vardanega, the brilliant 19-year-old pianist who made her debut with the festival at age 14 (the youngest soloist in the festival's 41-year history), went to his home and played some of his favorite piano pieces for him. It was the last live music he ever heard.

Since then, she's been struggling to find a way to express her sorrow, and she's finally found it. On January 3 she'll perform a memorial concert at the Hillside Club in Berkeley, playing the same pieces she played for him last summer. It's called Concert For George, of course.

"The last few months have been a whirlwind of emotions as I struggled to grasp how the world could possibly not have George in it," she says. "I found solace through wholeheartedly turning to the piano as a source of grief therapy. The performance you will hear will not be a solo piano recital. Rather, it will be as if I am playing for George in the living room of his Berkeley home."

The playlist: Piano Sonata #4 by Mozart, Annees de pelerinage by Liszt, Ondine (part of the suite Gaspard de la nuite) by Ravel, and Klavierstucke (short piano pieces) by Brahms.

"The Mozart sonata was an obvious choice because how can I not include Mozart in a concert for George Cleve?" she says. "The first movement is incredibly beautiful, which reflects the way I've felt for the last few months – sadness, a feeling of nobility, and a catharsis. I haven't played a Mozart sonata in quite a while, but it felt right for some reason.

"Ondine was one of his favorite pieces. I decided not to play the other two pieces in the suite because they're showy and virtuosic, and that's not what I'm trying to do in this concert. I don't want to treat this like a solo piano recital. It's a way to mourn, to remember, and a to express my gratitude for all that time I had with him and the enormous effect he had on me."

The Hillside Club, a masterpiece of the Arts & Crafts movement, was declared a City of Berkeley Landmark in 2004. Its exquisite, acoustically excellent concert hall holds only about 200 people. "It's a very intimate space, which is very fitting for this concert, I think," Audrey says.

The concert starts at 7 p.m. Tickets are available at the door and cost $20 for general admission, $15 for students and seniors, and $10 for Hillside Club members. Audrey is donating her share of the proceeds to Hand In Hand For Syria, a charity that works on the ground in that war-torn country to provide direct assistance to families who are still trapped there. You can find out more about it at www.handinhandforsyria.org.uk/

George Cleve died on August 27, 2015, but I don't have to believe it if I don't want to.

Dear Santa

"Dear Santa, Are you real? If you live at the North Pole, how come I can't find your house on Google Earth? Love, Max."

"Dear Santa, How are you, Mrs. Claus, the elves, and the reindeer doing? I would like a Buster Posey jersey for my dog, size XL. Love, Noah."

"Dear Santa, For Christmas I want a computer, find my lost tablet, and make Daddy stop drinking beer." (Unsigned)

Once upon a time, letters like these ended up in the U.S. Postal Service's dead letter office. But for the past 29 years they have gone instead to the consumer affairs department at the main Oakland Post Office on 7^th Street, where you are invited to read and, if you like, answer them.

"You don't have to send a gift," says MaryGrace Cruz, USPS Consumer & Industry Contact Manager. "The children appreciate just knowing that somebody cares."

But, of course, if you're moved to send a present, too, nobody's going to stop you. To get in on the fun, call the Santa's Mailbag hotline at 510-874-8737 and leave a message, and one of Santa's elves – Toni Harmon, Nina Tan, Susan Romance, Janet Ezell, Jodi Black, Regina Paje, and David Tachibana - will call you back.

In the meantime, here's what our kids are asking for this holiday season:

"Dear Santa, Merry Christmas! Thank you for watching us all these years. I really want a new Dell computer with a cool touch screen and turns into an iPad because I really want it and it looks awesome. But if you can't make that happen (but I really want the computer, I want to have the most amazing Christmas ever. I hope to have the most merriest & wonderful Christmas with my family. My family is very important to me; they are my favorite people in the world. I love them. I also hope I am on the nice list. You are the best person ever. Love, Ella."

"Dear Mr. Claus, Please help me find the perfect puppy for my family. Whenever my brother says 'papidog please,' I start to cry. I know you're busy, but one wish I have is for my family can find the perfect pet. I live in two places. My mom and dad are divorsed. Please help. Love, Paola."

"Dear Santa, Hi! It's Mia. I am 9 now! But how old are you? I never knew. Wait – do you remember you're reindeer's name. I forgot. Love, Mia."

"Dear Santa, It's me, Kenya. Never mind the other letter I sent you. I want something different, a Russian hamster. Aren't they cute? It would be great if you could get me the other accessories that it needs, like food and the cage. Thank you so, so, so much! Love, Kenya."

"Dear Santa, I want a whole new cool life, super powers, and 100 wishes. From, Alyssa."

"Dear Santa, My name is Jose and I have a brother named James, 9m and a sister named Allison, 7. We live with mom and we don't have a father. My mom is not working at this time and she doesn't have enough money to have a merry Christmas. With all my heart I appreciate your reading this letter of mine to help us have a very Merry Christmas. Thank you very much and God bless you Love, Jose, James and Allison."

"Dear Santa, I've been pretty good this year. I'm enclosing a list of what I want for Christmas. Oh, you know why I'm sending it early? It's because I want a lot of toys, and your elves are going to have to work hard.  So thag's why. Write yes or no if you understand. Check one box. Yes I understand, or No I don't understand. I need this before Christmas. Love, Valentina."

"Dear Santa, Lots of people at my school don't believe in you because they never get any presents from you. I was going to ask you what your favorite color was and I thought it might be green. That's why I mad a green frame around this letter. Anyways, if you are allowed to, please tell me your favorite color. Love, Rachael."

"Dear Santa, My name is Keysha. I am 9 years old. I have been a good girl. I want a pair of boots and a baby doll. My brother is Marcus, and he is 8 years old. He would like a chuchu train and a truck and a car. Love, Keysha and Marcus."

"Dear Santa, My Nana died. I miss her. I have tried to be a helpful and considerate girl. Love, Charli."

"Dear Santa, I miss you too much. I'm in the (redacted) grade, but you might already know that. Please respond to my note! I want to know how you're doing. Love, the one and only Mia."

"Dear Santa, For Christmas I would like to spend some time with my kids. Please send my husband a job so I can do this. Love, Jessica."

"Dear Santa, I should get a present because I listen to my friends' ideas, I help my family, and I play with my brother even if I don't like the game he is playing. Thank you! Yours truly, Aneesh."

"Dear Santa , My name is Amelie and I am four years old. I have a little brother named Grayson. Your scout elf Snowflake has been visiting my house. She sits on a shelf on the wall and visits our Christmas tree. She is now my friend and I say good morning evey m morning when I see her. I have tried to be very good this year so she will gtell you good things. Marry Christmas! Your friend, Amelie."

"Dear Santa, My name is Grayson. I stay home with mommy and I love my family, especially my sister Amelie. Love, Grayson"

"Dear Santa, I am so sorry to interrupt your cookies and milk break. I am writing for my sister because she is 5 and doesn't know quit yet how to. Neither do I because I spelled 'quit' wrong. You kno what I mean though. My sister is very shy and she was wondering if she could get an American Girl from you. We can't afford one by ourselves, so can you and Rudolf helper get a 'Grace.?' Sincerely, Gloria. P.S. Sorry about the sloppy handwriting."

"Dear Santa, In case you are looking for ideas for gifts for me, here are some ideas. But really, anything you like is fine: 1) My son to do his homework every week so we have more time for family fun. 2) My daughter to remember to eat a snack after school so she doesn't get cranky or bite my head off when I get home from work. 3) My husband to make his super yummy special dinner that I love, even if my dumb kids complain. 4) Izzy – no dead things in the house. Merry Christmas, Yvonne."

"Dear Santa, Can I have my train early? Because it will tke a long time to build it. Love, Jenna."

"Dear Santa, I have been really good this year by listening to my parents and getting to school on time most of the time.I was also kind to my friends and I was really excited when I was Panther star at school the week before my sister was. Thank you, Ada."

"Dear Santa, I love my family and I love you. Please come and eat cookies and milk and let your raindear eat many carrots. From, Tiffany."

"Dear Santa, Please, please, please! Send my Elf On The Shelf really soon! By the way, her name is Shelly. He had brown hair and blue eyes. Please, will you write back to me? You are my most favorite person ever. Love, Zoe."

"Dear Santa, My mom doesn't have any money to buy me anything for Christmas. She is very stressed out. Santa, you are very nice and your always doing something, so please can you bring me something? Please reply to me as soon as you can. Hugs and kisses, Denise."

"Dear Santa, My name is Juan. I'm nine years old. I am a child with special needs. I have autism. I am in the 4^th grade. I wish I could have some clothes for the winter. I am a size 12 in pants (large), size lg in shirts and jacket, and size 2 in shoes. Thanks for your support. I wish you Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2016. Love, Juan"

"Dear Santa, This Christmas all I wish for is that all the needy have food, warmth, and something to share. Love, Anghlie."

Pizza To Die For

Whenever New Yorkers get together in the Bay Area, they always complain about how much better the pizza was back home.

That's pretty arrogant, but these are New Yorkers, after all. (You got a problem wid dat?) And in this case, they have a point. If you've never tasted New York pizza, you haven't lived. Jon Stewart is right about that.

Well, I have good news for all you transplanted Gothamites: There is one place that sells the real thing. But it's so tiny, it's easy to miss.

It's an unpretentious hole in the wall called Arinell Pizza, located right on top of the downtown Berkeley BART station. It's so authentic, they serve the slices on waxed paper, just like in the Big Apple.

It all started 40 years ago, when Ron Dermijian, who was teaching elementary school in New York, came out here to visit some friends. One night, they said, "Wanna have some pizza?"

They took him to a well-known local pizzeria, and he was underwhelmed.

"It was very mediocre. They told me, 'This is as good as it gets,' so I thought, 'If I brought authentic New York pizza out here, it could be a big hit.'"

Problem was, he knew nothing about making pizza. So when he got back to New York he made a beeline for his favorite pizzeria, Carolina Pizza at the corner of Nicholas Avenue and 181^st Street in upper Manhattan, and made the owner an offer he couldn't refuse: "If you teach me how to make pizza, I'll work here for free."

The guy was wary at first, "but after he finally believed I wasn't going to open up a place right across the street from him, he agreed. He taught me how to make it just like they do in Rome."

On February 15, 1975, Ron and a friend named Larry went into partnership and opened Arinell Pizza in Berkeley. (The name is a phonetic spelling of their initials: R and L.) It was a hit from the start – so much so, Ron was able to buy Larry out within a couple of years, although he kept the name.

"I've never wavered from the recipe, which I was encouraged to do because Californians want their food Californicated," he says. "Pizza is best served plain, with maybe one or two toppings, max."

That means nothing exotic like pineapple (ugh!). "People are constantly asking for it," he says, "and I once gave in and bought a case of pineapple, which is as cheap as pepperoni. But I still couldn't bring myself to put it on the pizza, as hard as I tried, so I finally threw it out."

But even more important than the toppings – or, in this case, the lack therof – is the crust, and Arinell's is sheer perfection: crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, with just the right amount of chewiness. It's enough to make grown men weep. And his grateful customers reward him by coming back over and over again.

"It's humbling," he says. "In New York City, every corner has two pizza places – an OK place and a good place," he says. "All I ever wanted to do was be the good place. Who would have imagined all the attention we've gotten here? We've become iconic."

Passing The Buck

(Above: Officer Garrett Swasey, one of the murder victims at last Friday's Planned Parenthood shooting.)

Every time a Muslim extremist kills someone, moderate Muslim leaders are hauled in front of the TV cameras, and a reporter indignantly demands why they aren't speaking out more forcefully against Islamic terrorism.

But what happened last Friday when a right-winger killed three people, including a policeman, and wounded three others at a Planned Parenthood clinic in Colorado Springs last Friday? Not a single priest or minister was asked for a similar denunciation.

I did see one pro-lifer being interviewed on CNN: a congressman from Illinois named Adam Kinzinger. He uttered not a peep of regret, much less condemnation, and nobody at CNN asked him why not. Instead, he said Planned Parenthood is the one that should apologize.

It's the same pattern everywhere you look, no matter what the issue. Nobody asked a minister to denounce Randolph Linn when he tried to burn down an Islamic Center in Toledo last September. Or Frazier Glenn Miller when he murdered three people at a Jewish community center in Kansas in 2014. For that matter, no rabbis were called on to denounce the right-wing Jewish settlers who kidnapped a 16-year-old Palestinian boy last year and burned him to death.

When a police officer is murdered, the brass and police unions inevitably blame the Black Lives Matter movement, as if all blacks everywhere are responsible for the misdeeds of one. But if a white person murders blacks, as Dylan Roof did in Charleston, South Carolina, he's labeled just a troubled loner.

Notice a double standard here? The rhetorical deck is stacked against the underdog, and the media are complicit in this up to their ears.

And the politicians are even worse: They completely duck the issue. After news of the killings in Colorado Springs broke last Friday, here's what the Republican presidential candidates had to say on Twitter:

Marco Rubio: "Stay warm this winter with our new cold-weather bundle. Shop now and save!"

Rand Paul: "Visit the Rand Paul Store for the best Black Friday deals! Shop now and support the campaign!"

Jeb Bush: "I’ll reverse the failed Obama/Clinton foreign policy. Read my new op-ed in New Hampshire’s ConMonitorNews."

Carly Fiorina: Linking anti-abortion rhetoric from Republicans to the attack on the Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs is just “typical left-wing tactics.”

Donald Trump: "The reporter who pulled-back from his 14 year old never retracted story is having fun. I don't know what he looks like and don't know him!"

Ted Cruz: The shooter was a "transgendered leftist activist."

Ben Carson, Lindsey Graham, Chris Christie and George Pataki and didn't say anything.

But maybe I shouldn't be too critical. After all, they have to worry about their base, and that base is in full-tilt gloat mode, as evidenced by this tweet: "No sympathy for any pregnant female who was injured in the Planned Parenthood shooting that was there to get an abortion. She deserved it."

 Excuse me, but aren't these the same people who keep saying "All lives matter?"

 To his credit, John Kasich said he was praying for the victims, as did Clinton, Sanders and O'Malley. And Mike Huckabee said, "What (the shooter) did is domestic terrorism."

But no one except President Obama addressed the real issue: What concrete steps are we prepared to take to make sure this doesn't become the new normal?