Lights up on Thanksgiving dinner, a table burdened with delights and surrounded by friends and/or family. Cue background music, something simultaneously calming and festive, with a slight hint of a football game from an adjoining room. Enter the host or hostess, tapping on a glass, with the announcement, “Why don’t we go around the table and share what we’re thankful for this year. Grandpa, why don’t you start?

Now that the election season is over, it’s time to hit the reset button. Political arguing has had its place. And there’s a lot to bat back and forth: the Republican sweep, the Democratic win in California, the role of the Tea Party and whether 72-year-old Jerry Brown can turn things around in California.

But none of that really has much to do with what comes next. Too often, observers of the political scene get taken up by who wins, who loses, and who’s going to run in the next election.

It’s time to get over it. Now it’s time to actually run the government and serve the people. Doing so takes different skills entirely. It’s not about the horse race anymore.

I remember when Wallace Baine was the new kid on the block, back in the early 1990s, when he first arrived at the Santa Cruz Sentinel.
Back then, the local literati got together weekly over stale popcorn and coffee for film screenings, held at the Nickelodeon, to promote the latest cinematic faire on the theater’s schedule. It was there that I was first introduced to this fresh-faced kid just hired by the Sentinel to serve as its new arts writer.

For those of us who came of age during the Counter Culture here in Santa Cruz, the Sentinel— with its conservative political leanings and Wall Street Journal sensibilities—was considered enemy territory, particularly for those of us who wrote for the two or three weeklies always in distribution here since the early 1970s, including Good Times.

As I prepare myself physically and mentally for an impending minor surgical procedure (nothing life-threatening, nothing to increase or decrease specific body parts, nothing I couldn’t discuss over cocktails in polite society), I look back at my journey to this point, the helpful advice received from friends and strangers, and the research into all of the options available to me. Then I smile and thank someone’s god for western medicine.

Before you get your yoga pants in a knot, allow me to continue.

I collect medical practitioners like kitchen appliances, and count among my handiest helpers chiropractors, acupuncturists, osteopaths and Rolfers, alongside ear, nose and throat and orthopedic doctors. I’ve had psychic readings from afar and visited gastroenterologists … for within. But my sigh of relief at western medicine stems from memories of my first brush with eastern medicine, a day I like to refer to as The Day My Black Heart Stood Still.

When I was 12, I told my friends that I didn’t intend to have kids. “Yeah right,” they said. “You’re totally the type.”

“Wanna bet?”

After long negotiations held during a Wiffle Ball game, we settled on a two-stage wager: If I’m childless by 30, they owe me $5,000. At 50, it’s $30,000. Each.

Today, the warm feeling I get looking into the soft dark eyes of the fussy baby girl in my lap is surpassed only by the relief of handing her back to her mother. Kids are interesting, but I don’t need to own one any more than I do a Rototiller. In both cases, I can always borrow one. If I want to blend in at a Pixar or teen vampire movie, consider me a free babysitter for a few hours. And when it’s time to turn the garden soil, I’ll trade you a case of beer for the loan of your machine. If it’s busted, just send over your kid with a shovel. Work builds character.

Two-time Democratic presidential candidate Adlai Stevenson refused to appear in televised commercial during his campaigns in 1952 and 1956, saying that doing so was beneath his dignity.

Too bad that Adlai's not on the ballot today. He'd get my vote.

Election season once was the political junkie's most exciting time of year. It was like draft day for the fantasy football fanatic.

Alas, no more. The barrage of television commercials is as depressing as it is offensive, with messaging and negativity aimed squarely at manipulating the least informed voters. Attack ads do two things: they make anyone running for office look greedy and/or crooked; they also effectively win elections. Alas, that's the problem. No one—winners or losers—emerge unscathed.

How Many Times Can I Say ‘Sexy’?
I feel it in the air, sense it in local thrift stores and smell it on the breath of every remotely hip person in town. No, not curry—Halloween is almost upon us. Although it’s often hard to tell here, what with “keeping it weird,” “doing your own thing,” and “year-round Burning Man,” I found proof at Target: Christmas decorations side-by-side with candy corn. Trick and treat.

This won’t be a nostalgic comparison with Halloweens of my youth. And it won’t be a rant about our fabled downtown antics, either; as a fan of public outdoor gatherings, cross-dressing and martial law, it’s sort of a perfect night for me.

Considering that Santa Cruz is suffering through economic hardship right along with the rest of the country, it’s surprising that there’s so much energy by so many entrepreneurs.

More than 400 motivated listeners streamed into the Del Mar Theatre a week ago to listen to Reed Hastings, founder of Netflix and a Santa Cruz resident, as he discussed his path to success. A businessman? Selling out Santa Cruz? I wouldn’t have believed it.

The most surprising thing that Hastings said had to do with Santa Cruz. “The economy here is more diversified,” he said in comparison to Silicon Valley, which is Netflix’s home base.

I stood in line to vote behind a 30-ish couple who appeared to be on a first date, judging by the small talk: “I’m more of a dog person.” “Middle children, yeah! High five!” “I’ve never seen a baby pelican either! Weird!”

I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she had a tag sticking up from the back of her shirt and I’ve always found that to be really distracting. When is it OK to tell a stranger her tag’s up? To me it’s like a little flag that says, “Help! I have trouble with details!” Can’t I just reach out and ...

“So how do you pick your peeps?” she asked. A cagey way to get some insight into his politics, I thought.

“Throw the bums out. Fresh start.”