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Tabloids and Tito’s (Venice: 1)


We're loosely enjoying the Golden Globes tabloids. Celebrity gossip over Tito’s tostadas or Campos burritos and a raucous game of Gin Rummy was a weekly ritual at my grandmother’s house.


Gramma had a subscription to People magazine that we all passed around, chomping on fresh chips and guac, riffling through the latest celebrity news. Whats the de does that magazine always have a spread on murder mysteries sandwiched between ads and the latest fashion trends?


Afternoons in Venice, metal bats clinking across the street at Penmar Park, Cessna’s passing overhead from the nearby Santa Monica Airport, Stevie Wonder bumping into the stereo, heavy Magnolias and droopy Eucalyptus trees lining the street.


We’d settle in around the square kitchen table, pushing aside gramma’s handwritten, cursive notes and junk mail to make room for snacks and cards. In feverishly competitive games, gramma had the advantage of dead relatives and catholic saints. Her other worldly connections were her “trump card.”

An assemblage of crosses, miscellaneous religious iconography and a framed portrait of Pope John Paul II hung on the wall, in vigilant attendance. Tensions were high, expletives were frequent, threats were exchanged. Those were our golden days.

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