The void

Probably because it's the void, two revered baseball luminaries decided to die.  .  .   Stan Musial, whose name my Polish relatives insisted was pronounced "Mooshau," and manager Earl Weaver.  They were bright stars for St. Louis (22 years) and Baltimore (17 years), respectively.  Team loyalty.  .  .  what a concept.

LAST NIGHT, the capitol contingent and our duo from Bum-fuck Egypt met midway in Gridley in celebration of the two January birthdays, for a family dinner at Black Bear Diner, the home of comfort food, and where they apparently believe everything is better with bacon.

It isn't.  Gridley, however, is a surprising oasis along 99.  Two factory new car dealerships anchor a fairly busy strip mall.  The meal was better than the last Black Bear I visited (once I took the bacon wrap off the chicken), the mother at the adjacent crowded table finally got the screaming urchin to shut up (and was repentent), and the waitress was as cute as a bug's ear, although her voice could peal wallpaper, and she had to be reminded that the bland corn muffin was included on two of our meals.

BY THE WAY, we fed seven of us for $107, which seems about right for a family restaurant, considering Johnny needed two pricey items off the dessert menu.