It’s almost Noon and things are moving fast. A bill will be called. Its details appear on a scoreboard above the Speaker. The Clerk reads a one-sentence summary. The TV picture switches to the member advocating the bill under consideration. The member says something like "Thank you Mr. Speaker and fellow members. This bill helps children. I urge an "Aye" vote." That’s about it.

The members, without exception, do the same interesting thing when finished speaking. They grab the flexible horse neck-shaped microphone and whip it away forcefully, using the full length of their arm, adding a scowl for flavoring. It’s a violent maneuver with an unmistakably macho message. I thought it funny because, frankly, most of the members are pretty geeky looking. These are the folks that got pushed around in school; they seem to be compensating for it now.

When voting begins the TV screen goes to an electronic scoreboard. A green square alongside each member’s name lights up to indicate a "yes" vote; a red square indicates a "no". The legislative version of Jeopardy music plays as members vote. The Speaker announces the outcome and in the same breath calls up the next bill. From beginning to finish, consideration of a bill commonly takes less than a minute. All are passing by wide margins.

Late in the afternoon, bored to tears, we remove ourselves to a bar across the street and, over a beer, continue to watch the session. We can do this because the bar is wired with the same closed circuit televisions that the Gate has. Grizzled veteran lobbyists kid each other with jocky, alcoholic banter. One yells out as a member advocates for a bill, "No reading!" It seems that Assembly rules require extemporaneous advocacy without resort to prepared comments. If this is true, the rule is routinely flouted. Members are not only reading their comments from a script, most are pretty clearly seeing the comments for the first time. They squint, scratch their heads and puzzle over the pages in front of them.

We return to the Gate. Marina meets a friend who gets us into a private party being held in the office of Assemblyperson Lou Papan. A plaque outside Papan’s office door identifies him as "Dean of the Assembly". I wonder how this can be. Mathematically, there must be many Deans of the Assembly as no one is allowed to run for a third term. Perhaps it is because he transferred to the Assembly from the Senate when term-limited out so as to prolong his legislative career. At any rate, Papan is undoubtedly a Capitol favorite. Everyone breaks into a smile at the sight of him. He’s a kind of legislative Ed McMahon, given to making jokey little speeches on the floor that to outsiders seem wincingly empty-headed, but members and staff savor each chestnut as the height of humor and received wisdom. A well-catered party is in full swing in Papan’s office, staff and members alike having riotous good fun one moment, than out through the lobbyist throng, back to the floor the next.

We watch San Francisco Assemblyperson Carole Midgin advocate $30 million for San Francisco Airport with which to buy the Cargill salt flats and return them to their natural wetland state. Her bill is serious business and of great importance to ferry riders. The purchase, designed to appease environmentalists blocking airport expansion plans, promises to restore natural tidal patterns to the South Bay. In time, this will permit resumption of ferry service to Alviso, a historical port located near the "Golden Triangle" formed by Routes 87, 101 and the Bay, home to hot high-tech companies like 3Com.

Assemblyperson Papan rises to ask one or two innocuous, and not altogether relevant, questions of Assemblyperson Midgin. She responds with rote legislator-ese along the lines of "I thank the gentleman for his remarks" but is clearly not amused. But she gets her $30 million.

Hours pass. We get a strong hint that our welcome is worn out in Lou Papan’s offices. The corridor, now even more jammed with lobbyists, is stifling. We find refuge in Assemblyman Kevin Shelley’s office. His kind receptionist moves a TV so we can watch while sitting down.

It’s nearing 10:00 PM and the pace has picked up considerably. The Speaker cuts off the Clerk just one or two words into her one-sentence summary. Members barely get out "Thank you Mr. Speaker and….." before the Speaker cuts them off, too. Many bills are now being dispatched – all favorably – in well under 30 seconds.

Suddenly, our bill, SB 1662, is up. I wake Marina, who is dozing next to me, and we both sit up excitedly. The truncated summary is given, the advocate gives a perfunctory exhortation and we are on the edge of our seat expecting Jeopardy music and a happy outcome. But wait: a Republican has risen in opposition!

This is wholly out of the pattern and most discombobulating. And then, our worst fears are confirmed: the member is speaking out against our very item.

"Members, I know we’re rushing to finish, but we need to be careful as we pass these bills late at night." he begins. In my shock I fail to catch his name; he’s from the Los Angeles area. "This bill calls for spending $12 million on ferries for San Francisco. We got rid of ferries in the 1920’s and replaced them with bridges! We can’t be spending $12 million to fund antiquated ferries, especially when we know it costs three times as much to move people by ferry than it does by BART".

Ferries were phased out in the late 1930’s, not the 20’s. The integrated rail and ferry system that bridges replaced, it is now realized, is far more efficient and environmentally friendly. BART is astronomically more expensive to build than are ferries.

It matters not a bit. The vote is taken and we fall far short of the required two-thirds. We’ve lost. I feel physically ill.

"My God, Marina, we lost", I say reaching for my cell phone to report the news. "Shut up, put that phone away and follow me", commands Marina.