'All this has happened before...'

Deja vu all over again. I think I've seen this show before only it was el presidente, point guard, cross over dribble mano a mano driving for the layup; the swish of the net, the roar of the crowd...wait a minute...dream interruptus...looking at the sea of suited white male faces, half of them stamping their feet, and applauding, the other half stone-faced and texting (I spied a lot of elected officials jamming on their blackberries during the speech..the era of hand scrawled notes are ova); supreme court, robed and narcoleptic; the only splash of color on the main floor provided by women, beacons, in a somber landscape. Staring at Barack, I tried to push him back to his Punahou years. My sister went there. So did my cousin. Both of them thrived on that sprawling campus. Yeah, Barack on a weekend in his slippas, eating a teriyaki burger from W& M after surfing at Sandy...I thought I caught a glimmer of that as he drove for the hoop last night. Meanwhile back on Caprica in the real world, 58 years before the cylons (we learn the derivative of that word) the stage is set for two families (Willie Shakespeare set the bar) to have at it. Stylish. Xtreme underground youth scene. Gay Tauron assassin. Avatars. Men in fedoras. Uh, tobacco free planet, it's not. Eric Stoltz is terrific as Daniel Graystone, the cylon pater familias. Paula Malcomson (Trixie from Deadwood) is Amanda Graystone. And Polly Walker, Atia of the Julii from the brilliant series, Rome, is Sister Clarice. Reflecting on the prime time Washingtonian evening, the Senate chambers would have been a livelier place had it more Atia's and less Dicks.

'Oh, I would not feel so all alone, everybody must get...'

Rainy day woman, this is not. I woke up this morning and padded out to my flat screen, flipped on the news, put water in the kettle for tea, tossed in the Irish Breakfast (the best blend ever, god bless the Irish) and watched as the telly screen faded to black. Arrgh! Thunder and lightening lit up the sky. I took it as a sign and went back to bed. My friends were all on their way to work for another hostile make over of their minds, and I, lucky degenerate, listened to the rain pelting the windows. An evil smile flickered over my face. Maybe if I woke up in time there'd be a warm donut or 2 left on the counter of my secret carbo supplier. What could I blame the storms on? Ok, we're not in the East buried under a pile of snow, or sliding along on an interstate playing bumper cars. Still, back to back to back rain storms. By the third, it starts fraying. This is Cali. Land of sun-kissed oranges and almonds. When I awoke from the slumber, the Cowboys had lost; 24 had already jumped the shark (who cares, we love it); and Scott Brown had won the Mass Senate seat. Scott Brown. WTF. Somewhere, Teddy's trying to pull a Carrie from the grave. The Demo's blinked first. And a pick-up truck driving, anti global warming, conservative repub donkey konged the donkey. You snooze, you lose. Time for some oatmeal and toast and contemplation of el presidente's health reform measure, and what this really means for Washington. But do I care? Uh, yeah. In the old days, pilgrimages were made to old crones and oracles for answers. A live shot of Pelosi flashed across the news screen. A bead of sweat glistened on her brow. Or was it? Maybe, just maybe it was a tiny reflection of all this Cali rain...

True Confessions

I think that was the title of a magazine in the 50's? I remember stumbling across a pile of them strewn under my uncle's bed. It was filled with stories that didn't really make any sense to me...men and women (loose) spilling the beans on some juicy indiscretion. The other day, Mark McGwire, croc tears and all apologized to the children of the corn (er,earth) for his use of PED's. Really? Hmmm. What a coincidence. A public apology 2 months before McGwire's new coaching job with the Cardinals. Was anyone really surprised by the revelation? The only people who blinked and swallowed hard were probably the ones who live in Balco-ville, CA... out there by the splash cove and the big Cola mitt. The sports world biggest asset is it's short term memory. Public mea culpa's are embraced. I get that McGwire wants to put the past behind and move on. But he failed miserably on the essential point: his denial that PED's helped tilt all those records. I laughed. How gullible do you think we are? Yeah, he cried. And he should have. For all those cheating years. For the Maris family. What a debacle. Think Roger took 'roids when he broke the Babe's record? Or how about hammering Hank Aaron? One final note. McGwire spoke about his body breaking down and the pivotal role PED's played in recovery. Huh? There's a guy I know who wore #8 for the Baltimore Orioles and played over 2600 consecutive games. Cal Ripken jr. That's my kind of hero.

Flu You

There I was on the 2010 playing field; the ball arcing in the sky, a beautiful spiral, the nubby laces invisible as it laid out in front of my hands...the crowd roaring in anticipation(me too), and then, Kerchunk. All the padding: the drills, the vitamins, and hand washing; the media barking...none of it mattered. You have to be lucky. And those of you who know me, know that I'd rather be lucky than good. It wasn't in the cards. No bullet proofing. No leafy greens. No effing Flu shot saved my unlucky ass. Laid low by a tiny bug mysteriously and often named after my culture. This was a b**tch. Completely humbled. There was first the denial. My tiny brain fingered the cold family. Scratchy throat. uh-huh. Cold. Dry cough. ditto. Headache? Hmmm. Time to google. I don't remember too much after that. The flu family shoved my weak cold diagnosis over the cliff and made camp. In my house. My vegetarian sister said it was payback for the Big Macs I ingested. Night and day blurred. Chills. Body ache. And the worst culprit, headaches. Constantly. Jane brought over the Sunday newspapers and 7up ( when sick revert to childhood remedies). John brought chicken pho, lemons and potatoes. It's crazy. No appetite for days. Then a craving for baked potatoes. Blame the fever. It only cost me $10,000 worth of therapy to ask for those things. My workout gal pals whom I love texted constantly. My Dr whom I love too piled on pneumonia, but gave me the keys to the car. Today, I can tell I've almost turned the corner because I remember the first 2010 movie I watched in Petaluma sitting on the couch while everyone else had turned in...'Rollerball.' Jimmy Caan. Still an interesting film even today.