'Winter is Coming,' Indeed...

1. Game of Thrones is a sprawling sweeping epic that is hacked into 4 massive novels with a much anticipated long over-due, geezuz, soon to be released (the masses have been pissy and restless)5th novel titled, "A Dance with Dragons' in mid-July; the genre is not sci-fy but fantasy. Turned off already? Hang on a bit longer. Authored by George R.R. Martin, and picked up by HBO, fans were conflicted. On one hand, elation. On the other, paranoia. The series could either be an intriguing audacious back-stabbing landscape revolving around 4 major kingdoms or a monumental nose pinching goat fuck. Three positive transactions happened on the way to production. 1. the series location, Ireland. 2. George R. R. Martin's blessing and presence 3. The hiring of the brilliant David Benioff to script most of the installments. Benioff is the author of '25th Hour' which Spike Lee made into a movie starring Edward Northon. And Benioff has also written scripts:'X-Men Origins: Wolverine', and 'Troy.' Ok, those were pedestrian. But in 2009 Benioff wrote a novel, 'City of Thieves,' the best damn book that year. A gem. Locked and loaded, the cable series has been sensational. Why, it almost harkens back to yester-year...'Deadwood' days, or as some critics have written 'Soprano's.' The buzz really did deliver. Ratings were hot. And the finale sizzled. Literally. The characters proved fluid. So much so, a cautionary word. Attached to a particular personage? Don't be. Have a favorite? Could be whacked. The novels are filled with twists, chaos, and disintegration of order. One thing however is constant throughout the series. Love them or fear them. Woman seem to rule. A true telly-land fantasy.

2. Spring. 2012. 2nd season of 'Game of Thrones.' How dare HBO!

3. 'The Killing.' How can a finale suck as much as it did? It sucked donkey's. Wait till next season for the answer? Pleaaase. Up until the finale, this series was like watching a foreign film. Slow. Dark. Somber. The critics hated it. Not fast enough for them. But there were some of us out there who applauded the difference. Mireille Enos was great. John Kinnaman as her sidekick even better. It was a series crying out for a compelling moon trajectory finale. And it failed. The 13 episode concept (each episode=1 day) was clever. And we can thank the Danes (originally a Danish series) for that. But, god almighty, the last episode goes straight to the hall of shame.

'Nice guys finish last' Really?

1. The interpretation of losing is an art form. Think of sports as a multi-faceted gem. Team work. Discipline. Sacrifice. Self Esteem. Elation. And buried beneath the tips of those ice floes...adversity. Most athletes grasp the short term memory concept of losing: dropped to the canvas for the count. Get up and move on. Lose by a half a nano second in racing. There's always tomorrow. Give up 2 consecutive home runs. Bear down, throw a strike. And fuhgeddaboudit. Apparently in Vancouver the other night, when the Canucks lost the 7th game, the fans in a deja vu reenactment of the 2004 riot, took their frustration and anger out on the city streets. Fueled by alcohol? Likely. Embarrassed by the blow out at home? Ok. We get it. But, destruction and looting of downtown establishments, burning of automobiles, 150 people hospitalized. WTF? Rogue nation, back to the man cave, swill some more booze and swallow hard. The Canucks were dealt a bad hand. They got off the ice went to the showers,and looked in the mirror. Then they went home.

2. Sunday is Father's day. One of my earliest recollection of loss, was after a brutal game at Kezar when the YA Tittle SF 49ers choked up and gave the game away in the 4th quarter. There were many of those defeats that year, and as we waited for my dad to come out of the locker room, one by one the showered 9ers drifted out, signing autographs for the fans, greeting their wives and kids and leaving the parking lot. My dad eventually came out, and said the team took the loss hard; they had thrown stools and chairs around the locker room and destroyed a table. I turned to look back as we drove away. That day I had learned a little something about 'appearances.'

3. Truth or dare. The re-count shenanigans of 2000. My current gf (that's girl friend to you) and I were ebullient. At a gathering. Cigars. Booze. It was in the bag. After reality had smacked us all around, and the light switch had gone on or off, and Gore had been gored, the woman sitting next to me, stood up and shouted, 'where the F can we go to break some windows!' Oh so close...

4. Bill Cunningham New York. If there is one film you see this year. Make it this one.

5. To all the fathers out there, enjoy. And to all the other mothers who are fathers, you too...

XX Chroms...

1. It's all about the chicks today. Jill Costello is at the head of the parade. But first, a historical back track. Several decades ago, I partnered up with a member of the Cal Women's Crew. I who had grown up in a world populated by boxing, football, and basketball had no frame of reference for crew. What in the world? Once in Cambridge, Mass, I saw teams skimming the St. Charles. Lovely in their synchronization, a lapsing memory. Until, I became involved in the girl friend's world. Rapidly I learned that all crew members were tall. Got height? Studs. Muscular, with shoulders, and wing spans that whats-his-face, the German swimmer, the one they called the albatross would penis envy. And then I learned this. That the cog or the dawg that drove the boat was small of stature, sat facing the crew and barked the cadence. Revved the stroke. Navigated victory. At punishing blistering warp speed. Or not. Coxswains. That's cox to you. I've met only one. And years later I nick-named her the 'little general.' But, this is not about her, it's about Jill Costello. The cox of the Cal Women's crew team. 2010 Pac 10 champions. Her story is so powerful it should be a required pre-req for any young girl interested in sports: http://search.espn.go.com/jill-costello/

2. The 'Gay Girl in Damascus' blog. Legit? Or hoax? News sources are investigating.

3. Kristen Stewart. MTV movie awards...edgy mini red leather dress studded with safety pins and in true alternative fashion wearing slip-on Vans to stage hop hard-ware. KStew as Joan Jett in 'The Runaways.' Stream it.

4. Reese. Generational MTV award. Best film never seen by anyone: Freeway. A cult classic.

5. Game of Thrones. On HBO. British blond Emilia Clarke who plays Daenerys Targaryen. On deck to kick some serious Middle kingdom ass.

Pass the donuts, please

1. Friday is National donut day. Someone actually went through official channels to shove the uh, oft maligned little ball of dough, into the national spotlight declaring a cardiac holiday. I mean who doesn't really like fried food? Admit it. And drizzled with powdered sugar, or glazed? My history with donuts can be traced directly back to St. Bridget's parochial school. Pre-national obesity. After first Friday Mass, the nuns, god bless them, served up hot chocolate, and powdered sugar cake donuts in the cafeteria. We were in the 2nd and 3rd grade. Globs of sugar jacked our tiny brains, as we dunked and slurped our way to a sucrose high. Once I saw this kid, named Michael, eat 7 cake donuts before class. Back in the islands, my palate changed. Mysteriously refined and sophisticated (at 13), I discovered and became a culinary 'ho' to malasadas, a Portuguese tasty... round deep fried balls of dough rolled in granulated cane sugar and deposited on friendly shores in the late 1800's. Warm, golden and slightly crusty. I couldn't get enough. Oh yeah, come to mama! So my friends, with your best interests at heart, leap frog the bran muffin (are we doing penance here?). Bag the oatmeal, and start the car. Load up on lipitor and sidle up to the counter. Life's a carnival. Get with the program.

2. In Joplin, a pachyderm helped clear debris from the tornado ravaged area. Immediately after the media pub, someone from PETA or a PETA clone went ape about the defunct circus (past citations for animal transgressions)who graciously offered the elephant's services. Whoa. No whining during national emergencies.

3. Farmer's markets. I love all the purveyors that flock in with their produce or their food products which enrich my life as well as the surrounding communities. I relish buying sweet ears of corn from Brentwood, or Chandler strawberries from Sonoma, and fresh eggs from Turlock. Recently in an East Bay article, there were grumblings about the number of out of area sellers and the lack of inner city licenses. Food for thought. But, don't be singling out, my Donna's Tamales as interlopers from Marin. I know these women. They work hard; have always worked hard, and travel up and down the coast like the majority of these purveyors to provide us all with healthier, better food options.