Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Bambi and the Bowl

So yesterday, the big news in the sports world was the revelation that a spray made from deer antlers contained a PED (performance enhancing drug) uh, closely related to the banned human growth hormone which is a no-no in all professional sports arenas. Prominent names allegedly associated with the spray were dribbled to the media. Nexxxxt.

For 4 hours on Sunday, fans, friends, and soon to be tavern friends will be riveted to the telly watching the agony and the ecstasy of arguably the greatest sport ever played. Millions of bucks will be spent by big corporations as they try to hypnotize and razzle dazzle with techno commercials. Some of them will be very very good. But I digress. Fueled by all the alcohol swilling, or not...platters of carbs will be consumed; gut bombs, you have never seen before, never will ingest again, or even consider ingesting, except on this one day of the year will pass blindly from hand to mouth. In a moment of weakness, spurred by some cosmic desire to share, all misty eyed with jealousy because I will be cavorting in a roomful of vegetarians, I unveil before you one of the greatest game day recipes ever conceived which my friend, Janet, sent me a couple of seasons ago. It is called Cheddar Bacon Ranch Pulls. The ingredients are: 1 unsliced round loaf of sourdough bread (make it round); 8-12 oz of cheddar cheese thinly sliced; 3 oz bag of real bacon bits (!!); 1/2 cup of butter melted, and 1 tbs. ranch dressing mix. Salivating? Go online and dive into the entire stream of deliciousness. Warning label: if there are 4 of you, one of these cardiac bombs is not enough.

SF 49ers vs. the Baltimore Ravens. I grew up sitting on backless benches at Kezar and met Frankie Albert, Hugh the King, and YA Title. I went to training camps and watched the rookies vying for their future dream. The 49ers are imprinted on my DNA! And yet...when the last cleat has vacated the gridiron on Sunday, something tells me a Raven will be cackling overhead...Enjoy the spectacle.




Thursday, January 17, 2013

'Truth be told...'

That's one of my friend Dave's 'go to,' stock pattern reliable phrases. If it doesn't come drop from his lips, it just doesn't sound right. When I was 7, I made my 1st confession. To a man. In a dark box. I think my head barely reached the bottom of the screen. We were told the priest couldn't see past the screen. As if. Now that I know there is such a thing as gender inequality; I have a lot of burning questions surrounding all those, 'true confessions.'

1. Golden Globe. Or Globes, remains the rollicking, alcohol infused, numero uno hardware event of the year. Left for DOA by the white male majority of the Academy Awards, and ripped by the uptight Congressional Committee, Kathryn Bigelow, and ZD30 got a huge boost when Jessica Chastain (who could have gone down with that ship as collateral damage) picked up the hardware for Best actress/actor in a dramatic role.  The most agonizing moment of the evening was Jodie Foster's speech after being presented with the Cecil B DeMille award for her body of work. Nervous, edgy, Jodie officially 'came out,' in a cloaked -between-the-lines sorta moment. Hey babe, your tribe always knew it. You're queer. You're here. Everyone get used to it.

2. Lance Armstrong. And Oprah. Who cares about contrition. The years of lies, and ruined lives will be the legacy. 'Truth be told.' Not in this lifetime.

3. Abigail Van Buren. Dear Abbey. Smart. Snappy. And to the point. I preferred her twin, Ann Landers, and as kid read both their columns. Ann seemed more like your favorite aunt dishing out the advice. Abbey, blunt, cut to the chase. What a run they both had! A public forum. Free advice. What's not to like? Pauline Friedman Phillips aka Abbey died today after a long battle with Alzheimer.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

...'A real live wire...'

Behind the shades, Kathryn Bigelow directing Jennifer Ehle in the polarizing, sizzling, Zero Dark 30. Gagging on my tea and biscuits, Saturday. WTF? A congressional committee led by Senator Dianne Feinstein is calling for an investigation of the CIA and whether or not it leaked classified intel to Bigelow, and screen writer, Boal. Demonstrators lined up right behind DiFi to shovel anti torture, anti war protests onto the steaming heap. Everyone wants a piece. In another decade free pub, is always a good thing, right? When it comes to art, who doesn't love controversy.  So there I was, spent and riveted by Bigelow's film. Mesmerized by Chastin's performance. Does she ever in her life time receive another role like this? Who knew that a woman was the lead dog, responsible for fingering the compound and taking out OBL? Not me. The scenes depicting water boarding et al were disturbing. But to deny that the USA doesn't torture is bullshit. What's really going on here is that the film, blocked it, boxed it, and showed it. Zero Dark 30 is not a documentary; for fuckssake, this is a Hollywood production. Poetic license rules. The greatest manhunt in history doesn't take place in a perfect world: a world without war. Yesterday, as the credits rolled, in the dark, a woman seated right behind me screamed that the war was about oil and blood money. A guy responded that he fucking served in Iraq. Another voice yelled what about the 4,000 who died. The theater never turned on the house lights. Outside there were a couple of security guards. Controversy. Dialogue. Bring it on. Zero Dark 30 is the film of the year.