Pau or Pow!

1. The Texas Rangers, and the Canadian Royal Mounties share the slogan, 'we always get our man.' Of course you know where this is going. The Navy Seals and their elite strike team known as the mythical 'Seal Team 6,' knowledge of this combat unit is usually disavowed, took out the most wanted man in the world with exact precision, aggression, and flawless mechanics. Make no mistake about this, this was a kill mission. Why incarcerate and drag the nation through an agonizing trial? Who wanted that senseless option? Eyes on the target, two bullets put an end to 9 years of late night jokes. Media reports confirmed the Seals executing intense assault maneuvers on a mock compound at the beginning of April. Green light on hold, the clock ticking past the royal's headlines, the President finally unleashed hell. Somewhere, in a land far far away, Jack Bauer is raising a glass, and smiling because he knew damn well those Navy Seals didn't need the promise of 72 virgins to get the job done.

2. Lara Logan. The CBS News' chief foreign correspondent embedded in Afghanistan, and Iraq with military units, sexually assaulted and savagely beaten by a mob in Tahrir Square the night Mubarak fled the capitol, will be interviewed on 60 Minutes this Sunday. Her story details the heroism of those who saved her and her crew, but more importantly the piece reflects a courageous woman who is stepping forward to speak publicly, letting other victims know that they do not have to endure the burden alone.

Chef Hamilton and Proust

So I just finished reading one of the greatest contemporary memoirs ever written. Ok, a bold statement; quick second thought places Patti's Smith's,'Just Kids'in a virtual dead heat with this masterpiece. A couple of years ago, on Iron Chef America, I watched Bobby Flay duke it out with young chef, Gabrielle Hamilton. As I watched them battle the constraints of the 60 minute challenge, (the secret ingredient, zucchini) the challenger, Hamilton, very cool, and very gifted (you either perceived this or had fallen asleep on the couch) constructed and plated succulence extraordinaire dispatching Flay, hang-dog, back to his Iron Chef pedestal. Yowza. A word about Iron Chef America. It is a decent imitation of the original Iron Chef which was produced in Japan and had achieved insane cult status. If you never saw the Japanese version, which was special, and I don't mean the episodes with the sorry ass dubbed English voice overs, but the ones which were sub-titled and wildly entertaining, well my friends you missed the wedding. But, I digress. Chef Hamilton has written, a book, 'Blood Bones and Butter' which donkey kongs the rest of non-fiction nation, and hovers on top (yes woman on top) of all other culinary memoirs. Why? Because Chef Hamilton articulates like a knife through butter. Not only is the book on fire in NY (the most jaded place on earth), a March publication, it is already in it's 3rd printing. The book remarkable in it's voice, and holding nothing back, executes transitions which are rich and stunning in their revelations. At the beginning of the book, Gabrielle Hamilton references butter and sugar sandwiches which her French mother made as an after school treat in New Hope, PA. My own mother growing up, dirt poor, frequently ate butter and sugar sandwiches, a dietary staple in her household, and when I was in elementary school, sometimes she made me one too. With a little luck and timing if the avocados were ripe in the backyard, I'd find slices of the compact, slippery gems pressed between the butter and sugar. Today, in a nod to old school familiarity and soul, I made and ate one of those for lunch.

Shady Musings

1. In SF on an over nighter; heavy fog spritzing over head walking from the house to the car, fog horn in the distant like the good ol'college/hipster days. It piqued the senses for a newyawkminute and then it was gone. Proust's madeline poised eloquently, but in this twitchy, multi-tasking world I lost sight and dropped the night shade. There is something to be said for bedside reading material. Tucking in with a zrytec-wine combo to slay the dragon, I flipped, drooled, flipped, through a 2007 Saveur issue dedicated, my vegetarian friends, to the glories of beef, starting with the explorations of a Montana ranch and culminating in a gorgeous savory plated spread...broiled, roasted, skewered, and sauced of the aforementioned industry. Hung over from that 'zine, I woke up...a lumberjack craving carb stacks. It would have been lovely if I had walked to Tartine's and fallen face first into 4,000 calories, but I was early and they were closed. Frack! I had to wait an excruciating 10 minutes for the effing opening. Cruel and unusual punishment so early in the morning. Ye gods, I could smell the butter and the flour laced with chocolate wafting...should I buy one or should I buy two pain au chocolats? And after I eat that flaky piece of heaven where do I go from there? Back to earth? Not so fast. Sometimes indulging the dark side is good. Sometimes, stepping back into the shade enhances perspective. Somewhere out there today, is a butcher wrapped parcel with my name on it. The sound I just heard, was my sister, the enlightened one in England, hurling.

2. The 60 Minute expose of Greg Mortenson, author of '3 Cups of Tea.' Sensational headlines implying duplicity etc etc. I'm reminded of this quote from David Lean's 'Lawrence of Arabia...' Mr. Dryden: "If we've told lies, you've told half lies,and a man who tells lies like me, merely hides the truth, but a man who tells half lies has forgotten where he's put it."

Playing Hardball

This is my 100th post. In general, I'm feeling good with the effort to marshal writing skills under this particular guise. Short but not too short. Free form streaming. Lots of whining. No sucker punches. Probably not enough humor for my sister. But, hey, you can't please everybody. And to all of you regular, sometime, readers of this blog, sign up as followers, you sly, lazy, mothers...

When I was a child in grade school, in SF, I was shaken down for my milk money practically every day by a kid that said he was a friend, but needed my dime or nickel for his whatevers. The threat of being hit followed me like a dark cloud. After school at a day care center where I waited for my working parents to pick me up, there were tiny gangs of boys, aged 8-10, who beat the crap out of you when they didn't get what they wanted ie coins or food. The nuns that ran both institutions were clueless, and of course, the kiddie population was too scared to spill the beans. And then one day, my brother got beat up. His shoulder and arms were covered by bite wounds, deep teeth marks, and his nose was bloodied. My parents were horrified.

After a series of suicides nationwide, specifically linked to bullying in public schools,

gay, and lesbian youth have found 'friends' and strong backing in the White House, on Capitol Hill, and most importantly with the US Department of Educ. Bullying now described as a civil rights issue places the onus on the schools to work harder to protect victimized students. Imposed penalties include loss of federal aid and potential prosecution. Opponents of this legislation don't like the creation of protection for a specific class. A tired, weak and woeful refrain. Segue: Tara Sullivan, a New Jersey columnist who was barred from interviewing Rory McIlroy in the locker room after his monumental melt-down in the Masters, one of the largest sporting events in the country yesterday. Augusta officials later apologized. Too little. Too late. Stick it.

Jack Tone Road and other Dispatches

1. Don't you wonder when you're road tripping through the valley or mountains or meandering along the shore line who certain roads are named after? I do. Today, while passing through the arid and fertile San Joaquin valley on my way to a wake, I yearned to discover who exactly Jack Tone (having zoomed by it many times) was, for there is not a better sign in the state of California than Jack Tone Road. Hurtling down 99 with out a straw in my path, the road sign hit me square between the eyes. In one of those middle aged moments, I was startled by a little bit of nostalgia and a whole lot of happiness. Stars flew over my head, as my old friend, Jack Tone Road, came into view. I looked to the right and left and saw the magnitude of change and the persistence of sameness along the physical highway. History says Jack Tone was a rancher in the San Joaquin valley and that he developed his struggling farm land into a modern fertile ranch; working tirelessly he designed irrigation systems and instituted farming with modern equipment. Jack Tone was also an advocate for the valley farmers and fought for local water policy. It was also said Jack had the power of the 'laying of the hands,' and that he could heal both sick animals and people. Jack Tone Road...the longest straight road in the San Joaquin Valley.

2. Yale. WTF? And title IX. Apparently there is a long list of alleged sexual harassment and sexual assaults made by graduates and under grads which the Admin at Yale have not addressed or chosen to ignore out of contempt or stupidity. Some of the allegations stretch back as far as 2005. The Department of Educ. has finally stepped in to investigate the matter. One of my first jobs in high school was delivering documents for my father's law firm. Every day I grappled with emotional obstacles. The weather was steaming. It felt like 105 in panty hose and I was drenched in sweat as I slogged documents back and forth in mini pumps between the courts and various law offices. It was of course, made worse, because I didn't even have a place I could hide and cop a smoke. One unbearable day, I dropped a pile of papers off and handed them to a petite woman who was surrounded by a mountain of files. I thought she was the secretary until I returned a couple of weeks later to drop off more legal papers and learned through awkward introductions she was Patsy Takemoto, the resident attorney of the tiny office. Decades would pass before I learned that Patsy Takemoto had applied to more than 20 medical schools and been rejected by them all because she was a woman. In 1972, as a congressional member Patsy T. Mink, a believer in woman's rights, authored Title IX. She would serve Hawaii for 12 terms in the House of Representatives. I often reflect on that particular summer whenever violations or sordid incidents surface like the current allegations at Yale.

3. They say when a great man or woman dies, winds sweep down across the plains and settle into the valley. Albin Watson Crabtree. 1910-2011. I felt the wind brush up against my back today.

'Tell mama, tell mama all...'

Those five words were uttered by Elizabeth Taylor in George Stevens', 'A Place in the Sun.' It was a passionate scene; an anguished Montgomery Clift and Taylor on a balcony with the camera angled and hovering over Clift's shoulder peering in at Taylor as she spoke those lines...almost choking me on my popcorn as I sat in a theater watching retro classics. Elizabeth Taylor absolutely radiated beauty in that film. She was the stuff of manly dreams, and of mine too. Long before that, I fell in love with Elizabeth Taylor. It was 'Lassie come Home,' and 'National Velvet' on the black and white tele that did me in. Movie mags said she had violet eyes. How on earth does anyone get procreated with violet eyes? And there was something ethereal about her voice. She never lost that tone; if you saw her in movies made in the 40's and heard her voice late in the 80's, you know what I mean...there was a lilt that stayed profoundly the same. Creation or victim of the tinsel town industry, Elizabeth Taylor's personal life made for sensational media tabloid headlines. Petite, cursed with health issues, she became Hollywood's royal; and she collected jewels (and husbands) as if she were collecting marbles for a throw down. A dear friend to Roddy Mcdowall, Mongomery Clift and Rock Hudson, Taylor became the first actor/celebrity to publicly speak up and raise millions for Aids. In 1994, she won the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian award from the Academy of Motion picture Arts and Sciences. Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor...1932-2011.

March Madness

1. Had an unbelievably turbulent flight to the islands a couple of weeks ago. 3 of the 5 1/2 hours were spent huckabucking through the atmosphere as the plane was tossed around like a tin can being kicked down the street. Did I start moving my lips in prayer? No, but as the minutes turned to hours I began to mentally list all of the things I had put off and wished I had done before I f**king sat down in seat 27B. Stressed and craving a cigarette (passengers were tossing back mini bottles of booze like it was going to be their last drink on the face of the planet), I tried to watch the in-flight movie, 'Secretariat.' Which was good, but concentration was at a premium. When we landed in Honolulu, it was overcast and storm clouds filled the horizon. But who cared? It was a relief to be on land again, even if it was an island.

2. I arrived back in Cali, on the day of the 8.9 quake in Japan. I thought of all the Japanese tourists who love to visit Hawaii and who were now stranded indefinitely away from their loved ones. My flight was one of the last to leave the islands. While I was unpacking that night, my brother called to tell me they were on tsunami alert. A friend's son in Osaka is making an early exit back to state side; this is catastrophic devastation on many many levels.

3. California has 2 nuclear power plants: one in San Luis Obispo, and the other in San Onofre.
California is also the mother lode of fault lines. Deep food for thought.

4. Who in the USA is working today? How many workers across the nation called in 'sick?' Because of the added pressure of 4 play-in games (greedy bastards) which start Tuesday, everyone is scrambling to complete brackets without the luxury of 4 days to info surf. If you, bosshog, think that your employee is deep into the analytics of the state budget, think again. Seed numbers and match ups, yes! Sweet 16, and Final Four possibilities. Uh-huh. Under dogs and chokers (Pitt). When all the crying (there's a ton of crying in the tournament) stops, standing all alone at center court, ready to cut down the nets on April 4th...the Rock Chalk Jayhawks, Kansas, who can make amends for the Northern Iowa debacle last year. Big East? And Big 10? Over rated.