Smashing Pumpkins

1. One of the greatest band names ever. Admit it. As a kid, didn't you once want to go out there on Halloween night and pulverize the punk into stringy melon chunks?

2. Stripped of his 7 Tour de France titles, and banned for life by the International Cycling Union, Lance Armstrong has been asked, today, to return the 4 million dollars earned in those events. In a sport where doping is rampant; where every competitive country has come under scrutiny; where there have been allegations and expulsions for years, none has been as shocking as Lance Armstrong's fall from grace. Uncovering the most sophisticated deliberate doping scheme to ever deceive the public (tens of millions of American taxpayers dollars in funding to the USPS Armstrong's cycling team) and ironically 'rope-a-doping' cynical media too, all fell like a house of cards, because 2 women: Betsy Andreu, and Emma O'Reilly sick of the cover-up and lies, were the first to come forth with stories of the PED: steroids, testosterone, growth hormones, and EPO. Bullied. Called crazy and jealous. Hit with lawsuits by team Armstrong, the 2 women ultimately said what no one really had the conviction to say: the emperor had no clothes on.

3. Lena Dunham. We love you, babe! Her ad for Obama is sensational in the Dunham 'way'; clever, contemporary, cozy and ballsy (ya know what I mean) in sista hood parlance...get out the vote. Our bodies. Our selves.

4. Half Moon Bay. Home of the Great Punk.

'The Bear will not die'

1. 1982. My job app to the great UCB a dopy hazy gleam in my eye; living in Oakland close enough to hear the canon boom from tight wad hill over-looking Memorial stadium. I don't quite remember where exactly I was that day, but I know 'the play' in the theater of gridiron heroics stands as the greatest, engaging, most dramatic of collegiate endings. Score 20-19. John Elway, the All American, standing on the Stanford sidelines thinking Heisman, and his day is done. 4 seconds left. Not so fast big boy. Joe Kapp, the fiery Cal coach, gathers his players around him, and calls for 'gra-bass,' an old training exercise: a designated group of players tries to keep the ball away from the linemen. 'Furd' kicks off. The undisciplined, infamous, red and white band sheathed in hard hats to protect against frozen projectiles (oranges and grapefruits) storms the field of play, a violation (!!), while the ball is in the air. Five gra-bass laterals, when luck inter-twined with destiny, on that field of play that day, when everybody wearing blue in Memorial would rather be lucky than good, the Bear did not go quit. Nor did they die. Kevin Moen, elevated, ascending like Jesus over the insane band... Cal 25-Stanford 20.

2. Old Blues vs the Cardinal red. In an election year. Just saying...

3 On the 30th Anniversary, of 'the play' a tip of the cap, and tequila shots to Joe Kapp. Go Bears!

Ringside

1. Orlando Cruz, a featherweight boxer of Puerto Rican descendant, with a record of 18-2-1 called a 'presser' last week and declared his homosexuality. Cruz, 31, said he wanted to be true to himself, and

to be a good role model for youth who were interested in pursuing a boxing career. In a sport which thrives on machismo and mano a mano chest thumping, Cruz is the first 'active' pugilist to come out; he has said, 'I always will be a proud Puerto Rican, and I have always been and will always be a proud gay man.' In some circles, those are considered fighting words. But Orlando Cruz's courageous statement left no doubt...bring it on.

2. After Mitt laid the whoop ass on el Presidente last week, and left the donks nervously scratching their heads at the passive (um, did he really just mail it in?) embarrassing exhibition, ol' Uncle Joe climbed into the ring last night, slapped on the gloves, and put some emphatic smak down. Energetic, animated, obnoxiously smirking at the bull that was dropping from Ryan's lips, Joe Biden went old school on Ryan mixing body blows and an assortment of right crosses . On taxes, medicare, and foreign policy, down went Ryan. On abortion, straight to Ralph Kramden's moon. Biden, avoiding verbal gaffes, was a feisty man on a mission.  Combative debate, that's what I'm talking about! And the moderator, Martha Raddatz of ABC news was a breath of fresh air. A woman amongst the boyz. Bring her back.

'She started a heatwave...'

1. One of Marilyn Monroe's tour de force renditions from 'No business like show business.' It's hella hot here in my region of Cali. But, truthfully, we're wimps compared to the rest of the country. We are children of the 'fog' in more ways than one, and whenever the temp creeps past the mid-80's some of us start whimpering like the spoiled candy asses we are. It's a lot of iced mint teas and swamp coolers or personal fans which, come on now, are really Jedi mind tricks. I personally never met an AC cooled venue that I didn't love with. What is missing in this region, as any savvy (gloating) kamaaina knows, are the island trade winds...

2. The youthful Oakland Athletics, picked by many scribes to lose 100 games, owned by a fat cat who has been trying since 2006 to move the team out of Oakland first, to San Jose and now Fremont, had to slap a grin on his face when the A's clinched a play off spot last night. The team is young, fearless, and fun to watch.

3. The A's and the Giants are both in the playoffs. It's not the world series yet. But it's warm, earthquake weather, and October. 1989 Loma Prieta deja vu all over again?

4. The Donks and the E'phants strap on the gloves and step into the ring. Is this enough drama to derail me from Sons of Anarchy? I think not. If your mind isn't made up yet, it's too late. The train has pulled out of the station.

"Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, no it's...'

1. Oh, the things you do for love. I never cease to amaze myself. Laid up with a self diagnosed broken toe which I down graded to sprained after the swelling subsided, the very toe  I broke in college by kicking a foot stool after I was denied a pass to some squirrely event, the only bone that I've ever broken in my bod, why, why, why now...jeezuz H. How it happened is a detail I care not to divulge. After icing and elevating for 7 days, I rose up for Friday and tradition. Toe taped and hobbling, I drove to my clandestine donut shop and plated the granulated nugget on my Graceland hardware. While enjoying the fruits of my cardiac no-no,  I evidently missed the space shuttle, Endeavour, flying overhead. And so it goes.

2. Psy. Gangnam style. Is there anyone hotter in the known universe now? If you haven't seen the Korean phenom, you gotta you tube. All the talking heads are gushing, Ellen has swivel hipped it several times, the Today show aped the moves, ESPN dudes are agog, and last night, one of the NY Giants after scoring a TD went 'Gangnam' in the end zone. As soon as I'm off my the couch, it'll be 'Gangnam' time.

3. Sea Wolf. Alex Brown Church. A long long time ago, he was the first kid I ever hung with; he took the mystery out of face time for me.  Indie recording artist, son of Susan and Robin, moving right along, my props to you.

'Get your kicks on...'

We had youth on our side. We also had an orange van named 'Van Gogh,' books printed by the Women's Press Collective, to distribute across the country, money, a laughable amount today, a sturdy bed built into the back of the van, one guitar, cigarettes, drugs (this was the 70's), no bottled water, and a paper map of the USA. There were 3 of us. My driving shift, poor night vision, was daylight. We hauled ass out of Oakland. First memorable stop, Santa Ana. Almost got into a barroom fight at a local dyke bar. Fuzz, who we were crashing with, whipped her glasses off and slapped them down on the bar. That close to brawling! And we hadn't even left Cali. Subie and Jules were my 2 traveling mates. Jules had family in Tennessee, and Michigan. Subie, Bangor Maine. We took the mother road as far as we could. We got lost in the Ozarks, and were covered by leeches, looking for a fabled town populated by women. We ate at truck stops where the food undulated with carbs. And the coffee was crappy. Crossing into the painted desert, we were stoned out of our collective minds, and had and never will see anything as beautiful again. We pulled off the road ways and slept in the van and woke up with dawn breaking over dewy fields stretching for miles. We saw Earl Scruggs in Tennessee under the stars. Got stared at in Memphis. And slept in pristine sheets in Benton Harbor. In DC we hooked up with the 'Furies,' and drank in a bar with Rita Mae. Van Gogh was ripped off in NYC. Of course! And the guitar stolen. Downer. We fled and hauled it up the eastern seaboard to Bangor, Maine. I took my first canoe ride across Lake Lucerne, and failed miserably with my paddle. In Nebraska stricken from heat we took our shirts off in a gas station, soaked them with water, and drove on. Stopped in Wyoming and mailed off the essential handful of  postcards. The salt flats were stark and the sierras, high country, beckoned us across.

Last week, I received word that Subie had died after a long battle with cancer. Over the years, we drifted apart, lost touch as so many of us do. I could riff on and on with the many moments we shared, but that road trip was defining. It created a vast well of memories. For all of us....Susan 'Subie' Baker, Oct 24, 1948-August 10, 2012.

'You saw me standing alone...'

1. First hint of fall. Yesterday, shorts, flip flops and a chai boba tea. Today, hoodie and a cuppa of java. Blue Moon tonight..the second full moon in a month. The first one was on August 1st. Lots of cloud cover today. If you can peek, do it. The next one won't be until 2015. One of the greatest songs ever written, 'Blue Moon,' has been covered by Ella Fitz, The King and Cowboy Junkies, to name a few.

2. Cosmic irony that today is the funeral of Neil Armstrong...once in a blue moon, my man.

3. Stepping out tomorrow to scope out the renovated/retro-fitted Memorial Stadium. Over the years, fans jokingly played Russian roulette with the Hayward fault which runs right down the center, like a streaking half back, of the playing field. Would it or wouldn't it? Like the lyrics, 'should I stay or should I go..' No one really knew when the Hayward would go off. And so my friends, as I check out the new restroom facilities which were neither 'golden' nor fit for 'bears' in the glory years, rest assured that though hacked campus budgets and forced retirements may come and go, there will always be a 'resting place' (not in my parking lot, thank you rollingstones) for the deeper pockets, the athletic departments, of this world. Um, 'roll on you bears.'