Sweet Sixteen

1. I'm not talking birthday. I'm talking the NCAA women's basketball tourney. The Cal Bears who have advanced only once before to the round of 16 are in Spokane gearing up for their match with LSU. Media talking heads continue to dismiss women's b'ball as boring, slow as molasses, laughable. And they criticize the tournament because the seeding for the schools rarely change. The elite programs make their run year after year: UConn, where by the way, this sign was spotted in the rafters...'UConn, where the men are men and the women are champions,' Stanford, Baylor, Notre Dame, Tennessee etc. all have the hardware. The high flying point guard in the photo, Brittany (hey we have our own Brittney) Boyd, uh seems to be soaring over the hardwood, not mired in deep whatever. Look, women play beneath the basket. Execute the concept of X's and O's. And back door at their own pace. Ridicule? Bring it. We're already in your gym. And standing at the 3pt line. Time to get over it.

2. The men. Hey, I'm all about equality. So many upsets. And so much crying. The darlings of the tourney are Florida Gulf Coast, and the Wichita Shockers. The schools from small conferences. A not so predictable champ: either Duke, or the Florida Gators.  My bracket: dead. dead. dead.

3. Got a new cell phone yesterday. A thing of beauty. And have I dropped it yet? Why, yes. Right out of the box onto my table. Way to go.

4. The Supreme Court. Is equality 'just another word for nothing left to lose'?? Come on now, show the love.

Burning Daylight

1. Have I really been playing hooky for a month? Uh, not really. But, a flight of fancy (domestic biz) did transport me out of Cali to Aloha land. No malasadas. No Lappert's. Not even a finger of poi. It was that sad. The wheel of fortune is a fickle bird. Sometimes you cavort. And sometimes the cavorting flat lines. So, there I was caught in the middle of a tropical rainstorm... For 24 hours the islands were pummeled by rain which originated from Kauai and then sourced (mid stream)  the big island of Hawaii. Huh? I didn't understand it either and just enjoyed the show. Diamond Head lay shrouded behind a wall of mist. It was a different look for the old lady. I finally did stop at the Liliha Bakery for dinner. 24/6 days a week. And ate at the counter which might accommodate 16 diners? No rez. Just a line out the door. Every single day. I had the mahimahi. Two fillets as big as my head. For dessert, the coco puffs. Yeah, island style.

2. Ina Donna Coolbrith, California's first Poet Laureate, had a birthday on Sunday the 10th. I passed her gravestone today and chest bumped her.

3. The Pope. An Argentinian. Who knew? Was Vegas laying odds? Jose Bergoglio. 100-1. There's no crying in Argentina today.

4. Banshee. On Cinemax. The most interesting, provocative character in cable history: Hoon Lee as Job. More of him, please.

5. Almost March Madness. Congratulations to the Cal Bears Women's Basketball team who won the Pac 12 title. A first. Coach G, Lindsay Gottlieb, brought the slamma jamma.

'Second verse, same as the first...'

1. Today, I used the Graceland plate, plopped the donut on it, lit the
candle, congratulated myself on waking, conjured up some deep (not too) thoughts, and blew that bad boy out. Time just slides past your arch way when you're having fun. Earlier, I grabbed the fastest steed I could rope and giddy upped to the gym. Veni, vidi, vici.

2. Da Pope. Pro choice won't be waving their white hanky's. And the LGBTI nation referred to as 'evil' by his royal Vatican highness, will be jamming in the streets Feb. 28th. Before pointing the finger, externally, the Vatican should take a long, long look at their own shit; there have been numerous allegations of corruption, scandal and political infighting within the college of Cardinals. Unable to damage control the decades of sexual abuse, the VatiLeaks (the Butler did it!) scandal exposed how surreal, conservative and out of touch this Pontiff has been.

3. Yeah, 'Who's got it better than us?' 'Everyone!!' The collective cry of the 4,200 passengers of the Carnival cruise ship that were stranded at sea for 5 days without the amenities...

4. The Super Bowl. I told you so.

5. Is Jessica Chastain's performance really going to go down with the sabotaged ZD 30?

6. Uh, that fireball that showered Siberia. What if the meteor trailed
across the sky, Dec.21, 2012. Just saying...

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.

'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.

...'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.

Da Best of...

2012 is that annual predictions do not come true. While waiting for engagements to stir my fancy this year, a strange and delicious phenomenon happened to me...I read the entire Harry Bosch series by Michael Connolly. In a stupor. I couldn't get enough of the LA cop, Dupar's, Philippe's, Gorky's, Figueroa, etc. etc. Bosch was crack. I was living la vida film noir. My skin turned pasty. Who cared  what happened on CNN. After Bosch was there life, and other pulpy spines to crack. Yes! In no particular order the short list of good reads: 'Bring up the Bodies'. If you haven't read Mantel, start with 'Wolf Hall.' 'The Sisters Brothers,' by Patrick DeWitt. A Western nugget. 'Gone Girl,' by Gillian Flynn. JesusH! 'The Wild' by Cheryl Strayed. 'The Beauty of the Real,' by Mick LaSalle. And one stray from the past, 'Life,' by Keith Richards. A diamond in the rough. If you finished it, you can brag. I did. And I am. A hella of a bio which will make you marvel. And because we all like to watch, movies which were worthy of a big screen: 'The Dark Knight Rises.' ' Argo.' 'Bernie.' 'Moonlight Kingdom.' 'The Master.' 'Skyfall.' 'Farewell My Queen.' And, 'Django Unchained.' Ohhh, how that one plucked my spaghetti western heartstrings! To see them is to love them. Year of the Snake almost here, my friends.