Chickaluma

1. Put down some tomato plants yesterday. It seemed as good a time as any; the skies were a brilliant blue, the winds had finally skedaddled behind the hills and into the next valley, while overhead the sun was just beginning to break through. Put my foot behind the shovel and dug 3 holes. A couple of worms inched away as the chicken manure was layered with top and bottom soil. This year, we're experimenting with a new soil amendment: non-fat powdered milk. I kid you not. While hunting for a tomato blossom rot remedy (tried gypsum last year and it worked so-so) I came across a you tube video featuring a gardener from the mid-west whose bumper crop of tomato plants looked like redwoods! Before wrapping up her spiel, a box of powdered milk was produced. The same box that my mother one summer, in some weird insane moment, decided to experiment and substitute cow's milk with powdered milk which was mixed (like kool aid) in a glass right in front of our eyes, and tasted like shit. It was the kind of flashback that wasn't very meritorious, but those tomato plants in the background glowed like they were rooted in the mother lode of all mulches. The Black Krim, Juliets and heirlooms are all on 70 day notice.

2. Petaluma. Butter and Egg days are April 27th and 28th. It's like the annual rodeo. It's old school, a small town parade celebrating the history of an area which used to be called, 'the egg capitol of the world.' Flanked by rich farm land, the Petaluma river, became a fulcrum for ships carrying produce and grains back down to San Francisco and the outlying counties. Chickaluma was the nickname bandied around in it's glory years. But, Petaluma is a Miwok word which means the backside of hills. Films needing an old fashioned nostolgic era have been filmed here: American Graffiti, Pleasantville, Peggy Sue got Married, Cujo (whaa?) and Tree of Life (Nooooway). Egg and Butter days. What once was...

We Got Next...CAL 65 UGA 62

The team that was missing all those years in the Bay Area finally showed up and decided to ball. For decades the doormat to the juggernaut in Palo Alto, and often pushed around by the inner city play of the LA teams, the Cal women laced it up and strapped it on this season. Not since the great point guard play of Milicia Vukadinovich in 1992 and 93 who willed those Bear teams to NCAA post season berths has there been so much court n spark, pyrotechnics, at Haas Pavilion. Fueled by their young coach, Lindsey Gottlieb, the Bears lost only 3 times this season. You can talk about all the 'dream teams' you want, and you can recruit a 6'8" forward that can slamma jamma in your face, but if the coaching, the think tank, the 'brain trust' isn't operative, all the recruiting and scholarships in the world will not bring the hardware back home. In what had to be the ugliest first half of an NCAA tourney, where neither team could hit a bucket, an obvious media 'bummer' for ESPN, both teams continued to fumble around in the second half. Down by 8 at some point, the Bears poor free throw shooting biting them in the ass, the team sucked it up and dug deep. So did Georgia who were on the ropes but furiously tied the game, sending it into OT. OT? No Fear. The Bears had already seen that movie twice in the post season. Led by Layshia Claredon's 25 points, and their dynamic Coach the Cal women are on the sugarland express, heading for the 'Big Easy' They are the first Pac 12 team since 1988, other than the one in Palo Alto, to scrap their way to a Final Four berth. Don't wake me till Sunday. I'm living the dream.

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.