Friday Postscripts

1. Back from the islands. Same ol'song, but a different verse. Flew into
Oahu under beautiful skies; to my right a postcard, Diamond Head, with a ribbon of sand bumping up against the sparkling Pacific blue, and then... almost, but not quite, the mother of all landings. Passengers yelled collectively as we rocknrolled in our seats; two things: 1.Whopping human error. 2. Where the rubber shouldawoudacoulda hit the road, we had careened off the asphalt,  back into the air, colliding severely with the tarmac again. Wtf? It shaved maybe a nano second from my life, before I stepped out into the balmy tropical breeze and flip-flopped my way to baggage.

2. Pussy Riot. Horsewhipped, pepper sprayed and detained by the Cossack militia, who apparently had nothing better to do (pre Kiev), as the Olys were rolling, again attacked yesterday morning by another band of Cossacks who threw green paint and garbage on them as they were eating breakfast at McDonald's (hmm, Mickey D's in Russia). Nadezhda Tolokonnikova and Maria Alyokhina. Two years in Siberia. And back at it again with their posse. Never has a regime been so fearful of so few, uh, women.

3. Meanwhile, in this country, a bill that would have removed sexual assault cases from the jurisdiction of military commanders, and placed
them under a neutral court of law, failed 55-60,  five miserable votes short of advancing it to a floor vote. El Presidente should have, but chose not to weigh in and back Senator Gillibrand's campaign. Instead, he gave the military until the end of 2014 to improve their response. Where oh where are the Underwoods when we need them?

4. International Women's Day tomorrow. Own it.

They say it's your....

1. Great lyrics from those golden anniversary Beatles...I eschewed the traditional donut, a 10 on the Oly scale of fried happiness, for a familiar carb from the islands...one that every elementary school kid remembers selling door to door for fund risers...the Hawaiian sweet bread. Breakfast of champions with a cuppa of tea. You're only as old as you feel; and some days it's all horse shit; but today there's alpine skiing featuring the 18 year old phenom, Mikaela Shiffrin, from Sochi, and hey, keep tripping the light fantastic...

2. Michael Sam. The line backer from Mizzou who announced to the world
(NFL) that he is gay is eligible to be drafted in May. Let's see which team rolls the dice and picks him.

3. Awfully quiet in Sochi. Too quiet. No pink demonstrations. No pink fists raised from the podium. PC in a conflicted way; athletes focused on medaling. The whole world is watching. Time to stir it up.

4. Ellen Page. Am I the only person on the face of the planet who didn't see that coming? You go girl. We love the 'Hard Candy' babe!

5. House of Cards. Back in the saddle...season 2. Truly, a contemporary spectacle worthy of the Roman coliseum. Best actor gliding through the lines and moving like a dorsal finned predator...Robin Wright. Brilliant. Under stated. More importantly, uh I wanna know her work out routine. Binge and marvel.

Polar Opposites

1. So, on one side of the country, there is record snow; populations stuck on the asphalt plains of Georgia; the windy city, Chitown, covered for days by snow and more snow; bite ass cold freezing the mid west, and um, somewhere in a dark room in East Rutherford, New Jersey a circle of NFL 'suits,' no doubt, are collectively holding hands, and oming, for clear pristine skies to descend over Met Life Stadium, Sunday...huh.

2. Meanwhile on the Left coast, drought grips Cali in the shorts. However, the ski resorts in the Sierra, received some relief, when school kids turned their pajamas inside out, and slept with spoons under their pillows hoping for a winter white out cancellation of classes. This morning 6"to a foot of snow fell and schools were closed. Oh, the power of newly minted collective minds!

3. On the political front, some anti-choice  conservatives are calling for a boycott of Girl Scout cookies because the GS appeared to endorse Wendy Davis for Gov. Well, ok, more Samoas for me.

4. An original only-in-Vegas Super Bowl wager:

How many times will Peyton Manning say, 'Omaha?' Over or Under 27 1/2?

5. Best eva Super Bowl food: "Cheddar Bacon Ranch Pulls" fondly referred
to by aficionados as crack bread. 

6. Who will win? Because they play the game at night...outdoors, and on the fickle Eastern seaboard; and because mother nature doesn't abide by group prayers, as executive afterthoughts...the wind will blow; the rain or snow will fall...my heart still says Peyton, but in the winter gloom, youth and the Seahawks rise.

'Oh the weather outside is.....'

1. Frightful...the black bear captured in the photo was probably out hunting for some of that white stuff which signals biological hibernation; the only snow, currently, in the sierras is being manufactured by the ski resorts. Uh, the bear probably sniffed that little joke out and wandered off confused and frantic in search of winter for that extended carb blissed snooze. Good luck, pal. Down here in the urban jungle, it's January, and 70 outside. No rain on the horizon for several weeks. No snow pack. We might be retro-gliding back to the 80's, where signs like this hung in restrooms: 'if it's yellow, let it mellow.' Water rationing, hovering like a black cloud, over Cali...

2. Out for a walk in the cemetery today. Ok, I confess, I like balmy. I was enveloped by the warmth and seized up emotionally as I discovered I wasn't the weak B that I thought I'd be after my little germ filled bout; I actually felt like my old frisky self. And then there it was. The head stone that always solicits a smile and a nod; Phi Gamma Delta bro...dude, I don't know who you were but your brothers left not just one liter of gin, but two liters at the base of your stone, empty flagons that honor their dead.

3. Binge watching MI-5. Not even halfway through all the seasons; an outrageous 10 years. Brits production rock the charts. I did pull the plug momentarily to watch True Detective a mini series starring Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey, which had the highest opening rating of any HBO series; the return of 'Girls,' we love you Lena. A lot of good telly viewing happening.

4. NFL playoffs. My heart says Peyton. My wallet says Brady boy.

It's a wrap!

Deep into the embers of winter, knocked out of the saddle again, by some pesky bug. Damn! Under siege, and feeding the beast. Turkey stock. Pho. Antibiotics. I'm old, just fork them over, doc so I can re-group. Binge watching MI5, and football. The NFL and Bowl games. Oh, the comforts of the couch on an unseasonable winter day; no snow in the high country. Reservoirs drooping. Let's do something fun! Med fueled and sugar propelled:

The Shaka awards to the best Telly of 2013. I said it last year, and I'll say it again, the best series still at the top of the list, reigning supreme, Borgen, a Danish export which just completed it's run of three seasons. The rest of the list had wannabe glimmers: Broadchurch, The Fall, Orange is the new Black, Top of the Lake, The Returned, SOA (under-rated), Justified (Elmore and Timothy Olyphant) The Good Wife (the worst title on the face of the planet), and the Killing, the show, which like a flat bodied species would not die, surprised and will rise again under the Netflix banner.

The early Shaka movie awards, in no particular order: Alfonso Cuaron's,
Gravity. American Hustle. And Blue is the Warmest Color.

Best book read this year: Richard Ford's, 'Canada.'

Be safe tonight. Waiting in the wings: The year of The Horse.

Schmaltz is good sometimes...

1. Just ran one last errand. It's crazy out on the streets. Cars hunting for parking; kids in tow behind fatigued parents. Some men looking rather dazed and confused, unfortunately not from mugs of ye olde merry ale. It's all rather, um, traditional. Appalling, by foot. Mail order on the other hand, is da shizzle. Packages via drone? Bring it on.  Life imitating 'The Hunger Games' culture.

2. Billie Jean is going to Putinville. Can't wait for the pictures at 11.
Sochi could be pink by the time the powder settles on the alpine. Billie Jean getting down with the Pussy Riot girls. Yow! Stay tuned. Check out SNL's BJK skit on last week's Christmas show hosted by Jimmy Fallon. Instant classic.

3. My favorite Christmas movie. It's not 'A Wonderful Life. Or 'A Christmas Carol.' Nope. Not 'Miracle on 34th St.' The movie I love, steeped in drama, nuclear family, fake snow, and hetro boy/girl next door desires (schmaltzy as hell) filmed on a back lot in Culver City is 'Meet me in St. Louis' with the great Judy Garland, who at the time was 21, and a major star in the MGM stable. I first saw the film in black and white ( we did not own a color set) on an Admiral telly when I was 12? The music, the melodic Garland voice burrowed deep into my gelatinous psyche and I have never forgotten. To this day, when I hear Hugh Martin's song, 'Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas' sung only by the great Garland, I am emotionally rendered. It is one of those beautiful mysteries of life.

4. Mele Kalikimaka, all.

Jack Frost nippin...

1. Feeble thoughts while I freeze my azzz off in the apartment. As a kid, I experimented er, childishly: I once placed a pan of water on our back steps in SF when we were living there, and thought it would freeze overnight. Not. Or, I often entertained the thought of an egg frying on the sidewalk under a blazing hot day. Now that I'm grown, all I can think of when the temperature drops into the 30's is my residency stupidity. Picture this: palm trees, sloshing waves along the shoreline, flip flops strewn next to a towel, Maui Jim dark glasses surveying mobile deliciousness, yeah, baby, the only frosty I'll ever see is my red bean, fluorescent snow cone which I'll be sucking down! 'Snap back to reality...'(thanks Eminem). Instead, the only sound I hear is the cha-chinging gas and electric bill as it rockets into the stratosphere; and the grunting inability of cardio/weight lifting barely cracking a sweat in the frigid gym.

2. So, there was this guy that fell asleep during a United Express flight. And when he woke up the plane was dark, cold, and he was locked on board in Houston. There is a happy ending to the story,
but how does this even happen? The Airline would not refund (!) his ticket, instead giving him a hotel voucher. Dueling attorney's probably lit up his cell phone like a Christmas tree.

3. Paul Walker. Ok, I confess, I'm a 'Fast and Furious' ho. The man was too young; too charismatic, too kind...forever young.

4. Nelson Mandela. January 18, 1918-December 5, 2013. A blazing light in the dark.