"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.'

F the Gulag

1. Ripping a page from their NY sisters, the masked Guerrilla Girls, who dis, rail and  expose sexism and corruption in the art world and beyond, a Russian Feminist punk collective, Pussy Riot, styling their fashion in brilliant colors, and signature masked balaclavas apparently went too far for the ruling Russkies with their anti Kremlin punk prayer and performance inside a cathedral in Moscow. Hauled off to jail in March, three members of Pussy Riot, Nadezhda Tolokonnikova 22, Maria Alyokhina 24, and Yekaterina Samutsevich 29 were charged with hooliganism. Whaaat? As the feeble bogus charge went viral, enraged groups started marshaling; flash mobs hit the streets and 'Free Pussy Riot'signs sprang up like weeds. Who knew balaclavas would suddenly be the rage of dissonance? Sentenced to two years in a penal colony, the three women are a reminder that artistic expression and gender can expose a glaring fundamental truth: sexism, political corruption, and gulags are alive and well. Fuck this. We will not forget. Power to the sisters!

2. Whatshisface...the congressman, a genuine piece of work, who called 'rape legitimate'....only a matter of time as recall petitions hit the 'net.

3. Gillian Anderson. The truth is out there. Props to you.

'Going to Fly Now...'

The Olys. In a nod to the Rocky's, here are some of the smaller stories
which flew under the radar in London, under the Missy's, Phelps, Kerri's, and lightening Bolts.

1. Claressa Shields. Already featured in a New Yorker piece profiling women's boxing, the 17 year old showed no fear stepping into the world's boxing ring, and ringing up Russian Nadrezda Torlopova to win the gold medal in the middleweight division. Impervious to the rocking sold out arena who had come to see Katy Taylor, the all world pugilist from Ireland, Claressa Shields took care of business and flashed glimmers of pride and hope back to her home town of Flint, Michigan. Hard scrabble life, father in and out of prison, living with an Aunt who stresses education, Shields has been boxing since she was 13 saying she knew it was real: how good she was. How light on her feet, and how the energy flowed from her fists. On the platform, draped with the gold,  her infectious smile for a nano second arced over and lit up the hood in Flint. Yeah, now they all know it was real, baby.

2. Kim Rhode. Bet you a hundie you don't who she is. Give up? Kim is the 1st American athlete to medal in 5 consecutive Oly's. Move over EII, Kim Rhode is the Queen of skeet. Under windy, gray, and drizzly weather, Rhode set an Oly record and tied the world record by nailing 99/100 targets tossed into the unpredictable sky. The road to London has been sketchy. Rhode survived a breast cancer scare, and during the Beijing games her prized custom made gun was ripped from her car. Scrambling to replace the hardware, Kim Rhode shot her way into the record books shooting with another rifle. For relaxation Rhode has been known to build a muscle car or 2. There is longevity in skeet. Rhode might like Rio.

3. David Rudisha, a Kenyan, set a world record in the 800m in a tremendous overpowering display of front running leaving elite middle distance runners in his wake. Three national records, four personal bests, and one season best were etched in the record books. On a night before the mercurial Jamaican, Usain Bolt, would set foot on the track, Rudisha, a Maasai warrior, who began his training on dirt tracks he pick-axed himself electrified London and the world.

4. Jamaican sprinters. Sponsored by the Puma. Instead of the Swoosh. Blitzed and smacked down in London. Just saying...

Gold Rush

The summer Olys are back. With all the usual suspects. Danny Boyle who
directed films,Slumdog Millionaire, and Trainspotting among others is orchestrating the opening ceremony from London. Find it hard to believe that anything will ever dazzle and push the envelope the way Chinese did when they hosted. If you missed that spectacle, you missed the wedding, my friends. Adam Gopnik wrote a piece in the New Yorker about nationalism and the Olys. Uh, yeah, but some of us watch for other reasons than the red white and blue medal count. We watch for those moments of great drama and human courage that push mental and physical stress over the edge and into some other unimaginable stratosphere. There are extraordinary stories of performance victories, but greater gut wrenching downloads in defeat. Names erupt from other countries, and you never forget them: the great and ageless Kip Keino. Michael Gross 'the Albatross' a German swimmer with a 7'4" wing span. Vasily Alekseyev the strong man from the former USSR. The great Tamara Press who medaled back to back in the shot put. And the diminutive Olga Korbut and Nadia Comaneci, of the perfect 10, both of whom set the gymnastic world on fire. Four years is a long time between drinks. Dust off the recorder, and set em up. One of the greatest shows on earth is about to roll across your screen.

Pulling the Pin

Uh, if you don't know the meaning of the title, google that baby. Woke up today and finally cracked. I've been craving potato chips for a couple of weeks now, and just bought a bag. Mmm. Never eat these, but you only live once. Lapsed Catholics always fall hard, but judiciously. Eat half the bag, spare the whole.

1. The Boy Scouts. My bro was a cubbie. One of my best childhood friends was the highest ranking eagle scout in the USA. Now, filled with conservative Mormies, and Cat'olics, the Scouts have be-
come a prehistoric org that is living in denial. Scared that homos
might disrupt tying knots, or striking flints in the wilderness, the scouts 'ixnayed' gays. That's right. Ixnay. Pig latin for a bunch of pigs.

2. Frank Ocean. In the world of xtreme machismo rappers,
Frank Ocean came out on Independence Day and declared his love (1st love) for another man on his blog. The revelation blistered the media and scorched hip-hop city. While not everyone, some chose silence (Ocean did receive death threats) was showing him the love, droves of his contemporaries including 50 Cent, and Jay-Z shouted out their support.  Frank Ocean, dog, from the other 'city' by the bay, props to you my man.

3. Katie Holmes. Pulled the pin. And chose the RSCJ's, Religious of the Sacred Heart, to educate her daughter. A smile crossed my lips when I read the blurb. My collegiate years were spent frolicking on the west coast campus of the afore mentioned 'madames (the order hated the nick-name). The RSCJ's were/are the Jesuits of the nunnery. Once a convent girl, always a convent girl. DNA runs deep. Ask Gaga, or one of the Kennedy girls. Or me. You can take the girl out of the school, but you can't take the school out of... Nice choice, Katie.