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.

'The Conversation of Prayer...' D. Thomas

Charlotte Bacon. Daniel Barden. Rachel Davino. Olivia Engel. Josephine Gay. Ana M. Marquez-Greene. Dylan Hockley. Dawn Hochsprung. Madeline F. Hsu. Catherine V. Hubbard. Chase Kowalski. Jesse Lewis. James Mattioli. Grace McDonnell. Anne Marie Murphy. Emilie Parker. Jack Pinto. Noah Pozner. Caroline Previdi. Jessica Rekos. Avielle Richman. Lauren Rousseau. Mary Sherlach. Victoria Soto. Benjamin Wheeler. Allison N. Wyatt.

Our Children. Our Teachers.

...'Can you picture what will be...'

Feel compelled today, what with NPR giving the 'end of the world' robust coverage. Just saying I'm not quite there yet. And anyway, since you learn everything from the telly and big screen films, I don't see an asteroid parked on our doorstep a la 'Melancholia' by Lars von Trier, nor have I heard of a speeding meteor heading for splash down on planet earth. So, send up the bat signal, and pass the donuts, please

1. This has been a hella year for women on the telly. Leading the field is a Danish production called Borgen which means government or the castle. Starring Sidse Babett Knudsen as Brigitte Nyborg who becomes the first PM of Denmark, this is unequivocally, the gold standard, the mother lode of all which ever came before or will ever follow. There is already talk of an American adaptation. Why? Because Americans are too lazy to read subtitles. With 2 seasons in the can, do yourself a favor, and watch
one of the finest Euro productions to stream this way.

2. The Hour. I wrote about it last year, and this season it broke from the gate running and is even better. How is that possible? Romola Garai as Bel Rowley is brilliant. And her Bel to Ben Whishaw's, Freddie, is scintillating, heady, and awash with all the stuff you yearn for in dialogue. Vivid. And memorable. Gdamn the Brits are good! 

3. Homeland. The shark jumping series which loves to remind you that it's 24 creators love trolling the briny blue etc. Clare Danes in a role which left her treading chum infested waters for every implausible fracking episode, yeah, big fist bump to you. Wobbly chin, and googly eyes, Danes was the best we had on this side of the ocean in a ridiculous, sphincter tightening, moronic (yes) production which some of us could not stop watching.

4. Lena Dunham. Talent. Talent. Talent. Glimpse, you tube: Your first time.

5. Real life imitates art. Props to Park Geun-hye, the first woman, elected President of South Korea.

And so it goes....

As If....

1. I went back and forth...should I or shouldn't I toss gasoline on the flames, and dog pile my boos onto the cascading chorus. Cause, baby, anyway you try and spin it, the new UC logo is fucking awful. Alums are pissed; students embarrassed; and staff are circulating a petition to have it removed. Never have so many been so united over a cause. And that's damn hard to do in Berkeley. Seriously, was the logo designed on the farm in  Palo Alto? Because, really, it's a joke. Two vivid descriptions keep cycling to the surface: 1. a flushing toilet bowl. 2. a half assed C frozen in dial up modem hell. Come on, now. The University of California is one of the greatest public institutions in the land. Fix this! Someone put your big boy pants on, and take it back. Because the logo is the biggest WTF to ever hit the campus since 1968...

2. Two weeks ago, gully washer barreling down my street. Today, warm Indian summer weather. Down at the docks watching the ships stream by. Water glistening like jewels. I understand the allure of the ocean, the pull it might have on seafaring laddies. When I was in the islands last month, I saw the 'green flash' unexpectedly. Over the years, there were days I looked for it; eyes concentrating, the last rays of the sun sinking comfortably into the under belly. But on that day, I stepped out to the lanai,my mind filled with thoughts like: "I'm not eating enough greens, here. Or, am I in television hell? When is my fucking broken toe going to heal?"when the sun started to sink, and wham, in a precious nano second, the green flash zapped the horizon. All Lourdes like, priceless.

3. Manny Pacquiao. Manny. Manny. Manny. Mitt Romney and Ann visited his dressing room before the fight on Saturday night in Vegas. Knocked out cold in the 6th round for 2 minutes, maybe Manny should consider shaking up his pre-fight rituals. Just saying...