Category: Random Stuff

I’ve Got Friends In High Places

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My Dad in his navy days
Hey Dad, you’re in the Navy now…

I did my fair share of complaining this weekend, what with an overwhelming tourist invasion and the Giants’ losses to the Cincinnati Reds.  But truth be told, it was a great weekend in San Francisco… largely because it was Fleet Week.

I love Fleet Week.  LOVE IT.  I adore the sailors, who walk around this beautiful city every October with wide-eyed awe and excitement.  But, when did these guys get so… young?

My beloved Dad joined the Navy after high school, with his eyes on the GI Bill prize like so many young men in his day.  That’s another reason I’m a softy for Fleet Week guys in uniform.

Most importantly, Fleet Week means the Blue Angels.  And what’s NOT to love about the Blue Angels?  I challenge anyone on earth to watch these artists perform, without gasping and smiling, and mumbling “that’s unbelievable” at least twice.

I suspect the Blue Angels kind of like me too.  After all, they buzz my building in Russian Hill every year.  That has to count for something, right?

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The Width and Breath

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Me at Game 2, NLDS
The key to surviving the NLDS Game 2 (Giants vs. Reds) was to take shallow breaths. Waving a rally towel? That was out of the question, thanks to the width of the gentlemen on either side…

Cowboy Up!

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I spent last weekend in one of my favorite Northern California getaways, Mendocino. Approximately four hours north of San Francisco, this coastal town is heaven for anyone who really wants to escape the Bay Area rat race.  Its buildings and sidewalks harken back to the gold rush era, although it’s really an old logging town.  Mendocino was founded in 1850, and has a population of just over 800.

There are many inns in Mendocino.  My new B&B-of-choice is the Joshua Grindle Inn.  The rooms are spotless, the breakfasts are delicious and healthy, and the owners are low-key hospitable.  You can also get an amazing massage on site from Glenna Hunter, better known as Ms. Magic Hands.  (I think I am the only one who calls her that, but the name fits.)

My two-cents:  Avoid staying at higher-profile spots like McCallum House or the Mendocino Hotel.  They are OK – very pretty old buildings — but a little too self-congratulatory and a LOT too expensive.  The Mendocino Hotel in particular has only so-so food, and spotty service in the lobby bar.

The smaller inns flat-out try harder — particularly with today’s economy.

Wireless reception in the Mendocino area is mercifully sporadic, and chances are you won’t have a TV in your room.  Each night I followed the Giants on my alarm clock radio, and then grabbed dinner at one of the great restaurants in the town.

Unfortunately, it was the foggiest weekend I’ve experienced in Mendocino, so I don’t think my photos do it justice.  Still….

I didn’t go to Mendocino JUST for relaxation.  My mini vacation was timed to coincide with the 85thAnnual Mendocino County Fair & Apple Show.  While there, I ate a hot dog on a stick and drank apple cider, and admired adorable kids in cowboy boots.  I petted many sheep and goats, and a couple of cows.  I also experienced my first rodeo.  The California Cowboys Professional Rodeo Association (or, CCPRA) Finals, to be precise.

As I took photos, my fellow spectators naturally assumed I was a rodeo buff.  This made me enormously proud, although I eventually had to confess that I had no idea how any of it worked.

The cowboys were handsome and rugged, but the truth was… I was always quietly pulling for the calves.  After dodging the lasso, they would dart around the arena until someone managed to drag them back to the pen. Those calves always looked a little smug, frankly.

My photos are pretty amazing — not because of my photographic talents but because rodeo is an intense and violent sport.  Pay special attention to the horses.  I think it’s safe to say, they don’t want to be broken.

… and ouch

That’s Entertainment

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The Reagans at the moviesI often see movies solo. It’s not that I don’t like going to the cinema with friends, but on weekend afternoons it’s a great way to relax and get lost in a story that’s a big departure from my daily life.

Yesterday I saw Celeste & Jesse Forever, about a divorcing couple that can’t quite make a clean break. I am a fan of one of the movie’s stars, Rashida Jones of NBC’s Parks and Recreation. It’s not a rush-out-to-your-multiplex film, but more of a meander-to-the-nearest-Blockbuster-or-Redbox-once-the-DVD-is-released film.

As is the case at most afternoon movies, the cinema was fairly empty so I could choose virtually any seat I wanted. And as usual, a lot of my fellow moviegoers were over the age of 60.

It was probably ageist of me, but I wondered what drew these older folks to a film about a couple of 30-something yuppies in the midst of a breakup. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. I was also surrounded by older folks at NC-17 rated Shame in 2011. That was probably the raunchiest film I’ve ever seen in a theatre, and I spent most of the movie worrying that a senior citizen in the audience would make a scene by either storming out and demanding a refund, or suffering a stroke so enormous his head would explode. To my relief, all the old timers survived.

When choosing a seat in a movie theatre, most of us follow an unstated etiquette. We stagger ourselves if possible, so that we are not directly in front of someone else, and we leave at least a one-seat buffer between ourselves and another moviegoer.

Yesterday, I encountered some ladies of a certain age who never got that memo. I heard two of them walking down the aisle, discussing the pros and cons of each row and empty seat. When they got to my row – I was sitting four seats in – they announced that it was the perfect destination. One of them spread out her coat to save their seats, and they returned to the lobby…. presumably in search of popcorn.

It was a little weird to have these ladies sitting so close to me when there were empty rows nearby. But they had apparently adhered to the moviegoer’s code and left me a buffer, so somehow shifting down a few seats seemed rude and diva-esque.

Unfortunately when the ladies returned from the lobby, they brought a friend. This meant they’d take all three seats next to me, and there would be NO BUFFER. Who ever heard of such a breach of protocol?

Here’s the best part; when lady #3 saw the cozy seating arrangements, she was not happy. She loudly expressed her annoyance at having to sit next to me, but reluctantly said she’d do so because it was her “fault” for being late. She took her seat, but continued to complain, apparently assuming that I was as deaf as she was.

I was tempted to point out to her, “I am RIGHT HERE. I can HEAR you.” I was also tempted to burp loudly, and start scratching inappropriate parts of me to test her resolve. But I was NOT tempted to move in a few seats. No way. This promised to be better than the movie.

In the end, after much high-decibel debate my friends moved one row closer to the screen. The deal breaker wasn’t me, but the fact that Lady #2’s seat reclined too much – or not enough. I couldn’t be sure, since there was so much simultaneous grousing going on. Surround sound grousing.

I guess I could give up matinees, or start seeing more movies with friends to avoid mobs of crabby elderly. But then I’d miss out on the laughs, and the fun of blogging the tale.

Some Advice For Prince Harry That Rhymes

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Prince Harry

There once was a royal named Harry
Whose behavior was quite the contrary
For anyone privy, he’d strip to his skivvies
His motto was drink and be merry.

The Prince took a trip to Nevada
Self restraint?  Alas, he showed nada
He brought his buddies over,  just like in “The Hangover”
Now the world’s seen his whole enchilada.

Saucy pics of his princely rear-end
Have emerged.  Harry I recommend:
You can act like a lad, when you’re scantily clad
But take better care who you befriend.

Hesitate To Ask

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Rumor has it that out on the campaign trail today, Presidential candidate Mitt Romney refused to grant an interview to anyone who wanted to ask about his stand on abortion, or his opinion on Rep. Todd Akin (R-MO) of “legitimate rape” fame.

I think this is awesome.  Finally, a Republican ideal I can get behind.  I immediately started compiling my own “do not ask” list.  It will be posted prominently at my office, and attached to any cover letter or resume I might think of submitting.  I will also laminate copies, and hand them out to various doctors and law enforcement officers, my landlord and my personal trainer.

OK, let’s DO THIS!:

If you are a medical doctor, or other judgmental individual, you may not inquire about how many alcoholic beverages I consume per week.  Along these same lines, optometrists may not ask if I can read the 3rd line from the bottom without my reading glasses.

Corporate recruiters wishing to discuss my professional qualifications may not inquire about felony convictions, or my college G.P.A.

Do you work at the DMV? Are you skeptical about why my weight has not changed since college?  Weeeeell, do not go there.

If you are my landlord, don’t bother asking.  The answer will always be “No way, that wasn’t me.  But that is AWFUL.”  For example, “No, I did not put Canadian quarters in washing machine in our basement.  But wow, that is AWFUL. Who DOES that? Philistines!”

Other do-not-asks:

Did you just drop that ‘People’ magazine?

Do you need me to bring you a bigger size?

Do you know how fast you were driving, Miss?

Did you read that 30-page, single-spaced document about Reg-Q I sent you?

Did I see you at AT&T Park last night, doing the wave?

Here’s what you may ask:

Hey, there’s a $20 bill on the sidewalk.  Is that yours?

 

What’s on your “do not ask” list?

 

And That’s No Joke

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I have a strong aversion to heckling, both the giving and receiving of it.

When I was studying in Britain, a friend ran for student government — despite the fact that being heckled is a traditional part of the political process there.  I was horrified.  Who would voluntarily put themselves through that, for a position that doesn’t even pay?

Indeed, the Brits take their heckling seriously.  Based on what I see on C-SPAN, in Parliament there are lots of boos and hisses directed at whomever is speaking, with a bit of contemptuous clucking thrown in. In contrast, at President Obama’s 2012 State of the Union address, Mitch Daniels shouted “Liar!” and was nearly tossed out of chambers by the scruff of the neck.

British citizen hecklers are even tougher, and more specific.  In June, Prime Minister David Cameron got the full treatment from a volunteer at Olympic park: “Shame on you, David Cameron! You are crippling the poor in London. Shame on you!”

Based on my very unscientific sampling of British hecklers, I’d say they aren’t trying to get a laugh from the crowd… except at sporting events, especially soccer matches.  When facing a German team, for example, British fans might yell out “If you won the war, stand up.” Pretty witty, right?  And it has historical significance!  Hard to conjure up a speedy comeback to that one, in English or in German.

I have yet to encounter such clever wit at American sporting events.  I am convinced that in the United States, only the dumbest-of-the-dumb heckle… and they nearly always seem to be sitting near me.

Lowbrow heckling is difficult for me to understand, as most fans buy their tickets in advance and have plenty of time to prepare (and even test out) zingers if they choose to.  Yet once they let loose I am usually left wondering, “Is THAT the best you could come up with?”

An old standby heckle at baseball games involves someone chanting, “What’s the matter with (insert umpire’s name here)?” to which the crowd responds “He’s a BUM!”  Not really a side-splitter, but even when surrounded by kiddies there’s no real harm done.

A few weeks ago, I had the good fortune to catch a game from just behind the San Francisco Giants dugout, so close that I could have reached out and grabbed a player (if it weren’t for those pesky restraining orders).  That is Giants President & COO Larry Baer’s territory, and for the most part fans there are low-key – less because of Larry, than because they all want to look like they belong there.

There are always a few exceptions though, and at that game it was a fat, drunk, loud fool two rows behind me who I suspect did NOT purchase his ticket himself.  He was apparently delighted that he could scream insults that could be heard not just by players, but also on TV.  (One of his buddies called his cell, to let him know the folks back home in the double-wide were following along.)

His bellowed chant (to which only he responded) went something like:

“What’s the matter with Fowler?  He SUCKS!  YOU SUCK FOWLER.  YOU SUCK.”

Not funny or clever.  He even got the slow head turn and stink-eye from Momma and Papa Baer.  Yet a few random folks tittered… and he was thus encouraged to continue.  I’m not sure if my neighbors actually found him humorous, or if they just thought they were supposed to laugh.

This brings me to Sunday’s game between the Cleveland Indians and the Oakland A’s.  Before the game,  All-Star closer Chris Perez was antagonized by a heckler who completely set him up; When Perez lost his temper and let loose an obscenity-laced tirade, the heckler’s buddy recorded the exchange on his iPhone. (Note: If you have an issue with the F-bomb, this video is probably not for you.)

I’m particularly disappointed that Perez took the bait because… COME ON.  This knucklehead has apparently sought to provoke him at every Indians/A’s game played in Oakland for the past four years, and his heckling is PATHETIC.  Aside from calling Perez a REALLY bad word at the end, here is the best of his heckling.

“Blow some more saves, bro. Blow some more saves.”

“Get a haircut.”

“You’re garbage. You are garbage… Way to prove yourself, garbage man.”

Really?  This is the best he could do?  After pitching his 20th save in St. Louis on June 10, Perez threw up on the mound, in front of a stadium full of people.  That’s comedy GOLD.  What about something like, “Perez, you can’t save a game. You can’t even save your lunch“?  But the genius heckler from Oakland went with “get a haircut”?

Some of the best responses to heckling can be found on Twitter.  Sportswriters like Hank Schulman (San Francisco Chronicle), Buster Olney (ESPN) and Tim Kawakami ‏(San Jose Mercury News) are popular targets, as are athletes like golfer Rickie Fowler.  Most Twitter cyber bullies who hide behind their anonymity, and the lack of physical proximity to the guys they seek to antagonize, usually end up looking like fools — often because they can’t spell their, there or they’re correctly.

Ah meatheads on Twitter, and the wise ones who vanquish them. Two gifts that just keep giving.

U.S. Gymnasts Are In the Pink

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fencing maskI love the Olympics.  I love almost everything about them.  As I get older, I don’t just watch the sports I play (tennis), or wish I played (competitive soccer).  I appreciate ALL the athletes’ tremendous talent and dedication, and am now more likely to take the smorgasbord, all-you-can-eat approach to the games.  I watch everything.

So, I may not know the difference between a sabre and an épée… but I have decided that fencing is cool.  I especially like it when competitors trick out their face shields with their national flags.  And when their helmets are electric, and light up when touched by opponents’ weapons – that’s even better.

But what of those fencers who don’t have flag masks, and just wear… WHITE?  I mean, clearly that is some kind of subversive statement, no?  It IS!  Just ask our friends at Fox News.

It truly is a slow news day when, in a quest to say something – ANYTHING – to rile up viewers, pundits at Fox News criticize America’s gymnasts because of what they are wearing.

That’s right, Fox’s America Live host Alisyn Camerota has taken the U.S. Women’s gymnastics squad – comprised of girls averaging 16 years of age – to task because, in the process of winning gold medals last week, they wore leotards that were (*gasp*) hot pink.

“Gabby had that great moment, everybody was so excited… and she’s in hot pink.”

You won’t see a better set up than that in Olympic beach volleyball. Camerota then asked her guest, radio host David Webb (co-founder of advocacy group Tea Party 365) to weigh in.  Webb lamented that the team’s dress is an example of a slight “anti-American feeling.”

“The Chinese are wearing red predominantly as that’s their national color, if you will. So why not us, with the red white and blue?…  There’s a meaning behind the red white and blue that’s been lost in time. The field of stars. You know, the blood that’s been shed… that’s what we need to focus on and get that out in our country.”

See this is where I get confused.  I had assumed that the choice of leotard color was — for these teenage girls who have devoted their lives to the DREAM of representing the USA in the Olympics — a matter of looking pretty.  Of making their families, friends and America proud.  Of matching their attire with their copious amounts of hair glitter.

Turns out, leotards are supposed to conjure up bloody battlefields?  Sorry, I just don’t follow.

Don’t get me wrong, I love our flag. I wave it with the best of them. I get choked up every, single time an Olympic champion takes the top spot on the podium for the playing of the Star Spangled Banner.  But to those who laud our “stars and stripes” as a unique representation of the United States… I did about 90 seconds of internet research today, and discovered something shocking.  SHOCKING!

Red, white and blue.  The stars and stripes.  We don’t own them!

There are at least 30 flags in the world that are red, white and blue.  Twenty of them, including the flag of those lefty French, have stripes. (Mon Dieu!)  Two have one or more stars.  Eight feature both stars and stripes, including North Korea and… CUBA!  (How did this happen?  Quick, can we find a way to blame Bill Clinton?)

So get over yourselves, you sanctimonious rabble-rousers at Fox News who just CAN’T LET AMERICANS FEEL GOOD for once.  We get it, you made your fortune and built your viewership by scaring the bejesus out of people.  Look out, it’s a Muslim!  It’s Planned Parenthood!  It’s a high school science teacher with a fossil, talking about Darwinism!

Picking on dedicated, talented teenaged girls who are bringing home a gold medal?  That’s beneath even you.

Gabby, McKayla, Aly, Kyla and Jordyn.  You know it’s coming ladies.  Fox News will come a knocking, wanting an interview.  Don’t say no.  Do it… but be sure to wear hot pink!

There Is No Their They’re

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Bristol Palin & Tripp
Don’t let the cap and gown fool you. She cut a lot of classes, starting with remedial English and ending with Human Biology (a-hem).

Like most perfect parents (read: childless people), I have a low tolerance of naughty children — especially disrespectful ones.

Two weeks ago, I was in a San Francisco jewelry store with one other customer, whose husband and VERY LOUD, precocious young son were waiting outside.   After five minutes or so, her yammering youngster marched into the store and bellowed “Mom, are you ready to go or are you going to live in this store?”

It took everything I had not to turn to the beleaguered woman and say “Don’t you DARE reward his behavior.  Take your time.”  I held my tongue though, and she left with a hangdog expression — like a condemned prisoner returning to solitary after her daily exercise time in the yard.

My God, I wondered.  What will that little monster be like as a teenager?

Cut to Sarah Palin’s grandson Tripp, who is three years old, and a central figure in his mom’s new reality show, “Bristol Palin: Life’s a Tripp”.  Indeed it is, Bristol.  Indeed it is.

In a promotional clip from the show, Tripp throws a hissy when Bristol and his Aunt Willow deny him a visit to the swimming pool.  He hurls a gay slur at them (starts with an “F”) that he could only have learned at home.  Or from Kobe Bryant.

Auntie Willow Palin used the same slur in response to criticism from a classmate on Facebook in 2010.  (Hey Willow – you might want to check those privacy settings!)

Her homophobic language is, of course, inexcusable.  But what tickles me about the exchange is… well, I’ll just quote her.  You all are smart people; you’ll get my point.

“Haha your so gay. I have no idea who you are, But what I’ve seen pictures of, your disgusting … My sister has a kid and is still hot… Your such a fa*****.”

Bristol admits that she’s “doing a terrible job disciplining Tripp.”  Well yeah, no question.  But what’s almost as scary is… she and her sister may also be teaching him to SPELL.

Freeh Ends Paterno’s End Run

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Graham Spanier and Joe Paterno
Spanier and Paterno, Better Days.

Publication of the 267-page Freeh Report on Penn State University’s actions related to sexual abuse by Jerry Sandusky dominated the news today.  Let me tell you, it is a fascinating, disturbing read.

The media has already dissected the report – which is based on 3.5 million emails and other documents and 430 interviews of current and former university officials, including trustees – left, front and sideways, so I can’t say my observations are earthshattering but… here they are:

The Heartlessness Of the Matter: The report hammers home that University President Graham Spanier, Senior Vice President-Finance and Business Gary Schultz, Head Football Coach Joe Paterno and Athletic Director Tim Curley never demonstrated, “through actions or words, any concern for the safety and well-being of Sandusky’s victims until after Sandusky’s arrest.”   Their concern was ensuring that — if assaults happened – they happened somewhere OTHER THAN on the Penn State Campus.

They never spoke to Sandusky about the 1998 assault of an 11-year-old boy in the Lasch Building showers, which was reported to the University Police Department by the boy’s mother.  Likewise, they failed to ask about the welfare of Victim 2 from 2001, whose assault was witnessed and reported by Assistant Coach Mike McQueary.  When McQuery told Joe Paterno what he saw between Sandusky and the boy in the showers, Paterno waited several days to alert Curley and Schultz so as not to interfere with their weekends.

What’s more, according to his attorney Sandusky offered to provide the name of Victim 2 to Curley for questioning, but Curley said he didn’t want it.

What Jerry Knew: For more than a dozen years the “leadership” at Penn State looked the other way while Jerry Sandusky did as he pleased.  Spanier, Schultz, Paterno and Curley were all aware of accusations against him – but Sandusky knew the PSU culture, and recognized that he had immunity.  He was untouchable.

In the face of the 1998 allegations, when interviewed by police and a Public Welfare case worker, Sandusky explained that he hugged the boy in the shower but that it wasn’t sexual.  He was cautioned against showering with boys in the future, and agreed to stop doing so.  It should have surprised no one that, over the next four years, Sandusky assaulted at least four more boys — often in those same showers.

Shortly AFTER the 1998 incident, Sandusky announced his intention to retire but requested a position running a youth camp so that he could continue to work with young people “through Penn State”.  That didn’t happen, but I suspect it was only because he was rehired for one year to assist Paterno.

Gary Schultz Is a Liar: And not a very smart one considering the evidence Louis Freeh was able to uncover about his activities related to Sandusky.  Although he testified before a grand jury in 2011 that he never knew details of the 1998 allegations, his personal emails and handwritten notes prove otherwise.  In a memo at that time, he expressed concern that Sandusky’s behavior might at best be “inappropriate” and at worst be sexually improper.  He questioned if there could be “other children”.

After interviewing Sandusky, University Police Chief Harmon reassured Schultz via email that he could “justify” not pursuing charges due to lack of clear evidence of a crime.  Justify?  An interesting word choice.

Later, after no charges were filed Schultz wrote an email to Curley and Spainer:  “I think the matter has been appropriately investigated and I hope it is now behind us.”

In a Nutshell: A great analogy in the report sums up the Penn State football culture perfectly.  In 1997 – just one year before allegations of sexual abuse first surfaced – Spanier declared a sports agent “persona non grata” on campus for buying $400 worth of clothing for a Penn State football player.  Spanier said the agent “fooled around with the integrity of the University, and I won’t stand for that.”

Um, O.K.