Most folks don't realize how quickly allergies can set in

so i wrote this a while ago, but i'm a sentimental idiot.

***

a few days ago it was a year ago. the numb anxiety that over the course of a few weeks managed to be coerced by anticipation, resulting in the culmination of two decades of anger, depression, joy, and embarrassment being exorcized in the dramatic finale of an indian summer.

a few days ago, it was frigid and raining. two decades from now, it won't ever have been the same. a year ago, it was the once in a lifetime experience. no one needs to say, "it's just a game". aside from being an annoying cliche, it's painfully obvious.

but this game is beautiful to me. it is a common thread that ties my childhood to my present; it turns the calendar better than any holiday can. the season brings, as it always has, 162 chess games on a board of painstakingly manicured green grass, dirt and chalk. endless stats meld with polarizing personalities as i do the math on both fronts from the comfort of my couch, a cold beer in my hand and a late-setting sun in the open window. it brings walks to the ballpark and drunken cab rides home, remedial radio broadcasts while planting the latest nursery finds, familiar faces of the dad-funny broadcasters, and an hour-long conversation with strangers at the bar about shortstop prospects.

it brings that seminal afternoon where the san francisco giants, one of the oldest franchises in the game and with pedigrees the likes of willie mays and willie mccovey are poised to do something san francisco has never seen.

i can still sense kevin arnold riding bitch between jean and me as our cab barreled down franklin st on an unusually warm night in november. the giants had just won the world series and my ears were still ringing from the euphoria of the final out. try as i might, i could not for the life of me avoid some surreal slow-motion effect narrated by his soothing commentary.

burned in my memory are those seconds of weightlessness as the car sped over a crest on franklin, all four windows rolled down, jean and i leaning out to our waists as we scream at the top of our lungs. i notice a huge knowing grin through the cabby's beard before my buzzed eyes shift to the euphoric passers-by on the sidewalk. somewhere along the way, a stranger reaches out for a high-five at 30 mph. ouch. looking straight ahead, alcatraz and the lights of the north bay shine across the water and i can't prevent an enormous, stupid smirk from spreading across my face. this isn't happening.

bottom of the ninth inning. i nervously stroke my facial hair as i stare at the tv and share nervous smiles with jean and paul, who got us front row seats at the tempest's weathered bar. a stranger in a snappy suit, likely about 65, has been sharing handshakes and high-fives with me for the last 3 hours and stands next to me, his fingers a vice on my shoulder in nervous anticipation. i pound the bar to keep my shaking hands from being too obvious to the excited mass pushing up behind us. there's too many thoughts to process for these final three outs as the sound in the bar reaches rock concert decibels. i love this game. i love this team.

i want to pause the entire moment and explain to jean, to my family and friends about all of the reasons i can feel my pulse through my face right now. all of the personalities, all of the heartbreak for the last 56 years, all of the history. for one utterly unforgettable second, one of my life dreams hangs on the precipice of reality as brian wilson rears back, one strike away. the crowd falls momentarily silent as wilson's beard whiplashes and the seams are hurled at human capacity toward the plate. this is it.

I imagine pre-pubescent me was a "cute", if not interesting little kid. those must be popular adjectives when the first things to develop are your exceptional height and ears. "my, you must be a basketball player!" nope, just gonna awkwardly retreat to the backyard with my bat and dog and pretend i'm a major league baseball player. mimicking the batting stances of every starter in the '92 giants lineup in the backyard, my golden retriever would serve as the "umpire" with a tight zone. the small, decorative river rocks i used for baseballs would carom into the hill behind my house for ringing doubles and walk-off homeruns. at some point the thought of cheez-its and apple juice would become too much and i'd retreat to the family room to watch the actual giants settle into a familiar place: last.

i don't actually remember seeing the final swinging strike three - i'll take the internet's word for it - but i remember utter chaos as my eyebrows went to milhouse heights and the bartender, standing on the bar, handed jean a bottle of jack which was promptly poured into my waiting mouth like a victorious baby bird. if this was an 80s movie, the credits would roll at this point, with "we are the champions" building in the background. im fairly certain i did not give molly ringwald a high five in the bar or on the street that night, but i lost track after going high with half of the city of san francisco. the night would devolve into an amalgamation of street closures, high fives with firemen and cops, drunk chicks, and brain-dead chants of "let's go giants" by inebriated thousands. you know, the kind of night dreams are made of.

i'd wager there's very few nights we go to sleep with a wide smirk plastered on our face and everything's a-ok. tonight, that was because the jints won it all. oh, and some jack mixed in there.

make it up as we go along

sometimes, you just can't say it better

Home is where I want to be Pick me up and turn me round I feel numb - born with a weak heart So I guess I must be having fun The less we say about it the better Make it up as we go along Feet on the ground Head in the sky It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing
Home - is where I want to be But I guess I'm already there. I come home she lifted up her wings Guess that this must be the place I can't tell one from another Did I find you, or you find me? Out of all those kinds of people You got a face with a view. I'm just an animal looking for a home Share the same space for a minute or two

thanks, david byrne. along with tupelo honey and half the zeppelin catalog, "shuffle all" will always smile on you.

for jean

there's glimpses of the perfect life that come at the oddest times. perfect, or actual life, the way maybe it's supposed to be lived. pockets of complete serenity that pounce on you when a subjectively perfect song, momentary scent or barely recognizable memory pass you by when you're sitting in traffic on a gnarled and depressing freeway in hayward, california. i don't mean perfect like the way i maybe imagined before. two and a half offspring, good salary, well-trained dog that admires me unconditionally and has a hilarious name, dynamite vacations that help to partially cancel out swedish pastiness. all elements of a life well-lived. all elements that i'm discovering can be exponentially enhanced by something far more intangible and evanescent. it's something that i'm only realizing as i move closer to 30 years of actual life. granted, i don't have 2.5 kids, but what the fuck is half a kid anyway? in fact, what the fuck is just about anything if you're not living life on your own terms? i'm slowly confronting that passivity and acceptance is the arch-nemesis of just about everything i want in life. maybe this is the natural learning curve for most folks, but if it is, maybe it's been hitting me at a sharper angle lately.

the moment reaches in and grabs you back to when anxiety in itself was as unfamiliar as the precipice you know you have to step out onto to even approach that place again as an adult. all you know is that scent, that song or memory is the sweetest, purest thing you can recall and you're more convinced than anything that it can be realized again. not just in your mind on some god-forsaken five-lane in the east bay, but time and again. if you'd just act on it.

North Korea

I knew Kim Jong Il was nuts, but this is one interesting documentary. Fascinating, depressing and unsettling.

Tea Party Jesus

Putting the words of select brilliant conservatives in the mouth of Jesus. Because it's funny, that's why.


- Sen John Cornyn

- Rush Limbaugh

-GOP Candidate Glen Urquhart

-Sen Rick Santorum

Living in the Fast Lane

Literally. My apartment would likely be where the fast lane of the North Beach freeway would have been if the starry-eyed, crack-smoking developers had their way post-WWII. Yes, that's an 8-lane tunnel right through the poop chute of Russian Hill.

The danger and grace of training for a half-marathon

I like to think I jog at a pretty good clip - enough to slow down when I come to a blind corner on the sidewalk and avoid barreling over some poor old Chinese woman. I usually don't, however, run at about 20 mph with several tons of steal hanging around me on suspenders like a clown outfit. If I did, I'd probably take it a little easy rolling down blind alleyways, too. To each his own, I guess.
As I jogged up to the end of such a blind alleyway today, several tons of metal came rolling out at about 20 mph. What happened next, I'll always regret was not filmed. As the sound of rubber screeching on pavement shot down the alley, I subconsciously did a hand-plant-on-hood to ass-slide-across-hood combo and nailed the dismount about a foot in front of the license plate. It felt so fluid and choreographed, except for the mangled alternate universe me that was laid out in the street. I realized the usual reaction to something like this might be to yell at the driver or panic about what could have been. Somewhere between seeing the driver's horror through the windshield, though, and being incredibly impressed with myself, I jogged on. I should get a special medal or something on my race bib.

Get high now

Fun time-wasting site. My favorite is the Vomit Vectors - I actually felt queasy:

"What taxes? Just pay me! ;)" - Sincerely, our elected officials

Sonuva

But are you super DUPER sorry?!

Another smug, bulletproof CEO, another "grilling" from a panel of turkey-jowled, ill-dictioned politicians. Boy were they angry. They had just had it up to here (their jowls practically resting on it) and were not about to let this gilded meanie and his bully British accent get away without really dressing him down.

The mood was as palpably tense as one would expect for a grilling. Or maybe it was a flogging. Politico said it was a flogging. Though CNN referred to it as a "blasting". I would've expected more excitement for a blasting - maybe a soundtrack for the proceedings and costumes for the pitchfork-carrying panel. I'll stick with the turkey theme and call it a grilling.

These guys were pissed, and they brought their printed grilling questions and stapled them together on standardized office stationary to prove it.

One of them whetted his finger to lift the cover page - here we go! Get ready to be flog-blasted on the grill for all of your untold damages, CEO!

"When you became CEO you said you would have a laser target on safety," his jowl jiggling righteously in the still panel air. "Were you... you were... did you know about this... problem?"

"There was a team that oversaw this drilling and we will be making continued changes with any findings that we conclude," came the equally-scripted answer.

"You.." (fumbling of office stationary, rehearsed line of questioning shattered). "you don't seem like you're regretful of this. Are you?"

"I am truly, deeply regretful of this, of course."

"Are you really, though? It sure doesn't seem that way."

"Absolutely I am."

A wry, skeptical smirk on the panelist's face. Mission accomplished. He would be questioned about his regret's sincerity by several more panelists, as well as additional "laser" references and vague attempts at sounding like they know a single thing about the technical aspects of what they're talking about. Maybe next time don't mess with America, bitch.

Authorities issue warning for major earthquake in September

Full marathons are for wimps. Halves are where it's at.

I feel like I'm probably still grossly underestimating the challenge of running 13.1 miles through hills and over a gusty, golden landmark, but here goes. If you can, please visit my personal race page and consider a small donation to the American Cancer Society. Thanks!

Land of the dong-waving, doll-hating lost

Turns out the formerly-exiled king of Belgium and I probably would've made good drinking buddies. No surprise there, but I didn't realize it until coming across a story about a bizarre island in the Bengal Sea: on a tour of the Andaman Islands east of India in the 70s, his ship pulled near the notoriously-mysterious island of North Sentinal. They pulled close enough to coax the aggressively-isolationist natives out of the jungle to raise their bows and arrows, but just out of their range. I assume the king chuckled, maybe gave a few high fives and sailed off, "most satisfied with this adventure".

Thirty-five years later, one could have the same experience the kind did in the 70s or, if you like, the same experience of the first "outsiders" to reach the island in 1867, who were promptly killed for being there.


By all accounts, the inhabitants of this tiny island (estimated at 50-400 people) live just as they did in the times of the earliest explorers and the first nomads. They use primitive weapons, think clothes are for suckers, and apparently haven't figured out how to make fire, relying on lightning strikes. They intend to keep every modern asshole, well-intentioned or not, the hell off their island, too. Aside from the poor shipwrecked crew in 1867, they slit the throat of an escaped convict who managed to swim to the shore a couple decades later. People apparently learned their lesson until the 1970s, when a couple of smartass anthropologists and National Geographic photographers thought they knew the trick: "gesture peacefully" and give them a toy doll. The natives replied with a barrage of arrows, hitting a photographer in the leg, all the while laughing and waving their dongs on the beach, burying the doll in the sand. Lastly, there was the Primrose freighter which ran aground near the island in 1981. The captain watched as the natives wandered out on the beach, then began trying to hit the ship with arrows. Just out of reach, he then watched in horror as they began trying to build boats to come out to kill them. The captain issued a panicked call for help, eventually being rescued by helicopter which the natives, of course, shot at.

There's something very cool that in 2010, there's still virtually untouched tribes like this in remote corners of the world. It's even cooler that they're pissed off at every single one of us.

We created a machine, flew it to Mars, commanded it to dig some trenches, snapped a picture and sent it back to earth. There was a time when we'd all be burned at the stake for this kind of insolence and ingenuity.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

California's Pipe Dream

Borrowed a few National Geographics from the local bibliotheque for reading material on the plane; I've found a new personal goldmine. I love the shots in the mag and normally there's an intriguing story or two, but there's no way I'm subscribing - I'm stingy these days. I found the local library's stash and cashed in.
An issue from the end of 09 about the state of the world's ever-growing population's dependence on an ever-stretched and evolving water supply was entirely fascinating and alarming. Amid all of the cool charts on how the world's cities acquire their water, how costly it is, and how that supply is running thin, was a story about California's intricate and imbalanced water system that has become almost exponentially perilous as the state's population swells and structures age.
Discovery Bay, just east of here. What a fun-filled water paradise - in the middle of a freaking desert. Pretty much a microcosm of entire Southern California.

The story touches on the dyslexic water system of the state, where the vast majority of water falls in the north but of course the vast majority of people live in the south. This in itself wouldn't be an issue, except for the shady water history behind LA's original growth, the fact that much of the state depends on now-crumbling structures built by 19th century Chinese laborers, and the southern areas' continued rapid growth despite an incredibly obvious but unaware lack of water. Desalinization offers a very pricey partial solution for an ass-broke government, but not much.

Also of note in the issue: that giant, enormous Three Gorges dam China is building? It is expected to be so heavy so as to move the earth's tilt by about an inch. Dam! Also, also of note in the issue: the farms that feed the country and big cities of the heartland like Denver? They depend heavily on a giant underground aquifer under the continent that is being drained much faster than it can be naturally replenished. What will happen when one of the country's main food baskets runs out of water? Mmm soylent green.
Thanks, China.

Thanks, heartland.

I govern pretty one day

Sometimes I swear I think my computer can hear my loud, sarcastic chiding and actually see my slow, exasperated head shake.
I mean, really. Really? In some ways, this is what it is. I tried to take a break from certain headlines recently because it only made me bitter, but there's just too many levels of juicy, tantalizing moron going on here. And to be real, I'm generally bitter, so what's there to lose?
Usually, there's an awkward but expected pause for response on current events while Sarah's directed what position to take. This one, though, was just another equivalent of letting your toddler drive the nation's history around an empty parking lot, crashing into a few shopping carts here, a few gosh darn facts there. What's the harm? By the time time you wrestle the steering wheel back, your sedan resembles the Pope-mobile, your toddler is staring at you with pursed lips and a taxidermy-like bliss, and Jesus and John Adams are tied up in the back with cloth balls stuffed in their mouths wearing Uncle Sam costumes.

Getting Full Use of Our Tam On

The lady and I decided to kick the city to the curb for a day to soak in some solidly sunny spring weather, hike what is considered to be one of the best trails in the Bay Area and climb 2,000 feet - so that we could gaze right back at the city we bailed on. Not our fault; the view from the top of Mt Tam is unmatched on a clear day. Full view of most of the bay, Mt Diablo, the Golden Gate, the ocean, and if not for a little haze, the Farallons and Sierras.

Manzanita bushes everywhere. I had no idea how smooth these babies are. I found myself stopping on the side of the trail to just stroke them for a few seconds, and yes, I realize how peculiar that must've looked.

We've got spirit.


I'd read online that there was wreckage from a plane that crashed into the hillside after mechanical failure on its way to Guam in WWII (kind of a bizarre story - boy scouts found the "scattered bodies" the next morning and the air force vaguely acknowledged it). It's definitely off the beaten path and unpublished, but we eventually found the twisted metal, wiring and even cloth from the crash a good 65 years later. Eight men died instantly here, which left its surreal impression even in the middle of the afternoon.

refund be damned

"Citizens for Tax Justice, a self-described non-partisan organization, released a report on Tuesday that read: "The 2009 economic stimulus bill actually reduced federal income taxes for tax year 2009 for 98 percent of all working families and individuals." This total includes the 95 percent of working families that will or have received tax credits in the range of $400 to $800.

The health care bill passed by the administration, meanwhile, includes a tax credit that could cover up to 35 percent of the premiums a small business pays to insure its workers. The Recovery Act, meanwhile, included such tax breaks as a $1,500 credit for home energy improvements, and an $8,000 credit for first-time home buyers.

It has been a buffet of tax breaks and credits offered by this administration (occasionally to the chagrin of progressive economists, who want more focus on stimulative federal spending).

Yet polling numbers indicate that Americans are barely aware of these developments. Indeed, a good chunk of the country believes it has been saddled by this administration with tax hikes. Back in mid-February, a full 24 percent of respondents to a CBS News/New York Times poll said that their taxes had increased under Obama. Fifty-three percent said they had stayed the same. Only 12 percent thought their taxes had gone down.

"Belief is triumphing over reality," explained Bob McIntyre, director of Citizens for Tax Justice. "Part of it is they watch the wrong television shows and believe it. Part of it is the tax cut that went to almost everybody, the making work pay credit, was dribbled out... people didn't get a check. They paid lower taxes and might not have noticed it.

"It is like arguing whether Jesus rose from the dead," McIntyre concluded. "If you believe it, you believe it." "