Tara at 802

Wow! Last night we went to the Farm and as part of a very enthusiastic crowd of over 7,000 full, enjoyed the Stanford Cardinal ending the record setting 90 win streak of UConn. The game was an exciting one, not decided until the last 20 -30 seconds. The sell out crowd roared, as much for the release of tension as for the joy of the accomplishment. The last team to beat UConn was Tara Vanderveer's Cardinal but that was over 2.5 years ago. An incredible record.

For 25 years Vanderveer has been overall, the best coach in the Bay Area, consistently getting her teams to perform at a high level while elevating the quality of the game. Women's basketball is played under the hoop (dunking is not a part of the game-it happens but there really isn't any good reason why it should) and can move as gracefully and as powerful as the men's game. They bang, they score. Vanderveer coached the 1996 Olympics team to a gold medal, a team that Charles Barkley said was the best team he had ever see play; emphasis on team.

Last year in the NCAA Championship game, Stanford had outcoached UConn but UConn pulled out that game with the herculean effort of the great Maya Moore and knowing that Stanford would lose without Jayne Appel, they took their chances with a very injured Appel, who ended up ineffective, and lost a close ugly game.

Amidst the sell out crowd's celebrating, Vanderveer kept the focus on this being one effort, acknowledging UConn's accomplishments and that tonight was about Stanford. Vanderveer has complete concentration on the court but off of it seems a bit out of place. With her self effacing manner and discomfort being the center of press coverage- when she seemingly would prefer to have it directed to her team or the university, Coach still manages to deliver some very funny lines, with the most serious composure.
Vanderveer's teams are always well prepared- if their standards (maintaining the academics at Stanford beside the demands of the team) scare off some potential recruits, Vanderveer finds ways to get her teams consistently ranked in the top 10 of the country. Tutored with great coaches Bobby Knight, Pat Summit and Bill Walsh (who spent much time at Stanford), Tara Vanderveer has created her own path, her own unique niche, and at 802 wins and counting, will continue to be a
great leader in bay area sports.

A note: The Stanford-UConn game was set to be the record breaker before the season but UConn added two games prior to playing Stanford. This understandably would ease their path to the record. A smart move for many reasons, not least of which is that at the Farm UConn continued one streak; they are 0-3.

One personal story: Right after Stanford won their second national championship in 1992, I sent a Just Desserts chocolate fudge cake to Gary Radnich at KRON requesting more coverage for Tara and her teams. Coincidentally that night on his weekly SportsFinal show, Radnich was hosting some of the players. He dragged out my cake, proclaiming it to be from some crazy Stanford fan by name. The players nervous in studio, nearly dropped the cake. "Consistently the best coach in the bay area"- that's from Radnich, 2010. Happy New Year everyone.

True Love Is The Devil's Crowbar

Occasionally I consider the importance to leave the boys with the impression that their Dad has a lot of thoughtful concerns and spends much of his time finding ways to make the world better.
It's not always sarcasm, bad jokes (well, my jokes are never bad) and reporting on recent events.
Unfortunately, I don't have many deep thoughts, and besides trying to remember where the cookies are, I don't go much further than that.

However for the purpose of this blog, for setting a historical record for my boys, it's important that I make the effort. But first I'll go see a show.

X with Ray Manzarek. 28 years ago I went to a show at the Concord Pavilion on Friday the 13th. On December 29, Manzarek plays with them again.
In 1982 it was supposed to be a show where X, recently signed from a tiny independent label, Slash Records to Elektra/Warner- would be making it to the commercial big time. It didn't happen.
The place was only 1/2 full, it was a cold night but the band, despite an obvious disappointment played hard. I always wished I had a picture of the bill on the marquee as one half was X Friday/13 and the other, Sat/14 Englebert Humperdinck. While mainstream radio would never accept X, their work and influence has made it possible for them to continually regroup and tour. Their first four albums, Los Angeles, Wild Gift, Under the Big Black Sun, More Fun in the New World are all excellent albums. For a good essay and reviews of their work, see allmusic.com.
And a good interview by Terry Gross with John Doe, Fresh Air archives on Npr.org.



Rockabilly? Rock? Punk rock? I always thought of the band as a blues band who wrote about the darker themes of love and relationships but with a sense of humor. Music that went bang, with the distinctively unique harmonies of John Doe and Exene Cervenka. The killer rhythm of DJ Bonebrake's heavy precision and Billy Zoom's mythic guitar playing; legs spread 3 feet apart, silver jacket, wicked smile, piercing glare and winks for the audience, even if he thought much of the adulation was idiotic.

Any art is distinctive by its own composition and craft but also serves as comfort for us in our time of need. A friend. The blues we can relate to, sharing the pain of others and their weathering of life's difficulties connecting us with the possibility to do the same. We are not alone. Headphones at midnight and driving to X shows all over the bay area were tops on my agenda from '82-'87. It will be important for myself as a parent to not disregard the choices the boys make- I might encourage or attempt to steer them in some directions but whatever they listen to will have its own validity, even if it supercedes my understanding of the choice. Please remind me that i wrote that five years from now.

As solo artists or as the Knitters, the members of X perform at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass but tonight, back for an annual concert in SF (always have a big following here) and with Ray Manzarek, keyboardist for the Doors, and producer of their first four albums. I look forward to his extended solo on The World's A Mess (It's In My Kiss). Tonight, I won't be breaking up any fights, avoiding a 300 pound drunk man as he plows through the crowd, watching Bill Graham's security people pound on fans jumping on the stage, running up to the balcony at the theater in Petulama to guzzle whatever bottle of liquor Diane had (because you couldn't drink downstairs)...no, i'll be relaxed, looking for a seat, enjoying the show as I did when the Kabuki had live music, and maybe thinking about what was, what isn't, and thankful for what is.

Another Christmas Holiday

So now what?
The last weeks have been in preparation for today; answering the anticipation of the young ones, while trying to do right for other relatives. It's mostly great fun, the stockpiling, the scheming, the determining of what will make a good offering. It's sometimes frustrating; the lack of time, the logistics, and working together to connect the dots.

One would hope that after several years of doing this, we would get better at the task and we have. I think we have. This year was relatively painless. If it did not have the drama or the nervousness of wrapping presents on a cold New Orleans balcony at 2am, it did have Maria waking up to join me with hot spiced chocolates and a movie (Meet Me In St. Louis), while putting together the final necessary touches. Meet Me In St. Louis has the most touching version of Have yourself a Very Merry Christmas . With visions of our pretty Christmas tree, what we are preparing for and Maria snuggled with cats helps to balance the feelings of missing those absent.

The next morning. Chaos as the dining table has been turned on its side; the plate for Santa a mess. Maria believes the reindeer may have attempted to eat our cats. A momentary delay and then the dive into Santa's presence. Some baseball gloves, a pillow pet, several Futurama items, a World Series cap, Legos, clothes, a remote control car, a pillow proper, books. I've got a nice new jacket (it's the one I'm always wearing now), Oliver got me a 3-D white shark book and Dexter gave me a back scratcher and back pounder. Oliver complains (mildly) that he asked for Toy Story Legos, and not Toy Story and Legos. I'm not upset, really I'm not. "I don't think Santa can read commas". Santa can read commas. And last year Oliver continues, he received Dora the Explorer Candyland and not Candyland proper. The year previous, Santa brought a Shrek Chia Pet and not the requested Scooby Doo Chia Pet. I'm really not upset.

A perfectly enjoyable evening at my Dad's with Hingee's (my sister Carolyn's) family; so good to see the boys play with thier older cousins, Traci and Kevin. My father, happy to be surrounded by family and the noise and chaos of his grandchildren. Some voices bring their love via the phone; Maria's sisters Eileen, Kathy, and parents, Ann and John. Cailin visited in the mid morning and relaxed with cats, feet up reading a book. Somewhere I worked in a nap.

Christmas has been a good way to conclude a year for me; it's a sort of last chapter in a continuing series. Also a vehicle to reach out to friends and to just blatantly and unconditionally spoil the kids. I try to spread the spending around and hit certain local stores, (while also doing the Amazon thing) and visit old neighbors of my childhood. At this point they may or may not wish for me to end the ritual- but I'm big on rituals. Happy rituals, everybody.

Oliver speaks to the Big Guy

Oliver was play typing on the computer so I asked him to dictate a letter to me for Santa.

Dear Santa,

I'm Oliver. How are you Santa? I make paper airplanes a lot and I draw a lot. Mrs. Stone is my teacher at school. I am in the first grade. Mrs. Stone likes my good listening. I help other kids. I like my family cause...I love them. Dexter is my brother and he is nice to me. My mom is Maria and she loves me. My Dad is Brian and he loves me too.

Santa, I sent you my letters. I don't remember what I asked for. Can you read my letters?

I hope you have a good Christmas. I don't want you to work too hard. Please don't forget about me.

Your Friend,
Oliver


I suppose this is a child's introduction to presenting a resume; show your worthwhile qualities, reasons why you are worthy but always keeping the eye on the prize throughout.
I hope he gets the gig. His brother too, even though last year when it was suggested that he write a letter to the big guy, Dexter paused, then said, "i'm looking at him".

Run To Fifty

Everybody needs challenges if sometimes the challenge is simply waking up every morning. The challenge has to be a welcome one, something to answer or conquer. Without it, all days are passive, listless and without motivation. Without it, it's a waiting in line.

Recently a friend of mine accomplished an incredible thing; he completed an Iron Man competition in Australia: 2.4 mile swim, 112 miles bicycling, 26.2 miles run. Andrew had been talking about doing this for a year and set out in 2010 to fulfill this quest. Training in the mild temperature of the bay area for a race that would take place in the heat of an Australian summer; I had concerns that he might pass out or worse, be taken by a Great White Shark in the waters of Perth (happened to a diver two weeks prior). Predicting his time of completion (10.5 hrs), balancing that with the best case scenario (9.5 hour) and worst case (11.5), Andrew finished in just over 10 hours, better than his prediction and close to his best hopes. Just crazy and inspiring.

I can hit a baseball a bit, chase a ball down pretty well, have fairly good hand-eye coordination but these three events which involve strength, endurance and extensive training have always eluded me. Next year I turn 50 and I've been thinking, why not? I called my cousin who is a fitness nut with resources and he offered to let me run across the private hills and trails on his Marin property, as well as use his state of the art swimming facilities. I could also bike and run in the city. This week we drove up north with the goal to start training. My cousin first had me sit with his personal trainer and discuss and set realistic goals. Based on some preliminary trials, they came up with an astonishing time with just a year in training, they believed that I could achieve.

11.0. Nothing close to Andrew's time of course but just to see this time, written and presented by experts in the field was not only encouraging, but extra motivating. 11.0 hours. I hit the pool hard. 11.0. And with my time on the bike and run included, I might break 30 hours. Determining that I could swim 2.4 miles in 11.0 hours which would include an hour of emergency services at the 1.4 mark, plus a raft that i could lay on and rest 2 minutes every 1/10th of a mile before flopping back into the water would be my best guarantee to avoid drowning. Based on my preliminaries, my cousin's experts believe that I could complete an Iron Man with a years' dedication and training, in 30.5 hours (11 hours swim, 10 hours bike, 9.5 hours run). My best case scenario would be 30.25 and only a one week stay in the hospital.

The last part of an Iron Man is the grueling 26.2 mile run, coming as it does after the swim and bicycling. I know to have extra socks in case the run is wet to avoid blistering and practiced on the lush hills on my cousin's 50 acre property. I felt that my form was fluid and smooth and that in a short amount of time, I was in a comfortable stride. At this point of my training I did not concern myself with the pace of any of the other runners that may have been showing off.

















Until this year I had not been on a bicycle (other than stealing somebody's and riding it around the block) for over 20 years. And yet, riding through the city with Dexter has been one of this year's gifts. Our endurance has improved and sometimes our infrequent rides approach a level of joy that I will always treasure. Riding in the city streets prepares one for the unpredictable; car doors, vehicles cutting toward you, people wandering into bike lines, obstacles. 112 miles seems to be about as many miles as I've ridden, total in my life. But dedicating myself I can easily see me reaching 150 miles (total). The bike felt like an extension of myself as if I was the bionic aluminum man on wheels- I recall seeing a blue image (perhaps an out of body vision of myself speeding by in a racing blur) but don't remember much after.










I'm looking fifty in the eye, not avoiding it but running to the landmark. I'm going to give 'em the biggest hug I can muster, mister.











state of the art swimming facilities, Marin 12/2010


ironw00t.com
sarahsinseattle.wordpress.com
schwarzrules.com
photos by Dexter and Maria. Supreme runner is Oliver. This Iron Man is obvious.

Homeless

Anyone that's visited San Francisco may be impressed by the views, neighborhoods, people
(and baseball team!) but may also be surprised at the number of homeless folks that settle here. Possible reasons: we don't have the cold that reaches the chill of freezing or too many intensely hot days and a political climate that tolerates the populace. These factors, plus the Reagan cuts in social /mental health programs back in the 80's which increased the numbers of homeless to many. For a time I was bugged that some people I gave money to for coffee would pass up a 50cent cup and purchase a 1.50 cup but as my roommate at the time explained to me- people like a good cup of coffee (regardless of their income level). Not practical but a reason to live for; getting some pleasure in life.

When we exited out of Macy's a few nights ago, there was a man standing by the doorway- he said he was hungry so Maria gave him the food we had from dinner. He ate it so fast, I was afraid that he was going to eat his hand. He wanted to talk (and there's always a bit of me thinking of scams) but just taking the moment for what it was, he wanted. He cried. We listened a bit, the boys, empathetic when people are hurting - we doubled back and gave him more.

There's a guy in front of my Walgreens that always likes to talk, enjoys my relationship with the boys and no doubt knows that he can always get change from me. I enjoy talking to him but recently he's seems to be on a down slope, more ragged, speech slurred. A recent day near Thanksgiving he came closer, wanting to connect and shake my hand. I have to admit my first thought was how dirty his hands were. Might have been my second thought too.

In this city even the most compassionate/sucker would be hard pressed to coin up with everyone who asks; the numbers can be overwhelming. One evening when Maria and I left a diner on Van Ness, a red light suspending us at the crosswalk, we were immediately confronted with people coming straight to us from all 4 street corners; any similarity to a zombie movie would similar to what I was feeling . We begged off and left quickly, on the green.

I don't rationalize how I react; it's in the moment. If I feel like I can (just answering the question "do I have any spare change?"- not qualifying with what for, or why), I will. Other times, I won't. And that's alright. No logic to it; none needed. It took awhile to get to this place but that's where I am, and where I want to be. Where I need to be.

There's a man I've known for 25 years. I first met him as we was just about to go off, losing his job as a door to door salesman and with whatever mental problems about to magnify- spending too much time with yourself can do this- he's been on the street ever since. Usually he's passive, and a bit jolly in a confused mumbly way. Occasionally his demeanor is scary, angry. He goes somewhere where he cleans up, and gets new clothes but mostly he sleeps in the same places within one or two blocks. His name is Ken or Kenny. Sometimes I am surprised when he will run after me, and laughing, avoiding eye contact, he might say, "Hi Brian. You wembly them still heh heh there is" In other words, I'm not sure what he says.

Do I give Ken change because I've known him so many years? Because I feel for his plight and knew that he used to work, and used to come in to where I worked for coffee- always paying for it, until management felt the need to send him away? Do I, because at 250 # of 6'4" and muscle (no, not me- me, more like 182# and muscle) and witnessing his occasionally rage, I am a little scared of Kenny? Do I, believing that someday he might help me if I was getting mugged- and he was nearby? Instead this would more likely be the one time he speaks clearly yelling to my muggers, "hit the asshole harder- i've known him 25 years and he only gives me 50cents!"

Everyone was somebody's baby, at one time. As dirty, or worn out they might now be because of bad choices, or bad luck, I try not to forget that. Take away Maria and the boys, and I might join them.