J Mercy (Someday You Guys Are Going To Be Uncles)

It's funny to consider how small all the nieces and nephews used to be. We always enjoyed when they would visit and stay over. They've all grown up to be really cool individuals. They're not so small anymore.

When Jeremiah was about nine, we would take a super ball or a tennis ball out on
the street and play keep away. It was entirely me keeping the ball away from Jeremiah- bouncing the ball off buildings, street signs, tossing it high in the air and using my body in best Charles Barkley fashion to back Jay away from getting the ball. Sometimes I was Air Jordan leaping to miraculous heights gathering the ball over Jeremiah's outstretched hands. I know I floated in the air. My skill set, awesome! Misdirection, sleight of hand, speed and strength- it was a lot of fun. For me. Years of good times.



About nine years later, more or less- my memory intentionally distorts- Jay came up to visit. He wasn't the scrawny kid that he used to be but still, I was the wily veteran. Finding a good solid super ball, we went for a walk. My first toss off a wall and Jay pushed me off my block, and grabbed the ball. Now it was his turn to play keep away from his Uncle. Jump Uncle Brian, catch this Uncle Brian, Here you go Uncle Brian but oh...too slow! Panic! Red Alert! All my Air Jordan and Charles Barkley powers and prowess were diminished. I was now Curious George battling King Kong. I could not jump, slide, glide, slip, turn, twist, push to get to the ball. For fifteen minutes or so, Jeremiah was ruthless, enjoying his new found power. The King is Dead! Power to the people!

Perhaps it was the pathetic look on my face. Maybe it was that I was a decent Uncle (other than my gleeful years as the King of Keep Away) that brought Jeremiah to mercifully stop and hand me the ball, never to play this game again. Nothing said (other than the fun Maria had with this later).

So this, Dexter and Oliver is just a gentle reminder. Some day you guys are going to be Uncles.
Be good Uncles. But for now, I bet you guys can't get this ball from me...

The Fast, & So Long to Hill

This week I signed up for a one day event to raise funds for an international food bank. I thought this is a great deal- a feast for famine relief: donate or raise $50, company pops in another $150 and there's a huge meal provided for participating! Only thing is or was, was not a feast for, but a fast for. Big difference it turns out.

I've been ignorant that part of Ramadan and its month long fast from sun up to sun down (longer at the beginning of the 30 days)- is to empathize with those less fortunate. Most- all? cultures have fasting as part of their beliefs and it's an impressive credo. I decided I could not do without water so I was not completely all in, but in as much as I reasoned I could be.

Getting up early to load up on coffee (that which I would miss the most), and breakfast of toast and jam, I was ready. Missing the regular meals of a later breakfast and lunch was not so difficult as I don't really load up on either but I missed being able to constantly snack. Free time? Go peruse and have a snack. Walking by the microkitchen, grab a little bite. Without, that was difficult. The day seemed long. I was irritable by 6:30pm (sorry Maria). And this includes my stop at an office on the 7th floor- we sometimes get their mail by mistake. Whenever I bring something to them, I grab a tiny chocolate from their offering bowl (especially since their reception station is empty) and as I was munching on my Mr.Goodbar, it seemed to taste really, really good. Oh, no! I couldn't spit out the melted goo but felt plenty guilty and a tiny bit out of control. I liked the experience and the purpose behind it.

A regular customer at my Peet's store died earlier this month. Mr. Hill. Hillel Narin (sounds like a Star Trek name) or Hilly as his friends called him, was in my experience at the Fillmore Peets store a benefactor for myself, the community and the staff. I know that some of them may have found him to be a bit overbearing, or too personal and perhaps he was. But I do know that he supported our efforts, did not mind irritating the powers above (not the Gods, but the employers who think of themselves as Gods) with suggestions that they did not want to hear. In his day, he owned a noted SF Jazz club, Basin Street West and has reel to reel recordings of some great musicians playing in the club. I hope someone saves these! For a long time, he liked to pay for his tab in dollar coins. His morning hello's were always in a sing song voice- which if one is recovering from 3 hours of sleep might have been too friendly of a greeting to respond to.

He always supported, financially our fund-raising efforts for La Casa DeLas Madres (home for battered women and their children) as for three straight years we raised more money than any store in the entire company. And this, which he and another did not want any acknowledgment of; during my last week the staff of the store- a big band version of present and past alumni put together a picnic for me. Walking down a hill at Golden Gate Park, my friend Bruce handed me an envelope from Mr. Hill and another benefactor. It was an envelope of big bucks- enough to cover my rent for several months. Just a thank you note and when I attempted to thank in person, I would be cut off with just these words from him- thank you. Mr. Hill, thank you.

And thank you for trying to get Shinjo's (Giant outfielder of 2002 from Japan) autograph. He lived in your building but always refused your request to sign a ball for Dexter. A cafe is brightened by people engaging in conversation- I'm always a bit saddened to see cafes where everyone sits with a laptop, silent. A cafe should have animation, regular groups of everyday customers- the congregation, cadence and a vibe, noise and the rustling of papers, people writing, laughter, arguments! Mr. Hill was always part of that. And always will be.
2197 Fillmore Street. 1995-2011.

They Can't Catch Us All

Every once in awhile, a political movement takes hold and the voice of the people is finally heard, and true change can begin. Born from the depths of despair, it can take root and grow. We the people can not refuse the opportunity to take back what was once ours, and what can be again.

It is a movement of the people and not the politicians. No politicians- for fear of the loss of PAC money and the influence of special interests, will address the issue. Who has the courage to ask those that govern about taking a stand for the NRZ? Yes, our troubled economy and military occupations are crucial conflicts that ache for resolution but the first candidate that is willing to speak up for the NRZ movement has my vote. These candidates would be showing the courage to believe in hope and faith.


100,000 people at the first NRZ March. August 2011, San Francisco Bay Area. Despite attempts to suppress this rally, people persevered and gathered together.

In recent years, the message has been of anti-hope; saying we have no chance. A grim forecast. Shadows that overtake and overwhelm. A prevailing message that in its fierce and violent delivery threatens everyone. NRZ, however believes that they can't catch us all. NZR believes in the glory days of the past when hope was of the living, and not a dream shattered and a meal for the dead. NRZ is the No Running Zombies movement.

Zombies should not be allowed to run. They used to be slow creatures who we could get when we needed to, or avoided them just by being careful. Those perpetrators that support fleet of foot zombies are special interest groups who will use scare tactics and fear to control people; keep them inside watching their televisions. Don't go out and experience the world and other cultures; other cultures are foreign zombies who not only will take your jobs but they will eat you. They will chase you down and eat you. Just like monkeys that will eat your face. No,no, no.

The movement begins now.
They can't catch us all.
NRZ.
Sign a petition. Get aboard.
( I mean get a board in case one of
'em gets too close. Then whack the
MF)


8/20/11:
I just stumbled upon this essay by Simon Pegg ("Shaun of the Dead"). I got something here!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2008/nov/o4/television-simon-pegg-dead-set

The Relentless Flow Of The Positive River

The title of this one comes from Sf Giants reliever Javier Lopez . Wherever this phrase originated, it became one of the driving quotes of the team last year. This is not your usual "let's kick some ass" locker room motivation (don't worry- they also rode the emotion of a line from Braveheart) and although the words do not exactly flow as well as the season did, the simple meaning is a smart one to consider; a room full of positive thinking people can accomplish good things. Sometimes the participation is as a spectator, absorbed in the activity that envelops and the current of a positive river.






































In Medford Oregon, Meghan and Tony celebrated their 10th wedding anniversary. They put together an elegant party at their shop, Lotus Hair Salon attended by family and friends. Ten years of a ying and yang relationship; a balance of muse, craft, practicality, determination and dreams grounded by the needs of a Marley. The river inspires siblings to pursue similar bonds, when nearly two decades before- their parents provided faith to our good union. The river runs on and on.











The weekend before, Destination Windsor found Dexter, Oliver and myself at the finish line of the Vineman Ironman race. No, I haven't elevated my couch relaxing ways to 140 plus miles of swimming, cycling and running . We had trekked up north to witness Andrew's finish in the event, along with Kristine, his family and friends, anticipating not only this achievement but for the giant step he would take after the race. To endure a punishing journey just to get to a place where another journey might begin- so much more admirable than a scoreboard proposition at a ball game! Few knew that there would be anything more than the race itself, but would find themselves with spirits elevated, carried forward in the relentless flow.

After the After, Arcade Night

Last Saturday in Windsor was a big day. A
one of a kind day but this is about the after, what
Dexter, Oliver and I did.

We just had fun. Looking for a specific arcade
in Roehnert Park, we stumbled upon a different place. It was small arcade, minimal service and a big paint ball place. We watched some guys shoot each other with some of them getting hurt . At that point we decided we should find the original point of destination.

Scandia was just a block away. A whole mess of games, batting cages , mini golf, and about four rides. Tonight I thought I would just let them play out until they were tired. So that's what we did.

The one ride the boys chose was the water saucers where they could squirt each other, while avoiding streams of water that the pool provided. Surprised that Oliver would choose his own vehicle and surprised that they would let him, they were the only riders for this go-round. That is, once we located the ride operator.











Maybe I didn't think this out too well. It was about 8:30 at night, kind of cool outside and they could get pretty wet without a change of clothes at hand. Oliver was soaked. Dexter stopped squirting him once Big O asked him to stop. Alas, just before the ride's finish, I watched a big stream of water arch over from behind and...oh crap.

























Dried him up as best we could, wrapped him up in Dexter's jacket, and back in we went- until
10:30! Not a productive, brain challenging evening by any means but a good night in their book, I think.