Hottest Day Yet

This was a day of soccer, "science" projects, extreme heat, lots of people coming and going, and the very special fact that for the first time this year, I got to hug my oldest son.



It's been such a strange year. I've finally begun to wonder how much longer I can afford to stay here in San Francisco. So many bills, so many disappointments, such a high cost structure.



Despite a career of successes that elsewhere would have allowed me to retire in comfort, here I am getting into progressively deeper trouble.



My lovely children are the only reason I stay here. They all do what they do.



It was way to hot for a basketball experiment, let alone a pigeon experiment, yet we did both.



When I started writing this tonight, I was in a joking mood. I wanted to write about the utterly unanticipated reality that both of my fantasy baseball teams, the Mud Lake Mafia, and the El Matate Burritos, are in first place in their leagues. I was going to joke about "dynasties" and what it feels like to always be a winner.

But, to be honest, I don't feel like a winner. So, I just cannot write that story for you, dear reader.

-30-

Instant Summer

Miniskirts, tank tops, shorts, sandals, guys drinking beer at the corner, music loud in the clubs...there aren't many cities like San Francisco on a hot Friday night. And when I say hot, I mean it. My car, which claims to measure the outside temperature, told me it was 83 degrees late this afternoon.

It was a relief that my daughter's soccer practice at Glen Park could be held in the shade. We never say things like that here!

Out myself tonight, in the Haight, for the first night in memory I didn't bother taking a jacket. A T-shirt sufficed. Back home, after 10, I have the ceiling fan activated for the first time this year and windows open. The back door is open.

Yet, the inside temperature is still in the 70s.

It's a different place when it's hot. Almost like we can all finally be who we really want to be, instead of bundling up against an unnaturally cold night wind and mysterious fog, urging us to be not who we want to be.

Maybe that's what so strange about this tribe, the San Franciscans. Our odd weather?

(Nice try.)

=30-

Congratulations, Weekend Sherpa!

It's been a while, but tonight I want to once again mention my friends, Brad Day and Holly Kulak, and their Bay Area outdoor adventure newsletter, Weekend Sherpa. The occasion is the announcement of this year's Webby nominations.

Weekend Sherpa is in line for a Webby. There is a way for you to help these young entrepreneurs. If you click on the title of this post, it will take you to a message that explains how you can vote for Sherpa to win a Webby.

They deserve it. Why? I've lived in the Bay Area for 36+ years, and often explored the outdoor wonders within easy reach of San Francisco. But, more often than not, Weekend Sherpa surprises me by what they discover.

Check it out. And please, if you will, support their quest for the award!

-30-

Whither the (elusive) torch?

(Photo by Junko Sasaki)

So it's come to this. In our sped-up, post-modern, discontinuous world, nobody can really say what's right, wrong, or neutral any more.

Tibet. A distant, ancient land of mystery. The only Americans likely to have visited there are serious trekkers and born-again Buddhists.

There's the Dalai Lama, spiritual leader of Tibet who cannot visit there -- an odd, stateless creature without a country but with a significant influence on Western public opinion. It's fair to say more Americans I know worship this man than, say, the Pope.

China, the world's most dynamic growing economy, with its aging Communist elite trying to control a messy transition to unbridled capitalism without granting any of the personal freedoms associated with free-market economies.

President Bush, a simple fellow best captured on TV by 'Lil Bush, just trying to get by 'til closing time. Should he or should he not attend the opening ceremonies in Beijing this summer?

Hillary Clinton, who always seems to know what's best, says he should boycott it. A number of the usual suspects -- wishy-washy liberals in Europe -- say the same thing.

Protesters of many stripes sense a chance to make some noise. God bless them, their right to dissent is why we are fighting in Iraq, right? That's what I heard.

Back in a simpler age, a year or so ago, those who are oh-so-wise determined that the only stop the Olympic Torch would make this year would be here, in my dear San Francisco.

Today, in fact, was to be the Big Day.

And quite a day it was. Festivities had been long-planned, and long-planned festivities follow a certain familiar pattern. A parade route is announced. Grandstands are set up. The media promotes the thing. People get ready. People get excited.

Only, we're in a new world now. It's a global, digital, fragmented world where nothing happens in isolation and everything is strangely inter-connected.

Thousands upon thousands of people converged on San Francisco's waterfront today to celebrate, observe, or protest the elaborate ceremony of runners carrying the Olympic Torch through our city.

Problem is, it never showed up, at least not where they were. The police, the Mayor, the Olympic committee, the Chinese authorities, maybe the FBI, and whoever else had a seat at the table freaked out.

There were too many people lining the parade route! Something awful might happen! Look at London a few days ago, or Paris!

So, they moved the torch, the runners, and the security detail down to a remote peninsula just south of the downtown area known as McCovey Cove. This, in itself, was a nice touch. It's a strangely lonely stretch of land on the other side of a tiny harbour off of right field in the Giants' baseball park, the very place where Barry Bonds hit many of his (then) historic and (now) despised homeruns.

It's an easy place to block off access, and that's why it was chosen. In a ludicrous parody of an opening ceremony, a gaggle of officials suddenly appeared out of a bus, lit the flame, and a lone Chinese woman runner jogged out of view of the public a short distance south, only to disappear into a warehouse!

That was a new one.

She didn't reappear for a long, long time, and when she did, it again was from a bus that had migrated miles away to Van Ness Avenue, far from the expected parade route. She handed the torch off to the next "runner," and the farce continued.

There were so many security vehicles and cops surrounding the "runners" that the best they could do most of the time was to run in place, or give up and just walk a few steps, to the place where the next hand-off was to occur.

Meanwhile, the thousands upon thousands of those who had gathered to witness these supposedly grave proceedings were left confused and torch-less.

The torch appeared and disappeared all afternoon. You got the idea that officials were working on the fly. Now it's nearing Fisherman's Wharf; woops, now it's out in the Marina; wow, maybe it's going to the Golden Gate Bridge?

Finally, the whole charade ended on a heavily guarded section of Doyle Drive (which leads to the GG Bridge), where officials congratulated each other, for what, who knows.

There would be a closing ceremony, the Mayor announced, just not at the planned location. That would be where tiny old Chinese ladies in dime store shoes had stood patiently all day, holding red flags, and looking as if they were not sure what they were supposed to do. No, not there, his Mayorness stated, but at "an undisclosed location."

That, too, was a fabrication, unless they did it inside the bus.

Meanwhile, some sort of comical, bright orange amphibious vehicle that should be considered for this year's gay pride day parade led the Olympic procession onto 19th Street, heading south. My God, the torch was going to the airport!

We hardly got to know ye', little Torchie.

So now, we were told there would be a closing ceremony at the airport.

But, not at which gate.

At this point, your faithful correspondent decided to boycott the remaining proceedings. Better to watch the punchless Giants on TV than attend to any more of this nonsense.

I know this much: Nobody is oh-so-wise anymore.

-30-

Up, But Still Down Under

The character on his shirt can be translated as "without enemy" or as "invincible."



Twelve years ago, it looked like he would be born on the 7th, but he took his time, and stretched the event out an extra four hours, emerging before dawn on the 8th.

This was mildly disappointing to me at the time, because his two big brothers had both been born on the 7th of their birth months; I'd arrived on the 14th myself, and we'd just missed a chance to be multiples of one another.



But this littlest guy, now 12, would have none of it. Over the years, I've come to appreciate how unique his approach to life is, his outlook, his humor, and his innate curiosity about everything from science to history to movie-making to politics.

It's good he decided to break any mold that I would have imposed on him, right from the start. If you're the third of three sons and the fifth of six kids, you don't want a parent who thinks he already knows all there is to know about raising you.

Thanks to Dylan, I never think that way. He's teaching me new ways to be a parent every day.

***

"Not quite yet, my friend," my post root-canaled tooth declared late on Monday. Turns out I have an infection around the tooth that requires further medication and is exerting plenty of continuing pain. Thus, my absence from blogging yesterday, the briefness of this today.

-30-

Back from the Shadows

I'm in post-root-canal mode, i.e., as the anesthetic wears off, the pain returns, but now it a different pain, still severe, but based on today's dental work, not yesterday's dying nerve.

I'll spare you, dear reader, any of the unpleasant details, except to say that I will gladly put away those bottles of pain-killers, and get back to the "normal" up-and-down cycle of each day's challenges.

***
Barack Obama is starting to ever so clearly pull away from Hillary Clinton in their competition for the Democratic Presidential nomination. The Rasmussen tracking poll indicates that he is ten points ahead among likely Democratic voters, 51-41.

Has a tipping point finally been reached?

The Clinton campaign had to release its top strategist this week amidst signs of a major ethical breach. They also had to release their tax returns, which reveal that they have accumulated a vast fortune since leaving the White House seven years ago. That news is not playing well among Sen. Clinton's blue-collar constituency.

Perhaps most significant of all, Obama has closed the gap in Pennsylvania's upcoming primary to ~5 points. Until recently, Clinton had maintained a healthy double-digit lead in that important state.

It's not over yet, but I think it will be soon. Obama seems positioned to claim the nomination, and that could happen over the next couple weeks.

Stay tuned.

-30-

Blogger Floats on Vicodin

Why would any sane person run for President?

"For power," you say.

"Or, for fame."

The candidates themselves, of course, would never admit to either motive. They always insist that they are simply engaged in "public service."

But what if none of of these are the reasons they run?

What if they just want to get rich?

At the close of last week's news cycle, in an attempt to limit news coverage, the Clinton campaign finally released Bill & Hillary's tax returns for the seven years since he left and she entered public office.

The documents reveal that the former (and once again would-be) First Couple has pulled down a cool $109 million during that time.

Could it be this is the other side of that "Bridge to the 21st Century," about which Bill used to wax so eloquently? No wonder his eyes always got big at the prospect. The couple now earns more than all but the tiny tip top of American taxpayers -- they're in the top one half of one percent!

Of course, it's expensive running for President, so politicians get used to managing huge amounts of cash. Barack Obama's campaign, for example, raised $40 million last month! At this rate, his candidacy will have cost over a half billion dollars!

The Obamas released their tax returns a long time ago, but since they only earned a little over $1 million, I guess they are relegated to being just upper-middle-class folks (for now.)

But the amazing part of how turning yourself into a major brand as a potential President helps even the losers get rich.

Case in point: Al Gore. The self-appointed inventor of the Internet recently turned $35 million of his personal wealth over to an investment group that specializes in green investments. Since Gore was only worth $2 million in 2000, the year he won the election but the Supreme Court appointed George W. Bush to be President, his wealth has virtually all come since his retirement from politics.

In addition, Gore has just been awarded 10,000 shares of Apple stock for serving as a director of that company. With Apple's stock this spring off 25-40% from its high late last year, Gore can easily expect that his piece of the fruit will yield at least another half to three-quarters of a million dollars in value, once the stock market resumes its historical climb.

The key part of this fabulous money equation that shouldn't be overlooked by liberal advocates of the poor and working classes is that these are not Republicans we are talking about.

These are the leading Democrats of our time.

Just like the GOP elite, they are becoming very wealthy after "serving" all of us.

Why then, I ask, do all the rest of us seem to be getting poorer these days?

What's that, you say? I don't sound like a good, true-blue liberal?

Well, given this debilitating, week-long dental pain, which is scheduled to be root-canaled away (finally) tomorrow afternoon, maybe it's just my medicine that's talking...

Or, maybe I'm on to something.

Weir for President in 2012. Has a nice ring to it, or should I say, ching, ching to it, no?

-30-