Trojan brains on display

ut2 

Knowing as many Trojans as I did from my high school, I knew that there was a boatload of idiots attending the University of Surrounded Caucasians, but OJ's alma mater has been claiming lately that the school has improved academically, presumably bringing it up to the Long Beach State level. Still, the average SAT scores of the USC freshmen classes have been rising, so I figured perhaps USC was serious about limiting the number of trust-fund boobs and brain-dead 3rd generation legacies it admits. Then I see this, as Texas scores on the two-point conversion at the end of the game. Hey TrOJie, a little advice: your team wears red and is LOSING.

Dancing fool...well, maybe not a fool

Roundabout 1994, I started getting seriously interested in swing dancing. It seemed cool and I had been listening to Sinatra since my high school days. Unfortunately, there was no swing scene in the 80's, and anything swing seemed relegated to the realm of ballroom dancing, with nancy-boys flitting around in garish skin-tight sequins and goofy expressions that were meant to convey some kind of smoldering passion.

I went to the Derby in L.A. with an old girlfriend in 1994 before I mastered the swing-out, and felt pretty lame as she went out on the floor while I gloomily knocked back martinis until I could only dance my way to the toilet to toss my cookies. In 1995, I went to seven weddings, and after watching all the mortuary bait swing easy to the inevitable swing set the DJ would toss in for the geriatrics, always leading off with "In the Mood", I got ticked. Why couldn't we 20-somethings do some of that stuff the blue-hairs were doing? Why were we fleeing the dance floor or trying some lame spin moves when all this stuff could be learned? So I got inspired and decided to take dance lessons, which ultimately led me to the Derby 2-3 times per week and then to the swing scene in San Francisco, where I eventually met my wife in Beginning Lindy Hop with Paul and Sharon at the Metronome Ballroom at 17th and DeHaro.

I knew dancing was cool even when my buddies ragged on me for doing something so "gay" because it was fun, it was good exercise, and it encouraged the drinking of serious cocktails. Additionally, and maybe most importantly, if you were any good you raised your, uh, profile with the ladies. That's why I didn't mind when my friends used to rag on me, because I knew that chicks dig good dancers. Now, just a few years after going into semi-retirement from dancing, I see that my beliefs have received scientific support. Too late for my friends, though. A snippet below, full link above.


SCIENTISTS have confirmed what fans of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever have known all along: men with the best dance moves have the most sex appeal.

The finding lends support to the idea that dancing is a way to show off high quality genes and good health - both indicators of a top quality mate.

idiosyncratic behavior

I recently was tagged by the beloved wife to list my idiosyncrasies in some goofball internet game of tag. Knowing that a full list of my idiosyncrasies (also known as eccentricities) would take up too much bandwidth, I have tried to limit myself to just a few. Here then are a few of my less embarrasing traits:

1) I cross my little toes over the adjacent toes whenever I am barefoot.
2) I play Mozart's "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" on my front teeth when bored. Not the full piece.
3) Whenever I say I will do something requiring me to get up from wherever I am sitting, I need to be reminded to do it several times because I always get distracted before I can get around to doing the task.
4) I hate shopping for clothes. I hate it so much that I need for my clothes to be completely frayed or have holes in them before I will go shopping. This includes underwear.
5) Speaking of underwear, I fold mine. Boxers.
6) When walking down a street, I will often practice my volleyball approach.
7) I imitate Mr. Burns' "Excellent" comment (including the accompanying hand gesture)whenever it seems appropriate...which is often.
8) I can't buy classic books in paperback. This is an expensive (and stupid) habit which I cannot seem to break.
9) If the clothes just came out of the laundry and its 2:00 am, I still need to fold them and put them away before i can go to bed.
10) I can't sit without tapping my foot.
11) I won't drink a martini made with anything other than gin.
12) I won't eat tomatoes or catsup.
13) I laugh at every stupid "football to the groin"-type video shown on America's Funniest Home video reruns.
14) I still serenade my family with some of the stupid songs I heard on the Dr. Demento show on 94.7 KMET in L.A. when I was in 5th grade. My wife is particularly fond of "Dead Puppies Aren't Much Fun."
15) I frequently wash my hair twice in the shower because I forget that I already washed it.
16) I don't think stand-up comedy is funny.
17) I think Halloween is for kids, not adults, and I won't dress up for it.
18) I have a thing for Jane Austen.
19) I watch UCLA football and basketball broadcasts until the (usually bitter) end, even when it's a blowout and the game ends at some ridiculous hour because we're two hours ahead of the West Coast.
20) I won't wear t-shirts, blue jeans or tennis shoes to church, theater or court.

Just a few traits, some strange and others not so much...

UCLAngst...and why

WOW!!!!!! A team with heart! Character! Gamebreakers on both sides of the ball! And yet...


6-0 for the first time in a while after an absolutely thrilling OT win against a team that has given us fits lately is usually great news that would send me into the stratosphere. But not me. Proud UCLA alum that I am (class of '89), I bleed blue and gold and take a great deal of pride having attended a school with such a rich athletic history. But when it comes to UCLA football, I feel...angst. Big-game success? Don't worry, something bad will happen. Great win? it's just a matter of time before we F*** up and drop one to a team we should clock by 21 points. Winning streak? We'll meet up with someone who will end it at the worst possible time. UCLA football is kinda like the Angels-a one-time champion, but mostly teases and the occasional gut-punch loss. Somehow, it translates into a reluctance to fully embrace the program.

Any true Bruin can tell you that angst springs eternal when considering UCLA football. I attended UCLA from '85-'89, and we had stud teams that always screwed their chances. My first year we went to the Rose Bowl and crushed Iowa, and I thought we'd be in at least one more Rose Bowl. But no...even though my last two years coincided with Troy Aikman's two-year reign as the starting QB in Westwood. We went 20-4 in those two years-and lost to USC twice. We had outstanding offense and defense. And we still didn't get it done against those USCumbags. All that talent, and all we got out of it was a friggin' Aloha Bowl and Cotton Bowl. And of course USC, being an inferior team, managed to tarnish the PAC-10 rep by losing to Michigan State and Michigan.

Despite the blown opportunities of the Aikman years, the '98 team is the one that cemented the angst for me. Without question, it was the greatest offensive team UCLA had ever produced, with great players everywhere. The team started out 10-0, but then had to travel to Miami to play a game rescheduled from earlier in the season due to a hurricane. Of course, Miami had started out terribly-when we were supposed to play them-and then began rolling with Edgerrin James leading the way. Unfortunately, UCLA's "D" started out the season playing poorly and then went off the cliff midway through the season, so we went into the game playing our worst defense against a team that was perfectly positioned to exploit that weakness. So although we scored practically at will, and it looked as if we would hold on to play Tennessee in the first BCS championship game, Edgerrin just kicked the crap out of the "defense" and ran for 299 yards in that game. This started UCLA's now-weekly tradition of turning any decent back into a Heisman-worthy candidate. Still, Cade McNown (OK, Chicago fans, shut up-he was incredible at UCLA) drove them down and we just missed a winning TD as time expired. Chance for title gone, 20-game wining streak gone-and UCLA football has never been even remontely the same, and just at the same time as that tool team across town began to wake up from 20 years of mediocrity.

Miami 49, UCLA 45
December 5, 1998

UCLA 7 10 21 7 - 45
Miami 14 7 7 21 - 49

First Quarter
Mia-James 45 run (Crosland kick), 5:40.
UCLA-Farmer 77 pass from McNown (Sailer kick), 4:33.
Mia-Moser 4 pass from Covington (Crosland kick), :10.

Second Quarter
UCLA-Poli-Dixon 7 pass from McNown (Sailer kick), 11:54.
Mia-James 10 run (Crosland kick), 7:00.
UCLA-FG Sailer 21, 1:24.

Third Quarter
UCLA-Farmer 14 pass from McNown (Sailer kick), 13:10.
UCLA-Poli-Dixon 61 pass from McNown (Sailer kick), 11:23.
UCLA-Melsby 59 pass from McNown (Sailer kick), 1:28.
Mia-Davenport 23 run (Crosland kick), :18.

Fourth Quarter
Mia-Moss 71 pass from Covington (Crosland kick), 12:34.
UCLA-McNown 1 run (Sailer kick), 6:54.
Mia-Fulcher 29 pass from Covington (Crosland kick), 6:08.
Mia-James 1 run (Crosland kick) :50.


INDIVIDUAL STATISTICS
RUSHING-UCLA, Foster 16-79, Lewis 9-38, K.Brown 9-38, McNown 3-2, Price 1-0. Miami, James 39-299, Davenport 9-68, Moss 1-11, Covington 2-(minus 7).
PASSING-UCLA, McNown 26-35-0-513. Miami, Covington 19-28-0-318.

RECEIVING-UCLA, Farmer 6-135, Foster 5-21, Poli-Dixon 4-130, Grieb 4-63, Melsby 3-95, Lewis 1-44, Wilkins 1-12, Neufeld 1-10, Dubravac 1-3. Miami, King 8-124, Moss 4-95, Fulcher 2-45, N.Williams 2-28, James 1-11, Franks 1-11, Moser 1-4.

Venom-in literary form

Christopher Hitchens is one amazing guy. A man of many talents, the one I admire the most is his incredible dexterity using the English language, both verbal and written. His talent has been displayed in many areas, but his skill with the venomous pen is also wonderful to behold. I have read here and there the great insults of the age, but there has been a long decline in the form and the foremost practioners are nearly extinct. So it warmed my heart greatly to see Hitchens take up arms, as it were, against the verminous George Galloway and produce as polished an ad hominem as I have seen in a long time, and damn the consequences.

I despise George Galloway and his position (prone) on Iraq, but I must thank him for prodding Hitchens to produce this gem:

Galloway's preferred style is that of vulgar ad hominem insult, usually uttered while a rather gaunt crew of minders stands around him. I have a thick skin and a broad back and no bodyguards. He says that I am an ex-Trotskyist (true), a "popinjay" (true enough, since its original Webster's definition means a target for arrows and shots), and that I cannot hold a drink (here I must protest). In a recent interview he made opprobrious remarks about the state of my midriff, which I will confess has—as P.G. Wodehouse himself once phrased it—"slipped down to the mezzanine floor." In reply I do not wish to stoop. Those of us who revere the vagina are committed to defend it against the very idea that it is a mouth or has teeth. Study the photographs of Galloway from Syrian state television, however, and you will see how unwise and incautious it is for such a hideous person to resort to personal remarks. Unkind nature, which could have made a perfectly good butt out of his face, has spoiled the whole effect by taking an asshole and studding it with ill-brushed fangs.

I despair of ever writing anything to compare to this.

Thoughts on Dad

Happy Father's Day... 

Here's Dad in front of his house in Coral Gables when he was about 17 or so. Just a few years after this photo was taken, he had entered and then quit the University of Florida, joined the Air Force and then met and married my mother. It's always strange looking at pictures of your parents when they were young, before you ever entered their lives-in other words, seeing them as people and not parents. Dad's concerns weren't of his career at TWA, his multiple wives, or two kids, but simpler ones-living with a nutty mother, girls, keeping his car clean, bumming around Key Biscayne and graduating from high school. Hardly the sort of problems to etch the crags and lines I remember so well into that face. Happy Father's Day, mi padre!


and Happy Birthday... 

Dad's birthday was 20 June 1939. His favorite activity, bar none, was reading. This was taken a few years before he was diagnosed with cancer and shows him reading House & Garden, which indicates a paucity of available material. Not that this stopped him-he was blessed with a natural curiosity which allowed him to read nearly anything without being utterly bored. Still, his preferences ran to nautical and adventure themes-among his favorites were Treasure Island, The Bounty Trilogy, The Caine Mutiny, the Horatio Hornblower series and nearly anything by Kipling. For a macho man, he was also surprisingly sensitive-he loved poetry and musicals.

Dad passed away in February '04, and not a day goes by where I don't think about him and cherish the memories, the many wonderful memories, of our times together. When my parents divorced, I went with my dad, and this helped create a bond of uncommon strength. Dad was eccentric, and certainly had his flaws, but somehow, he understood how to be a father and yet remain a friend. In fact, he was my best friend, and he was for a long time. Happy 66th birthday, Dad-I wish you were here for me to say it to you in person. God bless and keep you.

Not a cookie-cutter tract

Not a cookie-cutter neighborhood...

The housing stock of the neighborhood I live in could not be more different than the stock of the neighborhoods I grew up in. Most of Southern California is carpeted by housing tracts that all feature bland variations of whatever architectural theme captured the developer's fancy. As a result, multiple interpretations of the "Mediterranean" look dot the landscape, with seemingly the only difference between tracts the color of the tile roofs or the stucco walls. Occasionally one might see dull Cape Cods, or some dreary modern look that was wholly uninteresting (think Brady Bunch.)

In my new neighborhood, the houses were predominately built from about 1880 through 1950. Further, most of the stock remains and was not torn down for McMansions. The architectural styles range from Victorian to Dutch Colonial to Italian Revival, and some which defy categorization.

This particular house has a sort of Queen Anne look to it, with the funky turret. Very cool.