The final day of my short trip to the Mauna Kea this past weekend could not be ending more beautifully or peacefully. For 30 years now, the Island has brought me home time and again, to a magical spot of relaxation and rejuvenation, filled with memories old and new. The unparalleled spirit of the property is very much alive and ready to welcome you, whether once again or for the first time. This I joyously offer you: “Nou kou hale.”
Author Archives: Ryan
“Nou Kou Hale”
Island Tears
At 2:30 PM the sky yields solid gray, the ground quickly grows more wet, and the wind of yesterday has ceased, as drops continue to bounce off the stillness of the suddenly darker ocean water. Not since 1994 have I personally witnessed such steady and prolonged rain on the usually sun-filled Kohala Coast. This weather is more rare than my filet last night, to say the least. The Island is crying, for reasons unclear. Nonetheless, of course my limited and cherished time back at Mauna Kea remains untarnished.
Another Day, But Not
Poolside always comes through as the prime spot for a comfortable afternoon nap, aided by a chilled Pinot Grigio no less. Plus with a rather sudden flare up of trade winds today, the grassy area around the pool has proven all the more a welcome refuge from flying sand. Not that I’m complaining; trade winds are a trademark of the Kohala Coast. And today they’ve come to wish Mr. Todd Mitchell a most happy 50th birthday. In paradise, another day it is, while any other day it is not.
Serenity Unchanged
At least the most important things don’t change. The Batik Room and the Mauna Loa Suite are no longer, and the price of a Hau Tree mai-tai continues to creep upward. Beyond this, however, comes the unmatched serenity of being back home at Mauna Kea. This above all else remains, along with the view from 736.
Farewell, Walkers
The infamous dining room served as a nucleus of the show for five years, loudly so.
I’m sorry to see them go. At the same time, I’m not all that surprised. As storylines grew increasingly silly and often confused, key cast members dropped off while others appeared inconsistently. For the past year it’s been clear to both me and many others that the show was on the decline. How many more deep-seated family secrets could possibly be revealed? And how many more times could one’s paternity be questioned? By the season-ending episode one week ago, it seemed all the clearer that the Walkers have run their course.
Now it’s official. ABC announced last Friday the cancellation of “Brothers & Sisters” after a five-year run. Granted, various plots of late seemed rushed and certainly eye-roll inducing. The unpredictable appearance of various family members often proved disappointing. And the ongoing scattering of scandals, conflicts, revelations and “big” decisions, typically yielding a collection of “horrified” facial expressions, were growing tiresome.
Still, I would like to have seen where the Walkers went next, as this last season did turn out at least a few stronger moments. However, perhaps herein lies the problem: There may very well be no where more for them to go, at least not without further redundancy and ridiculousness. Five seasons and more than 100 episodes is an impressive run in television these days, while some famous programs in history have no doubt stayed around TOO long. This said, perhaps it’s better we’re saying farewell to the Walker clan before they’re completely ignored and forgotten.
Farewell, Walkers. For better or worse, you clearly brought a unique and distinct style to prime-time television that will be missed.
And that’s my faithful-viewer opinion.
Like Riding A Bike…
There’s always something very rewarding about a full day in the saddle, leaving me with positive feelings of sustained exertion and expected though by no means day-ending fatigue. It’s even more satisfying when such a lengthy cycling trek has not happened in a while, which was indeed the case for me yesterday.
Most simply, despite my few extra pounds and frequent selection of the less-taxing throttle, I’m happy to say I still have it in me. My body’s overall physical performance has by no means failed me, as I remain, as I often like to say, “permanently trained?” I’ll include the question mark, mindful it may not last a lifetime, at least not without continued effort.
My cycling career has made a distinct shift in the past few years. That is, I clearly transitioned from the sustained long distances of centuries, to the much shorter and faster world of races. In 2007 century events, meaning cycling 100 miles in a day, were my most frequent choice of cycling recreation. Come 2009, I was most often pedaling as fast as I could to try to beat my competition in road races that spanned anywhere from 15 to 40 miles. Suffice to say, these are two very different types of cycle exertion.
No change for the worse after two years, thankfully enough.
My own rides have most recently remained shorter and faster for the most part, with the very occasional 50 or 60-miler thrown in. Then came yesterday, yielding me 85 miles in the saddle altogether. Looking back in my very complete ride records, the last time I rode this distance or more was on the Solvang Century in March 2009. The precise type of fatigue I felt last night, I have not felt since that last century. This feeling is by no means a bad one; in fact it’s quite thrilling and adrenaline inducing. The fact my legs felt heavy and stairs were exhausting is merely an observation and not a complaint. I ended up dressed for the evening and out late, on my motorcycle no less, with merely an extra yawn here and there. Many thanks to muscle memory, no doubt!
My body knows how to perform when called upon, even infrequently. While there’s always space for performance improvement, I’m in a self-satisfying and “permanently trained” physical place. It’s, um, like riding a bike. What more could I ask?
Well, here’s one thing: Another fast descent down Panoramic Highway into Stinson Beach. It’s truly the best I’ve found in the area thus far! Check it out for yourself, and I’ll be there to race you to the finish! 😉
Gua-La-La!
A one-of-a-kind living room window view.
After almost a year of intent, I finally made it. The small coastal town of Gualala, some 120 miles north of San Francisco, welcomed my motorcycle and me for a brief yet lovely stay this week. Actually, it’s my fabulous lifelong friend and her hoot of a husband who did the welcoming. The town itself, fortunately, seemed to be on board with my arrival.
Altogether, this 250-mile roundtrip motorcycle journey was scenic, relaxing and of course on some stretches of twisty Hwy 1, challenging! Coming just after an oil change, new brake pads and new brake fluid earlier this week, my sturdy and reliable SV could not have performed better, at least not at the still-somewhat gentle hands of its cautious handler.
With a business appointment already scheduled in Santa Rosa this week, I figured I was already halfway to the residence of my dear friend, so why not? My conclusion: A trip most worthwhile, especially thanks to ideal weather conditions. The route to Gualala is beautiful, the town warm and inviting, the views spectacular, and last but certainly not least, the food absolutely delicious!
If and when you find yourself rolling along the northern California coast, whether by two wheels or four, or more, make Gualala one of your stops. If you’re lucky enough to hit the town on taco night at Trink’s, you’ll be in for a true and unexpected culinary delight. Crab, shrimp, pork or beef, or one or several of each, these generous and flavorful gourmet tacos far surpass any that I can recall in the “big city.” Be sure to get there early or prepare to wait, because despite any visible life on the streets, the place was packed! And on a Wednesday no less!
Join me sometime soon, preferably on your own motorized set of two wheels. You too might just find yourself saying “Gua-la-la!”
Not Another Sunday
A sad sight to see.
Driving back into San Francisco yesterday afternoon, I exited the freeway onto Harrison St. at 4:55pm. In another minute the corner of Harrison and 12th “greeted” me– or would have I should say– on this somewhat warm and very sunny Sunday. At this moment my own eyes caught for the first time what many people throughout San Francisco hoped never to see.
The first word on the sign taped to the door is the only one that really speaks, boldly presiding over all others, lunging out like a slap in the face to all who approach it. At just about 5:00pm on a bright and clear May Sunday, the corner of Harrison and 12th was practically lifeless; I didn’t see a soul around. What an ugly and unwelcome difference, I thought as I drove on, compared to the several hundreds of Sunday afternoons preceding this one.
Anything could happen, the future remains uncertain, and at least a few shreds of hope remain alive in the face of some largely concealed wheels of business negotiation. Whatever comes tomorrow, however, does not change the fact that today, right now, the door notice remains up. San Francisco has lost a historical and iconic gathering spot, and I along with several of my friends have lost a favorite– and most certainly unmatched– social space.
The Eagle Tavern is now closed, as of May 1. While yesterday marked the second Sunday of this current and quite possibly permanent situation, socially and emotionally speaking this was not another Sunday at 12th and Harrison. Unfortunately, however, it looks like we’ll be seeing more Sundays like this one for the foreseeable future.
Quite A Climb…
While making my way on bicycle this week north on Canada Road from Woodside, I improvised a new route in order to get around current bridge work on Skyline between Bunker Hill and Crystal Springs. My iPhone-assisted plan took me east into San Carlos and then north toward Belmont, planting me unexpectedly on one very intense and exhausting climb.
Such topography is hardly unusual in the area, but this steep upward path certainly made a lasting impression, perhaps for the intimidating fact of being able to see most of it all at once. I decided when I got home — and yes I did get home — to do an internet search for “Crestview Drive.”
Here’s what I found, most academic and thorough to say the least. “The southern end of Crestview climbs up from Edgewood to Melendy in San Carlos. The street is very wide and fairly straight, so the 30+ mph traffic can leave you room to climb.” (Courtesy: Lucas) Obviously my impromptu “discovery” already exists as an established cycling feat.
Suffice to say, I’m always happy to acquaint myself with yet another cycling challenge. This one was, to say most simply, quite a climb. And for once at least, this is not just my opinion!
Improving On Success
The 2012 Mercedes-Benz CLS: Stunning!
As I’ve previously discussed, Mercedes-Benz styling is on a refreshing upswing these days. While several models have recently been reemerging more handsome than ever, here now comes one more.
The 2012 CLS is simply stunning, all the way from the aggressive and muscular nose to a smooth and refined backside. While the first-generation CLS has certainly been unique and eye-catching over the past six years, the second generation clearly and boldly improves upon success. In addition to looks, meanwhile, the mechanics of the new CLS may very well prove superior to those of often-troubled rival Jaguar XF.
As the reviews trickle in, I look forward to witnessing this welcome new member of the MBZ family take its rightful place on the open road.
Long Live The Hats!
My favorite hat of the day.
Unbeknownst to me it was going to happen, in the final preceding hours it did. And here I am now to admit to it. This is to say, the strong undertow of Royal Wedding current pulled me in, drowning me in a sea of fixated early-morning delight.
I must say I really do love all the hats. The wedding’s collective display of such “unique” headpieces simply makes me wish for such bold proclamations of fashion more regularly by American women. Sure, there’s always the Kentucky Derby, though this is by far not enough.
British socialite Tara Palmer Tomkinson has earned my nod for number one in the Royal Wedding guest headdress department. Then, while much has already been said about Princess Beatrice’s headpiece and the ridiculous nature thereof, of which I do not necessarily disagree, she nevertheless earns plenty of points in my book for “individuality.”
From striking, to silly, to relatively tame.
A fantastic, stand-out color choice.
Taste and elegance.
On the male side, the groom appeared positively stunning in his Irish Guard uniform. Of course I’m always partial to any formal dress of bright red. The now Duke of Cambridge stood boldly and brightly in his own right, wonderfully complementing though of course not upstaging his beautiful bride, who herself appeared most tasteful, elegant and at least superficially at ease. The groom’s brother emerged not half bad himself, might I add.
Her Majesty made her own cheerful and refreshing color choice, I must say. The yellow proved more fetching to me than her usual runs of ivory or robin-egg blue. Speaking of usual, however, the Duchess of Cornwall left me squarely unimpressed. Camilla’s predictable choice of champagne (she wore almost the exact color in her wedding six years ago) merely washes her out. Then again, perhaps she knows better than to “shine” in the public eye, especially on this occasion.
The media coverage was thorough and satisfactory all around, as I bounced between CNN, FNC, MSNBC, TLC and E! I did gasp when a TLC commentator referred to “the mother of the groom” in speaking of Camilla, continuing on to say she assumed the role in Diana’s unchosen absence. Really? Au contraire! Diana would surely spin in her grave at such an assertion, one most certainly unfounded and with which few if anyone would agree. As such, I’ll let it go.
A lovely springtime choice for HM
Needless to say, all the planning and preparation has come and gone. The Royal Wedding has happened, Prince William is a married man, and hopefully Prince Harry made it to his “survivor’s breakfast” in good company this morning. Now for the “Royal Recovery,” and perhaps the start of wagers on whether or not William’s first child will arrive as quickly as he himself did!
I’m happy the wedding occurred, I’m thrilled to have watched it, and I look forward to the next gathering of positively outrageous hats!
In the meantime, do a Google Image search of “Royal Wedding Hats” and enjoy! Here, I’ll do it for you!
A Thursday Century
Of course when it comes to motorcycling, there’s always a big difference between tooling around the city in stop-and-go traffic vs. enjoying some good speed out on the open road. As I’ve lately been all the former and none the latter, today’s small-group motorcycle excursion proved most enjoyable. Plus, given the ideal weather conditions, the scenery presented itself in top form as well.
Altogether, today’s route south on a practically car-free (fast) Hwy 280, west through the tree-lined mountains all the way to Pescadero State Beach, and north back to San Francisco on beautiful-yet-windy Hwy 1 covered right around 100 miles, for me door-to-door 103 to be exact. Suffice to say, this was by far the easiest “century” I’ve ever done, considering almost all my others have occurred with merely my leg power, sans motor. I need not mention yet again the obvious difference in calorie burning between pedal and motor, except to remind myself one more time of the paltry, though still hilly, 22 miles I bicycled yesterday.
From lunch in the forest at a relatively quiet Alice’s, to a stroll along the wave-front cliffs of Pescadero via some challenging canyon twists and turns , this turned out to be the perfect “Thursday century,” all the more in the absence of the typical weekend crowds and traffic. I can’t recall exactly the last time I saw my speedometer hit some of the numbers it did, though some of you might be relieved to know I remain a slower motorcyclist relatively speaking. Then, considering I’ve now throttled all of a mere 1,400 miles in the past six months, today’s 100 of them came as quite a welcome, however rare, delight.
With skies like these...
... the coast was a must!
It’s About Influence…
There she is??
I didn’t get mine. Did you get yours?
The guest list was unveiled over the weekend for this Friday’s Royal Wedding, and it looks like more than a few people did not receive their invitation. Not that this is so horrible; it simply leaves me to wonder if any of the eliminees are really griping about it. Personally, I think I’m fine with not going, and I hope you quickly get over it as well. Just chalk it up to that alleged “Camilla influence,” especially if you were ever rude to her. This will teach you!
It looks like our chances would have been better if we ever dated William or Kate. After all, both of them have invited at least some of their exes! Good for them, I say, as I’m pretty sure I’ll do the same for my own wedding. Herein lies some influence that just may have superseded the Duchess of Cornwall’s plan, unless of course all of them were always nice to her.
Meanwhile, if you desperately need to take your mind off all the final Royal Wedding preparations this week, perhaps you should sit down with a bag of jelly beans and see if you can find the bride, again! Your replica, however, will likely not yield the apparent profit of the “original.” Still, you might influence some type of “Royal Watchers” to open their wallets, so it would appear.
In any event, this is one rare and memorable week of Royal Melodrama, fueled by seemingly endless humor, hysteria and downright insanity, all held together by crisscrossing waves of “influence.” May it all continue. My attention is growing, dare I admit.
So Who Is He?
Dagny works, in more ways than one.
It ended powerfully but all too soon. I was left sitting on the edge of my seat, literally, eagerly awaiting the start of Part II. Whether or not we’ll ever see the second act, however, remains to be seen.
Despite testimony that could have easily tainted my outlook, I settled into my seat unswayed, holding onto my high expectations. In the end, on the whole, my expectations were mostly met. I’m pleased to state with confidence that “Atlas Shrugged Part I” is well worth the time, the cost, and most of all, the lingering mental workout.
One vital prerequisite exists, however, this being to at least peripherally know the story before entering the theater. After all, at hand is one multi-faceted, detailed and philosophical story that requires constant and unwavering attention. Blink and you might miss something. Allow your mind to wander for five seconds and you might pass over a line of paramount and later significance. As this would seem true for even those who know the story inside and out, I can’t imagine how a viewer could manage to follow blindly. Let’s just say I’m personally somewhere in between these two ends.
The visual effects of the film prove strong and impressive throughout. The miles upon miles of shiny new railroad track, fictitious of course, are stunning, leading into a bridge of true grandeur (and pivotal controversy) that I only wish existed in real life. While other effects are obviously computer generated, they remain at the very least passably believable.
The casting and the acting, while already the scorn of many a review, pass in my book, though not perfectly. I’m not exactly sure how I pictured Dagny Taggart as I read the novel, but suffice to say, her big screen debut works for me, despite a weak scene or two. Ellis Wyatt was flawlessly cast, as was Lillian Rearden, wife of Hank, who himself strongly grew on me from my initial point of skepticism. The only character I pictured entirely differently than he “emerged” is James Taggart, who simply seemed all too soft and youthful. But then, considering where he ends up, perhaps this is intentional.
Like railroad track itself, the film does an effective, and surprisingly succinct, job in rolling out a route to comprehending the overall plot of “Atlas Shrugged.” The story is built on two very powerful yet opposing belief systems, each with its respective merits and shortcomings. While I’m not here now to define and argue these details, I will say that I walked out of the theater with my mind heavily leaning in one direction over the other.
The year is 2016, and doom is upon just about everyone, save one steel manufacturer and the owners of one railroad for whom the steel is produced. It’s frightening to consider this fictional doom becoming reality. When we really arrive at 2016, a short five years from now, will gasoline be $37 a gallon, the Dow close below 4000, and railroads rule the land as the only affordable means of transportation? Moreover, will the federal government’s actions to turn the country’s economy around really be the solution? The latter is the question of all questions that “Atlas Shrugged” leaves us to ponder and somehow try to answer. This may be a bigger mystery than the most famous question of the story itself, at least more controversial and perhaps even unsolvable. In the meantime, bring on Part II!
It began powerfully. It ended equally if not more so. And I’m left feeling for Dagny. Perhaps I need speak no more, except to say I love the bracelet, and to repeat: So who is he? His identity, finally, is all the clearer.
A “Pre-View”
As it’s impossible to review a movie before actually watching it, my mind sits in preview mode. In anticipation of my very imminent big screen viewing of “Atlas Shrugged,” I’m finding it interesting, and rather educational, to read what various critics and other assorted individuals are saying about the newly released film. From liberal-leaning to more conservative-based feedback, countless colorful words are already swimming in cyberspace.
Ayn Rand’s infamous novel typically sparks deep thought and incites debate, as well it should. The long-awaited coming-to-life of her complex storyline and multi-layered characters, about which I’ve already once written, appears to be doing the same. Meanwhile, it seems because “Atlas Shrugged” is so married to political ideology, that many people may form a strong opinion of the film before, or without, seeing it. In other words, regardless of the movie’s production value, or lack thereof as the case may be, its ultimate success may be largely determined by political prejudice.
I’m hoping this is not too much the case, that enough people who know anything about Rand’s novel, like it or not, will watch “Atlas Shrugged” with an open mind. My own “pre-view” is that it’s deserving not of knee-jerk, politically charged condemnation, but of intellectual consideration and philosophical reflection. I’m confident we all can take something from the film, be it deep thought, debate, or more, wherever each of us happens to fall on the overall political spectrum. The story lives, whether or not the cinematic quality does.
And that’s my pre-viewing opinion.
Nothing Lasts Forever
Not that I’m disappointed or in any way affected. It’s certainly worth a mention, however, along with a moment of reflection on a long era coming to an end. This is to say, the world of daytime soap operas is soon to suffer severe and debilitating loss, if not meet its demise altogether.
ABC’s announcement yesterday that it’s cancelling two daytime programs on the air for more than forty years comes initially as a surprise, but then as less of a surprise the more I think about it. “All My Children” and “One Life to Live” have existed since 1970 and 1968, respectively, both MUCH older than I am after all!
Times are changing, of course, in broadcast as much as anywhere else. Then too, nothing lasts forever, not even Susan Lucci’s job, as she’ll soon be out of one for the first time in 41 years! Of course she already has something to say about this.
All I can say is that I can’t recall the last time I watched an episode of either show, as I’m not one to sit around watching daytime soaps. (I’ll sit around watching nighttime soaps anytime.) Nonetheless, I realize this will certainly be a painful loss for many faithful viewers, as they’ll now have to rely on “General Hospital” for their daytime fix of tacky melodrama.
Nothing lasts forever, except perhaps the memories of a chronically drama-stricken Erica Kane! A very different daytime programming world is clearly, and not-so-surprisingly, upon us.
On This Day
(Courtesy: NY Times) On April 14, 1865, President Lincoln was shot and mortally wounded by John Wilkes Booth while attending the comedy “Our American Cousin” at Ford’s Theater in Washington, D.C. He died the next day.
| 1808 | A law prohibiting the importation of slaves into the United States went into effect. |
|---|---|
| 1892 | The Ellis Island Immigrant Station in New York opened. |
| 1898 | New York City was consolidated into five buroughs. |
| 1901 | The Commonwealth of Australia was proclaimed. |
| 1919 | J.D. Salinger, author of “The Catcher in the Rye,” was born in New York City. |
| 1953 | Country singer Hank Williams Sr., 29, died of a drug and alcohol overdose. |
| 1958 | Treaties establishing the European Economic Community went into effect. |
| 1959 | Fidel Castro led Cuban revolutionaries to victory over Fulgencio Batista. |
| 1979 | The United States and China established diplomatic relations. |
| 1984 | AT&T was divested of its 22 Bell System companies under terms of an antitrust agreement. |
| 1990 | David Dinkins was sworn in as New York City’s first African-American mayor. |
| 1993 | Czechoslovakia peacefully split into two new countries, the Czech Republic and Slovakia. |
| 1994 | The North American Free Trade Agreement went into effect. |
| 1999 | The euro became the official currency of 11 European countries. |
“You Won’t Like It”
“Like other bitters, Campari has a strong aroma and a characteristic flavor which some consumers find overwhelming when consumed straight.” (wisegeek.com)
In other words, a lot of people can’t stand Campari. It’s most definitely an “acquired taste” as many say. And as I always say to anyone who’s about to try it for the first time: “You won’t like it.” Most times I stand correct.
Not that this is a bad thing. In fact, it’s rather good I say, in that there will always be more Campari for yours truly, while rarely if ever will anyone fight me to share the bottle. After all, this famous yet still somewhat mysterious Italian aperitif remains my very favorite and most often enjoyed alcoholic beverage.
So I’m a little late for the party, as Campari is now closer to its 151st birthday than its sesquicentennial. Nonetheless, it’s my true delight to have effortlessly obtained one of the above-pictured limited edition 150th anniversary bottles yesterday, the middle one to be exact. The inexplicable mystery remains, however, as to how such a welcome acquisition took me so many months, considering the bottles debuted last summer. All I will say on this is, as with most good things: Better late than never!
If you’re one of those inquisitive and daring types who’s never yet tried Campari, I recommend you do so first on ice with soda water. Then, you might opt for an orange juice mix. For a stronger drink, mix it with gin or vodka. Or for a lighter refreshment, pour a splash into some chilled (and inexpensive) white wine.
If all options have failed you and I stand correct once again, I’ll of course be more than happy to relieve you of your surely closer-to-full bottle of red Italian mystery.
Campari: Truly a pleasure I will never go long without. You’re always welcome to join me, even at risk of my having to share.
Did I mention this all has something to do with my “acquired” opinion?
Not The Number
“31” replaces yesterday’s question mark. As the number of miles cycled in the course of two hours on another sunny, albeit cooler and windier, afternoon, the mostly flat and fast jaunt to Tiberon proved itself time well spent. Included in the relatively brief spin was even a quick moment for some creative photography.
For all this recent talk of numbers, it’s not always about the number, at least as far as distance itself is concerned. There IS always cadence, ascent, descent, time and average speed to consider. After all, a hard and attacking 20 miles certainly beats a relaxed and steady 50 miles most any day.
Today came the number 25, in 90 minutes, as this rather unpredictable sequence continues. But again, it’s really not the number of miles that most matters. The number of minutes, for better or worse, usually has more to say.
And that’s my well-cycled opinion.
28, 30, 21, 68, ?
Sustained spring weather + Another birthday had = Cycling mileage accumulated. What better way to welcome in the new season and my new age, I say, than through several clustered days of some hard and fast pedaling!
28, 30, 21… followed by a painless jump to 68… all over the past few days… and now the sun shines on this young Wednesday, beckoning me to continue this quickly growing numerical sequence.
Sunday’s 68-mile loop north into Marin and around the Nicasio Reservoir was just what I needed, thankfully demonstrating that, in the face of short and/or nonexistent rides often replaced by motorcycle usage if not shelved for bad weather, in no way have I lost my overall cycling strength and stamina. Even the 10-15 additional pounds on my body from three years ago in my cycling prime have not seemed to slow me down all that much, except of course on a long, steep climb alongside someone 50 pounds my weight junior. As always, there’s vast room for performance improvement!
There’s also vast room for improvement to my iPhone’s GPS app, which recorded a mere 58 of Sunday’s 68 miles. Now mounted to my handlebar stem thanks to a birthday present, my iPhone sits right in front of me to (unreliably) provide all the ride information I might need.
At one point along Sunday’s route, on a woodsy, tree-covered bike path somewhere northwest of Fairfax, a warm and welcome flashback came to me of the Elroy-Sparta Trail, conjuring up happy memories of my earliest days of cycling, well more than a decade ago.
This unexpectedly reflective moment led me to contemplate that, shamefully enough, I’ve not renewed my USA Cycling license this year. Admittedly, for the costs and travel typically involved, races have been a very low priority, sadly enough. As I crank out some more miles today, however, no doubt I’ll once again see some glimpses of this situation sooner or later changing.
For now, it’s time to continue the sequence. We’ll see what comes next, based of course on what number my iPhone chooses to provide!
Almost For Reelz?
Katie as Jackie
The steadily maturing Katie Holmes has been transformed into a surprisingly convincing First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy, bearing a striking resemblance to the beautiful and beloved woman herself, at least in appearance.
This is all I can say right now on the much-hyped miniseries “The Kennedys.” I’ve not yet seen the first two-hour installment that premiered last night on the Reelz Channel, though apparently many of you have. Reelz is not easy to come by, considering I searched for it on two televisions with different providers, only to twice come up empty-handed.
“The Kennedys” would no doubt have been much easier to watch on The History Channel, where it was originally supposed to air before the real-life family balked over the series’ accuracy (or lack thereof), leading to the network supposedly feeling the pains of controversy and caving into the pressure that came with it.
After all that’s been portrayed over the years about the Kennedy family, through so many films and other artistic outlets, each of them certainly varying in accuracy from one to the next, I have to scratch my head and wonder this: How could the Kennedy family possibly object now? What exactly is so inflammatory about this particular production that its alleged offenses supersede all others that have come before? Now of course, amid all this controversy-themed chatter, I’m all the more eager to sit down and watch “The Kennedys” and answer my own question.
In any event, the recaps and reviews are quickly coming in. Some even appear to disagree with my simple nod to Ms. Holmes, which I may or may not have to later amend. Nonetheless, “The Kennedys” is reportedly setting ratings records, no doubt fueled in part by all the misplaced buzz that has preceded it. One way or another, I’ll soon be deciding for myself if Katie’s Jackie, along with the rest of the players, are or are not “almost for reelz.”
And that’s my yet-to-be-determined opinion.
“Famously American”
I’ve been meaning to mention yet another dining establishment that’s, well, worth a mention. “If you happen to find yourself anywhere near Westlake Village” is what I was about to say, until to my surprise at not already knowing, The Grill On The Alley is happy to welcome us to multiple locations.
A modern-day upscale American grill is how I myself might choose to describe it. It’s as if large seating areas, contemporary espresso-colored woodwork and elaborate bar displays have propelled my much-revered Musso’s or Tadich well into the 21st century, while maintaining a classic Chicago-style menu. This means, naturally, that the selections are vast and the portions more than ample. Simply put, you WILL be fed, and in style to boot!
The proper balance of modern and classic is always important. At The Grill, “modern” means the martini glasses are at least 10 ounces and filled to the top, versus those irksome 7-ounce glasses at the old-school establishments. Then, “classic” means The Grill offers a delicious calf’s liver entrée. Any guess at what I ordered?
The Grill On The Alley clearly succeeds in this balance. While looking forward to my next visit, I won’t have to return to Ventura County, as San Jose is much closer. Then of course, I’m confident that any location is just as “famously American” as the next.
And that’s my own balanced opinion.
On The Grill…
Of the several places around town that made my birthday yesterday quite memorable, my lunch spot definitely stands out. After three months of intent, I finally dined, quite pleasingly so, at the historic Tadich Grill.
I expected to be satisfied. My expectation was met, hands down. The menu, while interesting in its extensive selection, was unnecessary; I knew my meal selection well in advance. After all, Tadich’s version of my always favorite calf’s liver and onions awaited my comparison to the same dish at Little Joe’s. Both preparations are delicious and unique unto themselves, excusing me from declaring one clearly better than the other. Whereas Little Joe serves thinner multiple pieces in a rich sauce, Tadich presents one very large and thick steak off the grill, adorned by a topping of rich sautéed onions.
For any and all of you liver lovers, Tadich Grill is a must. If your palate calls for something else, your menu choices clearly abound. My dining companion, for one, seemed to enjoy his very attractive and ample halibut steak. A Negroni, overflowing in its old-school-sized glass, served as my chosen cocktail accompaniment, though naturally the full bar will accommodate your libation preference.
For its decades upon decades of history, Tadich reminds me very much of Hollywood’s Musso & Frank Grill. If you know and appreciate Musso’s, you’ll certainly discover some positive words of your own on Tadich. My next visit will come long before my next birthday, at which time I’ll expect to find even more good to share on the grill.
Tadich Grill menus are printed daily.
The 328 Club
Unsavory as it is to admit, I do share this day. I must wonder, however, how The New York Times happened to overlook Lady Gaga. In any case, here’s to all 328s, each and every one a true Aries, no doubt!
Current Birthdays
Actress Dianne Wiest turns 63 years old today.
Actress Julia Stiles turns 30 years old today.
| 1928 | Zbigniew Brzezinski, Former national security adviser, turns 83 |
|---|---|
| 1933 | Frank Murkowski, Former Alaska governor, senator, turns 78 |
| 1942 | Mike Newell, Director, turns 69 |
| 1944 | Ken Howard, Actor (“The White Shadow”), turns 67 |
| 1946 | Henry Paulson, Former secretary of the treasury, turns 65 |
| 1955 | Reba McEntire, Country singer, actress, turns 56 |
| 1966 | Salt, Rapper (Salt-N-Pepa), turns 45 |
| 1969 | Vince Vaughn, Actor, turns 42 |
| 1969 | Brett Ratner, Director (“Rush Hour” movies), turns 42 |
| 1977 | Annie Wersching, Actress (“24”), turns 34 |
Historic Birthdays
August Busch 3/28/1899 – 9/29/1989 American chairman of Anheuser-Busch, Inc.
| 70 | William Byrd 3/28/1674 – 8/26/1744 American planter, satirist, and diarist |
|---|---|
| 71 | Henry Rowe Schoolcraft 3/28/1793 – 12/10/1864 American explorer and ethnologist; discovered source of Mississippi River |
| 48 | St. John Neumann 3/28/1811 – 1/5/1860 Bohemian-born American bishop canonized the first American male saint in 1977 |
| 84 | Wade Hampton 3/28/1818 – 4/11/1902 American Confederate war hero of the Civil War |
| 69 | Aristide Briand 3/28/1862 – 3/7/1932 French statesman; served 11 times as premier |
| 77 | Paul Whiteman 3/28/1890 – 12/29/1967 American bandleader |
| 88 | Rudolf Serkin 3/28/1903 – 5/8/1991 Austrian-born American pianist and teacher |
| 76 | Onoe Shoroku II 3/28/1913 – 6/25/1989 Japanese actor and interpreter of kabuki plays |
| 67 | Freddie Bartholomew 3/28/1924 – 1/23/1992 Irish-born American child actor |
Her Last Laugh
It’s always good to maintain a sense of humor, especially posthumously. Apparently Elizabeth Taylor, laid to rest yesterday at Forest Lawn in Glendale, managed to pull off her last laugh from the grave.
Good for her, I say! Then, I wonder if she expected anyone to dare attempt to one-up her. In any case, the service was smaller than I would have expected. I’m sorry I missed it, but my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.
Thankfully we have this portrait to enjoy for the ages, which of course has already hung in the Abbey for the past few years. The same place at which I dined this past Monday, some 36 hours before her death, was one of Liz’s recent favorite hangouts.
Once the Abbey’s current construction is complete, the Grand Dame will again preside over her scores of martini-slinging visitors. No doubt she’ll be enjoying her own martinis in spirit, right along with us.
Less for More?
It’s what happens when I’m away from West Hollywood for an extended period: The Abbey remodels, expands, and changes its menu, again.
I don’t recall exactly the last time I visited the Abbey before my lunch yesterday. Even when I still lived in L.A., my visits grew rare. As such, it had been quite a while for me, as I arrived yesterday to multiple changes in progress.
The bathroom area expansion appears sensible and well designed. The new VIP “peninsulas” may be the preferred place to sit, if you don’t need much table space. I miss the island bar, though not nearly as much as I do the cozy lounging cabanas. The latter have been replaced by large tables and bench seating, sans curtains. It’s just not the same.
Also not the same is the menu, as it’s undergone yet another reinvention. While the BLT and burgers remain ample in portion, the famous heaping pile of nachos has been cut down in size by almost half, now with a higher price to boot. Don’t you just love getting less for more? Thankfully, the martinis have not been scaled back, while holding steady at a barely-palatable $12. I recommend the cucumber.
Perhaps I’ll pay another visit in a few months when I’m back in town again, at which time all the current rear bar construction will no doubt be complete. Then, perhaps, the Abbey will have finally grown to its limit, or not. I have a feeling the menu will look different, if not offering less for more.
And that’s my hungry and thirsty opinion.
“Equal Night”
I’d say I’m looking forward to less rain, warmer temperatures, and a return to regular cycling mileage. In the Bay Area, however, this may be wishful thinking. In any case, the vernal equinox has passed, and whether we can tell or not, spring is here. If nothing else, now following “equal night,” daylight will once again exceed nightfall.
“The March equinox is the movement when the sun crosses the true celestial equator – or the line in the sky above the earth’s equator – from south to north, around March 20 (or March 21) of each year. At that time, day and night are balanced to nearly 12 hours each all over the world and the earth’s axis of rotation is perpendicular to the line connecting the centers of the earth and the sun.” (timeanddate.com)
Erin go Bragh!
The “greenest” day of the year has come once again, and yours truly is very much here for it! Having survived the Ides, it’s now high time to break out my infamous green suit and celebrate every last Irish part of myself on this always auspicious St. Patrick’s Day!
San Francisco surprisingly held its St. Patrick’s Day parade last Saturday, as did Chicago, both far too early in my opinion. Why not have them on the real day, I ask. A friend told me that in SF’s financial district, many workers go to lunch on this day and never make it back to the office. A parade might just be a far more excusable justification for this than a pub. However, since no parade awaits our city’s Irish and/or Irish-spirited partygoers today, it looks like the Irish pubs will be the destination “an lae.” Then, as no green river flows in this vicinity, with a nod to Chicago’s wonderful Irish tradition, there’s likely not much “green” to see outdoors today anyway.
- St. Patrick’s Day Tradition in Chicago
If you’re in Chicago today, go see if there’s any green left in the river! If you’re in San Francisco, head here, or here, or here! If you’d rather sit home with your own homemade corned beef & cabbage and a bottle of Jameson, then be sure to freshen up on your SPD history, as plenty awaits.
This truly is my second favorite day of the year. Erin go Bragh!
Come, But Not Gone
The 15th of March is always an occasion on which to ponder a much-remembered event of ancient history, while perhaps exercising an element of caution throughout our own day!
In modern times, the term Ides of March is best known as the date that Julius Caesar was killed in 44 B.C. Julius Caesar was stabbed (23 times) to death, led by Marcus Junius Brutus, Gaius Cassius Longinus and 60 other conspirators.
On his way to the Theatre of Pompey (where he would be assassinated), Caesar saw a seer who had foretold that harm would come to him not later than the Ides of March. Caesar joked, “Well, the Ides of March have come”, to which the seer replied “Ay, they have come, but they are not gone.” This meeting is famously dramatized in William Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar, when Caesar is warned to “beware the Ides of March”. (Read more on Wikipedia.)
The Ides have come, but not gone. Go forth and beware!
7.52 Miles
Here’s a prime illustration of how much, or little, I’ve ridden my motorcycle over the past few months since moving to San Francisco:
Last November 1, on the one-year anniversary of my moto ownership, my odometer read 18,103. Yesterday, on our Homoto ride down Hwy 1 and through Woodside, 133 days later, my odometer passed 19,103. Simply put, it’s taken me nearly four and a half months to ride 1000 miles! This equates to a whopping 7.52 miles per day.
Of consistent yet short-range use of late.
It’s not that my big red two-wheeled machine goes neglected; I’m on it regularly. Except for a couple of weekend excursions and one round trip to Sacramento, however, the bulk of my moto use has been in and around San Francisco itself. While a motorcycle is an enjoyable and practical way to navigate the city, naturally the mileage does not accumulate. This is a far cry from last spring in Los Angeles, when I logged 3,000 miles in six weeks!
Nonetheless, yesterday’s approximately 100-mile journey was some good exercise, for my engine rather than my body, that is! It’s always enjoyable to get out on the scenic roads, at least until the rain starts coming down! Riding north on Hwy 280 in a downpour was the less-than-enjoyable part of the day. Fortunately, the hearty burger and fries at Sullivan’s gave me the energy to deal with it and get back to the city in one piece.
Now, with spring upon is, let’s see how long it takes to log the next 1000. Thanks the today’s ongoing rain and overall wetness, it looks like the next 7.52 will have to wait.
Ryan R. Sanderson 