I’m not expecting to grow flowers in the desert

Today I rode Bear Creek with my friend Javier. We met at Morgan Stanley. We went through the Series 7 and sale training together. He’s over at Oppenheimer now and I’m one of the Undead. Bear Creek is an 18 mile course that has three ridiculous hills at the end… the three bears. Back in the 1970’s this course was used by the Olympic team for time trials. They had to do three laps. Last time we did this I couldn’t get the last two hills without a break. This time I got it but I’m pretty sure I will be unable to move tomorrow morning. If I could solve the problem where my arms go to sleep I’d be the happiest little cyclist, powerlifter, dog whisperer in the world. But I can’t so I just hope and pray when we’re going 35mph on the downhill that my numb fingers will remember where the brakes are if I need them. There’s another broker that we knew from Morgan Stanley that he still works with. He cycles too. Ron told Javier not to flutter his brakes. His reasoning: they ain’t no difference in crashing at 28mph or 35mph so enjoy the ride. Wheeee! Afterwards we stopped at Peet’s in Orinda. Yesterday I hit Peet’s in Clayton. Any weekend with two trips to Peet’s is a great weekend. We sat there had a cuppa and talked bicycles. I miss working with Javier, he’s one of the smartest people I know. Here’s a little talked about secret. The Series 7 has a 70 percent pass rate. Of the 70 percent most of the brokers score very close to 70%. Not the Wine Dog, I got a 92 on that bad boy. Yeah, smoked it. I’d be ridiculously proud of that, but Javier got a 96. And he speaks like five languages.

Photojournalism

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What’s great about this picture is what you don’t see. Noticeably absent are RITA’S RIBS. She still has ribs, they’re just properly covered by body fat. You can still see the last two, as you can with Beauregard, who thinks she smells funny.

When I got home from the ride, I didn’t have time for my post Bear Creek nap so I went to Yardbirds got some more compost and higher quality soil and finished the vegetable beds.

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While some of you have asked about the two graves in my back yard, (contrary to popular belief that is not the hole I dug for my career) they’re actually planters and they now have broccoli and tomato plants in them. Seeds that were planted include just about every kind of hot pepper under the sun, four kinds of squash, cantaloupe, watermelon, lettuce and cauliflower. The big mystery will be to see what makes it. I’d like it all to make it but I realize that’s really shooting pretty high. I sure hope the scotch bonnets make it.

Now, I spend a lot of time pontificating about real estate investing and making business decisions and not using emotion and all of that. I’m pretty good about it myself. However, the actual decision to offer on this house had nothing to do with anything except this rose bush.

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I know, I’m a jackass.

A bottle of red, a bottle of white, It all depends upon your appetite

Rita is still a bit of a thief. I was using mousetraps to keep her off of the kitchen counters, but I got tired of leaning over the counter to get something and getting a part of me that I would rather not have in a mouse trap, caught in the mouse traps. So I quit on that, but she still steals things occasionally. Yesterday she stole some garlic. I didn’t notice, since I haven’t done the spring cleaning yet. So this morning Beauregard noses around her bed a little bit and then takes something. It didn’t really register what it was, since I wasn’t missing the garlic yet. I go into the living room and he’s chewing on something. I tell him to “leave it” and being the obedient soul that he is, he swallowed it. I reached down his gullet to retrieve it, but it was too late. As I withdrew my hand I noticed the pungent smell of garlic. As far as I’m concerned that’s nothing to worry about and he can have it. The only problem is he now smells like an old Italian man.

A bottle of red

I love it when people come out here from other parts and say “I don’t like red wine”. I know they haven’t had good red wine and that’s why they don’t like it. I love it even more when I can teach them what I know and they walk away saying “I really do like that”. Yesterday was one of those days and I have three new converts to the Church of the Wine Dog. Hallelujah! Life is too short to drink bad wine.

Filthy mutts

I took the hell hounds down to the dog bath today. They were complete asses, so I had no remorse in dunking the water fearing Dobermans into the soup. The pet store has a store cat, Pepe. Pepe is kind of an ass and likes to torment visiting pooches. Well, Beauretard forgot every command he was ever taught once he gazed upon Pepe. He even forgot that he used to like Broderick, the cat I had when he came to live with us. He even forgot how sad he was when Broderick finally went to kitty heaven. He wanted to send Pepe to kitty heaven at that exact moment in time. Once I jerked them both out of their dog suits, they settled a little and I threw them in the tubs. That settled down the funny business a lot. They are now clean, as are the slate floors, the bedding, all of the dusted furniture, the laundry and the carpets that have been vacuumed. I would say that I’m going to clean my office tomorrow, but I’m riding Bear Creek with my friend Javier. It’s a brutal 18 mile route (check out the elevation changes) and I usually spend the rest of the day asleep on the couch.

And a little help for my friend

Judi, one of our frequent flyer gentle readers and a friend of mine is running the Flying Pig marathon in Cincinnati to raise money for the North Coast Doberman Rescue. Anyone that can, let’s give Judi a little help from the PBE peanut gallery. Here’s the link. The work they did with Gen amazes me. Any little bit will help the rescue. Muchas gracias from the Wine Dog.

Burn bad ganja pon him little rowing boat

That’ll get me a ton of hits that really don’t matter. I’m off today and I couldn’t be happier. I need a couple of days to do some spring cleaning around the farm. I’m a lousy housekeeper and I really miss Annie, and her family who used to clean my house and love my dogs. If this bullshit ever turns around, she will be the first luxury added back in. You see, I’m still coughing and I’m sure it’s because I can’t ever catch up around here. So tomorrow, all day is spring cleaning. Today, however is drinking. I’m heading off to the gym today to do the crossfit Workout of the Day. After breakfast I’m going out on a bike ride and then at 11 I’m meeting Sonofabun and some of the Usual Suspects to take some Sunshine State visitors on a wine tour. They are very lucky Sunshine State visitors. Most don’t get the Wine Dog’s tailored tour. A limo has been hired, I emailed the route to the driver yesterday and we’re good to go. If we make them all, the route is:

That ought be a decent wine day. Sonofabun is putting together a “picnic lunch” of cheese and breads and fruit for the ride up so we don’t waste any valuable drinking time eating lunch. (For those of you involved in the software discussion yesterday, Rombauer will be here today because they always check their incoming links…Hi guys! See you around 1:30 today!)

Driving Miss Daisy

I took Miss Daisy shopping last night so I could have two uninterrupted days of getting this place in shape. She wanted to go to Nob Hill, which I’ll never understand, I get killed there on their prices, but whatever, it’s not my money. HOWEVER, they have opened a brand spanking new BevMo in the same shopping center. (Very nice and knowledgeable staff in there, two thumbs up to the guys.) I knew through the Coconut Telegraph that they were having a nickel sale and I was out of everyday drinking wine and had to crack a $32 Keenan the other night because there wasn’t anything cheaper in the cellar. So last night I stocked up. (note to dolphyngyrl, I almost said “stalked”) On the nickel sale, four bottles of Bordeaux. Two Argentinean Malbecs and two Spanish Syrahs. Total expenditure: $76. Look for reports on those later in the week.

Lovely Rita

Rita went to the vet last night because I realized when I was giving Beauregard his heartworm medication that I hadn’t gotten Rita tested and she wasn’t on it. Referring back to our earlier creek, mosquito hawk, frog discussion, I felt I needed it here, so she got tested last night. Additionally, they weighed her. She is looking much better, she weighed in at 53.7 pounds! I am so pleased with myself. I dropped off the satin balls the beginning of this week. I’m going to finish up the batch of food my Dad made by splitting the packs and tapering them off and hopefully she’ll end up 55-56 pounds when I’m done. The by-product of this is that she is still and ridiculously strong as she was, now she had muscle mass to back it up. She’s a little tank right now. A lean mean squirrel killing machine.

Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival

Or the other song line could have been:

Sometimes you’re the windshield and sometimes you’re the bug

On the other hand, I got a lot done. Sometimes I think Escrow offices are petrie dishes for psychoanalysts. Or maybe just psychos. At the end of the day, it all came out pretty nicely, with the noted exception of an impending departure, which makes me sad. On a better note, the following from the comments section, our very own PBE peanut gallery:

Major news coming our about Donna Hedegard and her pending lawsuit against Mercury and Harritt plus her new job. The good people do prevail !

I’m going to be the Perez Hilton of the title business for a moment. This makes us very happy. (See, gotta love that third person shit) Donna’s one of the good guys and it’s about time she caught a break.

The Wine Dog is Drinking

I almost feel like leaving it at that. Ha! A Keenan 2005 Zinfandel. Jammin’, I hope you like jammin’ too. I concur with his notes. Normally, I’ll pick up something else, but…okay a little leather, but otherwise they’re right on.

The finished wine shows intense black cherry and raspberry fruit in the nose, and hints of black pepper and vanilla add complexity.

Yeah, it’s like that.

This week’s pet peeve

Automatic signature blocks. If it says:

Wine Dog
Master of Disaster
www.pinkbunnyears.com

That’s a good sig line. Please, I beg of you, don’t add “regards” or “best regards” or “with regards” on every freaking message. What are you Rockefeller? Carnegie? Thurston Howell III? Give it a rest. My sig reads just like above. The thing I add most is “Thank you”. Imagine that? I suppose if I were the sincerely type I could add that. Or even a “Very Truly yours” if I gave a crap about anyone but myself. But not on every message to every person. Show some respect for the people you write and add a personalized closing. Thank you.

And the week’s not complete without a top ten

These are not most used, well some of them are, they are really most amusing.

  1. John Harritt (I’ll never stop laughing at that one)
  2. Patty Hauptman (google juice baby!)
  3. kill the pink bunny (WTF?)
  4. self absorbed bitch (awe, you shouldn’t have)
  5. head cold while powerlifting training (there’s something I know about)
  6. pinkbunnyears.com
  7. Patrick Stone (Poor guy, that didn’t take long)
  8. Ajicito peppers (I really need to figure out what they really are)
  9. when bunnies have broken ribs (ouch)
  10. pink ass (that’s me)

Crossfit

Today was a day off, but I missed class last night and woke up at 4:30 so I went to the gym. I did this workout, and some kettlebell swings and some cardio. Tomorrow’s a regular powerlifting workout. Why did I miss class you ask? I left the house planning on going. I had to stop and pick up a stamp to mail my IRS return because it weighed a freaking ton and one stamp wouldn’t do it. I had a total of two stamps, which should have done it for two envelopes, but I needed more postage for the IRS return. The Concord Post Office used to have several stamp machines. They have all been removed in lieu of a razz matazz automated piece of crap. I suspect it is made by the same rat bastards that make the voting machines. It broke down upon my arrival. When the worlds slowest postal employee started to fix it methodically, I chose the line that wrapped around the building for the live people instead. An hour and ten minutes later I finally arrive at the counter where she informs me that my return is so thick that it’s a parcel and I have to pay extra. Oh why the Hell not, you already took every last penny I could possibly hope for and then some, take another .90 cents. Please, so I can get back in my car that’s filled with gas at $3.89 a gallon and drive back home because I just missed class. Thanks. Really, best regards.

Miss Liberty depicts her qualms and grins


If ever there was a question about how good the Wine Dog is, today would erase all doubt. I’m working on a fractional interest condo that’s being reassembled. Kind of like a Humpty Dumpty condo. It actually inspired the attorney I was working with to use the term “bifurcation” in a sentence on Friday around 4pm. At that point I asked for her office address so I could come down and slap her for using a word like that on a Friday afternoon. I am a dying breed, withering on the vine of corporate America. Why? Funny you should ask.

Bloodletting at the Bloodless Empire

First, the fact that Radical scooped me this morning is just sautéed in wrong sauce. Second, kudo’s to my Right Coast colleague for this and this. I had heard the news, but when you get an email from Parker Kennedy, you really need to wait until it shows up in the press before you go to print, or they want to fire you for felonious stupidity. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it) Radical got there first today and the Wine Dog raises a glass to you. Still, it’s all very interesting. Patrick Stone might be the most interesting of all. The deposed leader from the Evil Empire via Metrocities Mortgage, America’s Best Relationship Lender, who knew? I hear he’s the guy responsible for the software system that didn’t work. I don’t know what we need him for, we already have a software system that doesn’t work. Forget About Service Today. I will say, I love having a guy from the Vegas casino business on the board. I can only hope the new servers at the Bloodless Empire’s board meetings are dressed like this:

folies_bergere69_17_r.jpgOh why the hell not?

Ted’s Excellent Title Insurance Adventure.

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The thing about Jan Alpert is that she started in the title business and came up through the ranks. She did 34 or so years with that company and you could tell she cared about the title business. She had some integrity when it came to what we do for a living. NASCAR Teddy? Not so much. He came up through Hilb Rogal & Hobbs. That ain’t title insurance kids. Check out the stock chart. That’s the kind of slope Ted likes. A most excellent adventure. That would be why the Wine Dog is hearing that they’re getting ready to spin off or “rebrand” everything in Southern California to either Lawyers or Southland. That’s why Ted’s Excellent India Adventure cost the Bloodless Empire so much money. Why train employees when you can steal Bloodless employees? That’s why Richmond thinks we’re a bunch of incompetents (their word, not mine) out here in the Golden State. Uh, Ted, it’s the other way around. Party on Bill, party on Ted.

There’s a surcharge for those bags

I would have terrible bags under my eyes at this point even if I hadn’t been bitten on the eye by a mosquito. Now, I’d like to complain about the eco system. I’ve got a creek behind the Farm that’s loaded, LOADED with frogs. They are a frog chorus at night. They are apparently out numbered. So I decided to let the mosquito hawks in to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Low and behold, mosquito hawks don’t kill mosquitoes. They are the lazy bastards of the insect world. They really don’t do a damned thing. Unfortunately, I didn’t know this, so I was letting them in by the droves. They’re also stupid, essentially flying dumb shits.

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They’re kind of like the gremlins. They stay up too late drinking coffee and doing stupid shit.

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Like dive bombing the open flame on the stove. That didn’t work out too good for that one. Or hanging by one leg from a light. That didn’t work out very well for him either. Or dive bombing the dogs. Gulp. So now one eye is half swollen shut with a mosquito bite, I’ve got these weird stupid bugs all through out the house and the frogs have the night off.

And finally, here‘s something that pisses me off so much that I’m going to end here.

And now for something completely different

Another jam, another day, another hair is turning grey

I’ve been formulating a pet peeves post in my head. This morning trying to get into the Trader Joe’s creamer sent me over the roof. I’m not young, but I’m strong and healthy. If I can’t get the freaking foil thing off of the creamer, what in the name of sam hell makes these corporate nitwits think that average people can get into their products? I finally had to tear it off with my teeth. My dentist would not be to happy to know that is the only way I can get into the damned creamer. My Kirkland ibuprofen is childproof, and Wine Dog proof. I have to cut my way into the goddamn thing every time I open a new one. Opening a new thing of salad greens is always an adventure. Does the thing tear completely in half dumping the greens out on the floor or does it just stretch and stretch and never allow me in until the greens are all bruised from me fighting to get into it? Costco chicken breasts come in bags of 8 or 9 million. They have these handy little zip lock things. They zip lock so tightly that I have to chew my way back into the bag every time I want another one. How about those damned plastic clamshells that electronics come in? They’re heat sealed around the outside and sometimes more than that. Normal scissors won’t penetrate the thick seals. How the hell do they think you’re going to get your new widget out of the package without breaking it? What are these guys thinking who put this stuff together?

Down on the Farm

The Wine Dog’s beat and there isn’t any let up until next Friday. This morning the alarm went off, because I’m working today too, and I couldn’t do it. Rita didn’t get the memo. She was jumping around and like every morning, she managed to land her big fat paw on my ACL. It consistently wakes me up…in a rage. This morning, I pushed the snooze, got up, fed them, opened the back door and went back to bed. Beau always eats and goes back to bed. He’s a lazy bastard. I hit the snooze a time or two and then realized that Rita was back curled up next to me. Sleeping with me was more interesting to her this morning than torturing the poor woodpile mice. That made me happy. Rita is gaining weight. Her ribs are not pronounced any more and her hips are filling out. I stop by the vet every other Thursday night and put her on the scale, so there’ll be a report on Thursday. I know she’s up three pounds, it could be more by now.

Yesterday was a cardio day, so I did a couple of hybrid crossfit workouts with the cardio. One you had to do one pull up in the first minute, then two in the second, three in the third, etc. to failure. I can’t do any pull ups, so I got on the Gravitron and did as many as I could, then waited a minute and maxxed out again, then waited a minute until finally (eight sets later) I could only do one. Then I also added in this workout from last week. Maybe that’s why I can’t get out of bed this morning. Or maybe it was that the Wine Dog was drinking Clos Pegase 2003 Mitsuko’s Merlot. It’s not like the stuff from Sideways. It’s full bodied, blackberries, cherries, plums and a little floral on the nose. It’s a great Merlot in the Bordeaux style. And they are one of my favorite wineries.

I’m gonna get two days for the price of one

When I first got Beauregard he was just a riot.  The things that went through his dog brain just amazed me.  I thought Xica was creative, Beau was the guy at the party with the lampshade on his head, because nobody does that old joke any more.  He was the dude crushing beer cans on his forehead and opening the bottles with his teeth.  Chicks dug him.  That’s my guy.  Xica actually climbed up ONTO a picnic table to eat the spread one time.  Beau never got a chance at that trick but he had enough of his own.  Rita is following bravely in his footsteps.  I watched her come into the house and leap onto the couch last night.  Leap.  From across the room leap, circle mid air and lay down.  She inhales her supper.  She doesn’t give kisses, she bowls you over and hugs you.  She bounds through the yard keeping us safe from squirrels, rats and mice.  Not that she’s caught a one, but we’re safe with her on patrol.  I used to have a couple of cats who crapped in the back yard.  No more.  Rita has secured the perimeter.  This dog takes life in great big bites and swallows it whole.  Her approach is so unabashedly all out.  That dog leaves nothing on the table at the end of the day.  I may follow in her footsteps.

On the Coconut Telegraph

American Title is open in Alameda County, Coco County is right behind them, so sayeth those who whisper into our pinkbunnyears.  Things could get very interesting very fast.  Good news -John Harritt is not involved in this project.  God knows what he’s calling around about; maybe he’s looking for the directions out of the PBE doghouse?  Oh Johnny, it’s like finding your way out of Bill Foley’s dog house.  Google his name…I dare you.  Who taught that damned Wine Dog how to use search engine optimizers?  Bad Wine Dog.

Today I did my regular work out and then added a little crossfit at the end.  I could only do three sets of the five, mostly because I’d already done a complete powerlifting workout.  Cross fit was:

1-1-1-1-1 shoulder press

3-3-3-3-3 push press

5-5-5-5-5 push jerk

I got through three cycles and my shoulder was done.  How done?  I remembered to ice today done.  Tonight I’m running the dogs three miles, or walking and running and jogging and dragging my ass…

You’ll let nobody wait outside your door

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See how safely the SFPeeDee rides?

About today’s festivities… PSYCH! Here’s the English version. Conveniently displayed next to the two headed baby. And for all of your that think American media is slanted, here’s a reality check. Because we all know the Dalai Lama is such a lying sack of shit. Hell, just last night he was out in Oaktown with Desmond Tutu hanging with the bitches. Think there’s a disconnect? I went over to the Embarcadero at lunch. I signed up for Chris Daly’s text alerts today. I got about 20 of them. Too bad they missed the boat…and then some. SFGATE was reporting that they were going to skip the Embarcadero completely and take the Police boat. So I hoofed it over to the Ferry Building. While protesters are facing off on the Embarcadero, I’m out on the wharf hoping to catch the Police boat. CBS radio reported that the cops had jet skis in the water and I thought I was good as gold. You see, as I was walking out to the end of the wharf, there were a few people walking out there too, but then the tv news guys came out there and I thought I’d nailed it. No such luck. All of the sudden the helicopters disappeared and the report came in; the torch was heading over to Van Ness. Game over. Go back to work Wine Dog. You lose.

The whole scenario is pretty interesting to me. On one hand you have 80 people who either paid their way in, wrote their way in or were picked for some reason to be a runner with the torch. Pretty much an honor in my book. Then you have the Chinese government who are still the regime they have always been, they just figured out how to take Western money and benefit from it. Aren’t they the clever ones? Then you have Tibet and Burma and Darfur and every one else who’s been shat upon by the Chinese regime. Then you have a slew of families who braved all the bullcrap so that their kids might catch a glimpse of the Olympic torch. Take the politics out of it and you have 80 people who had a very interesting day running the Olympic torch, two by two up Van Ness and across the Marina. And thousands who got faked out by the City of San Francisco. Amongst all the protesters were people who actually just wanted to see the torch, because before all the bullshit started, people still like the Olympics and the pageantry and all that crap. Those guys were out there too and they left with nothing more than a freak show. All the money that was spent here, and while it is a matter of civic and National pride to have been selected, I think at the end of the day, Newsom should have said “You know what? Keep it”.

Sometimes, it’s great to be me

I was falling asleep in class last night, which really sucked. The instructor singled me out and told everyone how I was the Senior Commercial Title Officer for the Bloodless Empire and the links that she was a little incredulous about last week were as good as gold. Of course they were.  Then she said that when we started talking about preliminary title reports I was going to be quite useful. They’re Preliminary Reports the word “Title” was dropped in the 80’s. You know, when we used to actually do the job they pay us to do?  But I didn’t correct that just then.  I was going to do yesterday’s crossfit workout this morning but when I got home from class last night, the sleepiness had passed and it was 11pm before I hit it. That makes 4:30am very early in the morning. So I’ll give it another run tomorrow morning when I haven’t been up so late…I hope.

Rita’s world

Monday night I went out in the yard and there was a broken beer bottle at the end of the patio. I live alone and currently have few visitors…it’s kind of still a construction zone here. I didn’t break the beer bottle so that leaves a dog. It had been next to the barbecue about seven feet away where it had been left several months ago. Now it was seven feet away from where it was, and it was broken, and much of it was missing. I start freaking out that Rita has decided for whatever reason to eat glass. Sonofabun luckily called just then and suggested I check her mouth for cuts. Logically, if she was eating glass she should have cut her mouth. It makes sense.   Don’t ask me why Sonofabun was making sense. No cuts. I feel a little better, but I still can’t explain what I’m seeing. I check Beau’s mouth too, no cuts on him either. Sonofabun advises that they’ll be sick soon if someone ate it. I mean, really, what am I going to do?  Take two dogs in and have them cut open searching for a potentially phantom piece of glass?  So for two days I’ve been on strict poop patrol and I can advise that things are coming out fine here at the Farm.

Speaking of which, I’m filling in the raised beds a little at a time because my back doesn’t like shoveling dirt. I should have them filled in and ready to plant by the weekend. Good thing, on the wages I get from the Bloodless Empire, I’m going to have to grow my own food…and probably annoy my neighbors with chickens.

I spent some time in the Mudville Nine

Opening day. It used to be one of my most favorite days. It seems like the Giants always get Atlanta…and Greg Maddux. Back in the day at the ‘Stick I used to get tickets in Section 18. It was over the opposing pitching bullpen. I tortured them. They heard me holler about everything including their Momma. I remember one year when Atlanta was in their heyday and Maddux was unstoppable. I started in on him. Greg! It’s not going to go so well tonight. Feign injury and hit the showers early. You don’t want your ERA to take a beating tonight! All the stars aligned that night and the Giants beat the snot out of the Braves 9-1. Those days are gone. Maddux is still a stalwart now in San Diego, and the Giants? They’re reminiscent of the 1985 team. Bloody freaking terrible. These guys stink. Bad. Worse than the office refrigerator. Stinko. I’m looking for Atlee Hammaker and Disaster LeMaster to come strolling out on the field at any moment. Or who can forget Bud Black showing up with his 33 year old rag arm, throwing nothing but meatpies for a 14-16 season? All this while our arch enemies were sporting Bob Welch, Fernando Valenzuela, Rick Honeycutt, some guy named Orel and my favorite crackhead Steve Howe. Of course this was when Steve Sax couldn’t make that simple throw to first. All the fans above the first base dugout had bullseyes for him. Ah, baseball. Unfortunately, it’s déjà vu all over again at AT&T.

The by-product of baseball season is the free for all on BARF. Baseball fans don’t know what to do. They stand on the yellow strip, which means the trains won’t come into the station, they stand on the escalators (kind of wish they were broken yesterday) and they mull around the doors even though there’s a line of commuters already queued up. I rode it back to Powell before I got on yesterday. It was just easier.

What is the matter with people?

I understand that China has a terrible human rights record. I understand the issue with Tibet. I don’t necessarily understand why the Olympics were awarded to China in the first place, but they were. It’s okay to protest that in my book too. Spraying a fire extinguisher at a wheelchair bound athlete carrying the torch? Not okay.

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Climbing the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge? Thanks for not doing that during the commute.

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In 1980 when we boycotted the Olympics, I thought that was wrong. Wrong for the athletes who only get a chance at this every four years. By 1984, there were athletes who were past their prime and never got an opportunity again to win an Olympic medal or even participate in the games. I don’t agree with that. It should be the one time when all bets are off, all politics are laid aside and let the games begin. It’s about sport. You want to protest outside? Knock yourself out. But for the sake of the athletes who have worked harder than most people can even comprehend for that one week of their lives, let them play.