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SUPER BOWL HANGOVER

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Already I'm suffering from a Super Bowl hangover, and the game's barely over.  How's that?  While I love football--college bowl games are tops, no BCS playoffs for me--the Super Bowl means the end of the season, the page turns, mid-year NBA and that's no party.  March Madness?  More sadness.  And on it goes.  Here's the cure; local SoCal sports values.  They start in February and go through April. By then, it's baseball season and all is well.  So where, you say, to hang?  What to do besides pool halls and fantasy baseball drafts?  Listen closely.  Coming soon, my best local sports values.  Hints?  No golf, no skiing, no running along the beach.  These are real events in real venues, places to go where you may not have been.  Stretch the dollar like the old days.  No bowling (although 'dat's a good one', Arnold sez).  Nah, no arm wrestling joints or skateboard parks.  These are sure winners, bang-f...
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TETON TIME TRAVEL

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Morning in the Snake River canyon. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but at some point I realized my life was following patterns; places I was living, things I’d do, people I’d meet, opportunities I followed. And so it went. Jackson Hole, Colorado, Southern California. Not everything went according to plan. There were heartbreaks, big ones, little ones, inconsequential ones and ones I made up to prevent myself from changing and compromising. More about that? No. Not now. In my mind I’d string together great thoughts about the reasons certain things were happening. My first radio job, getting into cable television, why I had to go to Colorado and the disasters that broke my spirit for a while. Getting down into Southern California thrust me into a culture of entertainment. Many of the cable networks had major offices there, and I did some work on live television producing and hosting shows featuring actors, athletes, politicians, and went on to co-host a show for the Lo...
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ZEN CONNECTION

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With a vibe I'd recalled from some Zen retreat, maybe a restaurant in Big Sur, it stands around the corner from where I live and buy gas and get Starbucks and I'd been by it for twenty years, wondering what it was, this white structure with the wide-terraced entrance.  Sandwiched between a mid-modern apartment complex and a day care center, it's a doctor's office, and I was in it today, referred from the medical center that had diagnosed my bumpy-head, red-blotched burning scalp and forehead as shingles, a nerve inflammation caused by a virus that crawls up nerves from it's dormant hiding place in the spinal column and fires up tingly sensations and more.  Not serious, unless it gets near the eyes.  Where mine is.  And that's where it gets interesting. Ophthalmologists, they work here.  They examine eyes and perform surgeries and help people, in this quiet sanctuary with a lure that I couldn't identify but could vaguely feel. When the doctor came in to check...
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