ON HOUSE OF CARDS

I like House of Cards. It's like the 21st century version of I Claudius. Yes, I know that many people won't remember that show, one because it was British and two, because it happened almost 40 years ago. I used to watch it in Spain, in our black and white "Inter" television. Every Sunday evening I would seat with anticipation on our tiny living room's coach with my good grandma while my parents were out getting their weekly fix of working class social life.

That's almost the same anticipation I feel now when I sit with my buddies every night to watch it. The ingenuity and ability for conspiracy, double-crossing, Machiavellian malevolence, fake and allegedly real (sporadic) compassion the Underwoods show, is sometimes exhilarating, often mesmerizing and always captivating. And Stamper (Frankie's lackey) ranks up there in the creep scale. Same as the FBI guy (Stamper's henchman). I hope the writers don't do any mescal and go Prison Breakish on us. Keep it wacky, but keep it real. 

OLYMPICS in NBC PRIME TIME

The Games of the whatever Winter Olympiad are over. Nice.

Full disclosure: I have only watched the Prime Time coverage on NBC with Bob Costas, so I don't know how the rest of the coverage has been. 

But what I have indeed seen has been closer to a long supercute glossymercial than an international tournament sports coverage. I can't say that I didn't enjoy the brief moments of sports interspersed into the commercial airtime, but I was a little disappointed to see that 180 countries had been disqualified from Sochi after the first couple of days, leaving a field of only the US, Russia, The Netherlands, South Korea and, I think, Germany. Wait... No, I think an Italian ice skater stuck around too. Things are niftier and cleaner when it's only the US and somebody else, especially if the US wins or gets a medal. Or, if they fully self-destroy and then THAT becomes news fodder (e. g. Team USA's  speed skating debacle or Shaun White's descent into, ohmigod, 4th place hell!). For the record, before the games I had no idea of who White is or that the speed skaters were supposed to dominate. Costas and Co. made sure I got it right. Which is good. But using the broadcast as a glorified home team highlight show or a gossipy intrusion into our heroes' demise is subpar journalism. Also, I believe, it contributes to the distorted view many Americans have of the country's place in the world, neglecting the sacrifices made by many non-medal US athletes and other nations' accomplishments. And this not only applies to sports

For example when BobCos interviewed the IOC President, Thomas Bach, a German, Costas confronted Bach on the poor human rights record of Russia and the widely-assumed idea that these were "Putin's games". Diplomatically, Bach reminded him that it was better not do delve too much on the different countries' HR records or their allegiances to this or that regime (in reference, I suppose, to criticism of Russia's support to Syria, but also sending a subtle message that the US has its share of troubled relationships with human rights and dubious regimes). While I agree on the relevance of Costas' question, it's necessary to also look at ourselves as a country without adopting too high a righteous perch, since others can arguably lob similar criticisms to us. 

This is what happens when we only get to see the goodies but not the full, rich and not always sunny picture. It was poignant to see Noelle Pikus-Pace, who won silver in skeleton being interviewed and profusely recognized–and deservedly so–while a heart-broken Katie Uhlander, who came in 4th in the same event, received just a brief moment on TV after the race and faded into NBC oblivion after that. We can do better. *

*And no, getting to see the Jamaican two-man bobsleigh does not qualify for ample and balanced coverage.  

SURREALISMIC

This is what happens after some time in LA!

Hanging with a friend over Champions League soccer the other day we came upon the topic of surrealism. Los Angeles surrealism to be specific. Having lived in both US coasts, in between, South America and Europe I believe am qualified to tread the topic. The fact that I come from Spain, and the Basque Country at that, adds an extra layer of refinement to the understanding of surrealism Western-style. (As with multiple universes, I also think surrealism takes different shades outside our crazed up civilization.)

That said, Los Angeles tops the scale – banana or not – in my radar. It was funny my American friend brought it up: when my friends in Spain ask me about LA I find it difficult to explain anything logically without sounding moralistic, victimistic or hyperbolic. Granted, I may be all of the above at times – you see, that's part of the LA survival kit – but there is more to that. After all, how many people can boast of having been almost run over by a bus driver trying to steal your bike? Or been waived sayonara by another one while bypassing your stop? Or witnessing a maddening helicopter pow-wow in the sky directly above your garden while the hummingbird and the bees get to work on your beautifully blossoming wild flowers? And what about the one-block, virtual Iron Curtain between Yuppy Row and Skid Row in Downtown LA? Wanna travel from Kansas to Bangui, Dorothy? Just take a right-hand turn on Main Street after 10 p.m., sweetie. Yo Buñuel, something for you here?

Anyway, my friend's bringing it up and a couple of inexplicable things in my personal path reminded me of this city's surrealism. But enough; today I am opting to have some fun and remain on the real side: I am going to Disneyland.

HOLLY PAJAMERS

Lately I've been having a lot of time on my hands...so I came to thinking: What's up with those peeps that walk into Starbucks or The Coffee Bean and whatever in their pajamas? OK, I suppose valley girls think they look cool, hip and FBook rad. But growing up in the Basque Country of Spain I always assimilated people wearing pajamas and slippers on the street with some degree of personal hygiene challenges. But now I am beginning to understand that may just be an old European misconception. Hollywood being the epitome of fashion – how about them deer skin, half-calf boots and alpaca beanies in June? – I am beginning to internalize the fact that there are some fashionista mores that I fail to grasp. It may also be the age gap: I guess I missed out on the pajamas-are-cool-to-wear-out revolution. But I think I am catching on to the next one: sweat pants rolled up to the knees, combo flip-flops and pillow hair. Add a tobacco-cured grave voice and an important iPhone conversation with your agent/mechanic working on your brand new Mustang that works like a "f.cking trampoline" and you got a winner. I am gonna work on it. I just saw a rummage sale around the corner and they have a full rack of sweat pants. Sweet!

FUTBOL IN LOS ANGELES

Los Angeles is lately showing me a fun, peaceful face – knock on wood. Not only had I the chance to enjoy a great little place in Manzanita where I reconnected with my bee friends, the squirrel and a couple of chirpy hummingbirds – not to mention the skunk with a cat brain that wanted me to pet her... Between work and lack of hiking partners my weekend desert forays had become more sporadic and I was getting bored: coffee and newspaper was great in the morning, but that only got me covered for a couple hours. And spending Sunday watching TV was out of the question: this is LA, not Buffalo.

So I started to take walks around the neighborhood. I got to know every kook and crevice on the sidewalks; some residents even said hi as we crossed–usually the ones not walking a dog: interesting question for a psycho-sociologist.

One day I heard people yelling from the soccer field across the street and went over to check. There was a game going, people around my age, perhaps a little younger. I hadn't played soccer in a long while – I think it was New Jersey last year, with Pete – but I am always game to kick a few balls. I asked a guy with a D'Artagnan moustache who went by the name of Ethan if I could join them some time. He told me they were practicing for a parents vs parents school game in February (this was sometime in December I think), but that it was cool to join them for practice on Sundays. 

I was asked a few times what grade my kid was on and I had to explain that I am childless but that "I just like soccer and live across the street." I got a couple of confused looks but most people were very welcoming (even the skeptics were once they got over the thing about not being a parent). So I rediscovered playing football. Too bad my progression and getting into playing shape were cut short by a pulled hamstring (my career was almost derailed by an involuntary taekwondo kick from a goalie in a divided ball play – that ended in goal by the way). But it's been a lot of fun. And the best, as almost always in sports, comes not from the practice itself but from the people we play with. The Franklin parents have been great to play with, no-pressure and really open to learning and having fun. The coach, a no-nonsense Irishman with an old school methodology really leaves his (funny) mark. The parents vs parents took place on February 8 and the Franklin group I play with (Foxes) vanquished the Ivanhoe team (Dragons) 3-0 in a great and fun match. I couldn't play (both due to injury and ineligibility) but I did help to coach the goalkeepers, mostly Koko, a cool Armenian dude. I loved it. I had never actually done any "formal" coaching but I enjoyed it tremendously. I may use that as blueprint for future coaching/teaching. Et pourquoi pas? 

Here are a couple of pictures from the post-game celebration. Nice times. Go Foxes.

CHANGING EYES

Perspective. Look. Angle. Glasses. Funny how changes in them will affect our perception of something. We can look at the wheel, or at the spokes, even at the spaces between them. And we see something different depending on our focus. We can look at a woman with long blond hair and tight jeans or we can look at her defensive pose, in open contradiction with her fake smile. We can look at a city through the asphalt, the cement, the noise and the filth, or we can see the trees, the plants, the bushes, the colorful flowers bursting through the cracks on cement walls and decrepit narrow hill streets. We can look at the cold outside in the streets, or we can focus on the warmth of our dreams, our books inside. We can dread the grey clouds or we can smile at the blue chunks opening through.

Times are changing here. I will be gone from Manzanita in a couple of days. Sadly so. I love this place. Pete Seeger died yesterday, the great singer-warrior for causes. Thank you Mr. Seeger. I shall overcome too, for this is also my land.

NOTES FROM "LA MADRIGUERA"

A madriguera is a den, a cave, a hideout or it could be something like a nest, not necessarily for birds, a cuddling place where mammals, take a bear, go to hibernate.

And here is where I am, in my madriguera. Not for long, since I am moving out due to the end of my sublease and the return of my sublessor. I will miss this place, especially moments like this one, when I can look outside the crappy old, glassed-door and see the little hummingbird batting its wings, or the sun buttering up the side of the house. But c'est la vie. I will find another cool Madriguera. Promise.

Other than that, I am just loving it, and I don't need a big mac for that. Quite the contrary. There is a story brewing and it's shaping up pretty good. Things would be close to platinum grade if my neighbor conducted his phone business inside the house instead of hogging the common driveway's air space with his honky-tonk conversations. But he is who he is. Live and let live. Listen and let listen...or whatever. He's got a cool dog and he himself (neighbor, not dog) is a decent fellow, aside from his driveway over-phoning. So I'll move forward and up, and let it go.

I watched "Prisoners" the other night, with Gyllenhaal and Jackman. Great movie. One of the best picture I've seen all season, perhaps with 12 Years a Slave. Great script, characters, cinematography... Right on. The Oscars will go to Gravity (are they really making enough money to pay for all the marketing campaign? Geez) and 12 Years. Wolf will get something too (DiCap is excellent and so is Hill). I hope American Hustle doesn't run with it; it was good but not great. I know J. Lawrence is America's current darling but her NJ neglected-bitch wife performance is not convincing to me. Bale is awesome though. His does. I could say more about more, but I won't. Oh wait: I'll say that All is Lost is an excellent film and Redford is very good. It won't get Awards because the geezers and geezerettes that vote in this thing won't have seen it out of thematic fear. Yes, it is unnerving, but it's a movie. And it's good.

And one last note to customer service agents in the banking industry and others (including waitresses), in Spain and around the world. Customer service means that the agent/waitress is supposed to serve the customer, not the other way around. If that cramps your style, you should find another line of work.

That's all for now from the Madriguera.