I took myself to the movies last night, and while I sat through the premovie commercials, the previews of coming attractions and the movie itself, I had a few throughts I wanted to share.

1) It still pisses me off no end to go to a theater, plunk down my $7.50 for a ticket ($15 for two, of course) -- and we won't even talk about the outrageous prices at the snack bar ($5.50 for a large popcorn? Gimme a break! $4 for a large soda? Can you spell G-O-U-G-E-D) -- and then have to sit through a batch of damned commercials! I pay them, they feed me commercials? I want one of those commercial zappers that they're selling late at night during the infomercial hours for the movie theater! I can almost -- almost -- forgive them for putting those Diet Coke commercials in there. At least they're selling Diet Coke at the concession stand. And they've always slipped in those corny cmmercials for the snack bar. But the Queasy Bake Oven? Where kids bake their own dog bones and dip them in things that resemble dripping blood and green ooze? Excuse me. This has gone too far. (Okay, those of you who are media aware will figure out that I went to see Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets).

2) Has Eddie Murphy finally broken his string of homages? We've had two Nutty Professors (borrowed from Jerry Lewis), two Dr. Doolittle's (from Rex Harrison, of course), I Spy (from Bill Cosby) and even Coming to America (ripped off from a story by, of all people, Washington Post columnist Art Buchwald). Now Eddie gives us Daddy Day Care. Since it seems to be a rip off from Mr. Mom (Michael Keaton) with a twist, I guess the answer may be -- no.

3) Look for Sir Ian McKellan to step into the Richard Harris role in the next Harry Potter movie. He already has the long white beard from the Lord of the Rings, and he can do that soft, reassuring voice that made Richard Harris so loveable to the kiddies. It's too bad that Richard Harris passed away, just as he was taking on such a loveable role that reaches so many kids. They need grandfatherly role models.

4) Watching the previews, I was reminded of something I caught during the Thanksgiving Day tv drought. I caught the Independand Film Channel's Dinner for Five marathon -- where John Favreau sits down at an LA restaurant with other actors to talk about film making. In the pilot, before Favreau learned a valuable lesson about not getting gassed at his own dinner party and sweating up a storm, they talked about a trend in modern moviemaking. They called it Five Movie Moments. What it is is this: The studio promotional department wants five movie moments they can pull out to make the trailer. They need five moments they can use to sell the movie. After seeing so many movies that were best told during the trailer, it seems to me that trailers is what Hollywood does best these days. Could you boil down Casablanca to five movie moments? How about Citizen Kane? No. And no. How about The Godfather? No. Great movies aren't made from five movie moments. Only great trailers are. Maybe that's why great movies come fewer and farther between these days. And why the best movies are done by independant film makers. And maybe they should take all those promotions people and lock them away in a little padded room and make them watch Dude, Where's My Car endlessly.

More Soon

When did Thanksgiving Day become the home of bad TV football and lame movies?

It was okay, way back when, when the Dallas Cowboys and the Detroit Lions are halfway decent football teams. They haven't been halfway decent for so long I think it was Milt Plum and Don Meredith who played in their last good tv game. I exaggerate, of course. There were some good games in there somewhere. Most, however, were bigger turkeys than ever sat on the family table.

But fear not, people, for I have uncovered the Madison Avenue plot behind all this bland Holiday fare.

It works this way:

You invite your family over for turkey and stuffing (with the cranberry jelly and candied yams). You serve up some good wine, maybe some mulled cider, and while the bird minishes its sentence in the oven -- or for the hipper, more adventurous of you, in the deep fryer -- you all sit around, watch a little TV and catch up on each other's lives.

Actually, you have to catch up on each other's lives because television is SO BORING!!!!!

So here's the diabolocal twist. This Holiday-enforced boredom is a plot to entice family and friends to invest in new DVDs (VHS for you unhip) so that this sort of thing doesn't happen when you all get together NEXT month at Christmas. And since Friday is the dreaded Black Friday of the retail world, the powers that be are expecting shoppers to hit those DVD bins RIGHT AWAY. Beware -- your friends and family will be out there buying you rerun packages from M*A*S*H and Friends for your viewing enjoyment. They'll be scarfing uo copies of all those movies you didn't want to drag yourself into the theater to see in the first place, all so you can have something new and interesting to watch the next time the family gathers to overeat and stroll down memory lane and tell embarrassing stories about one another.

So, here I am, watching The American President for the umpteenth time (it was okay the first thousand times it ran on Ted Turner's SuperStation), watching the James Bond movie marathon on TNT, and struggling through all the commercials for Orange Glo, George Foreman Grills, and all those other items that I just don't give a rat's ass about. There was that national dog show from Philly -- looking at all these dogs with bigger and poofier coifs than Farrah Fawcett in her heyday. And, oh joy -- avoiding that millionth rerun of Miracle on 34 Street and trying to remember that the adorble little girl there drowned as an oft-married adult a couple decades ago, after a party aboard her yacht of the coast of Catalina. But don't feel sorry for me. At least the turkey smells delicious. And the stuffing had just the right balance of spices when it went into the oven. I'll pass on the yams, but the mashed potatoes are fluffy and lite and ready for some gravy. And, hey, the pies smelled great first thing this morning, especially the mincemeat, and the rolls baking smelled mind-blowingly good.

But just think about this plot thing. I think I'm onto something -- and we have to guard against the influx of unwanted personal videos!.

Happy Thanksgiving

More soon.

There are times when I believe that Holiday times were never meant for me or for my family. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

Today, the day before Thanksgiving, marks the 18th anniversary of my father's passing. That year it was the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, but still the first blush of the Holiday Season. It doesn't stop there. Christmas was never just Christmas around my home. It was also Dad's birthday. My birthday is also cluttered. My brother was born two years and a day after I was. If I were born 55 minutes later, we'd have the same birthday -- now how's that for family planning! Then, of course, Father's Day invariably fell either on one of those two days, or the day after. So it was always a catch-all celebration, if there was a celebration at all.

I'm not trying to feel sorry for myself today. It's just that there is always this tinge of remembrance that's always there.

I miss my dad. It's complicated, because my father was nothing like Jim Anderson on Father Knows Best. Or Ward Cleaver on Leave It To Beaver. I wish.

No, my father was equal parts Archie Bunker and Chill Wills's character Jim Ed Love in the old Henry Fonda-Glenn Ford movie `The Rounders.' We used to joke that his Indian name was Sit 'N' Bullshit. Lovingly, of course.

My father was a business agent for a union that represents heavy equipment operators. His job was to show up on job sites, talk to the workers, solve problems, and represent the union by being its face on the job. He travelled all over Central Washington -- his territory covered a number of major construction projects -- from expansion projects at Grand Coulee Dam to high way construction all over the middle part of the state.

My father was a vital man for most of my younger years. He had been a rodeo cowboy before I was born, had been shuttled from relative to relative after his parents divorced as a child. He was signed into the Army as an underage enlistee because there was no place else for him to go. He spent his 18th birthday on the German-
Russian border at the end of World War II. He was a private pilot, a hunter and a fisherman.

It was hunting that forever changed the chemistry of our family.

I was in the 9th grade and wasn't allowed to go on an elk hunting trip with my father and his best friend. They were trekking off to a favorite spot in the Cascade Mountains where they would camp and spend several days hunting at the beginning of the season. On a brisk but beautiful late November morning, just after sunup, they heard something moving through the brush outside their camp, and everyone but my father grabbed their rifle and headed off to see what was there. Dad stayed in camp to get a campfire started and the coffee pot on for breakfast.

He was standing outside his tent, with an axe in his hands, ready to split some more firewood for the fire he had just started when a bullet hit him on his left side, just above his beltline. The impact knocked him down, of course. My dad being my dad, he tried to get up, which was a mistake. His insides wanted to spill out when he did.

A series of events kept my father alive. The first, most fortunate thing, was that my father's best friend was a practicing veterinarian, so there was a first-aid kit in camp that would have been better only if Dr. Christian Barnard were there. He packed and dressed the wound, administering morphine for the pain and getting my father ready to get down off the mountain.

Next, since they had hiked their way way back into the mountains, there was no way to get him down other than carrying him. His hunting partners made a stretcher out of wood and dad's sleeping bag. Meanwhile, one of the men took the walkie-talkie dad had brought with them and started broadcasting a mayday. They thought they were in the middle of no place, as far from any other hunter as they could possibly get. They were wrong. In minutes other hunters came out of the woods and pitched in to carry my father's stretcher down the mountain, to where the vehicles were left. Another ran ahead to get an ambulance there when they got to the parking area.

That country was steep. It wasn't an easy hike, especially so with an injured man on a stretcher. I count it as a miracle that not once, in that entire trip down, did one man slip or stumble.

The next miracle, as I think of it, was at the hospital in Ellensburg, hours later. The doctor on call was not at the hospital, so the resident was there to begin treating my ather. When the resident arrived, about the same time as my mother, who had raced there, some 100 miles from home, he gave her the typical doctor speech about how the next eight hours were critical and that he was getting the best care possible. As he left the room, he told the nurse, loud enough for everyone to hear. `I don't know why I told her that. He doesn't stand a snowball's chance.'

The resident didn't share that prognosis, thankfully. In fact, the resident was just back from a tour of duty in Vietnam. As a MASH surgeon. He was used to treating gunshot wounds and did a very good job of getting him stable and treating the initial damage from the bullet. That was where they discovered that the bullet had not hit my father the way you imagine a bullet to strike a target. It had travelled so far that it had stopped rifling -- spinning through the air. It had lost so much velocity that it was actually tumbling, end over end through the air. When it struck my father, the bullet was pointing straight down, so that it would not distort and mushroom through dad's vital organs. Even though it had entered on his left side, the bullet took the top of dad's liver, bounced along his intestines, passed between his backbone and his skin and lodged on the right side of his back.

To make a long story short, it was 45 days and three operations later that dad returned home for the first time, lookign gaunt and frail -- so much so that his appearance scared my younger brother. He had died three times and had been revived each time.

It turned out that the bullet had damaged his backbone and had damaged the primary nerves that served his left leg. His leg lost all muscle tone and atrophied, and he lost all feeling in the leg. He was in fairly constant pain for the rest of his life, and was on a number of different medications, including pain medication, which changed his personality radically.

What had been a tentative relationship before the accident became an adversarial relationship after between my dad and me. I remember my 21st birthday -- and the brutal arguement we got into. Not physical, but angry and abusive and as caustic as any I have ever been part of. It was a one-way arguement, as well. It took me a long time to understand that it was pain and chemicals that was behind a lot of that character change and reslove my feelings of anger.

I was in my mid-20s before our relationship reached any sort of moderation. There were lots of reasons for that -- reasons that I won't go into now.

So when I say there are memories on days like today, it's memory tinged with what might have been. What would have happened if he had lived another few years, even -- what might we have healed and resolved as father and son.

Still, considering the time of year, I am thankful to have had the time with him I did. It's a formative part of who I am.

More soon.

I was watching a basketball game on television tonight. That, on its own, is a rarity. I used to say you couldn't pay me to watch basketball games. I was wrong. They do.

This one was one of the rare exceptions I make. My alma mater, Gonzaga University, was playing Indiana in the Maui Invitational. Watching Gonzaga in this case is purely secondary. I love Maui.

I lived on Maui for about a year and a half after my divorce. If your heart is broken, Maui is a good place to go to find healing.

I always found it to be the most inspiring place I had ever visited. Creative ideas popped into my head constantly while I was there on vacation. Living there was even better.

Let me put it simply. Maui is paradise with an airport. The ocean is so many incredible shades of blue that it almost defies accurate description. The water is so warm that it feels as though Mother Nature is wrapping her arms around you and hugging you. The sunsets are so beautiful that you almost have to stop each day at sundown, watch, and applaud.

The night sky is something you have to see to believe. There are no city lights to taint the night, so the black of night is darker and richer than the most expensive velvet, and the stars sparkle like the most expensive gems you've ever seen.

I used to walk down to the beach at night and stretch out on the sand and watch the night sky. The sound of the surf was soothing. It was the most wonderful place to meditate and contemplate your place in the world.

I lived in a little town called Kihei, on the south shore of the island. I could look out my front door and see Lanai in the distance – and the sunset, from my doorstep, kissed the tip of Lanai every night. The tiny island Kaho'olawe was also so close I could almost touch it.

One of the coolest parts of living in Kinei is the fact that it is located right on the foot of Haleakala, the island's dormant volcano. It's dormant, not extinct. There are small, daily earthquakes as the mountain rumbles, reminding you that the earth is alive. That's a powerful thing to feel underneath your feet.

There was only one problem with living in paradise. I lived there alone.

Paradise isn't paradise unless it's shared.

More soon

I love making new friends. Especially friends who are joyously a bubble or two off center – they are the staff of a truly interesting life.

One such new friend writes blog called Tequila Mockingbird – in which she shares random thoughts on a variety of subjects.

The one that got me thinking was a list she prepared about herself – 100 things about me. I loved the idea – and the insight it gives into someone a country away.

So, as an homage, here is my list:

1. If this were truly an off-the-rack world, I would have to dress like Tarzan.
2. That is a scary, scary thought.
3. I'm inspired by creativity.
4. While I am a sports writer, I am not a rabid sports fan.
5. I'd rather listen to a baseball game on radio than watch any other sport on TV.
6. I once tried interviewing a brahama bull – trying to go straight to the source. I believe he's now a senator.
7. The most inspiring spot on earth for me is Maui. The sun goes down all over the world; it only sets on Maui.
8. If you want to get off on the wrong foot with me, assume that because I'm a sports writer, I must be a dumb jock. I qualify for membership in Mensa
9. I have ADD
10. I watch way too much television
11. I collect books and movies. Even books about movies. Or movies about books.
12. I believe my generation can be broken into two categories: Beatles fans and Stones fans. I am the former.
13. I think Brian Wilson is a genius.
14. James Earl Jones, Orson Welles and John Facella have the best speaking voices I've ever heard
15. Ann-Margaret could read the phone book and I would find it sexy.
16. I am divorced.
17. And I'm not bitter. No, really, I'm not.
18. I have a brother who's a cop. A detective, actually. And I'm very proud of him
19. Some of my ancestors were Cree Indians
20. I am a die-hard democrat and an unabashed liberal – but that doesn't influence the way I cover hockey. Anyone who doesn't believe me can go puck themself.
21. My all-time favorite sports writer is Dan Jenkins.
22. I am a feminist
23. More often than not, I prefer working with women
24. I'm embarrassed that I know the difference between a duvet, a divan and a doily
25. When I write, I use the power of three whenever possible. See No. 24
26. The only time I bury the lead is when I converse
27. I started my journalism career in television. I was even a weatherman for a couple months
28. George Carlin is the voice of my generation. Deservedly so
29. I believe the concept of a Liberal Media is more than a myth – it's a crock of shit
30. There is nothing scarier to me than the sight of Pat Buchanan trying to grin
31. I've had more newspaper bylines than I could possibly ever remember
32. As much as I hate to admit it, I rarely recognize my own writing years later
33. I have written stories that have changed my life
34. I have written stories that have made me cry
35. I hate reading a mystery novel and figuring out whodunnit, but I usually do
36. I have never seen a bad performance from Gene Hackman or Robert Duvall
37. One of my biggest secrets is that I like show tunes. And no, I am not gay
38. I cannot watch the ending to Field of Dreams with another person. It's too embarrassing to explain why
39. I can't sing
40. Nothing gets me madder faster than someone trying to pull the wool over my eyes
41. I yell at the television
42. I have interviewed Miss America and I have interviewed a Playboy Playmate. The Playmate was by far the smarter interview
43. The official White House photographer used to take pictures for me in Seattle
44. The best television journalism advice I ever got was from a fellow reporter: `The most important thing you can have in this business is integrity,' she said. `Once you can fake that, you've got it made.''
45. One of the first high school athletes I ever interviewed went on to be a Super Bowl MVP
46. I believe you can divide people in to two categories: Those who watch Jeopardy, and those who watch Wheel of Fortune. If you ask me about it, I'll give my answer in the form of a question
47. The New York Times crossword is one of life's secret pleasures
48. I grew up on Perry Mason reruns and wanted to be a lawyer. Then I saw All The President's Men
49. If you're keeping score, I'm definitely a Maryann
50. Golf is just an excuse to wear really tacky slacks
51. There is no feeling in the world as good as the feel of a baseball bat striking a baseball on the sweet spot
52. The two best writers of dialogue, for my money, are novelists Robert B. Parker and Elmore Leonard. And they are two of the nicest people I have ever met.
53. The kitchen can be the sexiest, most sensual place in the whole house
54. I have always been my own harshest critic
55. I believe the anti-abortion lobby would be better served if they stopped trying to make abortion illegal and worked to make it unnecessary
56. I love dogs, but I adore dolphins. And no, I'm not talking about a Miami football team
57. Most of the time, I think life would be just fine without house cats
58. One of the biggest influences on my life was Harry Chapin. As a writer, as an artist, and as a human being
59. Most of the time, my idea of exercise is a good, brisk sit
60. One of my secret pleasures is BBC America
61. You can never overestimate the gullibility of the American public
62. To me, passion and compassions are two sides of the same coin. And if you have that coin, you are wealthy beyond compare
63. I love a good cup of coffee, but I can do without the average stuff
64. I am a classic Gemini. I am equally at home observing, like a fly on the wall, or being in the middle of everything.
65. Few things in life smell as good as freshly mown grass, bread baking in the oven or a well-oiled baseball glove
66. I believe too many people can quote the bible to you, but haven't a real clue about what it means. The problem with most religions is that people are willing to be told what to think and believe, and not find find for themselves what they believe
67. One of my biggest fears is that thinking for oneself is a dying artform
68. I have felt more reverence and spirituality amongst nature than I have ever felt in any church – including the Vatican and Notre Dame.
69. I have my father's temper, but thankfully, my mother's fuse
70. I love the smell of fresh sawdust and the feel of wood in my hands
71. One of my biggest pet peeves is where those assholes in Detroit try to hide the oil dipstick
72. I believe males are born with a gene that makes them want to play with fire and burn things, which is why barbecues were invented
73. I don't believe foreplay starts when you start fumbling with buttons. It starts when you get up in the morning
74. There is nothing in the world more beautiful than a woman
75. When I write a story, I spend as much time on how it ends as how it begins
76. I grew up a Red Sox fan, hence I know that Yankee shortstop Bucky Dent's middle name is fuckin' – as in Bucky fuckin' Dent. And I always use his full name
77. I know my way around the kitchen and have been known to watch the Food Network for hours on end, Nigella, however, is welcome to bite me anytime she wants
78. When I want to get some perspective on life, I stand in the surf on Maui and watch the sun rise over Haleakala. It takes your breath away
79. I love a woman who can make me laugh. I adore Carol Burnett.
80. And I think Tina Fey is HOT
81. I am loyal. Sometimes to a fault
82. I give my friends the benefit of the doubt.
83. There is nothing that makes you feel alive as making a tight, tight deadline with a damned good story
84. Maybe it's just me, but I don't get Jennifer Lopez, Brittney Spears, Madonna – or for that matter Barbie
85. I come in the large, economy-sized package – but I am not for sale
86. My default response is to believe my friends, but if they abuse my trust, they may never get it back – and will never get it back completely
87. To be perfectly honest, I always got along better with my girlfriend's mother
88. I'm most thankful for the advice I got in junior high – to take a typing class
89. I played in the band, so I never learned my high school fight song. And I'm proud of that fact
90. I never knew that sex on the beach was something you could order at the bar
91. I believe that cell phones are a secret invention to help rude people become socially acceptable
92. The amount of damage done through history in the name of God has to embarrass any deity
93. I'm not ticklish, but I do love to laugh
94. There is something erotic about eating a mango
95. One special person, a fire in the fireplace and a glass of wine are all the ingredients you need for a perfect evening
96. Assumptions are frequently the fastest way we have of insulting someone
97. The thing I do best, as a reporter and a journalist, and as a friend, is listen
98. I don't smoke and people who do turn me off
99. People are usually surprised that my brother and I are related
100. I have been known to go overboard when it comes to competition
101. I have been known to take a good thing too far


More soon

This has been a good day to have a mental health practitioner around.

Not just because of the unfathomable way yesterday's Apple Cup ended, or because my occasional forray into writing about local hockey took a suddenly tragic turn when one of the young players, a 17-year-old from Rosetown, Saskatchewan, collapsed while sitting on the bench and was taken, unconscious, to a local hospital -- where he's recovering nicely. No, some days you just need to have your mental health practioner around.

Mine has a deceptively simple approach to his craft. He reminds me to take care of the simple things in life. To find enjoyment from my everyday pleasures, and allow them to provide the grounding, the foundation, that allows me to reach for the stars.

Not that he explains it so succinctly. In fact, he doesn't explain it at all.

You see, his name is Dexter, and he's a cocker spaniel.

Dexter, a particularly sensitive animal, has a simple outlook on life: There is nothing in the world so awful that it cannot be improved by petting the dog.

And you know what? He's right.

Today was a good day to pet the dog. It makes me feel better, and it doesn't bother Dexter. In fact, he likes it. He frequently interrupts his nap so that I can find mental peace. But then again, dogs are frequently selfless in this regard. And Dexter is always willing to sacrifice his naptime on the off-chance that someone might need a psychological pick-me-up.

Dexter is quite the dog, actually. He's light sensitive and doesn't like to see sunlight reflected off shiny objects, or candles, or fireplaces. And he has a condition that is rather like intense migraine headaches -- or cluster headaches. They can be intense and have caused some nerve damage in his face. First the skin on one side drooped, giving him a silly, downhill look to him until it atrophied into kind of a smiling appearance. Then the same happened on the other side. These two episodes also have damaged his hearing -- although to what extent is difficult to measure. He's always had convenient hearing. He still can hear the cupboard door open where the dog cookies are kept, which is a good indication he can hear when he wants to. And when he can't, he takes is cue from Sally, my other cocker spaniel -- who's mostly interested in where her next meal is and where the most comfortable spot for a nap might be.

In case you're wondering, I didn't give either dog their name. I'm not big on buying or raising purebred pets. It matters not at all to me whether my four-legged companions have a pedigree. I don't have one, why should they? Dexter and Sally, who look like brother and sister but are, in fact, not related at all except for their devotion to milk bones, were left homeless when their previous owner lost her home because her live-in boyfriend pocketed her house payment money. The dogs needed a home, and I had room in my life for a dog, or two, after my divorce -- since my ex took custody of our two dogs. Since both dogs had perfected their ability to ignore someone calling them by name, I decided they could keep their names. Besides, I tend to call them by, ironically, pet names. Since Sally has a mischievous charm, I call her Punky most of the time; Dexter is, for reasons you might guess, Buddy. They quickly learned how to ignore those names, too.

I keep very close tabs on Dexter. He's a sweet animal who wouldn't hurt a fly and doesn't bark to save his life. That occasionally means putting aside the newspaper, or setting down the laptop when he wants to be a bit of a lap dog. Hearing him moan happily while he takes up a lap and a half is worth the time.

Making sure he's happy and healthy is something I make a very high priority. Love is like that.

And it's a good thing to remember. When we take care of the people we love, we're taking care of ourselves.

More soon.