Thanks to the magic of internet television, I’ve officially rekindled a love affair that started over 25 years ago, an unrequited, pre-adolescent obsession that almost led me to enlist in the military. If only it were the 25th century!
Her outfits had to literally be sewn around her body, silver spandex with a holstered laser gun, oh the power she helmed! It was a 1980’s 4th grader’s toss-up between Col. Wilma Deering from the Buck Rogers TV show and Lynda Carter’s glamorous Wonder Woman. Wilma was hardcore, who had a sense of realism, no invisible jet, just an alpha strut of sleek uniformed authority. Wonder Woman may have run around in hot pants and a bustier (bless her), but Wilma Deering was almost always covered, never having to show skin since her business was all about whipping ass instead of wasting time with alter egos or using cleavage to dispense justice. Erin Gray portrayed one of the first leading ladies of television who was truly intelligent and independent from the will of men, a woman who outranked the leading male character while making all other men (and budding little boys) dutifully tune in each week for a glimpse of her doling out seventies sex appeal like the stern sci-fi military queen she was.
Moreover, Wilma Deering wasn’t bioinic or wore bracelets that could deflect bullets from a gun. But she was, by god, a superhero both boys and girls could look up to, and the first woman to break this little boy’s heart.
As most know in Portland, our local soccer club has just become a Major League Soccer team. Much to the chagrin of baseball fans citywide, the beloved Civic Stadium is now a “soccer only” park and while the era of Portland’s minor league baseball went the way of the bygones, it’s important to note that baseball as a global sport is only popular in the United States, Latin America, Dominican Republic and Japan. Soccer, however, transcends economic castes and world geography to engage everyone on the planet, not just the folks in North and South America.
If you want baseball, try watching a cricket match. That’s how this soccer fan feels after 9 innings of the national pastime.
Timbers’ home opener on the 14th of April is coming and I’m happy to report there still ain’t No Pity In The Rose City.
I’m one lucky boy. My car kept dying so I traded it in for something reliable and the next day I went to the horsetrack for the first time and hit a trifecta in the 8th race. 900 clams to pay for what the new rig cost on top of the trade. I’m lucky in how I’ve managed to survive the same tribulations that have claimed the lives of many a friend and stranger, lucky in how I’ve still got all my fingers after all the 4th of July firecracker-throwing mishaps, lucky in how I live in a beautiful city in a beautiful home with an orchid that just won’t die and the best music and art a bartender can buy. I still have the first record I ever bought (Oh No, It’s Devo), and the first comic book I ever loved (the original brutal Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in black and white). I’m fortunate to no end so every time I think I’m getting a raw deal or find myself pouting about the state of my world, I have to jot something down to remind me that no matter what happens, I’m one charmed individual and I give my thanks. I gotta share this gift so come rub my bald head for good luck. Or my not-so-bald belly for even better luck.
What is it about a 4-way stop that has tons of American drivers so befuddled that I’m constantly wishing for the airbag in my car to just automatically go off and put me out of misery? Do all four of us have to stop and wait for nearly 10 seconds before someone decides to execute the simple formula of right of way? 10 seconds is like a year in stop-sign time, so for the love of everything in the city, please figure out who arrived first and who gets to go NOW.
I cut my income by half by resigning from an establishment that wasn’t going in a direction I was comfortable with. Cut my income by half and I’ll admit that I miss that dough quite a bit I have never felt better about such a frightening decision.
I’m depending on my photographic talent, proficiency in writing and my pure luck with people to lead me to the land that allows me to lounge around all day sipping cool Arnold Palmers instead of wringing out my panties drenched with the sweat of not having enough money.
Then I look at women like these three, who are far from wealthy but will let nothing stand in the way of them sitting in the middle of a street and laughing they’re asses off. Nothing.
Inside my pocket there may be a financial crisis but inside my belly lies a future full of fortune because money just doesn’t matter.