The "new" version of progress

Enough with condo projects and other speculative housing schemes. lets get back to the absics. Like a place where we can drink, fart, watch sports and time stands still. Its back, baby. Its back.

Freddy Got Fingered

So, Sabean has decided the time is now (his contract is up this year, as is Bochy's) and the right side of the Giants' infield now includes a Stanford grad and a former batting champion. No word yet on what the lineup will look like (Winn leading off with Sanchez second?), but I did watch Amy Gutierrez ask Sanchez how he feels in three of her five questions to him. "Now that you are on a playoff contender, how does it feel?" "How does it feel to leave your Pirate teammates behind?" "How does it feel when I'm loving your taint?" Wasn't it The Creation who sang, "How Does it Feel to Feel?" I feel pretty darn good. After the abysmal road trip in which the Panda looked like he treated the All-Star Break as a special invitation to sample every Venezuelan barbecue joint he'd ever missed, the G-boys come back with a colossal eight runs in three games to nip/sweep the lowly Bucs. Cain goes nine scoreless innings and gets nothing. The man is a starting beast and should be well on his way to twenty, but alas, no runs in nine against the last place Pirates.

So will the new additions matter, or have the Giants mortgaged the future by trading two potential starters for the tantalizing dream of a wild card slot? I'm hoping the former and not worrying about the latter. I still think the Cubs and Cards are better overall teams, but why not roll the dice now, especially as Mr. Bamgardner is deeply ensconsed in a Tora Bora bunker. I like these moves (even if Sanchez ain't the power hitter everybody wants- that guy, aside from Holliday, just ain't available, given what the Gyros were willing to give up- is Adam Dunn really that big an upgrade? Maybe, but, well, I'm so confused...), and while I'm still not sure it's going to be enough offense or whether the closer-who-shall-not-be-named-on-general-decency-principles will hold or whether the no-name bullpen can sustain its over-its-head first half, I'm glad they made the move, even if I am gently holding my nose. Now let's see what happens when the red-hot world champs enter the corporate confines of Pac Bell. Somebody buy me a sausage.

Music on Television

I received a Roku for Father's Day, a device that lets you watch Netflix movies on your T.V. Here are some early results-

Man on Wire- the story of the young Frenchman who tightrope-walked between the twin towers is an emotional bath for vertigo sufferers, which I am. Yes, the French play every moment to its highest histrionic quotient, but I was still riveted and unable to sit down as he prepared to take that first step on the wire. It's a must-see even if frenzied French drama makes your skin crawl.

Heavy Metal in Baghdad- two guys from Vice Magazine fall in love with the only heavy metal band in Baghdad and do everything in their power (man, are these trust-fund babies or is Vice really that profitable? They seem to have cash to burn) to help these guys out and to get a documentary out of it. It's hard not to root for the band members, even if the Vice guys annoyingly keep reminding us how dangerous everything is. This is also an interesting window into the lives of ordinary Iraqis and how the war tore their lives apart.

Scott Walker: 30th Century Man- The Walker Brothers never did anything for me and neither has this man's solo work, but his story is intriguing so why not? This is mostly talking heads paying homage to the man's genius, but Walker's singular path is worth the ride even if the early crooning or the later darkness don't land you in "the man's a marvel" camp.

Mission of Burma Story: Not a Photograph- these guys reunited for some shows and the movie documents that attempt and the paths these three have taken since the break-up. I actually found drummer Peter Prescott (remember the Volcano Suns?) the most endearing, especially when he muses on the extraordinary attention they're getting for the weeks of the reunion to be followed by relentless inattention upon the tour's end. The filmmakers dug up some early footage I'd never seen before, and at 79 minutes this is an east romp, a nice reminder of the band and an interesting walk through three lives and how they've changed. Those early records still sound great, by the way, at least to these ears.

Dead Kennedys: The Early Years Live- I've never been a big fan and Jello as public figure always annoyed me, but it's eye-opening to see some of this live footage. The man was quite the little punk rock showman, especially as the rest of the band looks petrified in the very early videos. And they look so damn young! It's worth a half hour if only to see the old venues and to admire Jello's energy, no matter how irritating you might find him.

Dinosaur Jr.: Live in the Middle East- this captures a New York stop of the 2006 reunion tour in which they only played songs from the first three albums (or early singles, eps, etc.). The sound is awful but the quality of the tunes shines through. It's bizarre to see Lou and J sharing a stage (anyone remember "The Freed Pig"?) but Lou especially appeared to be immersed in what they were doing. J ain't gonna supply an emotional connection, but he's still a monster on guitar. They were noisy and melodic and angry, and it was a clear reminder of what a huge live band they used to be. They also have big pop hooks, which came screaming out during the second encore of "Freak Scene," "Repulsion," "In a Jar" and "Just Like Heaven." By the way, the new record is as good as Beyond- another bleeding miracle.

Dwarves: Fuck You Up and Get: Live- if you saw 'em in the early days, this is a tired spectacle. Blag and HWCBN are there, but only in body. No danger, no power, no Vadge. No point.

Panda Saves the World

Unemployment just hit 11.6% in California. The state is paying its bills with IOU’s. Parks are closing. Schools are setting up corner graphing calculator stands. Even the Governator cannot stem the tide of woe sweeping across this once golden stretch of promise, and most jaded observers believe no one can.

What we need is a little hope. Something to believe in. Someone larger-than-life who can give us a sliver of possibility in a place where people have quit on themselves.

What we need, clearly, is a fat, switch-hitting, ambidextrous Venezuelan panda.

Pablo Sandoval may be our only chance. The 22-year old Giant rookie third baseman is the brightest bulb on a coast gone dark. Yes, “the round mound of pound” leads the resurgent Giants in hitting (.333), homers (15) and RBIs (55) at the All-Star Break , but a man charged with teasing out Giant fans’ smiles (and solving the state budget crisis, bringing peace to the Middle East, and capturing Osama bin Laden) is going to need more than numbers. He’s going to need style, which is something the Panda exudes, with effervescent ease.

Pablo was born in the fighting port city of Puerta Cabello, Venezuela, which explains a few things, when you consider that the World Values Survey consistently find Venezuelans among the happiest people on earth. This oil-rich nation has produced five Miss Worlds, five Miss Universes, and five Miss Internationals (no, I don’t know the difference either, but I’d be willing to learn), which might have something to do with it, but there is also that Caribbean, happy-go-lucky exuberance oozing from Pablo’s pores. He’s not only Mr. Excitement- he’s Mr. Happy, and his unbridled enthusiasm has won the hearts of the dying faithful in Baghdad-by-the-Bay.

But if gusto were enough to part the seas and clouds, Richard Simmons would be king. A hero needs game, and that is something Pablo brings every night. He is currently fourth in the National League in hitting and sixth in slugging percentage. He missed the All-Star game only because the National League wanted to set the record for futility. The NL’s anemic offense achieved its goal that night, but Frisco fans seethed, knowing who didn’t pinch hit late to save the game for jumpy starter, Timmy Lincecum. “I had the numbers, but not the votes,” Pablo offered humbly about his snub. Somewhere, Charlie Manuel should be sucking paste.

Let’s try another number: 246, which the program lists as Pablo’s weight. Now that doesn’t look so high, until you see 5 foot 11 next to it. So his zest for living extends to the buffet table, but that has only enhanced his legend. To see him run is to fall in love like a middle-schooler. When he leaped over Dodger catcher Danny Ardoin last year to score, Barry Zito dubbed him Kung-Fu Panda. In a post-post 9/11 return to irony, he is now “Little Panda.” My eight-year old son was so moved by the third-baseman that he wrote his first song about him, rhyming “runs so fast” with “such a fat ass.” How many songs of praise have your team’s infielders inspired lately?

Early, Frisco fans were concerned that third base might be a challenge for the former minor league catcher and first baseman, but Pablo has been lithe at the hot corner, making only four errors so far. He has even shown some hops on liners, turning potential doubles into Sports Center outs. In the nimble big man sweepstakes, he sits at the Jackie Gleason table.

Aside from his girth, the Panda is also famous for his generous conception of the strike zone. He makes Manny Sanguillen look like Kevin Youkilis. Giant batting instructor Carney Lansford insists that he tells Sandoval before every at-bat to swing at a strike, but Pablo’s approach remains, “See ball. Swing.” One pitch he looks like a cricket player, and the next he’s a lumberjack. To watch him at the plate is to squirm, cringe and burst with glee simultaneously, and to let the ball fall where it may.

While watching Panda hit can be emotionally vexing, watching him run is pure joy, especially when he’s heading for third. The best image in baseball is Pablo rounding second, especially when he doesn’t arrive. Early in the year, Pablo was heading for a would-be triple when he fell flat on his face. Most mortals would scramble to rise, but Sandoval knew the gig was up. He just lay there, looking, according to manager Bruce Bochy, “like a turtle on his back. Except he was on his stomach.” Some Giant players were concerned that their leading hitter might be hurt as he lay face down in the dirt, but not All-Star pitcher Matt Cain, who remarked, “Kung Fu Panda doesn’t get hurt.” To prove the point, two innings later Pablo hit his first walk-off homer, a three-run shot to beat the Nationals, 9-7. “I just want to get my pitch and drive the ball,” he said later. “I don’t want to tie the game. I want to end it.” And so he did.

These are dark times indeed, and the smart guy number crunchers who got us into this mess are trying to convince us that they know how to get us out. Yea, and Billy Beane promised cheap annual playoff teams arriving on an escalator from minor league city. Pablo Sandoval is the anti-metric. He is a rotund, free-swinging switch hitter who falls down a lot, and he is the reason, Lincecum aside, that Giant fans care again. “We should treat fans like friends,” Pablo said recently through his incessant smile. He is charming and unpolished and completely new, and even if he does not create world peace or put everybody back to work, he will continue to remind fans why sometimes all the suffering is worth it- if only to see what Panda will do after he falls on his face.

late to the party

I Love America!

Joey Chestnut, left, of San Jose, Calif., defending champion of the Nathan's Famous July 4th Hot Dog Eating Contest, celebrates his victory over former champion Takeru Kobayashi of Nagano, Japan, Saturday, July 4, 2009, in New York. Chestnut logged his third consecutive win in Coney Island's annual hot dog eating contest with a world-record 68 franks. He never trailed during the contest. (AP Photo/Craig Ruttle)

Drinking isn't for wimps

Check out these timeless pearls of wisdom outside The House of Shields in San Francisco.

Ad men from Connecticut indeed!