Is it possible to deliver a great ending to a mediocre novel? I've read enough crap ends to say no, but Peter Carey's Theft produces the surprise. No tears, but the gurgle of two. A week's slog gets a Saturday afternoon reward and with daughter in lap, I'll take it. No Oscar and Lucinda, but what is? Now if I can just get my head around lunch with a former college tennis roommate whom I haven't seen in 23 years and who drank two Trumer Pils while telling me the story of his life and the sketches of those I haven't thought about in just as many years I'll have another tear or two. All those lives- most going, some broken, others recovering, and several over. What are 23 years compared to the richness of living when you're young ? How easy to pick it up, and how bittersweet- those years are gone forever. Hope you're holding somebody worth holding.

What are You Listening to February? Nothing new, apparently.

The Teaching Company- WWII- the Holocaust so dominates most references that the Pacific was mostly names and chants (Banzai!) for me- jesus, over 300,000 Russians died in the Battle of Berlin alone.

Blue Ash- No More, No Less- big pop done Big Star-style just not quite as good

Cosmic Psychos- Go the Hack- "you got one chance in life to get drunk and full, now I'm sounding philosophical"

Ray Davies- Other People's Lives- just got this on vinyl and it sounds glorious at three songs a side- it just gets better and better

Fleetwood Mac- S/T- Haas, you fucker, what demon seed have you planted?

Slade- Slayed- the 70's won't quit

Dinosaur Jr- You're Living All Over Me- the guitar that makes crusty bastards weep

Ain't much happening here- ya got anything?

She could be your next first daughter- Meghan McCain.

The Weekend

Why are you such an asshole? I can't say- I've been on my feet for over 16 hours and the babysitter has braces. Why do we have to leave right this very minute? I've got half a beer and I'm trying to get down with the rich guy. Because I'm crashing down the mountain of my middle age exhaustion upon a glass shard parachute of enough. Bring me to my castle. Love negotiations can be made elsewhere. I have breakfast to make for toddlers in less than six hours and a little league meeting to attend in less than eight. George (I Guarantee It!) Zimmer is the coach. Ain't second go-rounds grand? I watched a documentary about suicides from the Golden Gate Bridge in 2004 and wept buckets of oddly burning tears that left pockmarked scars on my poofy cheeks and I'm wondering if there's some kind of special stigmata for athiests that takes you back to high school and prepares you for the worms. I watched a documentary about the 2004 presidential election in Ohio that gave hope, common decency and fair play several swift kicks in the floppy pants. I'm trying to watch a documentary about a Dutch guy who follows Alan Lomax's trips around the world to capture (10,000 field recordings!) world folk music but I keep pausing it to wonder how many levels we're removed from the real thing. I feel like the Kevin Bacon of viewers. I ate tikka masala tonight and drank one beer, a Stone Ruination IPA that was overpriced and left me with nothing but lemonade to wash back the chicken pakora. Have you ever seen 25 5-year olds running wild through a Pump It Up party at 10:45 on a Sunday morning? You think that Babtist church slumming action at that Glide place is music, come down to the inflated rubber pulpit of the screaming mee mee mosh pit of big sweaty small boy energy. More Pizza! More cake! Hey, that dad snubbed me again, just like at that last suicide-inducing fundraiser! And then it all fades into dust as you whizz down the slide with a screaming Amy whose bliss ain't no bliss you can ever remember.

It is the cycle of life, motherfuckers- can you dig it?

Things I (Re)Learned Watching Chris Webber's Return and Waking Up to the Chronicle

Pot makes you fat.

Caring about a regular season NBA game reveals a gaping hole in your life's priorities.

Your own sick children are the sweetest creatures on the planet.

The Warriors can be the worst team in the league on any given night.

The season is way too long.

Mark Morford is a cliche machine.

Sometimes, two beers just bores and bloats.

Sabbath rules.

Scratchy records sound better than MP3's.

I need a Richard Yates break.

Frozen enchiladas must be defrosted before baked, or else you get Mexican mush.

Chris Evert and Greg "The Shark" Norman are an item- this is Evert's third athlete husband. Scott Ostler tells us she's in terrific shape. These are important facts. Study them. Know them. Live them.

Vinyl found for under 2 bucks at Rasputin's new location in Concord-
Black Sabbath- Sabbath Bloody Sabbath
The Kinks- Muswell Hillbillies, Arthur
Rolling Stones- Now!
Nick Lowe- Labour of Lust, Pure Pop for Now People
Fleetwood Mac- first one, Rumours
Steppenwolf- double live
Charlie Louvin record and few others

Not great, but "Monday Morning" sounded good with coffee and a chocolate chip bagel this morning.

In other news, the good folks of our administration will not allow students at basketball games to stand, taunt, yell "air ball" or do anything else that might suggest excitement or enthusiasm.

Security concerns, the fear of lawsuits and a death-denying preoccupation with health is seriously cutting into young people's fun. Let's prepare them for adulthood by not allowing them to do anything.