Apart from my soccer foibles, the four day July 4th weekend was a good one. As stated previously, it began with a late night trek down the 5 to Los Angeles. V didn't get home from work until 7:45pm on Friday night, by which time i had packed, cleaned the house a little, and finished Ghost Recon: Advanced Warfighter. We left around 8:40pm, stopping briefly in Gilroy to get dinner. Veronica and i encountered traffic on the narrow and dark 152 and again around Kettleman City, but arrived in the standard six hours. We spent the time listening to Howard Stern on Sirius. It's perfect for the SF to LA drive, as you get to hear a complete show. This one featured some great riffing on conservative blowhard Debbie Schlussel's hysterical condemnation of Superman Returns ... "Superman doesn't have muscles! Superman's gay!". As Howard cleverly noted, she's desperate to garner the kind of attention nutjob Ann Coulter does. But she'll need to start insulting real people to get it.

After a rather depressing morning and early afternoon watching the World Cup, and an SMFA friendly in which Matthew and England wiped the floor with my feeble U.S. team (although the result was more a testament to my atrophying Winning Eleven skills than my lackluster team), Dionne, Matthew, Veronica, and i headed over to the mall for a food court lunch and a bit of shopping for the girls. We returned and lounged for a bit more, watching the BJM/Dandy Warhols documentary Dig! (which seemed to grate on Matthew and Veronica, although i maintain that Anton Newcombe has a tortured, tragic genius about him) and getting in some head-to-head Guitar Hero battles. We then drove off to City Walk to catch the 10:30pm showing of Superman Returns, perhaps spurred on by Schlussel's rantings. We braved the crowds and secured seats in the balcony, then grabbed a dinner of hot dogs and nachos from the convenience stand. As for the film, i was mostly unimpressed. It was very uneven, dragging for long periods. You may want to stop reading here if you're worried about spoilers, because i'm about to cut loose. As far as i'm concerned, the film was essentially a remake of the 1978 original. Which is all the more disconcerting for me, because as i understood it this was supposed to be a NEW Superman story. This similarity includes the Lex Luthor/Ms. Teschmacher relationship, replaced here with Parker Posey's Kitty Kowalski but still using her as a decoy to distract Superman, her falling for the handsome superhero, and finally undoing Lex's plans because of her affection for the hero and her recognition of Luthor's insanity. The plot is also basically the same, focusing on a Luthor plot to create and dominate real estate. However, as Roger Ebert put it the magic of the original is gone. We see people fly all the time in the movies these days, so Superman had better do something truly magical to grab our attention. The plodding dialog didn't help, with Superman/block of wood Brandon Routh suffering through some really awful exchanges. Oh well. Bryan Singer may have escaped the X-Men: The Last Stand travesty, but Superman Returns isn't all that better.

Veronica and i again collapsed upon finding the bed kindly provided by Matthew and Dionne. This time i got to sleep in without the wake up call of the World Cup, and accordingly slumbered until almost 1pm. We had a nice outside lunch of home-cooked rotisserie chicken and couscous, then bid farewell to our friends and drove across L.A. to Whittier and Veronica's aunt, uncle, cousins, and grandmother. The rest of the evening was spent playing with their four chihuahuas, with their leader Shadow taking a liking to me and establishing himself on my chest.

After more doggie time on Monday morning and early afternoon, and a few games of Mario Superstar Baseball against Austen (in which i somehow emerged victorious, first 3-1 then 17-1), we surveyed Veronica's families gorgeous backyard, then hit the road to head back north. Another six hour drive centering on Howard Stern, capped off by hearing the incredible story of Artie's drug-fueled exit from Mad TV just as we pulled into our house at 11:30pm. Tara, who'd been dog-sat by the gracious Naomi over the weekend, had been by herself since noon when Naomi left for a job interview, was in raptures as the door opened and mommy and daddy strolled in. Naomi had gone so far as to vacuum and tidy ... awesome.

I awoke around 10am on the morning of the fourth, and immediately switched into domestic mode. I watered the lawn, then drove to Whole Foods to get corn and veggies for the afternoon's barbecue at my parents' house in Fremont. Veronica and i then spent an hour or so readying the corn on the cob for grilling, and making twelve skewers of peppers, mushrooms, onions, and zucchini for similar treatment. We headed over around 2:30pm, with Tara tagging along so she wouldn't be alone in the house for another whole day. This may have been the best day of her life. After realizing that she wasn't being taken to the vet that is a few blocks from my parents, she spent her first half hour in Fremont charging around the house and backyard, enthusiastically exploring her new domain. Tara then resumed her usual activity of begging for food, encouraged by the throng of new faces and abundance of tasty things. Veronica and i meanwhile spent the afternoon talking to my sister and Jeff, my aunt, uncle and cousin, Betty and Ted, my parents' friends the Bingles and my mom's Mission math colleague, and my parents. Apart from the dog, a highlight of the afternoon was looking through old photo albums with Veronica, Hilary, and Jeff, with my sister spitting out quips for every one of my adolescent foibles. Come 7:30pm the cats had done their usual number on my sinuses, so we brought doggie home. I spent the rest of the evening sneezing and catching a particularly good night on cable, watching favorites the Big Lebowski and Heathers.

Now it's back to work, with the rest of my summer slated for writing papers. And going to review grants in Virginia for the Department of Defense. And flying to Hawaii for the annual SMI meeting. And perhaps a trip to North Carolina. What happened to the summers of old, swimming for four hours a day and playing basketball until 8pm? They've fallen by the wayside of nostalgia, increasingly blurry like a soft photographic haze and the mists of memory.

This World Cup really seems to be out to prove that i can't pick winners for s@$#. After seeing Argentina fall on Friday morning, Veronica and i got in a day of work before driving down to L.A., arriving at Dionne and Matthew's at 3am and falling asleep immediately after being groggily welcomed by Matthew and a perkier Cinnamon. I set my cell phone to wake me at 8am and emerged to find Matthew, Kevin, and Dionne on the couch soaking in the pre-game of the England/Portugal semifinal showdown. We settled in to watch the match with some donuts graciously provided by Kevin.

Despite my repeated statements of displeasure with England's poor showings, against my better judgement i picked them to reach the semifinals. Mainly because Portugal haven't been overpowering either, and were playing with key defensive midfielder Costinha and playmaker Deco due to suspension. The wily but overrated Cristiano Ronaldo was also a doubt because of a nasty thigh injury he picked up in the previous match against the Netherlands. My first inkling that i had erred again occurred when Ronaldo was named in the starting lineup, and began the match looking his usual showboating self. The first half played out with England marginally on top, creating the better opportunities although Frank Lampard was again anonymous and Joe Cole was oddly out of the flow of the game. But even going into halftime without a goal to their credit, it seemed England were destined to emerge victorious.

That is, until Wayne Rooney's frustration boiled over and he stood on Ricardo Carvalho's gonads while walking over him. Replays were inconclusive ... it very well could have been an accident, despite the footballing press's confidence that the young firebrand knew exactly what he was doing. Amazingly, Rooney's Manchester United teammate Ronaldo tattled to the ref on him, and after a brief scuffle between the two, Rooney was shown a red card. With captain David Beckham having already been subbed because of an ankle injury, England's leadership was decimated. Despite being a man down they struggled on valiantly, and arguably created more chances to win than their opponents over the rest of regulation. However, to England's horror the match went scoreless all the way to penalties. For some reason, England's confidence in taking penalties is shot ... there was a sense of finality as soon as the ref blew the end of extra time. And sure enough, Lampard (an automatic penalty converter for Chelsea), Steven Gerrard, and Jamie Carragher all missed ... the Portuguese keeper looked good in saving them, but he isn't THAT good. And the Portuguese celebrated their win, and many of the England players broke down in frustrated tears, and Sven Goran Eriksson did his usual "oh well" in his last match as England manager. History repeats itself (England goes out to Portugal on penalties, quarterfinals, Euro 2004).

So another of my final four was out. This one i should've known. Despite playing admirably a man down for the last 60 minutes of the match, England again showed little of the skill and strategy that you would expect from a team with this many individual talents. I have no idea what happened to Lamps ... he had such a bad tournament i'm now wondering if it will spill over into his performances for Chelsea next season. David Beckham resigned as England captain the next day, about two years too late if you ask me. Blues stalwart John Terry is tipped to be the next skipper, but you have to wonder if teams under his charge will fare any better when Eriksson protege Steve McClaren is running the show on the sidelines. Rooney may be in for a rough Premiership season, experiencing the kind of villification that Beckham received when he was sent off against Argentina in England's fatal 1998 World Cup loss. Although i kind of doubt it, because Beckham's treatment was as much a reaction to his flash, pretty boy image as his crime and its consequences. He continues to plead his innocence, claiming the stamp was accidental, and he may have a point. An astute commentator however pointed out that he may have bad blood for Carvalho from their United-Chelsea encounters. Especially considering that Carvalho is close friends with Chelsea right back Paulo Ferreira, who made the tackle that precipitated Rooney's broken foot last spring.

The afternoon's quarterfinal didn't improve my prediction rate, as Brazil again failed to reach the heights of their beautiful game, and succumbed to a well-organized and well-orchestrated French squad. Zinedine Zidane is playing up to his legendary status, and Thierry Henry is occupying the lone striker role wonderfully. Especially now that he can pose a threat either by running the offense, or by diving and winning free kicks and cards. Ponce. Brazil meanwhile never looked like a real attacking force. About halfway through the second half i realized that i'd heard Ronaldinho's name maybe twice all match. I'm not sure why Brazil manager Carlos Alberto Parreira had him all the way out on the left flank ... at Barcelona Ronaldinho has excelled playing either as a striker or just behind the forwards, being able to conduct the attack in a central role. At any rate, the South Americans were just plain outplayed by France, and deservedly lost. History repeats itself (France outclasses favored Brazil, finals, World Cup 1998).

So i got one team correct (Italy) in my final four. Pretty pathetic, but it gets worse. Seeing a not-particularly-talented German squad roll through the group stages and past heavyweights Argentina convinced me not to doubt the home field advantage, and i had suspicions that they would go on to lift the trophy in Berlin on July 9th. Wrong again, Teddo. For some reason in my preparations for my parents' July 4th barbecue, i completely forgot that the Germany/Italy semifinal was going on. So i missed it all, the 90 scoreless (but reportedly thrilling) minutes of regulation, the 28 scoreless minutes of extra time, and Fabio Grosso and Alessandro Del Piero's clinching goals just before the penalty shootout. Another Ted prediction bites the dust.

So what have i learned?

• Home field can get you far. But it can't get you all the way.
• England need a major rethink before they can escape their pattern of failure.
• Being hailed as the best footballing nation in the world doesn't win your games for you.

The second semifinal between France and Portugal is beginning in 45 minutes. I tip France to advance to create a rematch of the Euro 2000 final, with similar results. Which means bet the house on Portugal.