Category: Bay Area

*twitch* I cannot contain the excitement!

Whooo! I spent most of yesterday with a big surge of adrenaline running through my veins.

At 10:00 in the morning, right on the dot, tickets went on sale for the summer concert series at a local venue.

A very fabulous local venue. An intimate venue located up in the mountains, with beautiful acoustics. It is one of my favorite places to be.

But that’s not the point.

The point is….

I got tickets to see Merle Haggard and Kris Kristofferson! Live! (mostly) In concert!

Me! Eighth row!

Wheeeeee!

Ok, to be honest, I could take or leave Kris. Yes, he’s one of the finest songwriters ever, but the singing voice…eh, not so much.

But Merle. Oh Merle. I celebrated Merle on this very blog almost three years ago (back when The Good Man was known as The Cute Boy).

I love Merle. He’s a legend. He’s the soundtrack to my college years. He’s amazing!

If anyone in New Mexico loves Merle like I do, he’s playing the Inn of the Mountain Gods in July. Just sayin…..

I cannot believe I actually get the chance to see a legend in concert. I cannot stand myself, I’m so excited!

During my 10:00 am frenzy, I also scored tickets to see The Gipsy Kings. We’re in the third row for this show.

*sproiinnnnng* goes my circuitry.

Beyond excited!

Whooooooo! : runs in circles around the office :

Oh yeah, she’s still a beatin’ away in there

Life has a lot of funny ways.

Like lulling you into a sense of routine and pattern and similarities. You start taking things for granted.

And then Fate yanks that rug out from under you just to remind that hey, better pay attention! The starting pitcher for the cosmic league might just be grooving one right at your earflap!

Had a moment like this today.

The day started out really good. Beautiful, calm.

Had a chance to spend the day up in San Francisco. Got to visit one neighborhood fairly unknown to me and another very familiar part of town.

And it was great. Hey, the sun was even out for a while. There is no city more beautiful than San Francisco on a sunny day.

The Good Man and I made our way through the day at a happy pace, had an amazing lunch, and worked through our chores.

So feeling pretty at peace with the world, we finished up and made our way home down the peninsula.

The ride was easy, we were ahead of traffic, and other than a plastic bag adhering itself to the underside of our car, then simmering on the exhaust pipe, it was the perfect ride.

We get to our town, we turn right, we turn left, and soon we arrive at our neighborhood…

To see two hook and ladder fire engines, two smaller fire engines, the fire supervisor, and several other fire vehicles blocking our street.

“Please tell me that’s not our house,” The Good Man said aloud.

It was then I could feel that ol’ heart deep in my chest start to rev up. The adrenaline gets to rolling into the veins, fight or flight sets in and all the blood goes to the core. Muscles tense. Eyes get a little sharper.

There was a fireman sitting behind the wheel of a parked truck, so I said to The Good Man, “I’ll find out” and jumped from our now stopped car.

I walked up to the man, got his attention, and said, “Um, sir, I live *right there*” emphasized with a point of my hand.

The fireman said, “You can get there as soon as I move the truck” he said.

“But, but…” I stumbled out. “Is that where the fire is?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. I’m pretty sure I didn’t succeed.

He smiled, “No, you’re fine. The fire is over there,” he said, with a point of his heavily gloved hand in the opposite direction of my home.

“Oh thank you thank you thank you!” I said while hopping on balls of my feet.

Today, the fire brigade did not come for my home.

My heart is settling back into its regular docile pattern.

And I got a strong reminder today to keep a sharp eye out, because the cosmic pitcher is wild, and fastball might getcha squarely in the back when you’re not looking.

Saturday is rantacular!

An open letter to the Bay Area’s NBC-11 (KNTV) television station

Dear programming directors at my local television station, NBC-11:

I’d like to begin our conversation by thanking you for televising Friday night’s San Francisco Giants baseball game on your regular ol’ not-cable television station.

For people like me who have gone back to days of yore by using rabbit ears to tune in my television, it’s fun to actually get a chance to watch my home team instead of only being able to listen on the radio.

The Good Man and I celebrated by eating bratwurst for dinner to get in the mood.

Very cool.

That said…

I’d like to kindly remind you that your whole reason for being in Los Angeles Friday night was to video and broadcast the game on behalf of your home viewers.

You know, the residents of the Bay Area? The SAN FRANCISCO Bay Area?

See, here’s the funny thing, by and large, on Friday, your viewers in the San Francisco Bay Area were all actively watching your fine station in order to see the Giants play baseball.

You know, the SAN FRANCISCO Giants?

So when you spend large portions of the game focused solely on Matt Kemp, giddy about Matt Kemp, how wonderful is Matt Kemp, showing us Matt Kemp in the dugout, Matt Kemp in the on deck circle, Matt Kemp picking his nose, you might fail to understand why I might be rather upset?

Why would I be this upset? Because %$!&ing Matt Kemp is a sonova$%#@ing player for the Dodgers!

How do I know this? Well, you see, I was able to take a gander at the front of his jersey. You might try this trick. Focus your freaking camera on him in every idle second, and you might get a close up look at the letters on his chest. Can you see it? Can you see it says D…O…D…G….

….ARE YOU EVEN PAYING ATTENTION!?!?!?!?!?

You are broadcasting a Giants game to Giants fans! Screw the Dodgers fans in the Bay Area! Who cares about them? They are not your core demographic!

I do not want to see Manny Ramirez unless he’s batting. I do not want to see Casey Blake unless he’s fielding a ball. I do not give one miniscule rat’s ASS about Matt Kemp unless he is batting or actively making a play.

And I give even less than a miniscule rat’s ass about all of the repeated views of Matt’s Kemp’s adorable little girlfriend Rhianna sitting in the stands.

Yes, we’re all very excited that Matt Kemp is dating Rhianna. Yes, she’s very cute. Yes, I know all you big sport broadcasting boys are squeeing with glee about the chance to film Rhianna sitting there with a hoodie over her head looking all cool. I know she’s like, oh my god, whoa, isn’t that the coolest thing ever, double squee!

But for f*ck’s sakes! Let’s just let the LA station broadcast the gratuitous lingering camera shots of their own players and their own players girlfriends.

Hey, here’s a cost saving idea! Why don’t *you* just use LA’s KCAL television feed for the next Giants-Dodgers game? That way I can, at the very least, listen to the dulcet tones of Vin Scully call the game.

At least that would be something interesting!

Now.

That said.

Saturday’s game is nationally televised on Fox. You know that that means? That means Joe Buck.

I guran-frapping-tee you that your crappy Friday night television coverage will hold up well by comparison to Joe freakin’ Buck’s uninspired and wooden-like call. I plan on feeling nauseated. Buck’s voice usually inspires that in me..

Because, NBC-11, you suck, but Joe Buck sucks worse.

And that’s something to build on.

Baseballically yours,

Karen

P.S. These are my pants. They are cranky. That is all.






Image found here.




Keeping it in the family

Last night, The Good Man took me to see a play called “Perla” staged by Teatro Vision at the Mexican Heritage Plaza in San Jose.

The play was written by Leonard Madrid, a native New Mexican, and is set on the front porch of a home in Portales, NM. (funny, there in the theater, they didn’t capture that certain “wind off the feed lot” that I always associate with Portales.)

The story surrounds a pair of sisters who were raised by their very protective aunt after their father, a noted Norteño singer, ran off, and their mother died (both of sorrow and of cancer). The younger sister, Perla, goes on a quest in dreams and reality to find her lost father. However, finding him proves to be less fulfilling than she’d hoped.

Supporting a New Mexican playwright was my first objective. As an added bonus, I was pleasantly surprised by the beauty of the Mexican Heritage Plaza, and the efforts the cast went to in order to capture their characters.

One of the main cast members is married to a man from New Mexico, so she used her mom-in-law for guidance.

They also had a New Mexico woman as dramaturge. Yeah, ok, I had to look up that word. It’s the person who helps set the time and place for the cast so they can build their characters. So the New Mexican dramaturge had the job to help the cast and crew understand New Mexico.

Mostly, they did a pretty good job. There were a couple anachronisms, but in general, they caught the flavor and culture of my home state.

I *might* be a bit protective about my home…you know, just a little. So of course I had an eagle eye out on everything.

As we went on a preview night, the cast hadn’t fully relaxed into their lines, but it was a wonderful story and well told by the actors. It felt like the director may have over edited the script a bit, as there were leaps in time that didn’t flow smoothly, but mostly, it was a sad tale that ends with redemption.

My favorite part was a young girl who led Perla around in dreamscape, much like the Coyote Angel from The Milagro Beanfield War.

As there is the National Association of Latino Arts and Culture (NALAC) Conference happening this week in San Jose, there were a lot of people from all over visiting San Jose who also came to see the show. It was fun to hear the New Mexico people in the audience finding each other.

“I’m from Taos, and my friend is from Silver City,” I heard a few rows back. And I smiled. My people.

The only sad part of the night for me was when one of the employees of the theater told me that on opening night this weekend, they are making sopapillas.

I gasped when he said that! I am going to miss the sopapillas?!?!

Then he replied, “yeah, that seems to be the reaction of all the people from New Mexico. I had no idea that sopapillas were such a big deal.”

Oh silly non-New Mexican yet very kind man…sopapillas are like a religion, second only to the cult of green chile!

Question is, which sort of person are you?

Last night, The Good Man and I went to the home opener for the San Jose Giants single A baseball team.

I do love minor league baseball. Just thought I’d throw that in.

We got to our seats, got settled in and soon heard, “ladies and gentleman, please rise and remove your caps as we present our national anthem.”

It’s how every baseball game begins. It is ritual.

So quickly this adorable young lady (maybe all of fourteen years old) came out of the home dugout and hit her mark and dived right into the oh-say-can-you-see part of our show.

As she does, I notice that three rows ahead, a gruff man with a gray beard, a Bud in hand, and a mustard stained sweatshirt is singing along. The years of cigarette smoking have made his voice less than melodic, but he doesn’t lack enthusiasm.

Fair enough. He’s the kind of guy who likes to sing along.

At the seventh inning stretch, Colonel Mustard with a Budweiser also belted out a hearty rendition of “God Bless America” which then let him straight to an even more enthusiastic singing of, “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.”

Hey, you know, it’s all a part of the experience.

Some guys like to sing along. Some guys don’t.

Me, I usually let the Star Spangled go by. I can’t hit those notes. Sometimes, if I’m feeling especially patriotic, I’ll get into a version of “God Bless America”.

But I always, always sing “Take Me Out…” For me, it’s mandatory.

No, I don’t understand that logic either.

Anyhow, so last night as I sang along, out of tune, I got to thinking about folks at the yard. Seems to me, there are two kinds. Them that sing along, and them that don’t.

Question is…which sort of person are you?

I guess I’d be called a partial singer-alonger.

Anyhoo, when all was said and done last night, after battling from an 8-0 deficit, the hometown nine still lost 9-7. Boo. Go get ’em next time, boys.

As an aside: This year we sat in a different section than usual. In our regular seats, there is a gentleman we know well who also likes to sing along to the Star Spangled. The thing is, he’s part of a local men’s choir and has the voice of an angel. It’s always rather nice to hear him sing. And I’m rather intimidated to try to sing along with him, to be honest.

I felt much better harmonizing with the guy who was six beers and four hotdogs into the night.

(Man, I couldn’t be more excited to use this photo again.)



Image is of Latvian mezzo-soprano Elina Garanca and a pretty extensive web search could not net me the attribution on this photo. I found photos from that same event on the European Commission page which allows for the use of photos with attribution.