Category: fate

It’s going away, isn’t it?

My friend. My companion. That comfort at the end of a long day’s work, driving home, watching the sun go down, laughing, cheering, listening. It’s leaving me again, just as the world turns cold. It always leaves me just when the sun starts setting sooner, when the chill rolls in, when the leaves turn. Just when I need it the most, it’s gone.

My old friend and joy, baseball, is leaving me again this weekend.

The San Francisco Giants played their last home game of 2007 last night, made all the more bittersweet as, after fifteen crazy years, it was the last game Barry Bonds will play in a Giants uniform.

It was year of agony and ecstasy.

Ecstasy: The San Jose Giants, the Minor League Single A affiliate, and a group of young ‘uns near and dear to my heart performed a miracle. Coming on strong in the first half and falling off hard in the second half, they still earned their way into the playoffs and prevailed. They are the 2007 California League Champions. They played an amazing post season and just brutalized Lake Elsinore in game 5, the deciding game. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. This was a hard working team of guys who learned how to win, and a tip of the cap to manager Lenn Sakata for taking yet another team to the post season.

Agony: Their big brothers to the North, however, didn’t fare so well. With three games left, they’ve lost 89 games and are a gut-turning 18.5 games out of first place.

This was the season that Bonds broke the all-time homerun record, walloping 756 over the walls and into the history books. But all the media glare, both positive and negative, had an impact on the other 24 guys on the roster. Starting pitching was ok (I won’t “go there” about the pitiful year Barry Zito had…I just…can’t…), the bullpen was ridiculous and hitting was lame. They went up there with sad and tired bats. And our star catcher bitched about it to the press.

It was not a glorious year. It’s the latest in all the depressing seasons we’ve endured after the joys (and pain) of the 2002 World Series.

Ownership says 2008 is a “rebuilding” year. That means some young kids, some no names, and no hope of a post season for at least a couple more years.

But even in the agony of this terrible season, it was there. Baseball was on the radio every night, 162 games a year. The bases were still 90 feet apart and it was still 60 feet, six inches from mound to plate. The Umps still missed calls, players were plunked, miracles were performed and for me, all was all right with the world.

I had a day yesterday for the record books, and as I drove home, looking into the setting sun, sad, mad, exhausted, apathetic, beat down, and depressed as hell, I reached out and touched the “power” button on my radio, and suddenly Jon Miller’s voice boomed out from my radio speakers, “a called strike one!” and I left behind my troubles. My sorrow. My bone wearying exhaustion and I listened to the game. Smiling at strikes, frowning at balls and batting my hand on the steering wheel when the boys in orange and black got a hit and cheering loudly in my car.

I don’t give a rip about any of the teams in the post-season, although I may watch a few games. It’s not the same when it isn’t your team fighting it out.

*sigh* Now what? My baseball friend becomes a hockey fan in the off-season. I like hockey, but not with that fever reserved for baseball.

Guess instead, it’s time to start thinking about what in the hell I’m going to write 50,000 words about for the annual NaNoWriMo.

Heh…three years ago I wrote a baseball book……

Walk to the theme song of your life

I was watching the new Tim Gunn show on Bravo this evening. If you don’t know who Tim Gunn is, then you haven’t been watching Project Runway.

Mr. Gunn is known for his quiet understatement and has become one of heroes, best known for his catch phrase “make it work”.

A phrase I’ve adopted and use liberally at work. To the point my staff is tired of hearing it. I decided if they were going to come into my office multiple times a day with all manner of whining, I’d lob it back.

“My clients won’t tell me what the budget is for this project!”

“Make it work”

“The supplier is being unreasonable, we can’t get this done by quarter end!”

“Make it work”

“Management hasn’t given us any knowledge about this secret squirrel project! I can’t support it!”

“Make it work”

They usually give me a dirty look and stomp out.

Anyhoo….while watching an episode of “Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style”, he took one of his victims to a “lifestyle coach” to help her feel more confident. The theory being if you are more confident you’ll dress more confident, I guess.

The lifestyle coach told this meek young lady that she should always “walk to the theme song of your life” and made her walk back and forth around the room. Poor thing couldn’t manage a hip swing to save her life, but she did manage to loosen up a bit during the course of the show.

I sat here on my red couch and tried to decide what, exactly, is the theme song of my life. I guess it’s never really just one, right? It changes based on what’s going on.

Then I remembered earlier today. I walked over to a meeting in another building with the buds to my iPod shuffle jammed deeply into my ears. A bit of music helps me huff it across a quite busy street and get to meetings on time.

I’ve got a mind blowing change about to occur at work. Mind blowing in a very, very bad way. My boss dropped this incendiary bit of news on Tuesday and I’ve not recovered.

Discretion being the better part of valor, and god knows who reads blogs these days, I shan’t go into details. But suffice to say, it ain’t good.

So with my Shuffle set to…er…shuffle, I was walking determinedly and muttering under my breath when the song came on. The song I think is the theme of my life for right now.

The tune is “Headstrong” by Trapt.

Sample lyrics:
“Back off I’ll take you on/headstrong to take on anyone/I know that you are wrong and this is not where you belong”

I started walking with strong footfalls. Head up, eyes roving looking for someone who might dare to take me on. I almost punched the air.

Yeah. This will work for today. Without even knowing it I’d “walked my theme song”.

Maybe I’ll start dressing better too?

What’s YOUR theme song?

Sign of the times?

I am probably the wrong person to make comment on the current state of the economy. I don’t know much, I don’t watch enough TV or read enough newspapers. I know what I have seen in headline news suggests that people can’t pay mortgages on their homes (fall out of some questionable, maybe shady, lending practices and a rise in interest rates) and that rentals are on the rise, people duking it out over the good places (much like back in the dot.com days, I personally put up a good fight to get the first place I rented when I moved).

The Bay Area is an odd place to gauge wealth. I live amongst some of the wealthiest people in the world (hello, Silicon Valley). But given the cost of living around here, there are also a lot of people barely scraping by. From where I’m sitting, it would seem the middle class is evaporating. Seeing as how I’d call myself middle class, I often wonder on which end of the scale I’m going to end up when the water’s dried up and sides have been chosen.

Right now in the economy, I know there are plenty of jobs to be had. I know this because I am having a devil of a time finding candidates for the two jobs I’m personally hiring for. All the good people have good jobs. And the so-so people want too much money because they know the market is hot and they can ask for the outrageous. And usually they get it.

I see a lot of wealth around me. But this weekend gave me pause for thought. What am I missing?

Twice this weekend I was witness to shoplifting. Well, I guess neither could rightly be called shoplifting but maybe a form of, I suppose.

Saturday I saw a woman taking money from a tip jar at the coffee shop. I know the employees of the shop don’t rely solely on tips to make it work, it’s incidental, but at the end of the day, the woman was audaciously reaching in and stealing dollar bills that weren’t hers.

Sunday I saw a woman at the grocery eating food she clearly didn’t intend to pay for.

The first woman looked desperate, like she needed every bit she could get. The second lady looked like money wasn’t a problem…but looks can be deceiving, I know.

In neither case did I report on the so-called “victimless crimes”. I didn’t know what to do. I know that stores boost up their prices to pay for the inventory shrink. I know I ultimately pay for the theft out of my own pocketbook.

But both incidents got me to thinking about what heights or what lows would I resort to if I was desperate, hungry, out of work and out of money.

I can’t say that I wouldn’t be the one stealing a dollar from a jar if I got down to it.

But then I can’t say that I would either. I don’t know.

Both incidents made me sad. And made me wonder what is going on in our economy. I mean, it could be a random event. Or could it be a trend?

Guess today is a day about counting my blessings, in all forms.

Rejection

Submitted some writing work. Results due yesterday. Felt really good about the piece. Poured all of myself into it. Targeted to a small publication and what I wrote seemed right in their wheelhouse. Was hoping to get some traction, finally.

Nope.

When I put that much into what I write (which is the only way I know how), a rejection of the work feels like a rejection of me. I know I have to get over that if I’m going to ever make any headway.

But still. I’m blue.

I’ll give myself the weekend to mope. Come Monday, I’m gonna toss that leg back over that horse and get back to work.

*sigh*

The more things change

The more they stay the same…or so the saying goes.

Is that really true? It seems anymore that everything just changes. And changes. And changes.

Am I becoming my folks? Lamenting for days gone by. “Better days.” “It didn’t used to be like this.”

Is it an inevitable side effect of passing years?

Somewhere along the way in my tenure here in the Bay Area, just over ten years now, I crossed a line, passed a barrier, ticked off a marker. I had finally lived here long enough that I could pine for “how it used to be.”

Yesterday evening I had occasion to drive The Cute Boy™ to San Francisco. He’s laid up with a bum ankle (don’t ask). So Cute Boy is now Gimpy McGimperson on two crutches. He had some business in our fine City, so I took him there and decided to bide my time and wait for him to be done, más o menos, three hours all in.

So while waiting I decided to visit an old haunt in North Beach, a place I’ve waxed ecstastic about in these very pages. A lovely family owned restaurant called Sodini’s. Owned by the venerable Mark Sodini, when I first moved, a hay-seed-in-my-hair girl from New Mexico, Sodini’s was one of the few places I knew how to get to in that big mean city.

Back in those days I was trying to catch the eye of a local musician (it ended badly, don’t ask) who played at the bar across the street. So I’d go to Sodini’s for dinner and some liquid courage. It’s always a bit weird being a girl going to a restaurant or bar alone, but any trepidation I had quickly dissolved in the kind presence of the good people of Sodini’s. These folks couldn’t have been more cordial, and kind, and they took good care of me, looked out for me, and became my friends.

So it was a melancholy bit of business to sit, once more, by myself on a barstool, drinking a well made drink and tucked into a gorgeous Caprese.

My eyes wandered to the strangely quiet Green street out the windows, and my retinas were burned by a neon sign blaring FAX, COPIES, PHOTOS. I said to Mark, “What’s with the copy place? Didn’t that used to be a frame shop?” He laughed and said “Yeah, but it’s been a copy place for about two years.”

Two years? How do two years slip past without me knowing it?

Then I looked over at the old North Beach Video shop. It’s now an upscale restaurant (I don’t even remember the name) and the video store moved into a much smaller space next door.

I started getting depressed. “My neighborhood is vanishing!” I thought, nervously sipping my drink and spooning in Minestrone for comfort. That sort of demoralized anxiety was setting in, until I really stopped, took a breath, and looked around.

There was Mark at the end of the bar playing liar’s dice with Leo. I met Leo not long after I’d moved, on a night much the same. Leo owns Vesuvio, the bar next door to City Lights. If you are familiar with the Beat Generation writers, then those names mean something to you.

Leo has lived in North Beach for a long time. I can’t quote how many years, but I’m guessing somewheres between forty and sixty. On that night way back then, Leo told me stories of North Beach. Told me how he used to own a coffee bar (in the first popular incarnation of coffee bars in America) and that he once paid Janis Joplin twenty bucks to play all night. I asked him questions about her with wide-eyed wonder, and he remembered her fondly, remembering her as “a little odd”. He told me about Jefferson Airplane. And Grace Slick (who’s long been a hero of mine). Told me they were good kids and he enjoyed them, but they drank too much.

This was amazing to me. A living history book. And last night, there he was again, taking everyone’s dice and beating ’em all, like usual.

As I continued to gaze around the restaurant, I spotted a favorite waitress and the guy who used to work the door at the Grant & Green. And Mark said “You need another, Karen?” and I nodded. And he served it right up because he takes good care of his customers.

And I relaxed. And smiled. And let out a little bit of the whole lotta stress I’ve got working me.

Because everything might change. This world moves too fast. Everything looks different when you turn around and look again. And in this fast pace world, sometimes you just know that certain places will remain enough the same to keep you sane, and that’s good enough for me.

(Don’t even get me started on my fair New Mexico and what the hell has happened to my beautiful Albuquerque. Oy! Guess it’s time to move somewhere new where I don’t remember what it “used to be,” and leave before I cross that same line again. Ah well, I love New Mexico. I love the Bay Area. And most of all, I love The Cute Boy™, and that is something that, good lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, will always be there, growing a little stronger every day)