Country Mouse

Oooh wee! Today I was a big girl.

Today I was, like, a professional and everything.

I had a rather important work related meeting with some very high level people.

The address of this adventure was simply, One Market, San Francisco.

Now, if you are familiar at all with San Francisco (I know you are, Natalie), then you know that One Market is where the ubiquitous Market (akin to Main street in Any Town, America) meets the Embarcadero at the Ferry Building.

If you are unfamiliar with San Francisco, Market Street is a major avenue that cuts diagonally across the length of San Francisco, ending at the edge of the Bay.

Ends at the very old and beautiful Ferry Building, where, oddly enough, you can catch a ferry. The building is both a beacon and a landmark.

So this morning I put on my best suit of confidence and made my way to the City by the Bay.

I acted like I knew what I was doing the whole time. I drove in, got parked, and walked with my head held high. I heard my high heels click-clack on the polished marble floors and hoped like hell I wouldn’t slip and fall.

I rode the elevator up to the offices and pretended like I was all that ‘n then some.

Once badged up, they led me to a conference room that had a spectacular view of the Bay Bridge.

As I waited for the Vice President of this very successful and well-known company to come to the room, I wondered how this desert rat of a girl ended up here.

I hummed “Oakie from Muskogee” while I waited.

As soon as the executive entered the room, I put away all those thoughts and stopped humming.

Then I acted like a lady, a professional, a woman in command who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Weirdly, they bought it.

The ol’ fake it ’til you make it really does work sometimes.

It was a high point to my week, actually.

But for all my high steppin’ in that beautiful City, I was also glad to get in the car and drive back home.

Once home, I tucked into dinner and a glass of something nice and smiled over the rim of my glass.

I love it when I can use my Aggie ingenuity to pull one over on the big boys.

And that’s doin’ it right

If you are a fan of any professional sport, major or minor in their designation, then over the course of your life, you’ve heard a LOT of renditions of the “Star-Spangled Banner”.

T’was written by Francis Scott Key and set to the tune of a drinking song. Where there is beer, oh yes, they’re playing our song!

And, may I quote from Wikipedia, “With a range of one and a half octaves, it is known for being difficult to sing.”

So much so, that large crowds will actually applaud a performer who can hit all the notes. That is a rare performer. Very rare, indeed.

In fact, over the course of my life, I’ve heard quite a few very, very bad renditions of our country’s anthem.

I’m not talking about local first grade choruses limping and wheezing through the tune or the high school marching bands galumphing and cymbaling their way along.

No, no I find those charming, actually.

What get’s me are the hand waving, trilling, note runs that many people (especially young ladies) try to throw in there to make you *think* they are hitting the notes, when they are, in fact, not.

I once heard a man at AT&T Park with a deep baritone voice who sang the song and dropped the highest notes of the tune down half an octave, and it sounded fine. Lovely, in fact, and we didn’t have to watch him struggle to hit impossible notes.

I find it’s the people who go easy with it and don’t try too hard that make it through all the ups and downs of the Star Spangled the best.

This past Sunday, just when it appeared the SF Giants vs Oakland A’s game was due to start, The Good Man and I saw a vision in pink descend the steps to the field and enter the grassy area, bowing low to allow her very tall Glinda the Good Witch crown to clear the gate.

“Oh wow!” I cried out, “It’s a performer from Beach Blanket Babylon!”

BBB is a long running San Francisco musical stage show. Bawdy and very vaudeville in nature, they tend to make fun of current events.

They are also known for their top-notch performers, so I figured this was going to be fun.

On this day, we were treated to a lady by the name of Misa Malone, a recent addition to the BBB cast, and she was out in full Good Witch regalia.

You know, it’s awfully hard to ignore a lovely woman in a huge fluffy pink dress and a bouffant pink wig. It was even harder to ignore Ms Malone who took her time with the Star Spangled and used her immense vocal power to master that difficult song from the first note.

I admired how she used her breath, taking in air in places amateur singers tend to over look, taking air wisely to get power to her pipes in time to hit those high notes.

And hit them, she did, which earned wild cheers and applause from the crowd.

I have to say, not only did she sing the you-know-what out of that very difficult song, she also *owned* that crowd of almost forty thousand people.

We were all paying rapt attention to every note, every syllable, every gorgeous smile she handed out like candy.

THAT is a true performer.

Wouldn’t you love to have the power to command a room, much less a stadium, like that…just once?

I sure would.

____________________

Had I managed to have a memory card in my camera (see yesterday’s post) I would have provided an awesome photograph of Ms Malone at the park.

Instead, you get a photo of Prince Charles looking very awkward with the BBB cast. To the far right is not Ms Malone, but it IS the costume she wore on Sunday.

A boy scout, I am not…

“Be prepared.”

Yup, that is the motto to which all those two-finger-holder-upper kids with the yellow kerchief around their necks swear to every chance they get.

Ah yes, be prepared. Think ahead. Plan your next move. Expect the worst and all that.

Sometimes, as the grown up I’ve become, I’m quite prepared. Oh I’m thinking about “what’s the worst that could happen and how will I take my bacon back outta the fire when it does.”

And then there are the days where the gas tank light is on and the needle quivers over the E and I forgot the tickets for the event I’m attending and I can’t put my shoes on the correct feet.

So which was it on Sunday? You see, by the good grace of the baseball gods, I had some of the best seats in the major league stadium where I like to watch my favorite baseball team play. On this day of interleague play, my Giants are facing their across the Bay rivals.

Ooh baby! I’m ready! I’m prepared!

Tickets? Got ’em right here.

Gas? Plenty!

Sunglasses? Yes.

Spending cash for ballpark schwag. Certainly!

Portable radio already set to KNBR? Heck yeah!

Cool clothing for the warm day? Check.

Jacket in case it cools off? Sure.

Parking pass? Without a doubt.

Hooray! I’ve got it wired tight!

Off we go! We get to the park and plop into our seats that are THISCLOSE to the field and oooh, there’s the players almost close enough to touch and what a beautiful day and rock ooooon!

So the game is starting, and what do I do?

Well, I’m a burgeoning photographer! I pull out my carefully packed camera and my 75-300 lens that will get me RIGHT in the middle of the action!

Yes! I even remembered to charge my battery! And the spare battery too!

This is gonna be so great! I’m going to wow the world with these shots! I will win awards! There will be accolades! I will get my invite to be an AP photographer with open access to the camera well on the field.

I am a rock star!!!

And so I begin to snap some photos, looking to take light levels and see about making adjustments for this bright sunlight.

Click goes the shutter.

And click once more.

Then I hit that little play button to review the shots.

And the camera says on its pretty little LCD screen:

No CF card,

NO CF CARD?!?!?!? What the seventeen kinds of sam hell does this damn camera mean no cf card?

And then I remember…

I left the memory card on my desk at home.

I was feeling sooooo Captain Prepared that I was going to do a full clean off of the memory card, reformat and be ready for the game.

Except I forgot to do that with all my attention on all the other careful pre-game preparations.

Uh. Whoops.

So you see, here’s that amazing shot of Aubrey Huff at the plate right before he hit that first homerun:

Oh wait…

And that amazing shot of Pablo Sandoval taking a walk:

Yeah, no.

And that fabulous look of concentration while Andres Torres runs like a cheetah around the bases!

Heh. Nope.

Be prepared.

Be fracking prepared!

BE PREPARED DAMN IT!

Prepared, my ass…….

Thhhhppppttth!

Yeah, yeah, I haven’t blogged in FOUR days.

I have no one but myself to blame.

Goals?

Ah, tttthpthhhht to that!

We don’t need no stinkin’ goals.

Ok yes, we do. Or we, ahem, I, tend to wander a little off course.

Anyhoo….

There is a lot going on in my little world these days. Details to come. But for now, suffice to say, it’s a good thing summer days run long, because I have a lot to try to cram into those daylight hours!

By the by, thanks to the good people at the San Francisco Zoo (follow them on Twitter! @sfzoo) for the fun this past weekend!

We celebrated the first birthday of my littlest goddaughter in style!

I’ll post a picture of her adorable self, but I have to ask her parents permission first!

That’s not *supposed* to be funny

And yet, it is.

Was reading an article today in the online version of the San Francisco Chronicle, the SFGate with the headline of “Flushed jail items cause S.F. court flooding.”

The article talks about how inmates at the San Francisco Hall of Justice managed to flush two orange jumpsuits and a bed sheet down the toilet, thus causing a major backup of raw sewage into the courtrooms.

Workers got the mess cleaned up last night only to have it flood again in the morning.

Just. Ew. Talk about a crappy day at work.

Sorry. No really, I actually am sorry. I’ve been on a pun kick lately. But that’s not the funny part.

The funny part comes toward the end of the article.

Here, I’ll quote it directly:

“…the last major problem occurred in the mid-1990s and prompted the city to purchase grinders, known as ‘muffin monsters,’ that are installed on sewage pipes.”

Giggle. *snort* Chuckle. Guffaw.

Muffin monsters?

Ok really. Honestly?

How am I not supposed to laugh at that?

I immediately dashed into the other room to share my new phrase with The Good Man.

Thus proving once more that I am the intellectual equivalent of a twelve-year-old boy.

But come ON. Muffin monsters?

Ok, ok, they really exist and that’s really what the manufacturer calls them.

They look like this:

That’s all well and good, but I don’t care who you are, that’s still funny!

*giggle snort*