Two years ago as a long suffering San Francisco Giants fan, I reaped my reward in 2010 when the Giants (finally!) won the world series and Bug Selig handed over this:
Tonight, the Giants won it all again.
And Mr. Selig, who is no fan of the Giants, had to hand over another trophy. Heh.
Now we got a matched set! Like salt and pepper shakers.
Reunited and it feels so good!
This weekend I arrived early at an airport to climb on my fourteenth airplane of the year so I could head home to the now all too familiar San Francisco International Airport.
In twelve of the first thirteen flights of this year, things have gone very smoothly. One was a bit rocky, but could have been much worse.
Then came flight number fourteen. I suppose it was just my turn.
I stepped up to the security line and pfft’ed at the amateurs around me. Before I even got to the steel table and the plastic bins, I had shoes off, laptop out and a determined look in my face.
As in, this is not my first rodeo.
I stood in line kibitzing with friends. I shoved my bins forward into the tube and awaited further direction. This airport was using both metal detector and backscatter and the TSA agent was alternating the line. One to metal, one to xray. One to metal, one to xray.
I was directed to xray. With a sigh, I took my spot and waited. Then I was waved into the machine and I assumed the position. Feet spread, arms up over my head with elbows bent. Fingers spread.
Did I mention this is not my first rodeo?
I waited. And waited. And thought “damn, the backscatter at SFO is a quick one. This one is taking an eternity.”
Finally the TSA agent waved me out of the machine and pointed to a rug with the outline of two feet. That’s where you stand and wait for the agent to hear from The Someone in the backroom reviewing scans and reporting back.
So I waited. And waited. The TSA agent kept saying into her radio “Do you have a scan for a female? Results of scan. Results of scan, please.”
Nothing. Seems her radio was busted. So she asked her counterpart. He called it in. Three people had already come through the backscatter and given the all clear. Seems that certain Someone didn’t have my scan.
The female TSA agent said, “ok, let’s send her back in” pointing to the backscatter machine and I nodded. I was ok with that.
The male TSA agent said, “No, she left the machine and she can’t go back in.”
What?
“I’m sorry ma’am, we’re going to have to give you a pat down,” I was informed.
I sighed, nodded and raised my arms. “Ok, let’s do it,” I said.
“You can put your arms down, I have to call for an assist.”
So I waited and waited and waited for the pat down lady to come give me a good fondle.
“Do you want a private room?”
“No.”
“I will run my hands all the way up and down your legs, between and under your breasts, in the back of your shirt, in the waistband of your pants and in some sensitive areas. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, let’s get started.”
And so the blue uniformed woman got frightfully intimate with me right there in the security area, and I let her. I felt mildly dirty but to be honest, this was not my first pat down. Turns out when you wear a flowy skirt sometimes the backscatter can’t see you so well and they pat you down anyway. It’s why I wear pants to travel these days (even though skirts are way more comfy).
“There, that wasn’t so bad was it? Now I just need to test my gloves. Wait here please.”
“Ok.”
And so I waited and waited and waited and I heard “uh oh.”
I turned to see another TSA agent say to my new girlfriend, “You got an alarm.”
“It’s these gloves again, I swear this is crazy!” she replied.
Oh those pesky, pesky gloves. Silly gloves. Naughty gloves giving off an alarm meant…
Every item in my possession had to be wiped and scanned. Everything, including the Hello Kitty popsicle mold I’d bought there at the airport (a gift for a friend’s toddler).
None gave off an alarm, but I wasn’t finished yet.
I was then invited into the private room. Was this like the champagne room at a strip club? Only I’m the dancer? I hoped to make some killer tips off of this routine.
This time not one but two female TSA agents came along for the fun. I got to keep my clothes on, but they felt me up real, real good.
Let’s just say…they were quite vigorously able to confirm that I was in fact NOT the next underwear bomber.
Ahem.
After this mauling, I was set free to move about the airport.
I reported to my friends that I needed a Silkwood shower and maybe a Cinnabon to get through the trauma.
We opted instead for a TCBY non-fat yogurt cup. Amazing what sugar can do to make you feel better about this mean old world.
To be fair, it could have been much worse. I had plenty of time before my flight and I was very cooperative with the TSA agents, which meant they were very cooperative with me.
But I just can’t get past the fact that I had to be mauled, molested and detained because their radio malfunctioned and their backscatter machinery burped and their gloves are known to set off alarms and yet they keep using them.
I was just trying to get back home.
Before this crazy ol’ year is over, I have two more planes to ride. May those trips go as smoothly as twelve of my fourteen flights thus far.
Waltzing with the TSA sure was fun, but I think I’m over it.
Image from Toonsville.
And the earth turns and the seasons change and yet, the patterns remain.
This week I attended the same trade show as I attended last year. It’s a landmark in my company’s year.
The progression is something like: Summer. Performance reviews. Attend trade show.
It’s overwhelmingly large and despite this being my third year attending, it never gets any easier or less overwhelming.
Last year was particularly challenging, and I wrote the post you’ll see below. Rereading it, I’m back there in that same time and same place.
In fact, I was reminded of the post when I walked past that exact same mailbox on that exact same street and stopped. “Oh,” I thought to myself. “Yeah. Last year. A very, very sad day.”
I had to stand there a moment and let the sadness in. I had to mark the time. I had to make sure I didn’t forget.
“Then I straightened my spine, threw my shoulders back and walked ahead to meet my boss because he’s in town from London and has terrible jet lag.”
Because over time, some things change and some things don’t.
Happy Friday, ya’ll.
_________________________
Originally published October 6, 2011
Yesterday was not what I’d call an ordinary day by any definition.
Let’s roll back a few days to give you the backstory.
On Friday I stood shoulder to shoulder with my best friend inside an auction barn in Las Cruces. We tried to talk over the drone of an auctioneer and watched the local 4H kids walk their animals around a pen while local businessmen bid up the price.
On Tuesday, I stood on the show floor of one of the largest IT conventions in the US, surrounded by the drone of booth workers shouting out to passerby as I tried my very best to be all business.
I have to say, it was a bit disorienting. I guess that 180 degree turn in the span of just five days is the closest example I can get of who I am. Both auction barn and big corporate.
Yesterday was my second day attending the show and I was doing my best to stay grounded in the midst of the chaos that is any trade show.
While waiting for a morning meeting, I idly checked my email on my iPhone. I saw a note from one of my aunts letting me know that a dear uncle of mine had passed away. He had gone through a long and valiant battle with cancer, and for a while he got topside on that demon. Sadly, just yesterday he lost the fight.
I was instantly crushed and heartbroken. I couldn’t begin to imagine how my aunt must be managing. I’d sat with my mom in the days after my dad passed, and I know that for a woman to lose her husband of 40-plus years is a long, sorrowful journey. It is a world turned upside down.
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was time to go, so I put on my game face and got back to work.
Later I had to meet with a Senior VP of the company who demands answers as he fires off questions from a fire hose and I do my best to keep up. He’s brilliant but irascible.
After I finished with Mr VP, it was off to another meeting with a telecom carrier, and then a hardware manufacturer, and then…and then…..
It was a brutal day and I had gotten up extra early to get to San Francisco through morning traffic and suddenly the lack of sleep caught up with me. My legs and back ached.
But I pushed forward.
When the day was mostly over, it was time to go to the big celebration to close the show, a huge event put on over at Treasure Island.
I changed clothes in a dingy bathroom and then set out for the meet-up spot to catch a shuttle bus. I got myself turned around and walked about three blocks in the wrong direction, only to turn and walk back against of tide of city people at the end of their day.
I was tired, sweaty, in pain and generally DONE with the day when my iPhone buzzed. The Good Man conveyed to me the sad news about Steve Jobs.
As I had worked for the man for a decade, I felt a certain affinity for him and at that moment, it was the straw that broke me.
I leaned against a mailbox on New Montgomery street, while cars honked, police officers directed traffic and busses coughed fumes, and I cried.
I cried because after traveling then working at this show, I am worn down to a nub. I cried because I did a terrible job of comforting my godkids last week as I found myself at a loss to explain why their pigs had to die. I cried because my uncle was a good man with a good life but grief never gets easier. I cried because the passing of a legend means the end of a very profound era.
It’s just a little to much death in too short a time frame.
Sometimes when it’s all built up inside you and the pressure cooker is about to blow, and you’ve found the end of your tether, crying is just a real good way to let off some steam.
It only lasted a few minutes. Then I straightened my spine, threw my shoulders back and walked ahead to meet my boss because he’s in town from London and has terrible jet lag. He relied on me to help get him to the right shuttle. And my supplier expected me to “say some words” to the team. And every one expected me to be adult and professional when I felt anything but.
Thankfully I met up with a couple friends out on the island. They handed me beer and gave me nodding, knowing looks.
And today, while still sad, I’m trying to be myself again.
Or in the immortal words of Stevie Ray Vaughan, I’m “walking the tightrope/both day and night”
Image from Agent Faircloth
This morning I had a doctors appointment at 9:30, which was the same time the Space Shuttle Endeavor was due to fly over the Bay Area.
This made me very cranky. It’s so hard to get in to see this specialist, so I simply accepted my fate.
Today is one of the few days I’ve been grateful for the Bay Area’s marine layer. The fog delayed the takeoff and am I ever glad it did.
After finishing my appointment, I climbed up in the Jeep and listened close to the radio. I chose a course on southbound 101 hoping to catch a glimpse.
I turned off at the exit for my mid-peninsula place of employment, and on the radio they said “Endeavor has just left Oakland and is making it’s way to the Golden Gate.”
That meant I had maybe 15 minutes. I saw a few people milling around in a grassy public space so I turned quick into the parking lot, tugged the parking brake, and joined them.
“Do you think it will come by here?” I asked the older couple already there, setting up their camera gear.
The man who so profoundly resembled my dad talked me through his reasoning as to why where we were standing would be a good viewing spot. His logic was spot on.
I teared up a little. How cool it would have been to share this with my dad. He used to take me to all the air shows at Kirtland Air Force base as I grew up. It’s probably his fault I’ve always been fascinated by fighter jets and the Space Shuttle. He would have dug this flyby a lot.
As the time passed, more people started showing up, all asking the same thing “do you think this will be a good spot?”
Then suddenly, “There it is!!”
And there it was.
The plane carrying the shuttle moved so slow, seemingly impossible to stay aloft moving that slow, and at a pretty low flight deck too.
I tried to take photos but the haze was no photographer’s friend. So instead I put my camera down and just watched. As I said to a friend on FB, it was like a slow funeral procession for a much beloved icon.
I teared up a lot. I’m not even embarrassed to say it.
The shuttle was a big part of my growing up and for me its retirement is met with sadness and a bit of frustration at how, over time, NASA mishandled the program.
Onward to the next adventures, old friend!
Hey, you know what? The next step in space travel may just hit a little close to where I come from.
Here’s a few photos of today’s flyover from the local paper:
Two icons together, Endeavor and the Golden Gate Bridge
Endeavor and its fighter jet escort near one tower of the Bay Bridge
Images from SFGate.com
This exercise was so amazing for me and my old friend The Muse last week. It really helped break some of the rust off the creative pipes and since it was so much fun, let’s let The Muse play the Unconscious Mutterings free-association game again.
A friend posted a link on Facebook essentially declaring that social media is over. Wait, there’s something ironic about that sentence. No matter, let’s press on.
Personally, I’m pretty ready for all things social networking to stop being all anyone talks about. As if this is changing the world.
Sure, something just as annoying will take it’s place, but maybe as “the book close(s) on Web 2.0” the internets will have grown up a bit. Stretched a bit. Maybe the next big thing will be something great, innovative and useful.
Just don’t take away my lolcats. I beg you.
It’s too early to discuss Christmas songs. Way too early.
However, if we were going to discuss Christmas songs I’d tell you that I think it’s magic that a song entitled “Fairy Tale of New York” begins with the lines:
“It was christmas eve babe/In the drunk tank”
I mean really. Could that be any more perfect of the holiday season? I think not.
A nod of thanks to my Rock Star cousin for turning me on to that tune many years ago when I was having a Very Dark Christmas.
Neither odd nor even, positive nor negative. Zero is the beginning, a place to start. Nothing and everything. Zen. Infinite.
And a bunch of other woo-woo stuff.
Null, nada, naught, nuh-uh, nope, zilch.
Sort of beautiful in it’s perfection, really.
I’m not much of a football fan, but I do idly keep track of the San Francisco 49ers. Last year I even took in my first NFL game, and it was awesome.
That said, I think I’ve become too much of a baseball girl. I mean…162 games a season vs sixteen. Right? I think you can get by with a lot of luck over 16 games whereas you have to be mentally and physically disciplined to make it through 162.
This is a weird time of the year where the end of baseball overlaps the beginning of football.
Right now my San Francisco Giants are oh-so-very-close to making it into the postseason again and the 49ers have won their first two regular games.
All in all, not a bad place to be.
Why, I’m pretty sure the answer is: Nobody.
Lights, camera, action. Take action. Action Jackson. Action hero. Action games.
Yeah. I got nothing here.
Next!
Sometimes, on a rough ol’ Monday like this, I think about going to my happy place. I have several, actually, but the one I’m thinking about today is the town of Half Moon Bay. It’s about a half hour drive away, it’s where I got married, and it’s the beach I visited just after moving to California.
It holds a special place in my heart and features some of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen.
I’ve watched that setting sun alone, with dear friends (and beers) and with my love.
Here’s my favorite photo, taken (by me) near Miramar Beach, and even this cool photo doesn’t totally capture the quality of light. But it’s enough to help me escape gray cubicle walls, if only for a moment.
Did you know that in Australia, an adult male kangaroo is called a Boomer? I didn’t either.
I learned that seeking an alternative for this prompt that would let me write about something other than ol’ hippies.
And I thank YOU, Wikipedia, you glorious repository of knowledge.
This morning, this glorious Monday morning, I woke up rough. Real rough. I remember the days where I could stay up all night drinking and carousing and then get approximately one and a half hours of sleep, wake up chipper, go to class, take detailed notes, get through the day and go out again.
Now I stay up late on Sunday night watching a good movie and oh holy hell I’m a mess from the time the alarm goes off until I can go to bed early the next night.
Time really does make fools of us all.
“What are words for? When no one listens. What are words for, when no one listens at all?”
Hello you beautiful Missing Persons.
That was the very first non-rodeo related concert I attended. (If I include rodeo shows, my first concert was Freddy Fender. You can’t make this stuff up). My big brother took me to a show at the Civic Auditorium in Albuquerque. Bits of what I’m sure was asbestos fell from the ceiling during the show.
I wanted to be Dale Bozzio so bad I couldn’t see straight. I still do.
Longing to be Dale Bozzio, and Belinda Carlisle, and Terri Nunn and others like them – yeah, that accounts for a lot of my teenage years.
Really, a lot of my life.
I just read British comedienne Dawn French‘s memoir. Now there is a lady who is 100% comfortable in her own skin. And now instead of just admiring her, I want to be her too.
I’m such a suggestible little girl.
Ok, well…back to work.