2010 Word of The Year

Every year in December my local paper, the San Francisco Chronicle, solicits reader suggestions for the word of the preceding year.

From those suggestions, the staff picks the annual word with an eye toward choosing the word that best sums up the year in news.

In 2009 the word was Tweet. In 2008 the word was Bailout. In 2007 the word was Subprime.

Getting the trend here? Something popular, perhaps overworked by the media. The word on everyone's minds.

This year, the staff of the Chron went a little less global and a little more local.

Here's the back story:

The San Francisco Giants baseball team has an award winning local broadcast team made up of former SF Giants pitcher Mike Krukow and former SF Giants shortstop Duane Kuiper, known together as "Kruk and Kuip."

Neither of these men had stellar baseball careers, but in their retirement gig as broadcasters, they have really made their mark.

These two are colorful, fun and knowledgeable. They are revered here in the Bay Area.

At the end of every game, the television broadcasters (usually Kruk and Kuip) and the radio broadcasters (usually Jon Miller and Dave Flemming) will get together on the radio for a post-game wrapup.

It's their chance to talk about the game, pick their favorite players of that game, and generally cuss and discuss. These post game shows have become very popular, mainly because the style is very casual and conversational. The listener feels like they are sitting in at the table with these four guys (and sometimes former first baseman JT Snow) having a beer and discussing the day's work.

Over the course of the 2010 baseball season, it wasn't always a smooth ride for my lowly Giants. They played in a lot of tough games that were often decided by just one run.

Out of eighteen games over the season with the Padres in 2010, eight were determined by one run. In the month of May, the Giants had ten games decided by one run out of 28 total versus all opponents.

At the end of April, just the first month of the season, the Giants had lost two games back-to-back. The Monday game was a ten inning loss, and the Tuesday game was a one hit game lost on a walk off run by David Ekstein (who had so plagued the Giants in the 2002 World Series).

It was emotionally taxing.

So, when Kruk and Kuip hit the air that next day for the third game of the series (in which the Giants were ultimately swept), Kuip used the San Francisco Giants own PR slogan in an exasperated way.

The long running ads had proclaimed, "San Francisco Giants baseball...(pause)...there's Magic Inside!"

On that day in April, Kuip said, "San Francisco Giants baseball...(pause)...Torture!"

The phrase resonated with weary fans and the word Torture! was applied to every game, every moment, every second of agony we endured...including every single game played in the post season.

Torture became the theme of our World Series winning season. An anguished cry. A rallying cry.

And so the 2010 word of the year from the San Francisco Chronicle is...you guessed it:

Torture

What a lovely way to suffer.

(for the record, from the SFGate: ""Vuvuzela' and 'hacktivist' finished second and third. 'Refudiate' and 'patdown' were the other finalists...")

Trophy image taken by a corporate photographer from my place of work and used with permission.

In Lieu Of a Bonus

Yesterday, after a oh-so-very-long day at work, I did what busy worker bees have done for years...

I went home and whined to my spouse.

The Good Man was very considerate, listened to my tale of woe, made sure I had dinner and tucked me into bed with a "maybe tomorrow will be better."

Well, he was right. Tomorrow, now known as today, has been *much* better.

The tipoff that today might be a bit different began when I saw a strange truck in the parking lot, located in one of the front spots.

So, you know, curious as I am, I made my over to the assigned area and got in line.

After about a half hour of waiting, I got to see what the hubbub was all about.

Yeah. They call that the Commissioner's Trophy. You know, nothing much...they just hand it out to the team that wins the World Series**.

No big deal right? Just a hunk of metal.

Let me tell you this, I've been within inches of an Oscar, a Grammy and two Emmys.

They got nothing on this little beauty. NOTHING! The Commissioner's Trophy glows and shimmers and giggles with glee.

Or maybe that was me giggling. Hard to know.

Anyhow, when I got to the front of the line, I handed my camera to a decidedly NON photographer so she could take a blurry and out of focus shot of me with the trophy.

Forgive me readers, this is a terrible photograph. But we were only allotted one and this is it.

Just know this...blurry though it may be, make no mistake, I'm very, very happy.

(why do my eyes look so funky? Gah! Couldn't I look cute for just ONE minute, but noooo, geek girl looks geeked out)

My employer pays reasonable but not large salaries and rare bonuses. But this, this was TOTALLY worth that long, mean, very bad day yesterday!

**To my readers outside the US, I do realize that to call a sporting event a "World Series" in which twenty nine US and one Canadian team competes is rather audacious.

The Artist's Way

You spend time refining your art. You take classes. You learn your tools. You seek out a mentor. You push your bounds and find your limits.

But you can never, ever predict what work you do that might capture the attention of others.

For me, with my photography, it's been about patience. About learning how to set up a shot. Understanding the exposure triangle (ISO, aperture, and shutter speed) and how to apply it.

I study other people's photos. I figure out what I like about them and what I don't, and I learn. I try to replicate. I use the levers and switches and sliders and I take them to the very ends of their capability to see what I like.

And sometimes I get a really good shot. Something I'm excited to share.

Every once in a while, something special happens. Something like...a parade.

And I think to myself, "well, why not take the camera."

So there I am at the corner of Market and Powell in San Francisco, and trolley cars start rolling by carrying the players from this World Series winning team.

The light is terrible. Not only am I down in a canyon of tall buildings, but my subjects are in motion. I bump ISO, but that gets too grainy. I fiddle with white balance, one setting is too blue, the other too yellow. I mess around with my aperture. A little depth of field or a lot?

The parade is in full swing so I begin shooting away. I'm using my 70-300 lens so I can see faces.

Later, at home, I download the batch, some 200 in all. Most photos are blurred. Some turn out ok.

But there is one. Something magic. Something special. Something unpredictable.

And out of nowhere, six hundred and fifty people have looked at my photograph on Flickr.

That photo is below. It is San Francisco Giants players and best friends Aubrey Huff and Pat Burrell. Aubrey has just handed Pat a Bud Light.

Oh, might I add...Aubrey is wearing his Cooperstown bound red "Rally Thong" around his neck.

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

Why look at that. It is San Francisco Giants manager Bruce Bochy!

Hey Boch...what's that you got there? Oh. Right.

The 2010 World Series Trophy.

Yeah baby!

Photo by Karen Fayeth, taken at today's victory parade through downtown San Francisco!

Woot!

Yeah, baby!

It's good. It's very, very good.

(Image borrowed from NewMexiKen)

Test your Giants/Rangers World Series knowledge. I scored spectacularly bad....

New Mexico - In the World Series!

As if I needed more to cheer about when my San Francisco Giants take the field tonight vs the Texas Rangers:

Ya'll know Cody Ross, the NLCS MVP winner, hot hitter, Ross the Boss, solid outfielder picked up on wavers when Florida dumped salary. Solid, right?

Guess what?

He's a New Mexico boy. Born in Portales. Raised in Carlsbad.

Saaaaaluuuuute!

Here's a great article from the Carlsbad Current Argus

Cheers to The Good Man for the tip off on this bit of knowledge!

Hmm, What is There To Talk About?

Gosh. Slow day. What possibly is there to discuss?

Can't quite figure it out.

There has to be *something* we can chat about here on my little ol' blog.

Let me look at the local newspaper.

Upcoming elections. Sure. Whitman and Brown, running waddled neck to waddled neck.

Not much to add to that.

Volcano, earthquake and tsunami in Indonesia. Yikes. A lot of people hurt and killed. Tragic. What more can I say? My thoughts are with the people of Indonesia as they try to get their normal lives back.

Charlie Sheen trashed a hotel room while buck naked. Wish I could say that Sheen could get a normal life back, but I'm not sure he knows what that is. Can't really get any energy to discuss that Hollywood oddity today.

Stock market is down a bit. Dollar is down a bit. Gold is up.

There is something nibbling at the edge of my mind, something I should talk about today.

Why can't I quite put my finger on it?

Hmmmmmmmm.

Oh!

I know.

The World Series starts tonight. Game 1. San Francisco Giants vs the Texas Rangers.

THE WORLD FREAKING SERIES!

HERE IN SAN FRANCISCO!

A reward for long suffering fans like...oh...me.

Humm baby!

Click here for Expert predictions. Here's a sneak preview...most aren't picking the Giants to win.

Keep Yer Politics Out of My Baseball

I have spent the past seven months watching my favorite baseball team, the San Francisco Giants, play incredibly imperfect (some say torturous) baseball.

I've experienced agony, ecstasy, and near ulcers but still I have watched because I'm a longtime fan. I've been there at Candlestick Park. I've been there at PacBell, SBC, AT&T Park. Heck, I've been there at Scottsdale Stadium.

Oh, I've been there.

I knew Tim Lincecum and Pablo Sandoval when they were playing for the farm team San Jose Giants.

Because I've been there, too.

And now...oh NOW that the team is getting coverage for making it to the National League Championship Series (NLCS) do all the politics and politicians come out in their shiny suits and gelled up hair to act like they've been there all along.

Our playoffs are their political opportunity.

Gah!

Baseball is not politics! Politics are not baseball!

The two don't mix because baseball has its own politics, thank you VERY much.

We don't need your stupid campaigning faces jack o' lantern grinning out of the stands, Ms. Boxer, Ms. Fiorina and Mr. Newsom.

I shall not vote for the lot of you!

And then....

There is the whole ongoing kefuffle regarding the BART policeman who shot an allegedly rambunctious BART rider in the back.

The case and the video footage from that day are a highly sensitive and a very concerning issue for the Bay Area for a lot of reasons.

The case went to trial. The jury made a decision. The case is pending sentencing.

So now both sides have decided to take their personal issues to the baseball game by painting banners, attaching them to sailboats and setting sail for McCovey Cove.

You know, McCovey Cove, famous for all the boats, pontoons and kayacks sailing about when Barry Bonds played for the Giants and regularly dunked homeruns in the water?

McCovey Cove, famous for Friday "Beer Can Regatta" sailboat races.

McCovey Cove, that beautiful body of water that sits next to my beautiful ballpark and helps make it one of the most unique sporting locations in the world.

As the Fox Sports cameras seek out something to focus on as we cut to commercial, the cove is always a favored spot, owing to the beautiful views.

But this week, the cameras take in the "Free Mehserle" or "Justice for Oscar Grant" signs, and our own problems here in the Bay Area take precedence over the baseball game.

It's a game. Just a game. It's supposed to be fun.

How about I think about politics and other difficult issues when the season is over, ok?

(McCovey seen to the right in this photo of AT&T Park)

Photo From 22Gigantes

San Francisco Giants!

With a win over Atlanta, my boys are headed to the National League Championship Series! They don't win pretty, but they manage to win.

Hand me a glass of champagne and two Prilosec! My tummy isn't ready to face Philly!

Game 1 - Game On!

It may be time for Primal Scream therapy.

As a long-suffering San Francisco Giants fan, it's hard to wrap my tiny mind around my Giants being back in the post season.

The last time I watched my team in the post season, it was 2003 and Pudge Rodriguez (then with the Marlins) was counting coup over the body of JT Snow, laid flat across home plate, the last out of the fifth game of the first round.

It aches.

The year before that, in 2002, I watched my team go to the seventh game of the World Series...and lose.

That's more of a soul searing pain.

So while I'm very happy my lowly Giants have made it to the postseason once more, it's not without some trepidation on my part.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Fool me three times? Welcome to Giants fandom. Here's your orange gear and your Costco pack of Prilosec.

This one is going to burn.

Last night was Game 1 against the Atlanta Braves, our old nemesis. The Giants history with the Braves is deep. Bobby Cox, in his retirement year, still has plenty in the tank and a good bullpen. Even plagued by injuries, the Braves are a team to be taken seriously.

At 6:37pm, The Good Man and I turned on the radio, dug into our positions on the couch, and held on for dear life while Tim Lincecum (nicknamed The Freak) blithely struck out 14 hitters and the Giants won the game 1-0.

Aaaaaaaaaaaagh!

Whew. Good. Ok. Got that pent up energy out.

Now. On to Game 2.

May this delicious agony last a very long time.

AP Photo by Ben Margot, from ESPN.com

This post is not only about fandom, it also fulfills a Theme Thursday challenge.

My Magnetic Personality

For years I have told friends that I am a "freak magnet," and for years, I've had them tell me, "Oh, don't be silly! Everyone says that."

Then we go out to a bar or a dance club or a restaurant and sure enough, the wackiest person in the room will find their way to me like a moth to a flame.

I don't head out to the bars and clubs much anymore, so I think I've grown a little soft in my ability to head off the loo-loos who inevitably end up sitting next to me.

Wednesday this week, I got invited to a "customer appreciation event" associated with my job.

Well, ok. Appreciate me!

It was a HUGE event with piles of free food, an endless flow of free booze and lots and lots of live musical entertainment.

While I had a gosh dang good time, I was always aware of the fact that I was having a gosh dang good time along with my boss and several coworkers.

I had a few glasses of wine then switched to water about two hours before my anticipated departure time.

At the end of the evening my boss, coworkers and I parted ways at the shuttle busses. The various busses were on different routes to take people back to their hotels and parking in different parts of the city.

Sadly, my route was the most popular, so I stood in a very long line for about forty-five minutes. People were yelling at each other for cutting in line, being snotty and aggressive, and generally at the end of their tether.

I practiced my meditation and art of being calm while I waited my way to the front of the line. Finally I got on a bus and found a seat.

And here's where my magnetic personality comes in.

The drunkest, largest male human I may have ever encountered stumbled his way onto the shuttle, looked over his seating opportunities, and flung himself into the seat next to me.

Then passed out.

Hey, fine. I'm down with that. It will make for a quiet ride.

Oh nooo. That would be too easy.

As the bus jerked to a start, The Mountain next to me woke up and began making those burping, choking sounds.

"Dude," I said, forcefully, "are you going to throw up?"

He looked at me somberly and nodded.

"THEN GET OFF THE BUS!" I hollered.

Well. He was at that stage of drunk where all your bones have gone gelatinous, and was unable to stand. Or move. Or do much of anything other than....

Begin vomiting.

He at least had the grace to vomit toward the aisle and not on me.

However...this is where I lost my mind.

I'd been up for a 7am meeting, working hard all day, celebrating heavily all night, and at 1:00 in the morning, wedged in at the window seat next to a vomit breathing dragon, I'd lost my sense of humor.

"Somebody help me! This guy is throwing up!" I yelled to my fellow travelers.

I heard someone go "Ew." But that was all.

So I tried again, "Help me! Please! This guy needs to get off the bus! He's throwing up all over the place!"

The bus driver walked down the aisle, saw the guy throwing up, make a "yuck" face and turned around and went back to the front of the bus.

"Are you serious?!? You aren't going to help me!?!" I yelled at his retreating back.

I was ignored.

So I ratcheted up my freak out and began yelling with renewed energy.

Finally, the guy who appeared to be the friend of Captain Puke came over and in the most condescending way possible asked, "Are you ok?"

"NO!" I replied.

"Do you want out of that seat?"

"YES!" I replied.

So he grabbed my arm and tugged and I pushed off with my legs and we sort of drag vaulted me over the top of the now passed out guy.

An incredible gentleman in the back of the bus stood up and told me that back home in Chicago he commutes to work every day on a bus, and was used to standing. He gave up his seat for me. I thanked him profusely.

When we finally arrived at our destination, as we exited the chartered shuttle bus, we all filed past Barf Boy. He was still passed out in the seat, vomit all down his front.

His friend...the guy that told me what a "good guy" his friend was as he dragged me out of the seat?

He left the unconscious man on the bus.

Fabulous.

What a talent I have, attracting the elite of the world to sit next to me.

Lessons in Night Photography

About a year ago, I took a wonderful class taught by teacher, friend and mentor, Marty Springer.

As part of the course, we did an evening of night photography.

I struggled mightily with the class. It made no sense. Why shoot photos at night? Where is the light that's so fun to play with?

And manual mode? I have to shoot in manual mode? Gah!

So I listened to Marty and she was very patient and I really just didn't get it. I got a few good photos from that night, but most were sad, weird and blurry.

Recently, I checked out a book from the library by popular photography author Harold Davis. It's called Creative Night: Digital Photography Tips & Techniques.

Harold doesn't say anything different from what Marty taught me. He just said it again. For some reason, it stuck this time.

This weekend The Good Man took me out to Fort Baker in celebration of our second anniversary.

Turns out there is a pier at Fort Baker that affords perfect unblocked views of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I told my partner in crime, "oh we're coming back here tonight."

One rule of night photography is that you need a friend to go along to be your lookout. Setting up the camera takes a bit of concentration and exposures take a long time. As photographer, you get a bit focused. Having someone to keep the weirdos away is always a good idea.

The Good Man wasn't in love with the idea of going out to a pier at 9:00 at night, but I was insistent. As many husbands have done in the face of insistent wives, he came along for the ride with only a few "hmphs" and snorting sounds.

City born and raised husband was geared up and ready to take on trouble from any kooks hanging out down at the pier.

Turns out, the only trouble we would have was from a large family of skunks dining at the trash dumpster nearby.

Let me tell you, both City Boy and Country Girl were equally cautious about those damn skunks.

The word "whooooa" was uttered a lot.

That said...the night journey was WELL worth the trip.

If only for this photo.

(Click here to see a large size.)

Others from the weekend available on my Flickr.

Lessons in Night Photography text and images by Karen Fayeth are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

Let All Who Pass Here Know

So let's say you and the spouse are talking, and you say "Hey honey, why don't we gather up the kids and make a trip to that happenin' place, San Francisco, Californey."

Why, it's an end-of-summer vacation destination.

And so you book the airline and find a hotel and plan your visit.

On behalf of the Bay Area, there's a few things we'd like you to know.

1) First, thank you. We are happy to have you come and visit! Please, spend your hard earned dollars in our economy. We could use the help.

2) We have some of the best food anywhere. Please stay away from the chain restaurants and try a local place. You'll be glad you did.

3) Everyone appreciates how difficult it is to navigate our geographically limited city located at the end of a peninsula, so don't be a'feared to ask for directions. Most locals have been lost here a few times too.

4) No one calls it "Frisco." Maybe a few people call it "San Fran." You could probably get by with an "S.F." Refer to San Francisco as "The City" and you'll be doing just fine.

5) Bring your camera and don't be shy about taking snaps. It's hard to take a bad photo.

6) Oh, and lastly and most importantly, this is what the weather is like in August:

Just for reference, the exif data on this photograph reports it was taken at 12:08:14 pm on Sunday, August 8, 2010. In case you can't tell, that's part of the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I'm just sayin'.

Don't pack your shorts, tshirts and a pair of flip-flops for a trip to "sunny California." Pack pants, socks and a jacket. You'll be glad you did.

Also, know this...San Francisco is one of the most beautiful cities you'll ever know.

Come on out ya'll! Enjoy! We're happy to have ya!

Photos by Karen Fayeth taken from the Marin side of the bridge. Many, many tourists were endured in the making of these and many other photographs.

(What all this language below means is that I took and I own the photographs posted here. If you'd like to borrow them, you have to do me the favor of giving me credit for the photo and posting a link back to this page. That's all. Fair enough? I think so.)

Word and images in this blog post titled "Let All Who Pass Here Know" by Karen Fayeth is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

An Unexpected Convergence of the Universe

Had a weird day yesterday.

Well, most of my days are weird. Yesterday was especially so.

I was working in the studio and painting up a storm. Since The Good Man was out and about, I took the opportunity to turn on the oldies country station I like. 104.7 out of Albuquerque does an internet stream.

It's a great station for classic country stuff. I try to spare The Good Man from my country music as much as I can. All for the sake of the marriage and things like that....

So as I painted, on the radio came Merle Haggard, and George Strait, a little Ray Price and even a stab at some Garth Brooks (the old stuff).

Well, it didn't take but a minute, and I was vacuumed up into the Wayback Machine. I found myself struggling with heart pangs that were hard to ignore.

It doesn't help that I'm also reading a Max Evan's book right now. In it, he describes horses and New Mexico plains and mountains...

Well, it's more than a girl can take.

I tried to fight off the homesick but it started to hurt deep inside.

So I called up my best friend.

"You either gotta come get me out of this wayback machine or you gotta get in here with me," I left on her voicemail.

She called back quick. "Open the hatch, I'm coming in!" she said.

So being the kind of friend that you keep around for some twenty plus years, she talked me down and reminded me that I'm just a couple weeks from actually *being* in New Mexico again. So could I just hold out a bit?

Feeling a lot better, I hung up the phone and turned off the radio.

Then the Good Man came home and all was right in my world again.

About an hour later, I heard my iPhone buzz.

I picked it up to see that my old boss from Sandia Labs was pinging me. She is a dear friend and the best boss I've ever had. She told me that she and her boss (who was my first manager at Sandia and is also a good friend and a fine Aggie alum) were having drinks while out on a business trip.
Their conversation had turned to stories about, well, me.

She was recounting a few of them via text messages (we had a lot of fun back in those days...the mid-90's) and she said, "That was the best time I've ever had at work. We should never have let you go to the Bay Area."

And damnit all if that sharp pang didn't come right back to my heart.

Now I keep in touch with my former amazing Boss Lady, but we haven't spoken a lot in the past year (other than to congratulate her on a recent marriage).

Sort of out of nowhere, on a day when I’m homesick anyway, there she was relating stories of a great time in my life back when I lived in Albuquerque.

And I seized up a little.

It was weird how all these events came together on one day.

So I talked it over with The Good Man. I told him I'm afraid of forgetting who I am and where I come from. He suggested that just that fear alone may keep it from being so.

He asked, "Do you want to move back?"

And I said, "No, because I think I'd yearn for San Francisco if I left!"

Over the weekend, we went to see a theater show, "The Tosca Project," that was so San Francisco and the heart of North Beach that I love profoundly, that it was moving and deeply gratifying to my soul.

The thought of being far away from the soul of that City is a sad thought.

Sometimes I’m a girl caught between all the Karens that make up who I am.

I don't have any answers. I figure I'm just going to have a very high electrical bill this month, what with all this constant use of the Wayback Machine (it's not Energy Star rated.....)

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*

Things you learn about yourself when you travel

So, this past weekend, The Good Man and I made a whirlwind trip to Southern New Mexico to celebrate my best friend's 40th birthday.

There was bbq brisket and tender ribs and homemade ice cream with homemade german chocolate cake on the menu.

Of *course* I was going to be there.

It's not a bad trip from San Francisco to Las Cruces, but it does take a skosh of effort sometimes.

So while riding planes, trains and automobiles, I learned a few things about myself.

Here's some of the top thoughts while on the journey:

The speed of the girl, while in motion, is variable depending on geography.

New Mexico, the land of mañana, moves very, very slowly. San Francisco, on the other hand, moves very, very quickly.

I do ok going from the super fast pace to the nice slow moving pace.

I have one hell of a time coming back from slow motion into 90 miles per hour.

In fact, I think I stripped a gear.

The sort of person you are becomes self evident after sitting for an hour on the tarmac.

San Francisco was having bad weather yesterday, so our connecting flight was delayed by a couple hours. Then they said, "hurry up and let's get loaded" so we complied. The plane backed from the gate, rolled toward the runway, and stopped.

And there we sat.

And sat.

They were having a hard time getting a window for take off. They said we could go at any minute. So we all had to stay seated and buckled in.

As we waited.

You really get a sense of a person under these sorts of circumstances.

The lady behind me started making ever more angry calls to her husband. The people in front of us who started out as strangers quickly became friends, trading stories about delayed flights in their collective past.

A lady across the aisle angrily flipped pages in her magazine and sighed. Loud, frustrated sighs.

Me, I read. I had a really good book, so that helped. But after a while, I was getting grumpy and frustrated too. So then I put down my book and started fidgeting. And then it seemed a good idea to start annoying The Good Man because isn't that what husbands are for?

I guess I'm the sort of person that can be patient...but only for a little while.

Southwest Airlines open seating policy makes people rather aggressive.

Seriously. It's a seat. It's not a gold medal event. Find a seat. Sit in a seat. If you have to sit in a middle seat, it doesn't mean you lost the contest. It just means you have to sit in a middle seat for a few hours. Get over it.

Airports will go to great lengths to get you to buy their overpriced food.

I'm almost positive Auntie Anne's pretzel place was piping hot cinnamon sugar odor into the terminal. Gooey tasty cinnamon suguar. It was damn near irresistible.

I saw another guy with three Popeye's boxed meals walking by. He was by himself...

And then there's Starbucks. Evil place. They suck you in.

I *might* have to succumbed to some of these delights, but the food in the airport is NEVER as good as it is at a real stand alone shop.

But they manage to sucker in almost every weary traveler, prisoners of TSA policies, too weak and famished to resist paying seven dollars for a soggy hamburger.

It ain't right.

Millions of years from now, archeologists will describe us as a quaint nomadic tribe so attached to our possessions that we dragged them around with us in small wheeled wagons called "samsonites".

Honestly. Have you ever seen people so damn attached to their suitcase full of crap?

Ok. Well. I am way guilty on this one.

But at least I'm willing to check my rolley bag and not have to clutch it to my chest, and cram, shove and heave-ho it into the overhead compartment.

Ah well, as the old saying goes, all's well that ends well. It was a fantastic trip to New Mexico, much green chile was consumed. Many wild college era stories were told and fun was had.

Now back to our regularly scheduled insanity....