We’re getting excited for baseball season in this town. The San Francisco Giants’ starting rotation has looked pretty good, and so far during this decade, in even numbered years the G-Men have won the National League pennant. So it’s time for civic events in the Civic Center that combine kids, baseball, and local officials:
I hear the strangest stuff when I take a bus either to or from a theater event. I attended a stage reading of a friend’s new play, sitting next to an African-American man about 20-25 years of age wearing a lot of red and white clothing. He suddenly smiled, no, in fact he grinned hugely and called someone on his cell phone. I have no idea how much of this is real and how much is joking around:
“Hey, man, it’s me. You know, me. The bro who’s gonna kill you.” He laughed. “Guess what, man? I can see you. I’m watchin’ you right now, man. Aw, this so much fun, you don’ know where I am and I’m thinking, if I just had a gun right now, a rifle.” He laughed again. “You so dead I’m just laughin’ my a** off at you. I’m lookin’ at you, and I’m laughin’ at you, and this call is over.”
He broke the connection, laughed some more, then disembarked. Actually, he had not been looking at anyone. I turned my attention to the 50-ish musician behind me, describing to his pink-haired 20-ish girlfriend one of the greatest burden of managing a band.
“First of all, finding a good bassist is hard, but there is nothing harder in the music business than finding a good bassist who is consistent and reliable. Our last bassist lasted one gig. No, he played great, but he called me the next day and said he couldn’t play our following show. Get this. He said that his socks he wore at the gig, he said his socks made him sick. He told me that he was allergic to the dyes in the socks and his legs had completely swollen and he couldn’t walk. So we’re looking for yet another bassist.”
I know, I know: just another San Francisco Monday.
Vonn Scott Bair